#version drift theory

[sburbian-sage]

(Not the original version drift anon) My co-players explained version drift to me like it was a theory-of-gravity level theory. If it's not, are there any other potential explanations for why the sessions get so different?

Also was the demons thing hyperbole or is that actually a thing? Could I learn how to summon those?

The demons were a joke. I was making my threats overly hyperbolic such that they couldn't be taken seriously or be enforced as such. I may as well have said "in minecraft". Daemons are a real thing, but they're nothing like what you're imagining (and you shouldn't summon them, they're basically pan-session viruses who just blow everything up).

Now I want to make clear, I didn't want to imply that there is literally no merit to Version Drift Theory. There's some interesting ideas there, and certainly a lot that makes sense. I know I brought it up before, but when someone explained Version Drift as being analogous to evolution (in the sense that each Frog, produced through ectobiological reproduction, is slightly different from the "parent" Frog, and this results in differences between "parent and child", and when extrapolated over several eons of reproduction it results in a new species or a new type of the same species, or in this case a new version of the game), things clicked. My main issue with that ask was them asserting that Version Drift was objectively true and I had undergone it (in an attempt to undermine my psyche, no doubt), combined with the suspicious other tidbits which led me to doubt their own knowledge of the game (how do you not know about the naked Dream guys?).

As for why Version Drift is invalid, one would point out that the "eons of history" needed for a species to evolve (or the frogs to evolve and Version Drift-a-la-evolution to occur) isn't possible. The replayernet is pretty young, so to speak, and we certainly haven't been doing this for thousands of years. Even when you have people purposefully giving their frogs viruses and mutations and cancers in an attempt to "fix" the door or just make things worse, we just don't have the timescale or the know-how for how the Frog's biology, or even all of SBURB's coding, works. And what I would propose, is that "hard evidence" of Version Drift is more often than not a combination of confusion over how SBURB operates, gaps in player knowledge, and perhaps just a bit of confirmation bias.

SBURB sessions follow a template, we all know this. Every game begins with Pre-Entry, has players explore the land, the ruins, heal the planet, see their sprite off, perform the Ultimate Alchemy, breed the Genesis Frog, fight the Black King (or Black Queen or Ringwraith if they fuck up badly), exit the game (or die miserably and TPK at any point before this), and rule a new world as not only a god, but as a mature adult (except that part's bugged so we keep doing New Game not-even-plus). The game throws some odds-and-ends there to make it feel different, different Classes, different Aspects, different locations for your Ruins, randomized layouts, maybe you prototyped your kernelsprite with something different, maybe your Land has a new X or Y which makes it operate differently, the point is that this is all just flourishes, different toppings on the same cake. And people get so used to this formulaity that when the game does do something different, they freak the fuck out and assume that the game got updated, or their version changed, and SBURB is different now. It's not, it's game isn't different, it just did something different. It has intelligent (and semi-intelligent) NPCs like Jack Noir or other Carapacians or even other Consorts who will sometimes, of their own free will that they apparently have, do something unexpected (with some predictability, the "Jack Noir takes over Derse" subplot happens more often if you prototype objects hostile to his fashion sensibilities). Each Land has a personal quest associated with it, and depending on the X and Y subjects, your Title, and the subjective "maturity arc", the personal quest can get truly esoteric, out-there, and dare I say unique. And the broader "form a proper narrative around the players" thing can result in even weirder. Sometimes the game glitches out, and the recurring chess symbolism turns into like, Catan or something, or Prospit are the "bad guys" now. Sometimes a glitch glitches out, and an aspect of the game that shouldn't work does now (at least then, and it's almost never the door that rights itself out). Sometimes people just don't know as much about the game as they think they do. I've seen some guys who have never seen or even heard of a specific Class/Aspect combo, and somehow came to the belief that e.g. a Dame of Flow is something that can never happen. And when they see a Dame of Flow, they flip their shit and display their lack of understanding of hypotheticals. Way too often have I seen people cry Version Drift at fairly innocuous stuff, or speculate on it without solid grounding.

And of course, it's pretty easy to understand why someone would believe in Version Drift. If the game can radically alter itself over time, such that once-common Titles become less common, or longstanding bugs get fixed, then that means the game can once again do that at some point in the future. Meaning that as long as we keep holding out, keep replaying, keep pumping out frogs, we might get the golden update that fixes the door, and all of our efforts and suffering will have been worth it and we aren't just losing our minds and losing our friends and dying for no reason, slaves to a broken game, doomed to keep making doomed universes.

I don't intend to be cynical, but this very emotional aspect of Version Drift Theory is what, in my opinion, makes a lot of claims to its truth value somewhat hard to take seriously. It is, once again, not an invalid model. If you've been in history-oriented communities (academia, alt-history hobbies, etc.) you might have heard of the phrase "all models are wrong, but some are useful". That's kind of what I think of Version Drift. Sometimes the game is just weird and throws a curveball at you.

[reggies-eyeliner]

KENJI SAYING "DAD" IN JAPANESE DESPITE HIM SAYING HE DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO SPEAK IT IS SO OWW OW OWW OWW because it's like saying that no matter how much you stray from your culture the first words you always learn are "mom" and "dad." AND IT'S LIKE no matter how far you run or how little you feel connected to your culture it's like. it is there because your parents were there too yk like I'M. DOES THIS MAKE SENSE TO ANYONE ELSE.

[starryeyed-apple]

birthday indulgences

the kiss we silently swore never to talk about again...

summary: years ago, on your birthday, you & caleb shared a forbidden moment. it isn't until his birthday that all those hidden desires are finally indulged in.

★pairing: caleb x fem!reader ★wc: 3.5k ★content: fluff & smut. drunk first kiss & grinding in the memory, caleb panics, a tiny bit of angst. sloppy makeouts, spit kink, dry humping, coming in pants, desperate & subby caleb, overstimulation. caleb calls reader pipsqueak, baby, honey and love. reader calls caleb baby. ★a/n: I love that theory that the kiss they don't talk about happened when they were younger, and then I thought ooo I could do a parallel with this. it was supposed to be sweet and it turned smutty, but it's still sweet. I'll probably do a more intimate version of their first time once his card is out! ★masterlist ★read on ao3

You couldn't believe you had actually gotten Caleb to go along with your plan.

When you'd told him you needed a break from your college campus, and that you wanted to go out and get drunk in Skyhaven for your birthday, he was already nodding along on the video call.

"Alright, pipsqueak," he agreed with a grin. "I'll tag along and take care of you. Gotta make sure you're staying hydrated."

"No, no, no." You shook your head, grinning wickedly when he cocked his head to the side like a confused puppy. "You're going with me."

He arches an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Uhh, earth to pipsqueak, did you not hear what I just said? I am going—"

"Nooo," you interrupt, wagging your finger. "You're going drinking with me."

He'd sputtered, complained and argued all he wanted, but he had agreed to every one of your terms by the time you hung up the call.

And here you were, tipsy and laying back on the floor of his Aerospace Academy assigned studio apartment, watching the ceiling fan spin while you both giggled over something you can't quite remember.

You glance over at where Caleb's sprawled out beside you, smiling at the happy, hazy look in his eyes that surely matches your own. It was impossible to see him ever completely loosen up, and this was the best birthday gift you could've asked for.

Then your thoughts immediately take a different direction when he licks his lips.

They're too dry. You know because you'd jokingly held him down as you swiped your own chapstick across them countless times.

And you'd caught him running his thumb over his cracked bottom lip, tongue darting out across the lingering taste of you when he thought you weren't looking.

Your whole face feels too hot suddenly, blood rushing so fast through your ears that you can't even hear the idle sounds of Skyhaven late at night that drift up through the cracked window.

You wonder what it would be like to kiss someone.

To have their lips press to yours, all tentative and sweet. To know that liking them wasn't in vain, that hoping they felt the same way wasn't just a daydream you'd kept hidden for years. To see the adoration in their eyes when they pull back and caress your cheek.

Purple eyes with an orange sheen.

You wonder what it would be like to kiss Caleb.

"Caleb," you whine, watching the dopey smile grow on his face at your voice. "Am I too old to have never been kissed?"

Caleb's eyes widen, flashing to yours.

"I—" he blinks rapidly, and you giggle at the rare occasion of having caught him completely off guard. "What?"

"Kiss-ing," you draw out, tapping your lips with each letter you spell out for him, "k-i-s-s-i-n-g."

Caleb watches each tap with rapt attention, so captivated that his own lips slowly part. A bit of drool collects at the corner of them, and your vision goes hazy before he quickly looks away.

"Oh." He sounds breathless, clearing his throat to steady his voice. "Uh, I dunno, pipsqueak. I mean, I'm older than you and I've never kissed anyone. Is that weird?"

He gives a little laugh, but you hear the stiff edge to it, can see the uncertainty haunting the façade of his easy expression.

"Really?" you roll over onto you stomach, propping your chin onto your palms.

Your legs kick behind you, and he glances at you and away again.

After a stretch of awkward silence, he turns onto his side, meeting your gaze.

"I mean, yeah," he mutters, shrugging one shoulder. "Why would I?"

You look down at his never-been-kissed lips, feeling your blood rush to your head when he bites them.

Your eyes dart back down, watching his necklace brush against the floor from the angle he lays at.

"Sooo…you've never wanted to kiss anybody?" you ask, trying to seem casual, even as your fingers fidget with the hem of his shirt when he shifts closer.

"I didn't say that," Caleb mutters, and you go rigid.

"Oh."

You flop back onto your back, glaring up at the ceiling fan before he can notice how your brows have pinched, your mouth pressed into a firm line.

"Pips?" Caleb pokes at your cheek, and you pout, turning on your side away from him. "What's got you all frowny-faced?"

"Nothing," you bite out, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Uh-huuuh."

He pokes at your back, then your side, until his fingers are lightly tickling at your ribs. You giggle, kicking your feet out at him.

"Caleb, stooop," you whine, pushing back at him as he tries to tug you back over to face him.

"C'mon, pips," he teases, pinching your waist, and you squeak. "Why won't you look at me?"

Flipping over to smack him, you accuse with totally justified, totally sober and coherent anger, "I'm mad at you, dummy!"

He blinks, and you try and not melt at how cute he looks like this—drunk and flushed, with those big confused puppy dog eyes.

"Why?"

Instead of answering him directly, you ask, "Was it the girl in your chemistry class?"

"The—" Caleb blinks again, shifting back in surprise. "What?"

"That you wanted to kiss sooo badly." You frown, crossing your arms again. "The one who copied off your homework, and you were too nice to stop her. Or was it the guy who always tried to beat your track record?"

"Pips—"

"Or the cheerleader captain? Or is it somebody at university, huh? Are you sneaking around making googly eyes at the other pilots?"

"Oh, quit it." Caleb rolls his eyes, rubbing a hand over his forehead with an unamused huff. "I didn't want to kiss any of them. I don't want to."

"Then who?" You push yourself up, and he sits up to match your restless energy. He always rises to that familiar challenge in your eyes, pulling when you push. "Who exactly is just so damn special that you're still saving that kiss for them?"

Caleb's eyes flash, and he leans up and over you until his large frame is surrounding you completely.

"Maybe it's someone I like with a bratty mouth," he snaps, gently pinching your lips shut between calloused fingers.

Your wide eyes meet his blazing ones, and you both freeze.

His fingers loosen on your lips, and your lashes flutter.

He watches your eyes dilate, then looks down to where he gingerly brushes his fingers along the seam of your lips, his breath audibly hitching when they part for him.

Caleb's lids fall heavy over his darkening gaze. Your breath speeds up in your chest. He looks from your lips to your eyes, then back down to your lips again.

And when you glance down at his own mouth, you're both crashing into each other.

Your first kiss with your childhood friend, your best friend, was anything but the magical one you had just been daydreaming about.

This was sloppy and needy, all tongue and spit and teeth. Years of emotion you didn't know how to unpack began to unravel at the seams, and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into you as you fall back onto the floor.

Neither of you knew what you were doing, only that you were desperate for more. His hands grab at your waist, slipping down to your thighs briefly, and snapping back up when he realized what he was touching.

Then his arms are wrapping around you, corded muscles tightening to hold you close to him as you squirm from all the years of pent up tension.

Your lips meet his again and again, needy sounds filling the air. His own spit dribbles down your chin as Caleb licks into your mouth and moans against your tongue.

Your foot trails up his leg, wrapping around his calf, and he mindlessly grabs at it, hoisting it up until it was wrapping securely around his hip. The fabric of your skirt rides up, and you jolt when you feel the growing bulge in his jeans rub against the thin fabric of your dampening panties.

The sensation is brief, then harder, until you're rolling against each other in a delirious haze of desperation.

He's mumbling something incoherent into your lips, teeth sinking into the soft flesh until you feel it start to break, and you moan his name.

Caleb jerks back, eyes wide and pupils swallowing all the purple except for the thinnest ring around the edge. His chest heaves, kiss-swollen lips forming soundless words.

Lips swollen from your kisses.

You whine, reaching for him as he begins to panic, de-tangling himself from you.

"No," you beg, trying to tug him back as he gently pulls your grabbing hands away. "No no no—"

"Pips, you're—" his voice is ragged, and he sucks in a deep breath.

His eyes are wild, darting around at everything but you, even as he tugs your skirt back down around your waist. His cheeks blaze red when he steals another quick look at the ruined panties underneath, the soaked fabric with a lacy band, before he turns away in shame.

"You're drunk," he breathes, shaking his head sharply.

"I'm not—"

"I'm drunk." Caleb laughs, disbelief coating the sound, long fingers running through his hair until it's sticking up in all directions. "Shit. Fuck. This wasn't—this wasn't supposed to happen—"

Your body begins to defensively curl inwards, and you blink quickly to try and keep the sudden sting of tears at bay.

Caleb finally dares a glance back at you, going from flushed to shockingly pale in seconds.

"No, no, pipsqueak—"

"No, it's fine," you sniff, pushing yourself up and scooting back against the floor. "I get it. You…you didn't want it to be me. I get it."

"No, no no no," he keeps mumbling the word the entire time you're moving away, and suddenly Caleb's on his hands and knees, crawling after you with those big, sad puppy dog eyes. "No, pips, that's not what I meant—"

"It's fine, Caleb."

"It's not fine," he insists, resting the side of his cheek against the top of your knees. His eyes are wide and wet, begging for you to just look at him. "You heard what I said. Who I said. Who I…wanted."

His voice gets impossibly quiet, and Caleb's honest gaze begs for your attention.

But you're too fixated by the dark indentation your teeth had left in his lips, the shine on them that could've been your saliva or his.

"It's just not a good idea, pips," he whispers, and you flinch, followed by his own grimace. "Shit, no, that sounded bad. It's just because—"

He stops, shaking his head, palm covering his face.

"I can't think straight," he mumbles, peeking at you through his fingers. With a sigh, he drops his hand onto your knee, rubbing gentle circles into your skin. His voice is so gentle, so Caleb, but it still grates at your sensitive nerves right now. "I think we both just need to sleep this off. We'll talk about it later, okay?"

You sniff, still not meeting his eyes completely.

"No, we wont," you mumble, even as you let yourself be gently directed towards his bed.

He's silent as he helps you prepare for sleep, even as he moves to sleep on his little couch, opting for his long legs to cramp up on the furniture instead of cuddling with you. The tension radiates off him at your accusation—because he knows you're right.

"We'll never talk about it again."

But here you are, years later, in the same situation as before.

You're both sober this time. You're older, maybe wiser, and scarred from being torn apart before coming back together.

But the way Caleb looks at you has never changed. Like you hung the stars in the sky, like you were the moon the sun chased with every morning.

He doesn't shy away when you look at him just the same. He doesn't pull back now, doesn't keep his longing locked away when your thumb brushes his lips, collecting the residue of the candy you'd fed him.

You wanted today to be a special birthday for him. You wanted to give him everything he'd ever wanted.

"Remember when you kissed me?" you breathe, and his eyes flash in surprise at what you'd silently sworn to never speak of again, beautiful lashes fluttering at your exhale across his lips. "On my birthday?"

He laughs, a little quiet huff of air, and his shock melts to something knowing. Something you'd both always known, deep down.

"You kissed me," he accuses, all low and sultry in his teasing, and you shiver.

You smile, your thumb caressing the corner of his lips.

It didn't matter who had kissed who anymore, who pulled back from who. You'd still ended up where you both belonged.

Caleb gazes up at you, awestruck when your eyes darken.

"Then you knew I wanted it," you whisper, nose bumping against his. "So why did you stop?"

You lean in slowly, giving him a moment to pull away if he still wanted to, if he still needed time. He'd given you all the time in the world, after all. You'd happily wait for him, too.

But then Caleb's lips are on yours, and everything finally feels right.

He tastes like sour lemon candy, and you whine, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth. He moans, fingers digging into your hips.

"Fuck me," he groans under his breath, and you laugh between the kisses that heat up between you.

"If you insist," you murmur, smirking into his mouth when his hips jerk up into yours.

The whimper that leaves his lips is quiet and needy, and you eagerly swallow it down.

"Don't tease me like that, baby," Caleb rasps, and your own hips roll in his lap at that low huskiness to his voice.

His hands tighten on your hips, stilling you. You pause, wondering if you'd taken it too far.

But then he's directing you, pulling your legs around to straddle him completely. He guides you into a deeper roll, and you both moan.

You sink down onto him with slow grinds, the hem of your dress hiding just how quickly your panties were getting wet. In the rosy haze of growing pleasure, you wonder how long it'll take to soak that erection he's been sporting since you walked in the room.

"Didn't even try and hide how hard you were when I came in," you whisper into your languid, sensual kissing. "Did you?"

Caleb's hand slips down, cupping your ass easily in his rough palm and long fingers. You moan when he squeezes it, followed by a squeak of surprise at his gentle, experimental smack to it.

"You can't talk like that, pips," he pants, head tilting back against the couch. His voice is that delicious shade of darkness when he adds, "God, you can't make those sounds either. I won't last long if you do."

His eyes are hazy as he watches you lean down, kissing along the elegant slope of his neck. You stop at the harsh bobbing of his Adam's apple when he gulps, and your teeth graze along it, humming at the moan you feel vibrate there.

"I've thought about that kiss for years," Caleb gasps, hand sliding up your back to keep you pressed to him. His hips lazily roll up into yours, his eyes rolling back into his head when he suddenly bucks up once. "Every time I—"

He cuts himself off, biting at his already swollen lips with a blush.

You smile, devious in your intent, and his mouth falls open when your hidden possessive streak unfolds.

"Every time you—" you leave your question hanging, letting the way you begin to bounce in his lap be the answer.

"You—" Caleb chokes, gripping your hips.

His eyes glue to the motion of your hips flexing under your dress, ass coming up and smacking back down against the strength of his large thighs. You feel him twitch through his jeans, and you moan along with him.

"F-fuck," he groans, mouth hanging open, the tip of his tongue falling out.

You lean forward, collecting the saliva in your mouth. Realizing what you're doing, Caleb tilts his head up and sticks his tongue out, eyes wide and dilated.

You let your spit pool onto his tongue, and he takes it eagerly, swallowing it down with a whine and a thrust of his hips.

"I've thought about it, too," you breathe, and his lidded eyes flicker between your face and where you're shamelessly humping him. "Every single time. Even when I'm not trying to. But when I'm touching myself—"

"Oh fuck—"

"And I'm trying to come, all I can think about is how warm you were and your spit in my mouth—"

"B-baby," Caleb stutters, his head lolling to the side, unfocused eyes fluttering and rolling back in his head with each dry slap and grind of your hips against his. "Please, please—"

"I always think of kissing you when I'm coming—"

"Coming," Caleb gasps, and you think he's just mindlessly repeating you until you notice how rigid he's gotten, completely still and flushed bright red as he moans, "oh, fuck, I'm coming—"

And you can feel it, the sticky warmth flooding into the front of his jeans, seeping into you as you gasp. You grind down against his throbbing cock underneath the stifling fabric, wishing you were taking every drop of his cum instead, not letting a bit of it go to waste.

Caleb whines, crying out softly as you roll your hips, and you swallow every pretty sound with hot kisses until your clothed clit catches on his ruined jeans just right.

"Oh fuck, there—" you gasp, lips messily attached to his. You feel the tears of pleasure and overstimulation streaming down his face as he bucks up into you still. "Caleb, Caleb—"

"Come," he begs, and your eyes meet his. Your hips falter at the unadulterated affection there before you speed up, breath hitching when you feel yourself being to crest over into mind-numbing pleasure. "Come for me, honey, please come for me love please—"

Your eyes pinch shut, and you cry out for him when the orgasm hits you all at once, all your limbs seizing up as you convulse in his lap.

"Oh fuck there, there it is," Caleb grunts, grabbing at your trembling thighs under your dress, moaning when he feels your slick that had dripped down them. "You're coming, you're actually coming—"

Your pussy flutters and tightens in your soaked panties, and you moan, wondering what it would have felt like if you had had the foresight to tug his cock out of his pants, if your precious Caleb had filled you up before you came around him.

Next time, you think in a haze, giggling breathlessly when you realize there was an endless number of next times now.

Caleb's lips meet yours, and you meet each kiss as they slow into something lazy and content. He keeps leaning closer and closer to you, his hand cupping the back of your head, protecting you when you both end up weakly tumbling to the ground, and you laugh.

Your eyes are warm and shining with joy when you look up at him, pulling him down for another kiss, and another, because they were all yours now. Every kiss, every moment.

It was the same messy meeting of tongue and spit and teeth from that unspoken moment years ago, except this time, he wouldn't pull away.

"When do we get to do that again?" you gasp, and he laughs too, bright and happy and maybe, finally at some semblance of peace.

"Whenever you want it," Caleb hums, pulling back to kiss the tip of your nose, then your cheekbone, your eyelashes, all the way up to your temple and back down to your lips again.

"Well," you start, grinning as your loop your arms around his neck. He smiles down at you in befuddled admiration, like he couldn't believe you were really here. "You're the birthday boy."

There's a subtle shift in his eyes, suddenly shining with vulnerability when he asks, "But you want it?"

"Oh," you whisper, brushing at the leftover tears that cling to his long lashes. You kiss them when his eyes shut, your nose nuzzling against his.

Dummy, you think fondly. Worried you didn't want any more when you just had the best orgasm of your life, just from dry humping his lap.

When you'd been dreaming of doing this for years. When you would've been happy if all he wanted was just a kiss.

But his post-nut shyness was sweet, even if coupled with that deep-rooted fear that when he closed his eyes, you'd disappear. And your heart was too full of love not to reassure him.

So you banished the shadows that haunted the corners of his mind with another gentle kiss, pressing all your love for him into it.

"Of course I want it, Caleb," you murmur, smiling up at him. "You're all I've ever wanted."

He sighs, his lips meeting yours in another kiss. This one is unhurried, an intimate promise between you.

"Happy birthday, baby," you whisper, and he smiles.

[baby-yongbok]

Partition

Kim Seungmin x afab!Reader

⤷ Smut - dom!Seungmin x sub!Reader [MDNI]

⤷ WC - 1.4k

⤷ CW - public tension, car sex, possessiveness, power play, creampie, unprotected sex, fingering (f.rec)

 Every spotlight has a shadow. You two just happen to fuck in it.

⤷ Partition by Beyonce + This Seungmin from the Chaumet event that lives in my mind rent free... yeah... anyway, enjoy! + reader is depicted as chubby/plus size and is a POC ♡ [i didn't proof read this one bit..haha]

⋆｡‧˚ʚ Masterlist ɞ˚‧｡⋆

The gala ended with a standing ovation. You smiled like you meant it, fingers wrapped around Seungmin’s arm like a perfect, polished accessory. His hand on your waist was steady, his jaw sharp under soft lighting, not a hair out of place.

You’d kissed cheeks, waved politely, complimented outfits you’d mentally berated. You played the part. Both of you did. Seungmin smiles, starts engaging conversations and listening with bright and perfect smiles.

 And maybe that’s what gnaws at you most - how good he is at it. How he can charm the room and still ignore the way your thighs press together under the table. You wanted to ruin that mask, even if just a crack. You wanted to remind him - remind yourself - what happens when the curtain falls.

You can already feel the tension in his fingers where they rest on your waist - just the faintest tremble. Like he’s holding something back. Like if you press even slightly, he’ll crack down the middle and take you with him.

You test the theory.

Under the table - when the cameras weren’t looking - you let your fingers drift up the inside of his thigh, just enough to make his fork freeze mid-cut. Just enough to make him turn his head slowly toward you with a look that promised you’d regret it.

And now?

Now you were in the back of a black car, sealed away from the flashing lights trying to capture the slightest slip up. The city lights flashing across the tinted windows is all that witnesses you now as Seungmin presses the sleek black button next to him. The partition slides up with a smooth click, concealing you.

You left the venue five minutes ago, that’s five minutes of your mask as the prim and proper ‘it’ couple being tucked away, but Seungmin still hasn’t spoken.

Not until you reached for his tie, playful, half-drunk on boldness.

That’s when his hand caught your wrist.

Hard.

"You play too much, you know that?” he says, voice a low growl that sounded like it came from somewhere deep in his chest. “You love starting things that you can never finish.”

You barely have time to process the change in him before he’s tugging you into his lap, dress riding up your thighs, panties soaked and sticking. His hands are rough, not like the Seungmin the world knows - these aren't careful touches. They’re claims.

“Was that the plan? Get me worked up in front of everyone just so I’d lose it the second we were alone?” he mutters, lips brushing your ear as he pulls your hips flush to his. 

“You didn’t lose it,” you breathe.

He chuckles. Dark. Dangerous. “No. But I will.”

He’s quick, your back hits the leather seat with a shift that has him hovering over your buzzing body. He doesn’t undress you - just shoves your dress higher and hooks your panties to the side. The cool air hits your soaked cunt and you keen. That makes him smile. The type of smile that means trouble.

“You’re soaked,” he says, almost amused. “You get off on being watched, baby?”

His fingers slide through your folds like he’d done it a thousand times, precise and merciless. You moan, try to reach for him - he doesn’t like that.

Seungmin grabs your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand, “Look in the mirror.”

“What?”

He nods at the small black mirror above the partition window. “That’s what I see when I look at you. That’s what they’d see, too, if I opened this window.”

You whimper.

“I said look.”

You obey.

And what you see is a version of yourself that only he awakens - makeup smudged, mouth open, thighs spread. Seungmin’s hand teasing where you drip for him while he whispers filth against your skin.

“You think you’re in control when you tease me,” his teeth graze your collarbone. “But look at you now. Dripping all over my hand just because I told you to.” He slips two fingers in, sinking them deep before curling them right where he knows it melts you. 

“Where’s that bold attitude now, baby? Where’d my brave girl go?” He pumps his fingers deep, fast, hitting your sweet spot and then some until your panting, gasping - begging.

“Please,” You don’t even know what you’re asking for.

He pulls his fingers out. You almost sob.

“You want it?” he asked, voice suddenly cool again. “Then earn it.”

He unzips his pants, letting his cock spring free - long, flushed, leaking at the tip. And fuck, the look in his eyes - feral and focused. It makes you ache. He shifts, takes your hand, guiding you to hover over him and sink down without hesitation. You sink down slowly, the stretch making you tremble and whine.

“Fuck, yes,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Just like that, baby. Take it.”

His hands grip your waist, controlling the pace, the depth, you. When you try to speed up, he holds you still. When you try to slow down, he bucks up hard, making you cry out. 

“You feel what I let you,” he pants, his voice broken with heavy breath. “You don’t get to come until I say.”

Your cunt drips, swallowing him whole and clenching with each and every ragged drag of his cock. Seungmin leans forward, his lips press against the exposed skin of your neck messily, it’s all tongue and teeth, nipping and soothing over and over. 

“Is this what you wanted so badly?” his words break with pleasure and you answer with a moan, you’re sure the driver heard you. “Wanted to feel me in your fucking stomach? Fucking that pretty polite smile off your face.”

Your nails sink into his shoulders, holding you steady while your head spins with all he’s giving. Your breath feels thin, your crash building higher and higher low in your stomach until you feel it start to sway. Seungmin notices. 

He snaps his hips up, making sure that you know what this is - punishment, a display of control, his control.

“Please, please,” this time you’re asking for release. Permission to shatter in his arms. “Seungmin, please.”

He pulls back, eyes on your and one of your hands moves up to his neck. One of his hands moves to cup your cheek, steering your lips to his in a kiss too tender for the moment you're wrapped in. 

“Do it.” he mumbles, “I’ll do it with you, cum, baby.”

You tremble around him with a scream muffled against his shoulder, body quaking and cunt fluttering with a gush that’s matched with his flood. He spills into you with a low, guttural groan, burying his face in your neck, hips jerking through it. Then silence.

Only your ragged breaths. Your heartbeat in your ears. And then he feels the car stop, you’re at the next venue, the afterparty.

Seungmin doesn’t speak, just a kiss to your forehead while he pulls out, a gentle squeeze to your hip while he helps you pull your panties into place, keeping his load from leaking, for now.  He straightens your dress and then he fixes himself - silent, controlled, masking slipping back into place, like you hadn’t just ridden him like a madwoman in the back of a moving car.

He adjusts his cuffs. Smooths back his hair. Then wipes your ruined lipstick off with his thumb.

“Smile when we get out,” he says casually. “Don’t let them know you just came all over my cock.”

And with that, the partition slides back down.

Seungmin gives the driver the green light.

And he sounds the part - perfect and composed. As if he hadn’t just ruined you behind the glass.

You step out first, heels steady despite the aftershocks still rippling through your thighs. Seungmin follows, hand on the small of your back like a man who owns everything he touches.

The crowd roars. The lights blind.

You smile like nothing happened.

Like he isn’t still inside you, seeping into the cotton of your panties.

His thumb brushes over your knuckles, slow, deliberate. A warning masked as affection.

No one sees the way his touch lingers, like a silent reminder.

No one hears him murmur under his breath, lips not moving:

“Next time you tease me in public, I won’t wait for the car.”

And just like that, the cameras capture perfection.

Not the mess just beneath.

The perfect couple.

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[notlongtolove]

between the sand and the stardust

burnt toast theory. the butterfly effect. invisible strings. it’s only human nature to try and make sense of the senseless. for all the what-ifs and could-have-beens, the alternate paths and lives you could’ve lived, this is the reality you’re in. you know—effects, theories, strings be damned—that you would’ve found each other.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff

content: reader is up contemplating what life would be like if her and spencer had never met. spencer has a few reassuring things to say about it.

word count: 1.8k

note: inspired by this! spent the entire day nursing the post nye hangover and woke up in a haze to write this. god me whennnn

a line: I’d pray to every god out there, in every language I don’t speak, to find you in every universe where I haven’t found you yet.

If you came to me with a face I have not seen, with a voice I have never heard, I would still know you. Even if centuries separated us, I would still feel you. Somewhere between the sand and the stardust, through every collapse and creation, there is a pulse that echoes of you and I.

- lang leav

The world has a funny way of looking at things. A knack for folding coincidences into neat little narratives that we, its ever-curious observers, insist on unspooling. Burnt toast theory. The butterfly effect. Invisible strings. It’s only human nature, you suppose, to try and make sense of the senseless. Things happen—things that are just things—and yet, we stitch them together into stories, pull meaning from the chaos, weave threads where there might not be any at all. 

It didn’t make sense that you’d been eleven minutes late to the bus that morning, despite sprinting down the stairs with your laces undone. It didn’t make sense that Spencer’s train had broken down that day when the transit service proudly boasted a 92% on-time rate. It didn’t make sense that the last bus had rumbled away two minutes before you arrived, leaving you stranded at the stop with a dark-eyed boy and an easy smile. 

And it certainly didn’t make sense when you, who always preferred to keep your headphones in and your gaze down, had turned to him in pure desperation and said, “Do you want to split a cab?”

Now, 845 days, 21 hours, and 23 minutes later—Spencer keeps count, of course—you lie in bed, his arms wrapped around you with such love you almost can’t remember what it felt like to navigate the world without him.

You think about that morning sometimes. Would it have mattered if you’d woken up on time? If Spencer’s train hadn’t broken down? You would’ve slipped past each other like all strangers are meant to. You could have missed him entirely. The very thought makes your chest tighten.

And then there’s everything that came after. Maybe you’d still be grinding away at that dead-end job if Spencer hadn’t nudged you—no, shoved you—into applying for that writing scholarship. Maybe he wouldn’t taken some time off to go into teaching if he hadn’t seen how much it broke you when he was shot last year, your sobs echoing in the sterile hospital waiting room.

It’s terrifying to think about. How this moment, this minute, your life is just a single dot in a universe of shifting constellations. One singular version of a story that could have unfolded a million other ways.

You shift slightly, feeling the soft brush of Spencer’s breath against your neck. His arm tightens instinctively, pulling you closer, like even in sleep, he’s afraid to let you drift too far.

“What’re you thinking about, baby?” he murmurs.

“Nothing.”

“Liar,” he says softly, and you can hear the smile in his voice. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, a silent reassurance. “Tell me.” 

You shift, rolling onto your side to face him. The room is dim, illuminated only by the faint glow of the streetlight outside, but you can still make out the soft angles of his face, the curve of his lips, the shadow of his lashes against his cheek. His arm lifts briefly, giving you room to move, before settling back on your waist.

“Just...” You sigh, the words heavy as you trace invisible patterns on the blanket. ​​​​“How we met.”

“Mm,” Spencer hums thoughtfully. “Dingy bus stop. Very romantic.”

You huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “No, I mean... imagine if I hadn’t woken up late that morning. Or if you’d been on the train that didn’t break down. Isn’t that scary?”

He shifts slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you fully. “What’s scary, baby?” he asks, his fingers drawing idle patterns on your hip.

You hesitate for a moment, then exhale. “Like… there’s a universe where we never met,” you say, your voice quieter now. “We’d be living our own lives. Separate. Strangers.” The words send a shudder through you. 

Spencer doesn’t answer right away, his gaze steady and thoughtful as he studies you. “That’d be a really sad life,” he says finally. 

You hum in agreement. “Imagine it. Nobody to sort your shelves for you. They’d be an absolute mess.”

“No one to bring you tea in bed every morning. Tragic.”

“No Mugi,” you add, your gaze flicking toward the end of the bed where the cat lies curled in a ball. The mention of his name earns a soft purr from him, a sound of sleepy approval.

“To be fair,” Spencer muses, “there probably would still be a Mugi. He’d just still be at the shelter, waiting for some mediocre parents to find him.”

“Yeah, probably parents who don’t spoil him rotten with treats every time he asks.”

Spencer chuckles, glancing toward the cat. “Let’s be honest, sweetheart. You’re the one who can’t say no to that face.” 

As if on cue, Mugi stretches languidly, front paws extending before he hops off the bed with a dramatic flick of his tail. He pads off into the other room, leaving the two of you alone in the quiet.

“See?” you sigh, your voice softer now. “Everything would be different. No tea. No Mugi. No you.” 

Spencer’s arm tightens around you, pulling you closer until your forehead brushes his. “But things aren’t different,” he says simply.

“I know, I know,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I... I don’t know. It’s so scary Spence. I just—”

“Any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again,” he interrupts, his voice calm and steady. “Know where that’s from sweetheart?” 

You pull back slightly. “The Iliad,” you murmur. 

“Smart girl,” he grins, the dimple in his cheek making an appearance. His hand brushes a stray strand of hair from your face. “It's true,” he agrees. “A lot of things could be different. You could’ve been on time for the bus. My train might not have broken down. We might’ve never crossed paths.” His hand moves from your hair to your face, cupping your cheek. “You could’ve married your high school boyfriend if that asshole hadn’t cheated on you.”

“God, don’t remind me,” you groan, wrinkling your nose.

“And I,” he continues, his voice softening, “could’ve stayed in Vegas, never left, never thought there was anything more for me.”

You look away as you imagine these horribly bleak and sad alternate realities. Sure, it was hell catching your first love in the locker room with another girl but with the certainty you feel for Spencer now, it’s hard to feel anything other than grateful for everything that led you here. You think back to Spencer as a child—alone, hurting, and relentlessly bullied. Your heart twinges with the thought of the pain he’d endured. 

“But I didn’t,” he says, breaking the silence. He takes your hand, his fingers threading through yours as if he understands exactly what you’re thinking. “I’m here. You’re here. And so is Mugi, who is probably tearing apart the couch as we speak.” 

A soft laugh escapes you, though it’s shaky, and you squeeze his hand. Your chest tightens with something that feels an awful lot like gratitude.

“You know,” he says after a pause, his voice softer now, “I thank god every day that my train broke down.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t even believe in god.”

“I don’t,” he admits with a small smile, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “But I’d pray to every god out there, in every language I don’t speak, to find you in every universe where I haven’t found you yet.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. “Spence…” you manage, though his name barely makes it past the lump in your throat. 

“I mean it,” he says again. “I pray that every version of me deserves to know you in every possible world. To have this. I’d find you, no matter how many lives it took. Because finding you was the hard part. But loving you? That’s second nature.”

Your chest aches. It’s a wonderful kind of pain, as if your heart is trying to expand but can’t quite manage it—too happy, too loved.

“I think I’d find you too,” you say softly, the words tumbling out.

“Think?” Spencer repeats, mock affront in his tone. “I pour my heart out, and all I get is a think?”

You giggle as you halfheartedly swat at his chest. “You know what I mean.”

His hand catches yours, holding it over his heart, his fingers warm against yours. Before you can say more, he leans in, pressing a kiss to your lips—deep and unhurried. It lingers, pulling you closer, tinged with love and longing. 

When you finally pull apart, your forehead resting against his, you breathe out, “I love you.”

A soft smile spreads across his face, and he whispers, “I love you too, sweet girl.”

You close your eyes, letting the moment wash over you. “I think what we have… this… it’s more than fate, y’know?”

“Destiny?”

You shake your head, a small smile on your face.

“Oh, I’ve got it. Prophecy,” he teases.

You laugh, light and easy. “No, not that either.”

He quirks an eyebrow, waiting for your explanation.

“It’s like… it’s inevitable,” you say finally, searching for the right words. “You and me. No matter what. No matter where or when. It’s just… always supposed to happen. Even if fate didn’t allow it, even if destiny didn’t write it. I’d find you. I know I would.”

Spencer’s gaze softens. He cups your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the universe—To Spencer, you might as well be. It’s a gaze so tender it makes your chest ache all over again. 

“You’re everything,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. 

“Technically, you have me to thank,” you say playfully. “I asked to share a cab.”

“And how’d you know I wouldn’t have just asked for your number?”

You catch each other's gaze for a moment and burst into laughter.

“Okay, fine,” Spencer concedes with a small smile. “I probably would’ve been a mess trying, but for the record, I really did want to ask.”

“Oh I’m sure, honey,” you tease, shifting closer to him.

“Let’s stop worrying about alternate realities and come back to this one yeah? It’s pretty damn good.”

You know Spencer’s right. For all the what-ifs and could-have-beens, the alternate paths and lives you could’ve lived, this is the reality you’re in. The one where he’s here, and so are you. You know, without a doubt now—effects, theories, strings be damned—that you would’ve found each other. 

It’s a certainty that transcends time and space, a quiet knowing that runs deep in your bones. No matter the paths you might have walked, no matter the lives you could have lived, it doesn’t matter. You share a love that demands to be seen and to be heard—An undeniable, inevitable reality. The best kind of love. 

It’s a love that insists on its own existence. 

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: invisible string by taylor swift (bc how could i not) margaret by lana del rey feat bleachers

[heck-theo]

Okokokokok- ignore how rough and messy some of these redraws/sketches are - but it's apparently also dinosaur month?? (WHY did no one ever tell me it's Jurassic June? I love dinosaurs) And like. What if Rise but dinosaurs?!

I don't often post such loose sketches but I wanted to show these off cause I really like some of this.

Design choices and dino species + the reasons I picked them bellow (looking for potential Donnie dino suggestions):

Clothes: Without the shell they really need clothes. They'd all have pretty much the same pants to keep some unity, except maybe Mikey (I decided they should all have the same pants after I finished the Mikey sketches, not sure if I'll keep the shorts or change to pants). Accessories are a mix of pre and post finale.

Raph - I think would keep it simple and practical but would also wear nice jackets and stuff when in casual situations. I need to work on giving him an alternative outfit and tweak his accessories a bit.

Donnie - An oversized pull-over hoodie cause we already know he loves that shit. We see him wearing it all the time. Easy enough. He wears a comfortable singlet underneath so the straps of his battle sail don't rub. Nice soft fabric, tight fit so it doesn't move around, tucks it into his pants, etc. When he wears the battle sail he won't overheat so he can wear hoodies basically all year round.

Leo - He's in one of those shirts with obnoxiously large arm holes and make it cropped cause 1. I think he would 2. I want it to be different from Raph and Donnie's singlets. He usually wears the shoulder strap off his shoulder but pulls it up when he needs to. He has some of the black bandages over his mid drift atm but I might just make his pants super high waisted in the final version. He'd probably wear a bomber jacket (also cropped?) over the top for cool weather, but doesn't like to hide his feathers.

Mikey - I think he'd mostly wear hand me downs when he's younger. He definitely goes through a stage of rebelling and wanting to pick his own and would find a middle ground of appreciating sharing some of his brother's clothes and modifying them, as long as he has the choice of his own available. Not sure if that would be before or after this design. At the moment he's got Raph's old shorts (from a loooong time ago), Leo's old shirt, and Donnie's old zip up hoodie. He does have his own accessories though, including pins instead of stickers.

Dinosaurs: I kept them all as non-avian dinosaurs, AKA not including animals that are colloquially considered dinos but aren't (like pterosaurs). I wanted to keep an even split of herbivore vs carnivore just so one wasn't the odd one out. I wanted to keep most of their body structure, colours and distinguishing features the same as canon. Obviously I added tails cause, yeah, of course haha. I did want them to be recognisable as different species of dino using distinct characteristics that their species is known for. I did ignore a lot of differences though, like size and bipedal vs quadruped (although the quadrupeds might be more likely to go to all fours, especially when fighting or afraid). Leo and Donnie are carnivores so have sharper teeth and claws.

Raph - Some kind of Ceratopsian (likely Triceratops or something very similar) and he was the first idea I had for this and I'm really happy with it. I think it just suits him. Trike Raph just came to me in an unprecedented moment of genius. His spikey frill replicates his spikey shell. His sturdiness, protectiveness and willingness to kick ass when needed, all scream trike to me.

Donnie - Spinosaurus but looking for other species recommendations. More details below: So I wanted to figure out a way for him to have tech with a similar function to his battle shell (in the sense that it's something that helped him in day to day life) and so I went with spino cause one possible theory about a function of spinosaurus' sail is temperature regulation. So his battle sail has heating/cooling systems as well as other tech. A spino's sail was probably not fragile but the battle sail would also help protect it from being targeted during fights or crushed during extreme impacts. It was also thought to be used for display, and what's more of a display than a battle sail? The only problem I have with this is that it's lacking part of what makes Donnie's battle shell so great, which is that it is essentially a prosthetic. Not quite the same as how prosthetics are used in people of course, just in the sense that it is replicating the functionality of a body part that he doesn't have (I can't think of a better word). Well he does have a shell but it doesn't function in the same way that his brothers shells do, which leaves him with less defense than they have, hence a big reason for the battle shell (I hope I explained this well, it was hard to try and word properly). I can't think of a good way to do this with dinos. I was thinking of a carno or something with tiny arms, then Donnie could have tech enhanced arms but I'm pretty much ignoring body structure in the others so it would be weird to have just Donnie be affected by a difference in limb structure/functionality. I was thinking prosthetic tail but every non avian dinosaur had a pretty substantial tail. Except therizinosaurus but even they hade pretty obvious tails. I'm open to suggestions for this one if anyone has ideas. It does have to be an extinct non-avian dinosaur (anything not in Avialae), preferably carnivore but if someone suggests a really good herbivore or omnivore then I can try and swap Mikey for a carnivore. I want there to be an even split. I also wanted to give him something different on his face, like his brothers, and that could only be a little spino crest and it crowds the top of his head but I can't put it anywhere else...

Leo - A type of Dromaeosaur. I was tossing up between this and a dilophosaur where his red stripes were part of the dilo's crest, cause I wasn't sure about giving him feathers. But dilo Leo was so plain compared to the rest and the crests were hard to get looking right so I went back to raptor Leo. I can definitely imagine him literally and metaphorically preening his feathers too. You can't really see it but he does also have that big raptor claw. Raptors were smart, tactical and worked in packs so I think that suits him. I wasn't specifically referencing how some artists draw Leo's stripes coming off his face (I was just trying to replicate his stripes somehow, even though it doesn't make a huge amount of sense) but I realised afterwards that it kinda looks like that and might have been subconsciously inspired by it.

Mikey - Is an Ankylosaur. I'm pretty happy with the species but I need to work out the design of his armour plating so that it looks interesting, cool and protective but isn't too chunky, too pointy or super lumpy looking. I went with an anky cause Mikey is often hiding in his shell and he can't do the same here but he could curl up in a defensive ball. Plus I could imagine him using his tail club in his razzmatazz fighting style. A little like his kusari-fundo or nunchacku/nunchucks (not sure on proper wording).

[asterafroditis]

Hi, could I request Silver with a platonic know-it-all reader? Like they're blunt and always getting on everybody's nerves by flexing their knowledge on others and nobody really knows why Silver puts up with them, but he's always like "wow, that was really informative :)" whenever they talk and they genuinely enjoy his company. Sorry if this is an odd request!

𐔌 . ⋮ quiet understanding .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Platonic Silver x yapper gn! reader

𓏵 910 words

ᝰ.ᐟ 2nd Person POV, they/them pronouns used, fluff

teehee, I definitely had fun writing this, hope it caters to your request! feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

If there was one thing people knew about you, it was that you knew things. A lot of things. About history, science, magic theory, ancient spell formations—sometimes even completely random trivia that had no relevance to anyone's life. And you made sure people knew that you knew.

"Actually, that's incorrect," you’d interject, arms crossed as you interrupted yet another conversation in the Diasomnia common room. "The proper incantation for that spell dates back to the late Sorcerer's Era, not the early one. If you used that variation, you'd end up setting your own robes on fire."

Sebek groaned loudly, turning on his heel with a scowl. "No one asked for your input!"

"Yeah, but you'd have burned your eyebrows off. You're welcome."

Lilia only chuckled, amused as always, but the rest of the students? Not so much. You had a habit of inserting your knowledge into every discussion, and it wasn’t exactly winning you many friends. Some people saw you as insufferable, others as a walking encyclopedia that never knew when to shut up.

But if there was one person who never seemed annoyed by you, it was Silver.

"That was really informative," he said as he blinked at you, entirely sincere. "I didn’t know that spell variation had such a history."

You smirked, satisfied. "Of course. Most people just assume the modern version is correct, but they don’t consider how—"

"Are you seriously encouraging them, Silver?!" Sebek cut in, looking completely exasperated. "They never stop talking as it is!"

Silver only tilted his head, clearly not understanding why that was an issue. "I think it's nice. They know a lot of useful things."

"Exactly," you agreed smugly, nudging Silver's arm. "At least someone appreciates my genius."

Sebek let out a long-suffering groan and stomped away while you turned back to Silver, pleased as ever.

And that was how it always went. While most people avoided you when you got too deep into an explanation, Silver never brushed you off. He never mocked you, never got irritated—he just listened, nodding along even when your tangents stretched far longer than necessary. He even asked follow-up questions sometimes, which was practically an invitation for you to keep going.

You liked that about him.

One day, as you sat under a tree with Silver during a break, you glanced at him curiously. "You never get tired of me talking your ear off, do you?"

Silver looked thoughtful for a moment before shaking his head. "No. You always have something interesting to say. And I like learning new things."

You blinked. "...Huh."

That was… unexpected. But nice.

A breeze rustled through the trees, and you hesitated before adding, "Most people think I’m just annoying."

Silver closed his eyes, considering your words. Then, with the same calm sincerity he always carried, he said, "They're missing out, then."

You scoffed lightly, rolling your eyes. "Well, obviously." You leaned back against the tree, folding your arms. "I mean, I know things no one else does. If people don’t want to listen, that's their loss."

Silver hummed in agreement, then after a pause, added, "Still, I think it's nice to have someone who enjoys talking. I spend a lot of time in silence."

You thought about that for a moment. Most people probably assumed he was just a quiet guy, but considering how often he drifted off to sleep, maybe he was just too tired to talk much. If that was the case… maybe he liked having someone around who could carry the conversation.

A moment of silence passed between you before Silver spoke again. "You mentioned something about knight traditions earlier," he said, tilting his head slightly. "Can you tell me more about that?"

Your eyes lit up. "Oh, absolutely! Did you know that in ancient knightly orders, squires would have to recite the entire code of chivalry before they could even touch a sword? It wasn’t just about combat—they had to memorize historical texts, strategy guides, even poetry."

Silver’s lips quirked upward slightly. "I see. I think my father would have liked that tradition."

You paused, momentarily caught off guard. "Huh. Yeah, I guess he would’ve. You probably would’ve excelled at it, too."

Silver blinked at you, mildly surprised. "You think so?"

"Of course," you scoffed. "You're basically already a knight. Just missing the fancy title and dramatic cape."

He chuckled softly. "That’s… nice to hear."

You huffed, nudging his shoulder. "Well, don’t get too cocky about it. I still know more history than you."

Silver smiled faintly. "I don’t mind. That just means I can learn more from you."

For once, you found yourself at a loss for words.

It was easy to brush off other people’s irritation toward you, easy to act like you didn’t care whether they appreciated your knowledge or not. But Silver—he listened. He valued what you had to say. And in a world where people were constantly rolling their eyes or sighing in exasperation at you, that meant more than you wanted to admit.

So, with a quiet hum, you settled in beside him, watching the leaves rustle overhead.

"Alright," you said eventually, voice softer than usual. "I’ll tell you about the old knight tournaments next. You’ll like this one."

Silver nodded, his expression relaxed and content. "I’m listening."

And for once, you felt like someone truly was.

[disturbingstar]

Christopher Redfield trivia

• Chris is one of the few smokers in the RE games.

• His parents died in a car crash while he was still a child; his only remaining family is his younger sister Claire.

• In the rejected Resident Evil film script written by George A. Romero in 1998, Chris is a Native American civilian and ultimately one of the few survivors.

• Chris has a long-standing friendship with Barry Burton, who was an old friend of Chris' family.

• Like his sister Claire, Chris also has a jacket with the words “Made in heaven” printed on it. You can also see this jacket by his desk in the S.T.A.R.S. office in RE 2 and 3.

• He has appeared in 8 main Resident Evil games, including the remake of the first game.

• Chris appears to have joined Blue Umbrella after leaving the BSAA.

• In the resident evil remake, Chris is voiced by Joe Whyte, who also voiced Mr. Krabs in SpongeBob SquarePants: SuperSponge

• Chris suffers from alcoholism and post-traumatic stress disorder.

• In Resident Evil 7: Biohazard, Chris’s electrocardiogram from the DLC “Not a Hero” seems to have an abnormal ECG waveform.

• There are theories that Chris uses steroids.

• In the English version of Resident Evil 5 and Resident Evil 6, he is voiced by Roger Craig Smith, who also voiced Sonic the Hedgehog.

• Per his promise to Ethan Winters, Chris became somewhat a surrogate uncle to Rose.

• Chris is often considered attractive, particularly due to his muscular build and tough, action hero appearance.

• His primary relationships are with his sister and his close partner, Jill Valentine.

• He is an experienced fighter pilot.

• Chris’s character has received criticism for inconsistent design throughout the games.

• His relationship is interpreted as romantic by many fans.

• Chris is caucasian, and his last name is of Scottish origin.

• He is 6.1 in height.

• Chris is six years older than his sister.

• After the Mansion Incident, Chris became obsessed with the Umbrella Corporation, seeking information to bring the company down and avenge the deaths of his friends.

• He was a member of the Special Tactics And Rescue Service and served as Alpha Team's point man.

• One of Chris’s most memorable kills is Albert Wesker.

• Barry Burton was the one who recruited Chris for the Special Tactics And Rescue Service after Chris had left the Air Force and began drifting.

• Chris and Jill formed a lethal organisation to combat Umbrella together, the Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance, aka, the BSAA.

• His main appearance in Resident Evil: Village bears a striking resemblance to the late retired actor, Sean Connery, in his final live-action appearance from the 2003 movie, League of Extraordinary Gentlemen.

• Chris Redfield's Fortnite skin description refers to him as a “boulder enthusiast,” referencing the Quick Time event in Resident Evil 5, where he punches a boulder.

[colormehappyy]

On twt someone brought up a Stobotnik Pacific Rim AU and I haven't stopped thinking about a version where they take the place of Newt and Hermann.

Like we know Stone is for sure smart enough and in my head he for sure has at least a masters degree if not his own doctorate, but imagine crazed Robotnik working on both the mathematical equations for the breach ANDDDD working on studying the biological nature of the kaijus like specimen style. Stone assisting him and doing any tasks assigned to him by Rob and they lurk in the lab and when they have to drift Robotnik gets Stone to do it with him because there's no one else he'd trust. Like Stone and Robotnik going together after Hannibal Chau and getting into hijinks when they don't know how to handle a real black market situation... Their dynamic in the lab under that kind of world ending pressure where they still make silly joking schemes about taking over the world in a ridiculous way and stay up ridiculously late working on saving the world together. Robotnik pushing Stone up against the chalkboard and spouting theories, shoving him against the dissection table acting the same level of generally crazy they always do. Stone makes his lattes and everyone keeping track of supplies are wondering where tf does all the coffee go because they keep taking more than assigned. They keep having mishaps with the milk being in the fridge with specimens when Robotnik is going crazy over his experiments. Like the Badniks helping out with research and helping him write out his equations on the giant chalkboard.

I imagine Stone got hired as one of the final two scientists in their department after everywhere else was shut down and he was the only one willing to take the massive pay cut and while he is FOR SURE qualified for the job they took him to meet Robotnik and he immediately went oh so you've just given me an assistant?? excellent i do need someone to keep track of my lattes and specimens and Stone is like yeah im in love with him and happy with this actually.

Even the other characters like imagine Maddie and Tom as one of the pairs piloting a Jaeger and they take on Sonic as their own after he was effected by a kaiju attack like IDK the visions....

[kiirostarz]

I believe someone had already pointed this out, but it fits perfectly with my ongoing theories about Merlin.

In the new character sheet for the new Hypogean, there's a man who immediately caught my attention. At first, I thought he might be Merlin before the amnesia. However, that design—with white hair—has barely been used in the game itself, mostly just in trailers. Plus, we've already seen a version of Merlin "before the amnesia" in Cyran’s character sheet, and his appearance is quite different (brown hair). So, it wouldn’t make much sense for them to be the same person—at least to me.

If they were the same, it would’ve been more consistent to reuse the same design to represent Past Merlin. Why change it now? This discrepancy actually strengthens one of my theories: that there might be multiple Merlins, or rather, multiple versions or stages of him across time and memory.

I also find the “Under Thumb” label quite intriguing. In other character sheets, they’re usually more specific—like mentioning if the person is from the past—but here, it’s just that phrase. It makes me wonder: if this character isn’t the same Merlin, could he still be under someone’s control in the present? This possibility strengthens my theory that Merlin’s connection to the Hypogeans goes deeper than just opposition. (Well, he is the most powerful mage, so I guess it makes sense that everyone would want him on their side somehow. 😅) And of course, it could also be a reference to the myth of the original Merlin.

And a new theory just came to me (right now): in one of the trailers, we see the brown-haired Merlin while Dura says, “It’s time.” What if… there are indeed multiple Merlins? Maybe each time one of them fails or falls into darkness—like literally being controlled by a Hypogean—Dura "awakens" or choose a new Merlin to continue the mission. It might sound a bit far-fetched, but ever since I learned the lore from Echoes of Devastation, I’ve stopped fully trusting the gods in AFK Journey. 😅 Also, the white-haired Merlin seems like someone far more experienced… I honestly think it would be really interesting if the current Merlin could interact with another Merlin.

Well, I feel like I sometimes drift away from my main point, but what I’m really trying to say is that I think they could be two different characters. It just doesn’t make much sense for them to be so inconsistent with a design they’ve been using for so long. As I mentioned earlier, the white-haired version of Merlin mostly appears in trailers, but he hasn’t actually shown up like that in the game itself—until now. So yeah, that’s basically it. 😅💖

[sburbian-sage]

In a few of your recent posts, you've mentioned that you might be out of sync with the replayernet, and honestly, I think you might be.

I know Time is pretty fucked/nonexistant out in the furthest ring, but I got my current session's Seer of Time to look over your posts, and he's estimating with his powers that you started posting around like, seven or so years ago from our perspective? How long has it felt to you?

Regardless, the game seems to have version-drifted really far from where it once was. A ton of your old posts match up with older guides I've read, but not newer ones, and are totally inaccurate to any version of the game that I've ever personally played.

I went back through a bunch of your old stuff, and here's some updates on how they usually work now:

Dream players have that purple and beige color scheme for real now, not "transparent" as you once said (never even heard of that one before).

Void players are (much more likely to be) able to get fraymotifs now, and don't always fuck up text as badly. (varies a lot between different sessions)

"Modded" sessions seem to be much less common, and whatever the "Andern Association" you mentioned in a few posts was, it seems either dissolved, or else is now so secretive that I can't find any info on it anywhere. Meanwhile, ordinary version-drift has seemingly sped up.

Many classpects in general seem to have changed a bit over time, and many have become much rarer, but it's too much to get into all at once.

There's tons of other more recent developments but I gotta go sorry ohgodwhat in my house again fuck ill get back to you soon maybe

I don't believe I ever wrote about an Andern Associations. The one post on my blog that mentions it has a frankly funked-up formatting, I think because it was submitted by someone else (instead of sent via ask) and I failed to delineate how much was my input and how much theirs. But I don't believe I wrote any of that, so it doesn't really constitute evidence that I've undergone version drift. In fact, all accounts of modded game sessions were reports from other people, so it's really not applicable to me at all.

Granted, a lot of goofy stuff does come my way, and I might be a bit too credulous, perhaps in the interest of entertaining hypotheticals because my advice is generally good in principle, even if the specifics are shaky (like that earlier post about those weird titles, the titles might not exist, but my advice for figuring out how they work is sound no matter what). And there could also be lapses in judgement. I'm subsistence farming in the The Furthest Ring, intellectual fugue states are a common worry for me, and I might have accidentally validated the existence of things that, in hindsight, have no way of being real (I officially denounce those Double Aspect or Double Class posts, I don't know why I believed and wrote up hypothetical summaries of bugged titles when the consensus is that Title attribution is never bugged, only the Titles themselves).

But speaking of unreliable askers, the fact that you haven't ever heard of "Dream's color scheme is transparent" is suspect. Not only does purple and beige as a color scheme conflict heavily with their frankly iconic transparent glass constructs, but "Dream player ascends to godhood and wakes up buck-ass naked on Skaia" is a community meme that frankly comes up way too often in discussions of the Dream Aspect.

But that's not the only thing that bugs me. You brought up Version Drift Theory, which is not A Theory The Same Way Gravity Is A Theory, but is instead a highly speculative model of, essentially, the evolution of Genesis Frogs in an attempt to explain not only bugs and glitches, but why some people's sessions are radically different from one another. It's not an authoritative truth, it's an analytical model of sorts that some people find use for, so why are you trying to convince me that Version Drift is real and I've undergone it? Especially when my concern was never that my game version is out of synch, it was that my connection to the ringservers were out of synch. I had a gap in my knowledge concerning Cherubs, because I'm often busy performing upkeep on myself and the ship, and I worried that either my computer, my connection, or maybe my browsing habits were caught lacking, and now someone in my askbox is trying to convince me that I've undergone such severe time dilation in my Ring Journey that all of my writing is now obsolete and worthless and that SBURB is now an unrecognizably different game.

I choose to believe this ask is psychological warfare on the part of a bad faith or not very reliable actor. Not only do your session reports sound wildly out of whack, but you're trying to convince me that I'm the out of touch one? This is Spriteless Behavior, I'm living in your walls, I'm summoning demons and sending them to your dwelling spire, they're going to beat you to death with hammers, I'm going to equip hammerkind so I can do the same, also I'm a mental health risk (Ring Journey) and physically disabled (glasses) and this is a level of gaslighting that probably falls under ableism, etc. etc. I am always right and may the Ohgodwhat destroy your computer such that you never imply otherwise again.

[xia01i]

i know this will probably lead to nothing and really more of spot the difference in these images (really nit-picky really), but it feels odd to say that this lu guang:

is the same lu guang as this one:

or let alone this one in one of the character profiles:

why do i think this? well, it has more with the nit-picking details i picked up from the clothing (the detail on the collar and pocket). for the very first two images of lu guang, he is depicted to having blue and black rectangle or stripe on his collar and one on his pocket, but on it's left side (although the watches are so switched too, so do with that information as you will).

not even cheng xiaoshi's outfit looks the same as it is not buttoned and has the pocket, but i guess it's a little change if you ask me. on the others, there is always a blue rectangle/stripe on the top part of the pocket, with some of the images missing the blue rectangle on the collar without the stripe or everything just missing (although it could just be to simplifying the outfit for animating it). however, for some reason, the vibes between these two lu guang are just not, the same? (if you catch my drift).

lu guang with the blue rectangles/stripes on both the collar and side of the pocket is always looking at the audience (which lu guang in most of these artwork does or looks away from the audience/us), with mostly similar vibes to lu guang in S1 and S2. yet, the lu guang with only the rectangle on his pocket is looking at cheng xiaoshi from below, with such a hopeful or innocent expression.

to me it looks a lot like wishful thinking, which he does a little (or most of the time) in the yingdu/bridon arc as he continues to keep cheng xiaoshi alive (at least). to me, it doesn't come off as the lu guang we've known (or at least developed into); more like his previous version of himself (who has made some mistakes in his own theories of perceiving time or to save cheng xioashi) as he's dived back in time a lot by now.

these little differences can be seen back to back (mostly in a second difference between each frame/scene):

although this could just be animation mistakes/errors in forgetting minor details, it's just so consistent in which details are missing or even the scenes it's missing from. perhaps at the end of this arc, lu guang thinks it was a mistake of bringing cheng xiaoshi to bridon this early instead of 2021 and tries to fix it in his later dives (S1 and S2), or perhaps is one of the dives he has abandoned.

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Chekov’s Dildo

Happy Easter you fellow animals! Here’s a smutfic posted early because I can’t sleep!

It clocks. The shape. Something’s off. You look down between your bodies. You seen him in panties before. But his front now is flat. No hint of an erection.

“Do you remember that little chat we had, oh, around Greengrass last year?” he says.

Their version of the spring equinox. And the day you got that greater phallus. You, naturally, had mused about the orgasmic differences in genitalia, and Astarion had perked up (sweating and flushed and still panting).

You look at his crotch. The way them panties hug his hips.

“Oh,” you say.

His grin turns predatory.

Or: Astarion receives a long-awaited package. And finally gets to use a long-awaited Earthian item.

Preview, the rest is on AO3:

The heat is finally fading when a knock thumps the door. You’re up to your eyeballs in paper and letters—wizards are a pain in the fucking ass. Having Gale and Jaheira’s contacts to back you up on germ theory is helping, but it ain’t a failsafe.

Infusing the little bit of the tech you know with magic is tricky when it comes to crusty-ass losers clucking and huffing around in their pretentions-ass wizard towers.

Bunch of bitches.

“I’ve got it,” Astarion says from somewhere upstairs.

You glance up. It’s late afternoon and the sun shines on the garden patch outside. You’ve got the narrow window over the desk open to catch the light you can.

“You sure?” you say. The door is south-facing, and y’all have put up an awning to keep sunlight from blasting directly through the door (you remember that scene in that vampire comedy show).

In answer, Astarion pads deliberately down the stairs; man is silent most of the time and can and will use that to his advantage.

The door clicks open. Voices drift back to you. You can’t see the door from your desk without getting up, but nobody shouts, and after a moment, the door shuts.

“Who was it?” you say.

“A courier.”

Huh. You don’t think y’all ordered anything recently?

“I’ll take care of it, my love,” Astarion says, thudding (faintly) back upstairs.

Probably one of his book deliveries. That or he’s in the middle of another spat with the newspaper editor again. He’s on his third or fourth pen name, but you’re pretty sure he ain’t actually fooling nobody at this point.

You get back to it. Try to figure out how to translate “That’s what I said, you withered old ballsack” into something resembling business speak. In Chondathan.

At least you can write and read now—though nowhere near the proficiency you’d like just yet.

You lose yourself for a while. Thumb through a dictionary nearby to make sure you ain’t completely off the mark. The light begins to change, turns golden as the sun dips towards the walls of the Gate.

Your lover, being a vampire shithead, is silent. You don’t even know he’s there until fingers brush the side of your neck.

You jump. Nearly spatter ink all over the letter (you have got to touch base with Barcus and his folks to work on ballpoint pens) (without fucking over the Faerunian “quill and inkpot” economy).

But Astarion was courteous enough to wait until you wasn’t actively scratching away, so no harm ultimately done.

“Evening to you, too,” you say.

He only hums. His other hand slides up your shoulder and kneads the muscles at the base of your neck.

“Arguing again?” he says. The hypocrite.

“About to turn up on that fucker’s doorstep and dump a bucket of shit water over his head. See how many apprentices he can spare then.”

“Ooh,” Astarion coos. The cool tip of his nose brushes the back of your neck as his hands slide over your shoulders and smooth along your collarbones. “Sounds like you’re rather worked up, darling.”

You are. But him saying that, in that tone no less, snaps your attention to him. He’s unfortunately nuzzled in so close you can’t twist around to look at him.

His hands glide lower. You ain’t wearing stays. Often do at home for the comfort of not bouncing around, but you only been up a couple of hours and been sitting at the desk most of that time—turns out the living need vitamin D to not fall as easy into a major depressive funk.

“Lemme close these,” you say and try to stand to reach for the curtains.

But he holds you where you are, and his soft lips replace his nose.

“It’s fine,” he says.

The sun’s angle has shifted to the other side of the townhouse and this window won’t be a danger to him until the morning.

But you ain’t wearing stays, so when he reaches your breasts, curl over them and give a squeeze, you sigh into his touch.

“Feeling frisky?” you say, the last word in English.

The wet press of his tongue sweeps up the side of your neck towards your ear. You tilt into it without thinking.

He’s been in a mood recently. Took a job a few days out and came back pissy as fuck. He’ll take those now and then; something about “no one cares about murder as long as you murder the right people.” Which, ethically? But he is a vampire, and you tell yourself it’s like expecting a cat to not kill the shit outta the local wildlife. And you can’t just keep this one as an indoor cat.

But something went wrong during the last job. He hasn’t talked about it yet. Came back uninjured but sulking and he’s been snipey since.

“Astarion?” you say, cause he ain’t answered yet.

His fingers find your nipples through your shirt. Give them a pinch.

“What are you working on?” he says.

Currently? Ruining your smallclothes.

“The recycled water scheme,” you say. Starting in Waterdeep, with all them wizards and shit (and Gale to vouch for you), you’re trying to introduce a modernized water reclamation facility. But instead of chemicals, y’all got ~magic~.

They got a decent system over that way—a series of aqueducts combined with a functional sewer system. The bad part is that sewage tends to get directed straight into the harbor.

“The patriars here are being shits, too,” you say. Gasp as his teeth tug on your earlobe. “Y-you’d think after we saved all their asses, they’d be more willing to take a chance. Stingy fucks.”

He kneads your breasts and you shift in your seat.

“It’s just a little talent poaching,” you say. “City’s got nowhere to go but up. But they’re all ‘Oh no, if you tax me I can’t maintain by second and third estates!’ Like they ain’t all half-collapsed into giant piles of rubble. And if we can show potential wizard apprentices that they can learn what they need here without getting chained to some bullshit wizard indenturehood—”

He mouths at your neck. The tips of his fangs scrape over your skin and you make a sound.

“Mmm, my precious hellion,” he says. “Still trying to save everyone.”

“Just—”

He releases you. Cloth shifts and then he spins the chair around. You only catch a flash of light blue and pale skin before he lifts a leg and his weight settles over your lap.

“Trying to make. Um,” you say. “Things a little. Better…”

His chest is bare. A smooth sweep of naked skin from his chin to his naval, framed in an open robe of sky-blue silk so fine it’s pretty damn see-through. His misty step necklace spills down his chest, and his nipples peek out from the edges of that robe.

But it’s his waist that really catches your attention. The matching, lacy garter belt and panties, both of them embroidered in swirls of gold. And the stockings. Matching blue, clasped up by the belt all the way up his thighs.

“Huh,” you say. “Was that, um. Did the courier drop them off?”

He leans back, gripping the arms of the chair so you can admire him: the way the silk drapes, the way the muscles of his abdomen flex.

“Goodness, no,” he says. “I’ve had this old thing for ages. That sweet man brought me something else.”

A flush stains his cheeks. Sweeps across his chest. He’s been feeding damn regular, and you wonder if he means some kinda like, specialty blood? Cause you know that necklace. And he ain’t wearing much else…

He leans in close. Face to yours. Grinds against you.

And it clocks. The shape. Something’s off. You look down between your bodies. You seen him in panties before—he’s goddamn hot with his cock straining against them. But his front now is flat. No hint of an erection.

“Um?” you say.

He kisses you. Lips soft. Tongue slightly warm as you part your lips immediately to meet him. His hands come up to brush along your ears and bury his fingers in your hair.

He rocks again. The chair creaks under y’all’s weight.

Until he breaks away and lifts up. He’s grinning.

“Do you remember that little chat we had, oh, around Greengrass last year?” he says.

Their version of the spring equinox. And the day you got that greater phallus he (and you) had been excited about. It wasn’t the first time you’d taken him, but it was the first time you could feel it.

You, naturally, had mused about the orgasmic differences in genitalia, and Astarion had perked up (sweating and flushed and still panting).

You look at his crotch. The way them panties hug his hips.

“Oh,” you say.

His grin turns predatory. “How about you take a break from your troubles, my sweet, and join me in a little experimentation of my own, hm?”

“Experiment” is a fun word in Chondathan. It translates directly to a form of “many failures.” You wonder sometimes of it’s meant to be real optimistic, or super pessimistic.

Astarion leans in close again. So that when he speaks, his lips move against yours and his words are more vibration than sound, his breath in your mouth when he says, “I’d like to find out exactly how many times I can come with this.”

Well.

He’s seated on your lap, between you and the desk. You’d pulled your arms back to allow him room, and now you skim your hands to the outside of his stockinged thighs. They’re so smooth and cool.

“Silk?” you say.

“Of course.”

With blue ribbons to tie them to the belt. His robe is softer than a kitten’s sigh.

“You got anything specific in mind?” you say.

His nose traces along your jaw towards your ear, all but forces you to tilt your head back. Allows him access to your neck.

“A few things,” he says. Don’t stop wriggling against you.

Goddamn, them stockings are nice. You could run your hands along them all damn day.

“Because I got some ideas,” you say.

“Oh?”

You wait until he gets curious enough to lift up enough to look at you.

Good god almighty, he’s something to look at. You’re well-used to his pasty pallor by now. All you see is his smooth skin, neck to necklace, the line of his chest and his mildly softened abs (you give yourself a small, victorious fistbump in your head; man put on a bit of softness since becoming his own person again). And all of that leading down to them panties.

They’re lacy things. Probably only for this—they’d start to itch or chafe if he tried to wear them out on an errand or a hunt. And they’re framed by that goddamn delightful garter belt.

You kinda had a thing for women’s lingerie before you met him. There’s just something about the whole stocking setup—clothed but not—that really charged your motor more than being outright naked.

And he knows it. Ain’t the first time he’s worn something like this, but he ain’t never had a cooch before, and it turns out you like using your mouth on him. Like, a lot.

“I wanna use my tongue first,” you say.

His rocking stills. Lust burns in his eyes.

“My my,” he says, voice going a touch rough. “Have you ever done so with this particular anatomy?”

“Nope.” His nails scratch gently along your scalp. Goosebumps sweep down your arms and your nipples tighten. “But I been curious about it. And I know what I like.”

Cause he might be your first sexual partner, but you got hands. And the miracle of modern technology. You ain’t a stranger to a vagina.

He all but curls into your lap. Fingers trace down your cheeks, thumbs sweep up the outsides of your ears. Your entire world shrinks down to the inches of space between y’all.

“I’d be your first,” he says. Man’s got a thing for that, you noticed. Might be a vampire thing (territorial little shit). Might be a him thing, being finally free.

“You would.”

He’s so goddamn well-fed today you watch as his pointy ears flush red. Not even pink, but red.

“I’d like that,” he says. Wraps his arms around your neck and his legs jam down to either side of your hips.

“Let me taste you,” you say, parroting something he told you towards the beginning of y’all being y’all.

He can’t stop the tiny moan. Then his mouth is on yours, needy, all but clicking his teeth against yours and you don’t care.

You slide your hands along his flanks, up under the edge of that robe—god, that’s so fucking nice—to cup his ass and squeeze. He uses that encouragement to grind against you.

“Let’s move to the chaise,” you say. This chair is fine for writing and reading letters, but it’s too hard under your ass and likely to his knees.

He only groans into your mouth. Holds you tighter. Gonna make you do all the work.

Well that’s just fine. “Darlin, let me lay you down so I can spoil you all proper.”

He nuzzles into you. Says, “Gods, you’re perfect.”

[pixel7777]

Threefold Returns - Ch. 1/16

The naughty version of the beautiful artwork commissioned from the incredible misfitlunatic (https://x.com/misfit_lunatik or https://bsky.app/profile/misfitlunatik.bsky.social) can be seen in all its glory here.

Work Summary: Magic has rules. Magic has a mistress. And Gale Dekarios knows something he was never meant to remember.

A year ago Gale made Zelara choose between himself and Astarion; she chose Astarion. A few weeks ago, Gale stopped answering their messages. Zel and Astarion show up in Waterdeep and find Gale being mind-fucked by his former goddess.

What begins as an attempt to untangle the lingering threads of Mystra’s influence over Gale turns into something much bigger—and far more dangerous. The truth lurking beneath the Weave is a secret worth killing for, and Mystra will stop at nothing to keep it buried. But Gale, Astarion, and Zelara have never been good at playing by the rules.

And Astarion and Zelara have never stopped loving Gale.

Canon compliance: I'm playing fast and loose with Mystra and Weave lore here, outright changing it for a main plot point, and I'm not sorry about it. My lore is that Mystra is a horrible person in BG3, and I want her punished. Uh, and some magic stuff definitely goes beyond 5e rules and drifts adjacent to some magical realism. If you're here for some feels and smut and seeing Mystra get destroyed, you're in the right place. If you're here for lore, you're probably not lol.

Work Content Tags: Post-Canon, Polyamory, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, POV Multiple, Threesome - F/M/M, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Humor, Karma Comes for Mystra, Fuck Mystra, Bloodweave+Tav, PIV sex, Oral Sex, Rimming, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex ~64K words.

Work is complete on AO3! Chapters will be posted daily on Tumblr until it's all here too.

Astarion

Moonlight-colored fungi cast a soft glow across Zel's lavender skin as she sprawled beside Astarion, her silver hair spilling across the pillow like liquid metal. He traced idle patterns on her bare shoulder, savoring the warmth of her body against his cool flesh. The lingering pleasure of their coupling hummed through his nerves, making everything feel soft and hazy.

"What if something's happened to him?" Zel's voice broke the comfortable silence. "It's not like Gale to ignore messages for this long."

Astarion pressed a kiss to her temple. "Or perhaps he's simply caught up in some fascinating magical theory and lost track of time. You know how he gets."

"But three weeks?" She shifted to face him, her luminous eyes catching the ethereal light. "That's a long time, even for Gale."

He brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, noting the tension in her jaw. Always trying to fix things, his Zel. Even when there might be nothing to fix.

"Darling, he's not exactly helpless. He did manage to get rid of that pesky orb without blowing himself up." Astarion kept his tone light, though worry gnawed at the edges of his thoughts. "And last we heard, he was settling back into his tower, probably boring everyone in Waterdeep with lectures about magical theory."

"I suppose." Zel nestled closer, pressing her face against his neck. Her breath tickled his skin. "But what if—"

"Tell me three times you are sure there's actually something wrong." He caught her chin, tilting her face up to his. "Not just your brilliant mind spinning hypotheticals."

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. "I hate when you use our thing against me."

"I know." He smirked, drinking in the sight of her—flushed skin, kiss-bruised lips, the mark of his fangs still visible on her throat. Even worried, she was breathtaking. "That's why I do it."

Astarion watched the familiar glint of mischief spark in Zel's eyes. That look always meant trouble.

"We could go check on him," she said, trailing her fingers down his chest. "I've been working on that sunlight resistance potion. The latest batch shows real promise."

He arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Astarion studied Zel's expression, recognizing the determined set of her jaw. Usually, he redirected her experimental urges toward more expendable test subjects. Her genius was undeniable, but her methods tended toward the explosive. He had watched her blow up her laboratory three times in the past month alone.

But this was different. The sunlight resistance potion was personal—something she had been working on just for him. He refused to let her test it on the freed spawn. Those poor bastards had suffered enough, and he wouldn't add to their torment just to spare himself discomfort.

"How promising?" He kept his tone casual, though his pulse would have quickened if he still had one. "The last batch only gave me a rather spectacular rash."

"I adjusted the ratio of my dhampir blood to moonflower essence." Zel's eyes lit up with that dangerous sparkle that meant she was about to launch into technical details. "And the crystallization process—"

He pressed a finger to her lips. "Darling, I love you, but spare me the particulars. Just tell me if you think it might actually work this time."

She nipped his finger. "It might. And Gale could help refine it further. He always had good insights about the magical theory behind the transformative properties."

That was true. Gale and Zel had worked well together in the past, their different approaches to magic complementing each other. The wizard's theoretical knowledge combined with Zel's practical experimentation had produced remarkable results.

Astarion sighed, already knowing he would give in.

"Just think—you could lay in the sun while I scratch your tummy." Her lips curved into a teasing smile. "And Gale always has the best wine."

"I do not need my tummy scratched." He pulled back, affronted. "I'm not some common housecat."

"No?" She propped herself up on an elbow. "You're constantly preening your hair."

"It's called grooming, darling. Some of us care about our appearance."

"And you get unreasonably excited about sunbathing."

"Two centuries without sun will do that to anyone."

"You mark your territory." Zel gestured to the pattern of bite marks she'd let scar rather than heal magically to humor his odd impulses. So her point was valid. But he did not want Zel to get the idea that he approved of her calling him a cat.

"I do not—"

"You literally hissed at that merchant who touched your favorite coat."

"He was being presumptuous."

"You creep around in shadows and pounce on things."

"That's called being a rogue."

"You get bitey when your dignity is offended."

"I most certainly do not—"

"And you really like having your butthole licked."

He snapped his mouth shut, fangs clicking together. The worst part was she wasn't entirely wrong, but he'd be damned if he'd admit it. Especially about that last bit.

"I am feeling rather bitey at the moment," he growled, nipping at her shoulder.

Her delighted laugh echoed through their chamber. "See? Proving my point."

Astarion's smile faded as he watched Zel's eyes drift toward their window. She always got that distant look when thinking about Gale. His chest tightened with an emotion he refused to name.

"Perhaps..." The words caught in his throat. "Perhaps he simply doesn't wish to be found."

Zel's attention snapped back to him. "What do you mean?"

"Moving on. Living his life." Astarion traced the curve of her hip, keeping his touch light. "We can't expect him to orbit around us forever, darling. Even if you—" He paused, forcing the words past centuries of practiced deflection. "Even if you still care for him."

Astarion watched the shadow pass across Zel's face. He knew that look—had seen it countless times when Gale's name came up. The wizard's absence had left a void in her that even Astarion's love couldn't quite fill. Not that she ever complained or showed regret for choosing him. But he noticed. Of course he noticed.

He remembered how it had been, in those early days after the break. Gale, ever the gentleman, had stepped aside gracefully when Zel refused to give up her relationship with Astarion. The wizard had wanted exclusivity—a traditional romance. But Zel loved differently, loved wholly, and wouldn't compromise one heart to please another.

Their parting had been gentle. No harsh words, no bitter accusations. Just quiet acceptance that their paths diverged. Gale had remained their friend, sharing meals and adventures, offering his wisdom and wit. But something had shifted, become careful and awkwardly contained, like a book whose pages could no longer lie flat.

Astarion had watched it all, uncertain how to navigate this peculiar dance. He understood possession, understood jealousy—but Zel treated love like an endless well, drawing deep without depleting. Her heart expanded to hold them both, even if Gale couldn't accept the arrangement she offered.

Now, seeing that familiar shadow in her eyes, Astarion felt the old uncertainty stir. He never questioned Zel's love for him—she proved it daily in a thousand small ways. But he wondered, sometimes, if she would have chosen differently if he had been the one to demand she choose.

"I didn't mean to suggest we abandon him," Astarion added softly, brushing his thumb across her cheek. "Only that we should be prepared if he's chosen to move forward without us."

"I want to go see him." Zel caught his hand, pressing it flat against her skin.

"Zel—"

"I want to go see him." Her voice grew firmer.

"And if he turns us away?"

"I want to go see him." The third time held the weight of certainty.

Astarion closed his eyes, fighting twin impulses—to protect her from potential rejection, and to shield himself from facing desires he had buried since their earliest days together. The thought of seeing Gale again stirred something dangerous in his chest. Something that whispered of missed chances and lingering looks.

But more than that, Gale's silence felt wrong. The wizard had never been one to simply vanish, even after their paths diverged. And if something was truly amiss...

"Fine." He opened his eyes, meeting her determined gaze. "But only because you promised belly scratches in the sun. And because..." He hesitated, then admitted, "Because I don't actually believe he's just busy with research."

"You're worried about him too."

It wasn't a question, but he answered anyway. "Perhaps a bit. Don't let it go to your head."

Astarion rolled Zel onto her back, straddling her hips. "If you're going to insist on comparing me to a feline, darling, then I insist on being treated like one." His eyes gleamed with a mix of mischief and a desire to lighten the moment for Zel's sake.

Zel's laughter was low and throaty. "Is that so?" Her hands slid up his thighs.

"Mmm." He leaned down, brushing his lips against hers. "And I expect you to be thorough."

"Wouldn't dream of doing it any other way." She nipped at his lower lip before pushing him gently onto his back. Astarion went willingly.

Zel moved down his body, her breath hot against his cool flesh. "So, my little kitty," she murmured, her voice laced with teasing affection, "where do you want me to start?"

Astarion stretched languidly, a smirk playing on his lips. "Well, if you're going to groom me properly..." He shifted, spreading his knees and angling his hips before meeting her appreciative gaze with a raised eyebrow.

"Demanding little thing, aren't you?" She laughed softly, her hands spreading him open. Her fingers caressed him in a way that was both gentle and possessive.

Astarion let out a soft moan as her head dipped down and her tongue found its mark. The warmth and wetness sent shivers down his spine. "Gods, Zel..."

"Mmm?" She hummed against him, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure through his body.

Astarion's eyes fluttered closed as Zel's tongue traced delicate circles around his rim. Every nerve ending sparked with pleasure, his body relaxing into the sensation. She took her time, exploring every inch of him with a thoroughness that left him breathing deeply through the pleasure.

His breath hitched when she finally pressed her tongue inside him, the invasion slow and deliberate. His body responded immediately, the muscles clenching around her, drawing her deeper. She hummed in appreciation, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through him.

"You know," she murmured, pulling back, "I love how your body just sucks me in. It's like you're trying to devour me."

Astarion laughed, the sound a mix of amusement and frustration. "Zel, darling, I do believe that's the point." He shifted, trying to chase the sensation she'd withdrawn. "And I must object to you stopping."

She grinned, sitting back on her heels. "Patience, kitty. I'm just getting started."

He watched as she turned to her nearby rack filled with small bottles and vials. Each one was labeled neatly in her precise handwriting—a collection of oils and ointments she'd concocted specifically for their use. He'd been adamant about not letting her test her more experimental creations on him in bed, but her lubricants were exquisite.

Astarion propped himself up on his elbows, watching as she selected a bottle. "The lavender one," he suggested, knowing it was his favorite. The scent was subtle, the texture smooth and long-lasting.

Zel glanced at him, a smirk playing on her lips. "Demanding and specific. Someone's eager."

"Always, when it comes to you." He let his gaze roam over her body, appreciating the curves and lines he knew so well. The sight of her, the anticipation of what was to come, sent a thrill through him.  He watched her move with that familiar grace, his chest tight with affection. Everything about her touch was generous and gentle, from the way her fingers skimmed his skin to how she anticipated his desires before he voiced them.

What made it precious - what made him absolutely melt for her - was knowing there wasn't a trace of pity in her tenderness. She didn't tiptoe around his past trauma or treat him like some fragile, broken thing that needed coddling. No, her gentleness came purely from learning what brought him pleasure and delighting in providing it. She touched him softly because she knew he loved it, because it made him shiver and sigh, and because his enjoyment was reward enough for her. That understanding, that pure acceptance of who and what he was, made him adore her all the more.

She uncapped the bottle, pouring a generous amount onto her fingers. The scent of lavender filled the air, soothing and arousing at the same time. He hummed in approval, spreading his legs wider in invitation.

"Now," he murmured, his voice low and steady, "where were we?"

She coated her fingers carefully and then they took the place of her mouth, circling, teasing, knowing exactly what he liked.

Zel indulged her own impulses, her teeth grazing his inner thigh. The slight sting made him hiss, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he watched, entranced, as she lapped at the small wound, her tongue collecting the beads of blood. The sight sent a shiver down his spine—a mix of arousal and something deeper, something uniquely theirs.

Their natures, dhampir and vampire, were an odd fit. Her body warm and alive, his cool and eternally still. Somehow, they complemented each other perfectly. Her blood was his sustenance in a way his ichor could never be for her, but they had been pleased to find that small amounts had interesting effects beyond feeding her bitey blood kink.

Zel pulled back slightly, her breath hot against his sensitive flesh. "You taste incredible," she murmured, her voice thick with desire. "Like cool night air and something uniquely you."

Astarion chuckled, the sound breathless. "I do believe that's the oddest compliment I've ever received."

She grinned, her teeth flashing in the dim light. "Well, you are rather odd." She slipped the first finger inside, making him shiver. "And I wouldn't have you any other way."

He laughed, the sound turning into a moan as she slowly worked deeper inside him. His body opened for her easily, the warm slickness of the oil she'd used earlier easing her way. She took her time, her finger moving in slow, deliberate strokes, her tongue mirroring the motion against his thigh and sometimes teasingly back at his rim.

Astarion's eyes fluttered closed, his body melting into the sensation. The warmth of her touch, the slick heat of her mouth, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat—it was all so overwhelmingly perfect. He felt cherished, adored. And in that moment, he knew he was home. Not a place, but a feeling. A sense of belonging that transcended their peculiar natures and bound them together.

He reached down, tangling his fingers in her hair, gently guiding her mouth to where he needed her most.

Zel chuckled, the sound vibrating against his sensitive flesh. She added a finger and picked up the pace inside of him while she took the head of his cock into her mouth. She knew every spot, every trick to make him come undone.

Astarion's breath hitched as she hit just the right angle, her fingers curling inside him. "Zel... gods, yes..."

"Like that, do you?" Her voice was a purr, low and satisfied, as she kissed up and down his shaft.

"You know I do." He arched his back, pressing against her, chasing the sensation. His cock was hard again, dripping, desperate for more.

Zel's free hand wrapped around him, her grip firm and sure. She stroked him in time with her mouth and fingers, leaving him gasping for air he didn't need but somehow felt desperate for.

"You're... ah... you're enjoying this..." He panted, his body tensing.

"Mmm-hmm." She hummed again, the sound sending another wave of pleasure crashing through him. "I love making you happy, Astarion. And I love getting my way."

He laughed, the sound breathless and broken. "You always get your way, darling."

"Damn right I do." She pulled back, her eyes shining with mischief and love. Her fingers never stopped moving, beckoning him slowly and surely toward his edge.

Astarion reached down, pulling her up to kiss her deeply. He could taste himself on her lips, a mix of sweet and salty that was uniquely them and a hint of the lavender oil at the corners of her mouth. "I love you."

"I love you too, Astarion." She smiled against his mouth, one hand still wrapped around him, her fingers still moving inside him. "And soon, we'll go see our friend. But for now..." She kissed him again, gentle and loving.

Astarion's breath hitched as Zel's gentle touch unraveled him. It was her tenderness that undid him as much as her skill. His body tensed, balls drawing up tight, and she pressed harder against that spot inside him, her mouth pulling away from his just in time to indulge this other kink of his. He came undone, his vision whiting out with pleasure as he painted her breasts with his release.

Zel's soft hum of appreciation brought him back to himself, his eyes fluttering open to see her admiring the mess he'd made as she eased her fingers out of his hole. She leaned down, her tongue tracing circles around his nipples, sending little jolts of pleasure through him. His body shivered, oversensitive and spent, but her touch was gentle, coaxing aftershocks from his nerves.

"Look at you," she murmured, her voice warm with affection. "So beautiful." Her fingers traced the edge of his hole, slick with oil. She didn't clean him with magic, instead choosing to lap at his skin, her tongue darting out and dipping in, her own unique take on aftercare.

Astarion's cheeks flushed, a mix of strange possession and arousal heating his cool skin. He loved this—the way she praised him, the way she took her time to clean him intimately. Her tongue licked deeper inside him, cleaning away the remnants of oil, sending the last few ripples of pleasure through his oversensitive flesh.

Zel pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting his. "You taste so good, Astarion. I could do this all day." Her voice was a low purr, vibrating against his skin.

Astarion's lips curved into a soft smile, his body relaxing under her touch. "You're insatiable, darling."

"Only for you." She pressed a gentle kiss to his inner thigh, her fingers still tracing delicate patterns on his skin where her nips had already healed. "And I think you like it."

"Mmm." He stretched languidly, his body humming with contentment. "I think you've made your point."

Astarion's eyes fluttered closed, a soft sigh escaping his lips. He let himself sink into the sensation, into the warmth of her touch and the gentleness of her care. This was what he loved—the way she made him feel cherished, the way she took her time to draw out every last bit of pleasure.

"Zel..." Her name was a soft whisper on his lips, a plea and a praise all rolled into one.

She looked up at him, her eyes shining with love. "Yes, Astarion?"

"I... Just..." He hesitated, the words catching in his throat. "Thank you."

Her smile softened, her hand reaching up to cup his cheek. "You're welcome, my love. Always."

[reidsbookclub]

Foolish one – Spencer’s Version

To read y/n’s version click here

She was walking out of Hotch’s office the first time I saw her, my eyes directly focusing on her kind smile. What would it feel like to have a smile from her given to me? I was so focused on her I did not see Anderson walk in to the BAU kitchen, bumped into him and spilled my coffee on myself. This was not happening, clumsy Dr. Reid making an appearance today when she’s here why? Why must I always be the nerdy, lanky, clumsy genius that no girl ever likes.

As I scrambled to wipe the coffee from my shirt, I heard a soft chuckle from behind me. My heart rate picked up, and I knew who it was before even turning around.

"Are you okay?" Her voice was soft, laced with amusement but also genuine concern.

I turned, my face burning in embarrassment. Y/N stood there, her kind eyes sparkling in the fluorescent light of the BAU. Her hands were tucked into the sleeves of her sweater, giving her an endearing air of shyness, but her expression was open and warm.

"Uh, yeah. I'm fine. Totally fine. Just... coffee and I are usually best friends but we are have a complicated relationship at the moment," I stammered, my words running together. My cheeks burned even more, and I could only hope she wouldn’t notice. Who was I kidding? She definitely noticed. She seemed to notice everything, with those observant eyes and that patient smile.

"Well, maybe coffee isn't the best for you right now," she teased gently, her eyes drifting to my stained shirt before meeting mine again. I was stunned for a moment, caught in the ease of our brief exchange.

I wanted to say something witty, something that would make her smile like that again—at me this time, not just at my misfortune. But instead, I could only manage an awkward laugh. The kind of laugh that would play over and over in my head later, keeping me awake.

"You know, if you need help getting that stain out, I have some tips," she added, nodding towards my shirt.

"Thanks, but I think it’s a lost cause. Kind of like me," I muttered the last part, hoping she didn’t hear. But of course, she did. Because why wouldn’t she?

Her brow furrowed slightly. "Lost cause? I don’t think so, Spencer."

She said my name so easily, and I couldn’t help but marvel at how perfectly it fit coming from her. It was in that moment, hearing her say my name like that—like I was someone worth knowing—that I realized how far gone I really was.

"I mean, it’s just a coffee stain," she continued, but there was something more in her tone, something that felt like reassurance. Something that made me feel like maybe—just maybe—I wasn’t invisible to her.

But that was foolish thinking. A girl like her? She was out of my league in every possible way. She was confident, kind, and effortlessly charming. Me? I was the nerdy genius who spent more time with books than people.

I watched her walk away, heading back to her desk, but not without throwing me another small smile over her shoulder. My heart leapt, despite myself.

You are not the exception. You will never learn your lesson...

And I knew it. I knew she couldn’t possibly see me the way I saw her. But every time she smiled at me, I let hope creep in. Every kind word, every glance—it all made me hold on, even when I knew I shouldn’t.

Because maybe someday, she'd see me the way I saw her.

Tagging some friends I know are still active because idk who still is from my taglist

@samuel-de-champagne-problems

@boldlyvoid

@reidsaurora

@thedancingcostumeyoungadult

@reid-ingandweeping

@foxy-eva

@writer-in-theory

@milla984

@sadgirlml

[chevelleneech]

The whole AYS show seems like Jimin is trying to make things go back to how they were in the past with Jungkook (i.e., in 2020/21), and Jungkook is just going along with it for the sake of it and trying to enjoy it. Now, either they are holding back in these episodes or something, but there, I cannot see even the slightest bit of affection, which can be classified as romantic or maybe romantic in any sense. They just seem like 2 bros (not in a homophobic way, but in a bestfriends for a decade goofing around way) hanging out. He is enjoying it for sure, Jungkook I mean, but he is definitely not the one putting a lot of thought, or some actual good conversation during trips, its like going through motions because someone invited you. Its mostly jimin trying to make the atmosphere feel good.

Also, another unpopular opinion is that they, in Sapporo episodes, just feel sadder? anxious? or, um, discontent (most probably because of the military), but it probably would have been better if they went to Sapporo without cameras again.

I disagree. Your opinion is yours, but I think they appear to be having fun, and ignoring how much Jungkook is laughing and literally saying out his own mouth that he’s happy, makes no sense.

Is it possible Jimin is trying to rekindle something? Yes? But we don’t know that. They haven’t talked about anything of the sort, so I don’t see the point in letting that color your view of the show. I’ve said it before and will say it again, it’s fine to have your theories and such, but you can’t slap them on what we’re being shown and decide that’s what it is.

Yes, I think they’re dating so my opinions on how they act are biased in that regard, but I am also able to watch the show as it is. Dating or not, Jimin and Jungkook both have been happy in each episode we’ve seen them spending time together in. The very first one is the only one where, imo, we saw hesitancy or nerves more like, but they also gave an explanation for why. They hadn’t seen each other, JK was working, and Jimin planned it yet wasn’t sure it was a good idea.

That latter bit alone insinuates to me that they had something deeper prior to hiatus, and were nervous about being together again in a serious one on one type of trip, but by the end of Connecticut they seemed fine. Constantly pulling on the “JK seems to be going along for the ride” thing is again, very Tkkr minded. Jimin planned it and JK said yes, so yes, technically he went along with it. However, Jungkook said himself by the end, he wanted to keep doing it. Jungkook said himself, he wanted to go back to Tokyo/Japan in general with Jimin, because they had such a good time the first time (GCFT).

I get it, you guys want a reason to explain away emotions of theirs you don’t understand, but what’s the point? They are telling us they’re happy. They’re telling us they’re having fun. They’re telling us the memories they’re making together will be what they think back on once enlisted. You’re digging for reasons to claim they’re not being truthful, and that’s why a different version of the show is forming in your head.

I’d also like to state a strong opinion here, that plenty of people hate to see discussed: Jungkook’s personality has always been “disinterested”, and it is likely because he’s neurodiverse. Solos of other members, and JM and Jikook antis alike have been saying the same thing over and over for years about how he acts rude, drifts off, is selfish, overly competitive, etc., as a reason for why they think he dislikes Jimin, dislikes this or that member, is actually in love with Tae, and so on.

Jungkook has even said these things about his personality, and it’s been co-signed by the other members. So while it’s possible he’s never been checked for anything, the truth is whether he knows or not, the parts of his personality you all keep harping on as proof of him “going through the motions,” are common amongst people with autism and ADHD. It’s why fans with them have said for years he reminds them of themselves or people they know. It’s why I say it.

I’m not diagnosing him, but he does share traits, and it isn’t new. Jungkook has always had moments of appearing standoffish and unbothered, yet when he talks about things he did during those same moments, he recounts them with positive words and smiles. Not only that, but every person who has ever had anything to say about JK, has used positive words to discuss him. They say he’s quiet and shy, then proceed to talk about how kind and present he is, meaning when JK is doing things he considers work, he dials in. He puts in effort to always be present and in the moment. Which he and the others had also already told us he does. Jungkook has to put in effort and be very interested in something to get it done. When he’s not working, he has trouble focusing on things that don’t hold his attention fully.

So it is impossible to decide he’s not having a good time with Jimin, just because the same personality he’s has over all these years, remains his personality. You guys just keep ignoring the fact that he has told us it takes effort for him to focus on things. It’s either that or you guys choose to use it against one specific person, which is Jimin.

You like to believe his lack of overt excitement and interest is because he doesn’t want to be with Jimin, when he is telling us that isn’t true. Jeju showed us a lot as well, of how completely blind almost, the members are to JK’s personality, and various other travel shows of theirs have told us the same. They don’t blink twice at his ticks and stims, they don’t really scold him for his dry and blunt reactions and responses, and they laugh off his competitiveness.

Jungkook, and I say this kindly, appears to be a lot to handle. He has a very polar opposite type of personality. When he’s dialed in, it’s difficult to get him to take breaks, to stop criticizing himself. When he’s playing games, he gets really into them and is loud and has a desire to be the winner. When he’s in a quieter mood, he seems to not speak at all and zones out, and wants to be left alone. That is a lot to adjust to, because from all we’ve seen, it doesn’t seem to happen once in a blue moon. It’s a day to day thing, if not hour to hour.

I even recall a time back in 2020 I believe, where it was talked about Jungkook was overstimulated by something during a rehearsal, to the point where he couldn’t participate in their dress rehearsal. He had to keep on the same clothes he’d been wearing and sweating in all day. I don’t remember which stage it was, or else I’d be more specific, but yeah.

Point is, I think the members know who he is, and I think JK has shown us who he is plenty. The members have also shown us who they are, and it seems they all have taken time to learn how to best support each other and their needs, whatever they may be. And speaking specifically of AYS, I simply do not think Jimin would bother rekindling old times if he knew Jungkook truly wasn’t wanting to do it. He’s known him for too long to push his boundaries that way, knowing it would be easily seen in camera how disinterested he’d be. Nor do I think JK would have planned Sapporo if he didn’t really want to do it.

Again, even if we ignore him possibly being neurodivergent, his personality remains what it is, and the members know him. So why force him into something, knowing he’d have to accommodate or makeup for JK’s lack of interest? It doesn’t make sense to me.

Now, I know I got a tad off topic and long winded, but I feel like what was said was necessary. Jungkook isn’t acting any different to how we know him to act, and he is repeatedly voicing his joy as he spends time with Jimin. Ignoring the literal words coming out of his mouth in favor of deciding he is feeling something else, and then taking that something else as reality… that’s on you.