#This has to be the same guy. It has to be

[asynca]

Like I know we flee here from the smouldering ruin of our civilisation at the moment but I as a mid-40s year old need you guys to know

Netanyahu has been saying Iran is close to nuclear weapons for 30 years

He has wanted a war with Iran that whole time

The "they have nuclear weapons" was the reason the allied west invaded and flattened Iraq in 2003 and it also turned out to be a lie

Tulsi Gubbard who is the head of US Intelligence signed a statement less than two weeks ago confirming it is America's belief that Iran is not currently pursuing nuclear weapons

Talks between the US and Irani delegation were expected to take place on Sunday, and the Irani lead negotiator was interviewed as saying he felt positively about the possibility of a new deal

Netanyahu bombed Iran and killed that exact negotiator on Friday.

There is heaps of footage of Netanyahu claiming Iraq had WMD/nukes, he was a lead proponent of the war on Iraq.

History is fucking repeating and it is MADDENING. I was at protests against the Iraqi invasion in 2002/2003. We all knew there were no nukes. US and Israel wanted regime change in Iraq anyway so they could install puppets and that's exactly what they're doing in Iran.

People will study this period in history and go, "WHY DID NO ONE STOP NETANYAHU AND ISRAEL IN GAZA, IRAN AND THE WIDER MIDDLE EAST? WHY DID THE MEDIA NOT COMMENT ON THE FACT ISRAEL HAS NUKES AND HASN'T SIGNED A TREATY BUT IS CLAIMING TO BE UPSET ABOUT A FICTIONAL SITUATION WHERE OTHER COUNTRIES ARE APPARENTLY DOING THE SAME?"

[spicy-apple-pie]

Happy Father’s Day here’s a little thought for you guys

One year, the batkids all decided to band together and make a photo album of their baby photos.

Some are easy. Duke has the easiest access because most of his parent’s possessions are accounted for in Gotham. It’s pretty easy to make copies of the ones they choose. The Thomas’s had a lot of pictures too. They have the classic first birthday where Duke is covered head to toe in blue icing from his Cookie Monster cake. They also have Duke screaming in Mall Santa’s arms followed by a picture of him with red wet cheeks gnawing on a candy cane.

Same with Tim, tho there’s not a lot in comparison. Not that his parents were absent, just that there’s a lot less candid ones. Just birthdays and studio photos kinda deal. There’s an especially cute photo of him in a teeny tiny tux.

Talia has a whole binder full of Damian’s baby pics including some art works he did and his baby teeth. Those she’s not willing to part with tho. There’s a cute one where he’s doing a finger painting and Talia captioned it “Damian exploring Abstract Expressionism” and frames the outcome beside the picture.

Cassandra’s are a little harder to track down, but there are a few. They are mostly taken to track her progress, and it’s a bit depressing to see chubby baby Cass who just learned to walk already learning martial arts. But there’s a few where she’s doing puzzles and that’s pretty cute.

Dick had to go to Haly’s Circus to look. Luckily they keep a little memorial wall for the Graysons and there’s some with Dick in them. There’s one where his mother his holding him while he’s dangling from a trapeze bar with a big gummy smile.

Jason’s is the hardest to find. But he manages to track down a preschool photo. He’s smiling big and awkwardly with his hair slicked down and a tidy polo shirt.

When Bruce opens it, he immediately get tears in his eyes. And like, he doesn’t cry a lot, but seeing his babies as babies. It just hits him like monster truck and a few tears drop but he never sobs or anything. It’s probably the best Father’s Day gift Bruce has ever gotten and it’s really hard to beat the following years

[mcmansionhell]

McMansion Hell urges all New Yorkers to Rank Zohran Mamdani #1 for Mayor of NYC

I know I am just a blog about ugly houses but I want to say something important here: the ruling class in this country does not want you to have affordable housing. They don't want you to have clean, reliable public transportation. They don't want you to have access to groceries you can afford. If something bad happens to you, they don't care if you live or die. If you lose your home, they will hole up in their penthouses, McMansions, and mommy-bought apartments and tell you it's your fault -- but it's not. It is theirs. Everything from budget cuts to rent hikes, is their fault, their way of ensuring that the city becomes a place made up solely of people like themselves.

Zohran Mamdani is the only high profile candidate I've seen in my narrow, millennial lifetime running for any position -- least of all the mayor of the biggest city in the country -- on a platform of decommodification in terms of access to food, housing and transportation. City-run grocery stores would ensure that food stays affordable because there is no profit motive. While some are critical of his policy of fare-free transportation (as opposed to spending the same amount of money improving services), given the amount of policing involved in watching the fareboxes, it's something I'm coming more and more around to.

In demanding a rent freeze, Zohran is one of the only politicians able to articulate a direct plan for keeping people in their homes at a time when rent is skyrocketing with no end in sight. Zohran is one of a limited few in this miserable, cowardly country who are willing to speak out for the rights of Palestinians being murdered en masse by Israel. A vote for Zohran is a vote for the idea that better things are possible and, if you ask me, I think we live in such dire times that we've begun to forget this fundamental truth: things do not have to be like this. We do not have to live under the jackboot of privatization and exploitation forever. That choice, however, is up to us.

I am forever skeptical of the power of the ballot box to enact lasting change, especially in recent years. In fact, I am the most skeptical of electoralism I have ever been. However, why is it that the right can use what little sovereignty and enfranchisement is available to us to enact sweeping, if devastating changes, and yet, when the opportunity presents itself to the left, all we hear is that such things are no better than pissing in the wind? The answer to this question, of course, is that the ruling class is perfectly content with a party that hinders rather than ushers in change. Zohran may be using the sclerotic party system we've been doomed to inhabit, but despite these limitations his candidacy has surged immensely in the last few months, and the momentum of the people is on his side. This may be one of the last chances wherein one can attempt a truly progressive campaign like this.

Now that things are heating up, the ruling class, the backers of Andrew Cuomo, an abuser of women and a man responsible for the untold deaths of the elderly because he valued profits over their lives so early on in the pandemic, will stop at nothing to make sure that Zohran Mamdani does not win, that things stay the same. That the rent goes up, that the grocery prices continue to explode, that New York City becomes the playground of the rich and famous at the expense of everyone else. The party will try to intervene in undemocratic ways just like they did with Bernie Sanders in the 2020 primary. There will be untold lies and accusations, the press will abandon what few journalistic obligations they still abide by, and it will get ugly. There are even rumors that Cuomo will run as an independent even if he loses the primary, which, to be honest, isn't a bad tactic -- he's just the worst guy to be using it.

I realize this post may be annoying to some (hell, I myself live in Chicago), and I'm sure there's some rightful criticism for my not having used my blog like this before. (However, for those of you who don't know, I usually write about all manner of politics in my column at The Nation!) That being said, if you follow me and you live in New York City, rank Zohran #1 and Brad Lander #2. DO NOT RANK SUBURBANITE BIKE LANE-PARKER ANDREW CUOMO.

Anyway, that's all. I'll be back with a new McMansion Hell this Friday, so stay tuned.

[cr4yolaas]

my new big pet peeve is ppl writing nanami like a bland, formal old man. like no he isn’t exactly cheery but he isn’t super monotone either imo. i don’t think he’d bother excessively w the whole elegant or “floral” speech, nor do i think he’d be slower when it comes to things like gen z-esque convo or online trends. do i think he cares less abt these things and employs them less in regular convos?? yeah. do i think he IS gentlemanly and romantic to an extent?? absolutely. but i’m soo tired of the same “Darling, I’ve prepared you XYZ. Please be so kind as to…” script. don’t reduce my man to this </3

[rikiws]

I don't have enough insurance to cover this heartbreak gang

pairing: scientist!sunghoon x scientist! reader

wc:10.5k

released date: 05.17.2025

warning: PURE FICTION!!

synopsis: In the quiet of her lab, Dr. Y/N, a skilled scientist, sets out on a risky mission to bring back her late fiancé, Park Sunghoon, who died in a car accident. Using his preserved DNA, she creates a clone that grows rapidly in just two years. When Sunghoon wakes up, he faces the difficult reality of being brought back to life and the moral issues surrounding Y/N's actions.

a/n: ITS HERE!! Hope you guys will love it as much as I did writing it! feedbacks,likes and reblogs are highly appreciated!

In the cold glow of my underground biotech lab, silence is sacred. Down here, beneath layers of steel and earth, the world doesn’t exist. No grief. No time. Just me. Just him.

The capsule glows in the center of the room—a vertical womb of steel and glass, pulsing faintly with blue light. Suspended inside, wrapped in strands of bio-filaments and artificial amniotic fluid, is the reason I wake up in the morning. Or stay awake. I don’t know the difference anymore.

Park Sunghoon.

Or… what’s left of him.

One year ago, he died on his way to our civil wedding. A drunk driver. A rainy street. A second too late. I got the call before I even zipped up my dress. I still remember the way my coffee spilled all over the lab floor when my knees gave out. I never cleaned it. It’s still there, dried in the corner. A fossil of the moment my world cracked open.

⸻

He used to say I was too curious for my own good.

That I’d poke the universe too hard one day and it would poke back.

Maybe this is what he meant.

⸻

Sunghoon and I were both scientists—biotech researchers. We studied regenerative cloning, theorized about neural echo imprinting, debated ethics like it was foreplay.

He was against replicas. Always. “A copy isn’t a soul,” he’d say. “It’s just noise pretending to be music.”

But the day he died, I stopped caring about music.

I just wanted to hear his voice again.

⸻

I had everything I needed. A sample of his bone DNA—collected after a minor lab accident years ago and stored under a pseudonym. His blood type, genome map, neural scan from our first brain-simulation trial. A perfect match, all buried in our old hard drives. He never knew I kept them. Maybe he would’ve hated me for it.

Maybe I don’t care.

I called it Project ECHO.

Because that’s what he was now.

An echo. A ripple in the void.

⸻

The first version—ECHO-1—was a failure.

He looked like Sunghoon. But he never woke up. I ran every test. Monitored every vital. Adjusted nutrient cycles, protein growth, heartbeat regulators. But something in him was missing—something I couldn’t code into cells.

A soul, maybe. Or timing.

He died the second I tried to bring him out.

I cremated and buried that version in the garden, under the cherry tree he planted the first spring we moved in. I didn’t cry at the funeral. I just stood there holding the urn and whispered, “I’ll get it right next time.”

⸻

ECHO-2 was different.

I restructured the genome to prevent cellular decay. Added telomere stabilizers to delay aging. Enhanced his immune system. This time, I built him stronger. Healthier. The version of Sunghoon that would’ve never gotten sick that winter in Sapporo, or fainted in the elevator that one night after forgetting to eat. That version who could live longer. With me.

But the rest—I left untouched.

His smile. His hands. The faint mole scattered in his face. The way his hair curled when wet. All exactly the same. It had to be. He wouldn’t be Sunghoon without those things.

I even reconstructed his mind.

Using an illegal neural mapping sequence I coded from fragments of our joint research, I retrieved echoes of his memory—dream-like reflections extracted from the deepest preserved brain tissue. It wasn’t perfect. But it was him. Pieces of him. The things he never got to say. The life he never finished.

⸻

It took two years.

Two years in the dark, surrounded by synthetic fluid and filtered lights, modifying the incubator like a cradle built by obsession. I monitored every development milestone like a parent. I watched him grow. I whispered stories to him when the lab was quiet, played him our favorite records through the tank’s acoustic feed, left him notes on the console like he could read them.

⸻

One night, I touched the tank and felt warmth radiate back. His fingers twitched.

A smile cracked on his lips, soft and sleepy.

And I whispered, “You’re almost here.”

⸻

Now he floats before me—grown, complete, and terrifyingly familiar. His chest rises and falls steadily. Muscles formed and defined from synthetic stimulation. His brain is fully developed. His body—twenty-five years old. The age he was when he died. The age we should’ve gotten married.

And now, he’s ready.

⸻

The console buzzes beside me.

“Project ECHO – Stage V: Awakening. Confirm execution.”

My fingers hover. The hum of the lab grows louder. My heart beats so hard I feel it in my throat.

This is it.

The point of no return.

I press enter.

The Awakening didn’t look like the movies.

There was no dramatic gasp, no lightning bolt of consciousness.

It was subtle.

His eyes fluttered open, hazy and uncertain, like the first morning light after a long storm. They didn’t lock onto me at first. He blinked a few times—slow, groggy—and stared at the ceiling of the pod with a confusion so human it made my knees go weak.

Then his gaze shifted.

Found me.

And held.

Just long enough to knock the breath from my lungs.

“Sunghoon,” I whispered.

His lips barely moved. “…Y/N?”

And then—just like that—he slipped under again.

His vitals were stable, but his body couldn’t process full consciousness yet. It was expected. I designed it that way. A controlled emergence. Gentle. Like thawing from ice.

He would wake again. Soon.

⸻

Phase VI: Integration.

I had the room ready before I even began the cloning process. A private suite in the East Wing of my estate, modified to resemble a recovery room from a private hospital: sterile whites and soft blues, filtered natural lighting, automated IV drips and real-time vitals displayed on sleek black monitors. The scent of lavender piped faintly through the vents. His favorite.

I moved him after he lost consciousness again—quietly, carefully. No one else involved. Not even my AI assistant, KARA. This part was just mine.

Just ours.

He lay in the bed now, dressed in soft gray cotton, sheets pulled up to his chest. The faint hum of the machines harmonized with his breathing. It was surreal. Like watching a ghost settle into a life it forgot it had.

I perched on the armchair across from him, the dim lighting casting long shadows over his face.

“You’re safe,” I murmured, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “And when you wake up… everything will be in place.”

⸻

I spent the next forty-eight hours setting the stage.

Fabricated records of a traumatic car accident—minor amnesia, extended coma, miraculous survival. Hacked into the hospital registry and quietly added his name under a wealthy alias. I made sure the media silence was absolute. No visitors. No suspicious calls. A full blackout.

I memorized the story I would tell him. Rehearsed it like a script.

We had been on our way to City Hall. A drunk driver ran a red light. I survived with minor injuries. He hit his head. Slipped into a coma. No signs of brain damage, but long-term memory instability was expected.

He’d been here ever since. Safe. Loved. Waiting to wake up.

And now—he had.

⸻

On the morning of the third day, I heard movement.

Soft. Shuffling. Sheets rustling.

I turned from the monitor just as he groaned softly, his head turning on the pillow.

“Sunghoon?”

His eyes blinked open again, more alert this time. Still groggy, but present.

“Y/N…?” he rasped.

I rushed to his side, heart in my throat. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

His brows knit together, voice hoarse. “What happened?”

“You were in an accident,” I said gently. “The day of our wedding. You’ve been in a coma. Two years.”

His eyes widened—just a little. Then flicked down to his hands. The IV. The machines. The unfamiliar room.

“…Two years?”

I nodded, bracing for the confusion. “You survived. But it was close. We weren’t sure you’d ever… come back.”

He said nothing.

Just stared at me.

Like he was trying to remember something he couldn’t quite reach.

“…Why does it feel like I never left?” he whispered.

I smiled softly. Forced. “Because I never left you.”

And for now, that was all he needed to know.

But deep down, behind those eyes, behind the half-forgotten memories and muscle memory that wasn’t truly his—

Something flickered.

Something not asleep anymore.

He was awake.

And the lie had begun.

The days that followed passed in a quiet rhythm.

He adjusted faster than I anticipated. His motor skills were strong, his speech patterns natural—so much so that sometimes I forgot he wasn’t really him. Or maybe he was. Just… rebuilt. Reassembled with grief and obsession and the memory of love that still clung to me like static.

I stayed with him in the hospital wing, sleeping on the pullout beside his bed. Every morning he’d wake before me, staring out the wide window as if trying to piece together time. And when I asked what he was thinking, he always gave the same answer:

“I feel like I dreamed you.”

On the seventh day, he turned to me, his voice clearer than ever.

“Can I go back to our room?”

I paused, fingers wrapped around the rim of his tea mug.

He still called it our room.

I nodded.

“Yeah,” I said. “You’re strong enough now.”

And so we did.

I helped him down the hallway, hand in his, the same way I’d imagined it during the long nights of Phase II. His steps were careful, measured. But his eyes… they lit up the moment we entered.

It looked the same.

The navy sheets. The low lights. The picture of us by the bookshelf—framed and untouched. His books still on the shelf in alphabetical order. His favorite sweatshirt folded at the foot of the bed like I had never moved it.

He smiled when he saw it. “It feels like nothing’s changed.”

Except everything had.

I didn’t say that.

⸻

He asked about the lab a few nights later. We were curled together in bed—his head on my shoulder, our legs tangled like old habits finding their way home.

“How’s the lab?” he asked, voice soft in the dark. “Are we still working on the neuro-mirroring project?”

My heart skipped.

I’d gotten rid of everything. The pod. The DNA matrix. The prototype drafts. Scrubbed the drives clean. Smashed the external backups. Buried the remains of ECHO-1 under a new tree. The lab was as sterile as my conscience was not.

I turned toward him, brushing my thumb over the scar that curved above his brow. The one that hadn’t been there before the “accident.”

“It’s being renovated,” I said carefully. “After the crash… I couldn’t go in for a while. So I decided to redo it. Clear things out. Start over fresh.”

He nodded slowly. “Makes sense.”

He didn’t ask again.

And just like that, life began to move forward.

He followed me around the house again, stealing kisses in the kitchen, playfully poking fun at the way I never folded laundry properly. He rediscovered his favorite coffee, laughed at old movies like they were new, held my hand under the stars like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But sometimes—when he thought I wasn’t looking—he’d stare at his reflection too long. Tilt his head. Press his fingers to his chest like he was checking if something was still there.

Maybe he felt it.

The echo of what he was.

But if he did, he never said.

One night, wrapped up in each other’s warmth, he whispered into my neck, “I don’t know how I got so lucky to come back to you.”

I pressed a kiss to his temple, forcing a smile as my heart ached beneath the surface.

“I guess some things are just meant to find their way back.”

Even if they were never supposed to.

Time softened everything.

The sterile silence of the house began to fade, replaced by the quiet thrum of life again—the clink of mugs in the morning, the shuffle of his bare feet on the hardwood, the lazy hum of music playing from a speaker that hadn’t been touched since he died. I started to breathe again, and so did he.

Like we were rewriting the rhythm we’d lost.

—

Our first night out felt like time travel.

He picked the place—a rooftop restaurant we always swore we’d try, back when work kept getting in the way. I wore the same navy dress I had worn on our second anniversary. He noticed. His hand slid into mine under the table like it belonged there, his thumb tracing invisible patterns against my skin.

Halfway through dessert, he leaned in, grinning with chocolate at the corner of his lip.

“You still scrunch your nose when you’re pretending to like the wine,” he teased, eyes gleaming.

I blinked. “You remember that?”

He nodded slowly. “It just feels like… I always knew.”

I smiled, heart aching in that strange, quiet way it always did now.

“You’re right,” I said, brushing the chocolate off his lip. “You always did.”

Even grocery shopping with him became a date.

He pushed the cart like a child let loose, tossing in things we didn’t need just to make me laugh. At one point, he held up a can of whipped cream with the most mischievous glint in his eye.

“For movie night,” he said innocently.

I arched a brow. “For the movie or during the movie?”

He smirked. “Depends how boring the movie is.”

We walked home with one umbrella, our fingers interlaced in the rain, and the world somehow felt smaller, warmer.

He burned the garlic the first time.

“I told you the pan was too hot,” I said, waving smoke away.

“And you told me to trust you,” he countered, looking absurdly proud of his crime against dinner. “Besides, I like it crunchy.”

“You like your taste buds annihilated, apparently.”

We ended up ordering takeout, sitting on the kitchen floor, eating noodles out of the box with chopsticks, laughing about how we’d both make terrible housewives.

But the next night, we tried again.

He stood behind me, arms around my waist, guiding my hands as I chopped vegetables.

“You used to do this,” I said softly. “When I first moved in.”

“I know,” he murmured. “It’s one of my favorite memories.”

Cuddling became a ritual.

He always found a way to get impossibly close—sprawled across the couch with his head in my lap, humming contentedly while I read a book or ran my fingers through his hair.

Sometimes we didn’t speak for hours.

Just the quiet breathing, the rise and fall of his chest, his heartbeat echoing faintly against my thigh. Real. Solid. Present.

It was a miracle I could touch.

One night, as rain tapped gently on the windows and he was half-asleep on my shoulder, he whispered:

“I feel safe with you.”

I held him tighter.

Because if I let go—even for a second—I was afraid he might vanish again.

⸻

Love blossomed differently this time.

Slower. Deeper. Less like fire, more like roots. Tangled and unshakable.

And sometimes, in the quiet of our shared bed, I would watch him sleep and wonder if it was love that brought him back.

Or obsession.

But when he opened his eyes and smiled like the sun lived behind them, I told myself it didn’t matter.

He was here.

And that was enough.

For now.

⸻

I woke with a jolt, my heart pounding so violently it threatened to break free from my chest. The nightmare was still fresh, its vividness clinging to my mind like the smoke of a fire.

Sunghoon.

He was in the car again—his face frozen in the moment before everything shattered, his eyes wide with disbelief. The screech of tires, the crash. His body limp. The way I couldn’t reach him no matter how hard I screamed.

I gasped for air, my fingers clutching at the sheets, tangled in the panic that still gripped me.

My breath came in ragged bursts as I sat up, drenched in sweat. My chest heaved with the rawness of the memory, the terrible what-ifs that still haunted me.

A hand gently touched my back.

“Y/N?”

His voice, soft and concerned, cut through the haze of the nightmare. I froze for a moment, the world around me still spinning from the disorienting shock.

I turned, and there he was—Sunghoon—sitting up beside me in the bed, his eyes full of concern. The soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminated his face, and for a moment, it was almost as if everything had shifted back into place.

But only for a second.

“Are you alright?” He asked, his voice warm with worry.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breathing. “I… I just had a nightmare,” I whispered, avoiding his eyes. My heart was still trying to settle, and I didn’t want him to see the fear in my face. I didn’t want him to see how broken I still was.

Sunghoon leaned forward, his hands reaching out to cradle my face gently. He brushed a strand of hair away from my forehead, his touch so familiar, so tender.

“Nightmares are just that,” he said softly, his thumb grazing my skin. “They aren’t real. I’m here.”

I nodded, trying to pull myself together, but the knot in my throat wouldn’t loosen. There was something about the way he said it—so assuredly. So real. Like the past didn’t exist, like he had never been gone.

Like I hadn’t created him from fragments of grief and obsession.

He sat next to me, his arm around my shoulders as I leaned into him. The warmth of his body, the steady rise and fall of his chest, slowly calmed me. I closed my eyes and breathed in the scent of him—the same as it had always been.

“I’m here,” he repeated, his voice a quiet lullaby.

But somewhere deep inside, I couldn’t shake the question that had haunted me since the moment I had revived him: Who was he really? Was this truly the Sunghoon I had loved, the one who had filled my life with light? Or was this just a perfect imitation, a replica of my memories? An echo of a man who would never truly exist again?

I wanted to believe he was him. I needed to believe it.

But as he held me, his warmth seeping into my skin, I couldn’t deny the doubt that gnawed at my soul.

“Y/N?” he murmured, sensing my tension.

“Yeah?” I whispered, pulling myself closer into his arms.

He tilted my chin up, his gaze intense as he met my eyes. “I love you,” he said quietly, with such certainty that for a moment, it almost felt real—like the love we’d always shared before the accident, before everything shattered.

And in that moment, I wanted to believe it. I wanted to forget everything else, to let myself drown in the reassurance that this was him—my Sunghoon.

But the ghosts of the past still lingered in the corners of my mind.

“I love you too,” I replied softly, my voice shaky but true.

And for a few minutes, we just sat there, holding each other in the stillness of the night.

But as I closed my eyes and let the warmth of his embrace lull me back to sleep, the doubt remained.

Would I ever be able to escape the shadows of my own creation?

As the days passed, the weight of my doubts gradually lightened. Sunghoon’s presence—his warmth, his voice, the way he smiled—reminded me more and more of the man I had once loved, the man who had been taken from me.

The fear, the gnawing uncertainty that had once been constant in the back of my mind, slowly started to fade. Each moment we spent together was a little piece of normalcy returning. He didn’t just look like Sunghoon. He was Sunghoon. In every little detail—his laugh, the way he tilted his head when he was deep in thought, how he always made the coffee exactly the way I liked it. His presence was enough to reassure me that this was him, in all the ways that mattered.

We went on walks together, hand in hand, strolling through the garden I had planted the day we first moved into the house. It was filled with flowers that bloomed year-round—just like the memories I had of us, blooming and growing despite the heartbreak.

We laughed, reminiscing about everything we had shared before. Sunghoon was never afraid to be vulnerable with me, and it felt like we were picking up right where we left off. His sense of humor, always dry and sarcastic, never failed to make me smile. And slowly, I began to accept that the man who stood beside me, laughing at his own jokes, was truly my Sunghoon.

One night, as we cooked dinner together, I watched him carefully slice vegetables, his movements graceful and practiced. It was simple, domestic, but it felt like everything I had longed for since he was gone.

“Don’t forget the garlic,” I reminded him, teasing.

He shot me a look, smirking. “I remember.”

I smiled, feeling the warmth of the moment settle into my bones. This was real. The way he made sure I was comfortable in the kitchen, the way we worked together without needing words—this was our life, reborn.

The more time we spent in the house, the more at ease I became. We cooked together, watched old movies, read books side by side, and held each other as we fell asleep at night. There were no more questions in my mind. No more doubts. Just the feeling of peace settling over me, like the calm after a storm.

Sunghoon never asked me about the lab. And I never had to lie, because there was no need to. The lab had been dismantled long ago, every trace of Project ECHO erased. It was as if it never existed. My obsession, my grief—gone.

In its place was this. A second chance.

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you, Y/N,” he said one evening as we sat on the couch, the sound of rain tapping against the windows. He held me close, his head resting against mine. “No matter what happens, no matter what changes… you’re the one for me.”

I turned to look at him, searching his eyes for something—anything—that might reveal the truth I feared. But there was nothing. Only love. Real love.

“I feel the same,” I whispered back, brushing my lips against his.

For a moment, the world outside disappeared. There was no past, no lab, no questions. There was only Sunghoon, here with me. And that was enough.

The days continued to pass in a peaceful blur of moments that I had once thought lost forever. With each sunrise, my doubts melted away, and with every touch, every kiss, I felt more certain that this was real. That he was real.

Sunghoon might not be the exact same person who had walked out of that door all those years ago—but in my heart, it didn’t matter. He was my Sunghoon, and that was all I needed.

Together, we built a life—one step at a time. And this time, I wasn’t afraid.

I wasn’t afraid of the past. I wasn’t afraid of the future.

I was just… happy.

Sunghoon’s POV

It had been a year since I came back to her, and in that time, I had slowly convinced myself that everything was okay. That what we had, what I had, was enough. That the woman I loved, the woman who had saved me—had done so much more than just revive me—wasn’t hiding any more secrets. But the past… it always had a way of creeping up, didn’t it?

I wasn’t snooping, not exactly. I was just cleaning up. I had offered to help her tidy up the office since she had been so caught up in her work lately, and well, I had nothing else to do. After all, it’s been a year now, and I’ve come to understand her more than I could ever have imagined. She’d been distant the past few days, and it made me uneasy. The kind of unease that makes you feel like there’s something you should know, but you can’t quite put your finger on it.

It was as I was sorting through the boxes in her home office—one that she hadn’t allowed me to visit much—that I found it.

A video tape.

It was tucked behind a stack of old files, half-buried in the clutter. At first, I thought nothing of it. She was always meticulous about her work, so maybe it was just an old research document, something from her past. But when I saw the words “Project ECHO – Development and Breakdown” scrawled on the side, my heart stopped. I felt a sickening knot tighten in my chest, and instinctively, my fingers curled around it.

What was this?

My thoughts raced as I fumbled with the tape, my hands trembling just slightly as I slid it into the old VCR player she kept in the corner of the office. The screen flickered to life.

There I was.

Or… the version of me that had once existed. The first one. My mind was running faster than my eyes could follow the images flashing on the screen. I saw footage of my development, from the initial growth stages to the first electrical impulses firing in my brain, as well as my physical appearance being tested and adjusted.

My stomach turned as the video documented every breakdown of my body—every failed attempt to bring me to life. I saw the wires, the artificial fluids, the machines that I had been hooked up to before I had opened my eyes, before I had woken up in that hospital room.

But it was the last part of the video that hit hardest. There, in her cold, emotionless voice, Y/N narrated her thoughts, her failed efforts, her obsession with recreating me.

“I couldn’t get it right… not the first time. But I will, because I have to. For him. For us.”

My chest tightened as the realization hit me like a brick. She had known the entire time. She had created me. I wasn’t the Sunghoon who had died. I was a version of him. A shadow of the real thing.

The screen went black, but the words echoed in my mind like an incessant drumbeat.

For him. For us.

The pain of that truth was like a knife twisting in my gut. The woman I loved had spent years trying to recreate me, to bring me back—because she couldn’t let go. She couldn’t let me go. But she never told me. She never let me in on the truth of it all.

I was a lie.

I wasn’t real. And all this time, I had been believing I was the same Sunghoon she had lost. But I wasn’t.

I could feel the tears stinging my eyes as I reached for the nearby papers, pulling them out in a frantic rage. More documents. More of my development—charts, genetic breakdowns, notes about my failed memories, and even the procedures Y/N had carried out. Every page proved it. I wasn’t just a clone; I was the culmination of her grief and desire.

The door to the office opened quietly behind me, and I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The air in the room grew thick, suffocating. I could feel her presence like a weight pressing down on me.

“Sunghoon,” she whispered, her voice barely a murmur.

I finally turned to face her. She looked pale, her eyes wide, clearly having seen the documents I had scattered across the room. She knew. She knew what I had found.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I choked out, my voice raw. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth, Y/N?”

Her eyes flickered with guilt, and for a moment, I thought she might say something—anything to explain, to apologize. But instead, she took a step back, her hands wringing together nervously.

“I didn’t want you to hate me,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I didn’t want to lose you again. I—I thought maybe if you didn’t know… maybe we could have our life back. I just wanted to have you here again, Sunghoon.”

My hands balled into fists at my sides, and I could feel the tears building in my eyes. “But I’m not him, am I? I’m not the real Sunghoon. I’m just… this.” I gestured around at the papers, at the video, at the mess that had been my life. “I’m a replica. A copy of someone who doesn’t exist anymore. How could you do this to me?”

She stepped forward, her face pale with fear, but her voice was firm. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far. I just wanted you back, Sunghoon. I couldn’t let go. I couldn’t lose you. You were taken from me so suddenly, and I couldn’t… I couldn’t live with the thought that you were gone forever.”

I looked at her, the woman who had once been everything to me—the one who I thought had rebuilt me out of love, not out of desperation.

“Do you think I’m the same person? Do you think I can just pretend that I’m the man I was before? How could you think I wouldn’t want to know the truth?” My voice cracked, emotion flooding out of me like a dam breaking. “How could you do this?”

Her face crumpled, and I saw the tears well up in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Sunghoon,” she whispered, her voice barely audible through the sobs. “I thought if I could just give you everything back, we could start over. But I was wrong. I—I should’ve told you from the beginning.”

I could feel the overwhelming ache in my chest, the confusion, the betrayal. But more than that, I felt the loss of something far deeper: trust. The trust that she had built between us was gone in an instant.

“You’re right. You should’ve told me,” I whispered, stepping back, my throat tight. “I need some space, Y/N. I can’t… I can’t do this right now.”

I turned and walked out of the room, my heart shattering with each step.

I paused at the door, the weight of her voice sinking into me like a stone. I didn’t turn around, not right away. The question lingered in the air, hanging between us, impossible to ignore.

“If I was the one who died, would you do the same?”

Her words were quiet, but they cut through the silence of the room with precision, like a knife through soft flesh. I could feel the tension in the air—the desperation in her voice, the need for an answer. She was asking me to justify her actions, to somehow make sense of everything she had done.

I clenched my fists at my sides, fighting the urge to turn and lash out. But I couldn’t do it—not when the pain of her question was a reflection of everything I was feeling.

“I… I don’t know,” I finally muttered, my voice barely a whisper. “Maybe I would. I can’t say for sure. But I don’t think I’d ever hide the truth from you. I wouldn’t keep you in the dark, pretending that everything was okay when it wasn’t.”

Her soft, broken gasp from behind me reached my ears, but I couldn’t face her—not yet. Not when the anger and hurt were still so raw.

“You don’t know what it’s like to lose someone you love that much,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “I couldn’t stand the thought of living without you, Sunghoon. I thought… maybe if I could just bring you back… we could have our future. But now, I see how selfish that was. How wrong.”

I wanted to say something—anything—to ease her pain, but the words stuck in my throat. The truth was, part of me still wanted to reach out to her, to hold her, to tell her it was going to be okay. But I wasn’t sure if that would be enough. Would it ever be enough?

“I need time, Y/N,” I said quietly, my voice cracking. “I need to think. About all of this. About us.”

The silence that followed was heavy, unbearable. And then, finally, I walked out the door, leaving her behind, standing in the wreckage of her choices—and my own shattered heart.

The days stretched on like a slow burn, each passing hour marked by the tension that filled every corner of our shared space. We were still in the same house, the same home, but it felt like we were living in different worlds now. The walls felt thicker, the silence heavier.

I moved through the house in a daze, keeping to myself more often than not. Y/N and I had an unspoken agreement—it was easier this way. She’d stay in the study or the kitchen, and I’d retreat to the room we used to share, now feeling like an alien space, void of the warmth it once held. We didn’t speak much anymore, and when we did, it was brief—polite, almost mechanical.

There were moments when I caught a glimpse of her, standing in the hallway, her head bent low, a soft frown on her face. Other times, she’d walk by without looking at me, her eyes fixed on the floor, avoiding my gaze as if she feared what might happen if she met my eyes for too long. I wanted to reach out, to say something—anything—but every time I did, the words felt inadequate, like they couldn’t possibly capture the weight of everything that had changed.

One evening, I found myself sitting in the living room, staring out the window at the moonlit garden. I could hear her footsteps in the hallway, the soft sound of her presence lingering in the air. For a moment, I thought she might come in, might sit beside me like she used to. But she didn’t. Instead, the silence stretched between us again, a reminder of the distance we had created.

I exhaled sharply, rubbing my eyes as frustration built inside me. The whole situation felt suffocating—like I was trapped between what I wanted and what had happened. I didn’t know how to fix it, or even if it could be fixed. There was so much to unravel, so many emotions to sort through. And then there was the truth—the truth of who I was now. Not just a man trying to find his way back to a life that no longer existed, but a clone—a replica of someone who once had a future, now burdened with a past he didn’t truly own.

The sound of her voice from the kitchen broke my thoughts.

“Dinner’s ready,” she called softly, her voice almost too gentle, too careful.

I hesitated for a moment, staring at the untouched glass of water on the coffee table. The empty space between us felt too vast to cross, but eventually, I stood up, making my way to the kitchen.

We sat across from each other, the dim light from the pendant lamp above casting shadows on the table. There were no small talks, no jokes exchanged like before. We ate in silence, the clinking of silverware the only sound between us. Every so often, I would look up, meeting her gaze for a fleeting second, but neither of us had the courage to speak the words that were hanging in the air.

The food was good, as always, but it didn’t taste the same. The flavor of everything felt hollow, like a memory that wasn’t quite mine.

When the meal was over, I helped clear the table, my movements stiff. The kitchen felt too small, the air too thick.

She turned to face me then, her expression unreadable, her eyes dark with something I couldn’t quite place. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, her voice barely a whisper. “For everything.”

I swallowed hard, the knot in my chest tightening. “I know you are. I… I just don’t know what to do with all of this.”

Her eyes flickered with unshed tears, and she stepped back, as though the space between us could somehow protect her from the weight of the moment. “I never wanted to hurt you, Sunghoon,” she murmured, her words full of regret. “I thought… I thought if I could just bring you back, we could have another chance. But now I see how wrong I was.”

I nodded slowly, trying to process the ache in my chest. “I don’t know how to fix this either. But I know… I know I need to understand who I am now. And what we are.” My voice trembled, but I fought it back. “I need time.”

“I understand,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “Take all the time you need.”

It felt like a farewell, and yet, we stayed in the same house. In the same life, but now it was something unrecognizable.

The next few weeks passed in the same quiet, empty rhythm. We moved around each other, living parallel lives without ever crossing paths in any meaningful way. There were mornings where I would wake up to find her sitting on the couch, staring at her phone, or nights where I’d catch her reading a book in the dim light.

Sometimes, I would linger by the door to her study, wondering if I should knock, ask her how she was feeling, but each time, I backed away, unsure if I was ready to face the answers she might give.

At night, I would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if this was how we were going to live—side by side but separate. I missed her. I missed us. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was just a shadow of the man she once loved, and that was a weight I wasn’t sure she could carry anymore.

One night, as I lay in the dark, unable to sleep, I heard the soft sound of her crying. The quiet sobs seeped through the walls, and my heart clenched painfully in my chest.

I wanted to go to her. Hold her. Tell her everything would be okay. But I couldn’t. I didn’t have the words anymore.

And maybe, I never would.

The night stretched on, and despite the tension that hung thick in the house, I managed to fall into an uneasy sleep. The weight of everything—our fragmented relationship, the guilt, the uncertainty—had left me exhausted, though the sleep I sought felt shallow and restless.

It was around 3 AM when I was jolted awake by the softest sound—a faint, broken sob. My eyes snapped open in the dark, my heartbeat quickening. I froze, listening carefully, the sounds of her grief pulling at something deep within me.

It was coming from the direction of her room.

At first, I told myself to ignore it. After all, she had her own space, her own pain, and I had my own to deal with. But the sound of her brokenness—quiet and desperate—was too much to ignore.

Slowly, I slid out of bed, my bare feet padding softly on the cool floor. I moved silently through the house, drawn to the soft, muffled sounds echoing through the walls. When I reached the door to her room, I paused.

She was crying, the kind of sobs that wracked her body and left her vulnerable. I hadn’t heard her cry like this before—unfiltered, raw, as if the dam inside her had finally broken.

The light from her bedside lamp flickered weakly, casting long shadows on the walls. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her head buried in her hands, the tears falling freely, like they couldn’t be held back anymore.

I stood there, frozen, my chest tightening at the sight. My first instinct was to rush to her side, to pull her into my arms and whisper that everything would be alright. But I didn’t. I just watched from the doorway, a spectator in my own home.

The sound of her pain made me feel powerless, as if I were too far gone—too far removed from who I once was to even be the man she needed. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came. The silence between us felt like an unspoken agreement, a distance neither of us knew how to cross.

And then she spoke.

“I’m sorry… Sunghoon,” she whispered to the empty room, the words slipping from her like a confession she hadn’t meant to make. “I thought I could fix it. I thought… if I could just bring you back, we could be happy again. But I don’t know what I’ve done anymore. I don’t know who you are. Or if you’re even really you.”

Her voice cracked at the end, and I could hear the weight of her regret, the guilt, the fear of everything she’d done.

The flood of emotions hit me all at once—anger, sadness, confusion—and yet, there was something else, too. The overwhelming desire to reach out to her. To show her that I understood, that I knew how hard this was for her.

But still, I stayed frozen. Silent. The words that had once flowed so easily between us now felt like strangers.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, but it didn’t stop the tears.

“I was selfish,” she muttered to herself, her voice barely audible now. “I couldn’t let go. I wanted you back, no matter the cost. And now… I don’t know if you can ever forgive me.”

That was when the weight of it all hit me fully—the pain she had been carrying, the burden she had placed on herself. The fear she had been living with, not knowing if I could ever truly forgive her for bringing me back.

I stepped forward then, unable to watch her fall apart without doing something.

“Y/N,” I said quietly, my voice hoarse, betraying the emotions I had kept bottled up for so long.

She immediately stiffened, her breath hitching as she quickly wiped her face, trying to pull herself together. “You’re awake,” she said, her voice faltering. “I didn’t mean for you to—”

“I heard you,” I interrupted, taking a few steps into the room. “And I’m not angry with you.”

She looked at me, her eyes filled with so much sadness, it was almost more than I could bear. “But I did this to you,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I brought you back, Sunghoon. And I don’t know if you even want to be here. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t ask to be—” She stopped, her breath shaky, as if even speaking the words caused her pain.

I knelt in front of her, my heart aching as I reached for her hands, gently pulling them from her face. “Y/N…” I said softly. “I am here. I’m here because I want to be.”

“But what if I’ve ruined everything?” she whispered. “What if I can never make it right?”

I shook my head, cupping her face in my hands as I looked into her eyes, searching for some glimmer of hope in her. “You didn’t ruin anything. You did what you thought was best… even if it was wrong. And I understand that. But we can’t live like this, hiding from each other. We need to talk. We need to be honest.”

She nodded slowly, tears still slipping down her cheeks. “But can we ever go back to what we were?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, filled with a quiet desperation.

I swallowed, my own emotions threatening to spill over. “I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice thick. “But I want to try. I want to figure it out. Together.”

There was a long pause, and then, slowly, she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against mine, her tears falling onto my skin. I closed my eyes, letting the weight of everything settle in.

In that moment, I realized that maybe there wasn’t a way back to what we once had—but that didn’t mean we couldn’t find something new. Something different. Something real.

And I was willing to fight for it.

I held her closer, whispering against her hair. “We’ll find our way. Together. One step at a time.”

The silence between us stretched out, thick with the unspoken words, the weight of everything we had been through. Her breath was shaky against my skin, and I could feel the warmth of her body pressed against mine, like she was finally letting herself soften, letting me in again.

I wanted to say more, to fix everything, but the words weren’t coming. I could only focus on the rhythm of her breath, how the vulnerability in her touch made everything seem both fragile and precious.

And then, almost instinctively, I pulled back just slightly, my hands still cupping her face, fingers brushing softly over the damp skin of her cheeks. I searched her eyes for something, anything—some flicker of permission, of trust.

The question formed in my chest before I even realized it, and before I could second-guess myself, it slipped from my mouth, quiet and uncertain but earnest.

“Can I kiss you?”

The words were soft, tentative, as if I wasn’t sure she would say yes, as if I wasn’t sure I even had the right to ask anymore. But something in me needed to hear it—to know if we could bridge that last distance between us, if the gulf of everything we had been through could be closed with something as simple as a kiss.

Her gaze locked onto mine, and for a moment, everything went still. She didn’t say anything. There was only the quiet sound of her breathing, the rise and fall of her chest under my palms. The world outside the room felt distant, irrelevant. It was just us now, alone in this fragile moment.

I waited. She could say no. She could push me away. But I needed to know where we stood.

And then, slowly, her eyes softened. She gave a slight nod, her lips trembling as if the simple motion of it took all her strength.

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but it was there. It was all I needed to hear.

Before I could even think, my hands moved to her shoulders, pulling her gently closer. I closed the distance between us, hesitating only for a brief second, just enough to feel the weight of the moment.

And then I kissed her.

It wasn’t the kiss I had imagined—the wild, desperate kiss of two people who couldn’t control themselves. No, this one was different. It was slow, careful, tentative, like we were both afraid to break something that had just begun to heal. My lips brushed against hers, soft and uncertain, as if I were asking for permission again with every gentle touch.

She responded after a moment, her hands finding their way to my chest, clutching at me like she was trying to ground herself in the kiss, in the connection we were rebuilding. I could feel her hesitation, but I could also feel the warmth, the pull, the quiet promise in the way she kissed me back.

The kiss deepened slowly, our movements syncing, building, and for the first time in so long, I felt something stir inside me that had been dormant—hope. A fragile, trembling hope that maybe, just maybe, we could find our way back to each other. That maybe this was the first step in learning to trust again.

When we finally pulled away, neither of us spoke for a moment. We just stayed there, foreheads pressed together, our breaths mingling in the stillness. I could feel her heart beating against my chest, a steady rhythm that told me she was here. She was still here with me.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice small, but it wasn’t the apology I had been expecting. It wasn’t guilt or regret. It was a quiet understanding. A promise, maybe.

“I know,” I whispered back, brushing my thumb over her cheek, wiping away the last remnants of her tears. “We’re going to be okay.”

And for the first time in so long, I actually believed it.

The air between us was thick with the weight of everything unspoken, but in that moment, there was only the soft brush of our lips, the warmth of our bodies pressed together, and the undeniable pull that had always been there. We moved slowly, cautiously, like we were both afraid of shattering something fragile that had just begun to heal.

The kiss deepened, an unspoken question lingering in the space between us. I could feel her heartbeat against my chest, fast and erratic, matching mine. It was as if we both understood that this was more than just a kiss—it was a reclaiming, a restoration of something that had been lost for far too long.

I gently cupped her face, tilting her head slightly, deepening the kiss as my hands found their way down her back, pulling her closer, as if I couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t get close enough. Her fingers slid up to my chest, tracing the lines of my shirt before pushing it off, the fabric slipping to the floor without a second thought.

There was no more hesitation, no more doubt. Just the raw connection between us that had always been there, waiting to be unlocked.

She responded with the same urgency, hands moving over my body, finding the familiar places, the marks that made me me. I could feel the heat of her skin, the way her breath caught when we came closer, when I kissed her neck, her jaw, her lips. The taste of her was like everything I’d been missing, the feeling of her so real, so tangible, that for a moment, it was hard to believe she was really here. Really with me.

Our movements grew more urgent, more desperate, but still tender, as if we were both trying to savor this moment, unsure of what tomorrow might bring, but desperate to make up for the lost time. I wanted to show her everything, all the ways I loved her, all the ways I had missed her without even knowing how much.

The world outside the room disappeared. There was no lab, no documents, no research, no mistakes. Just us—finding our way back to each other, piece by piece. I held her close, kissed her as if I could never let her go, and when the moment finally came, when we both reached that point of release, it wasn’t just about the physicality. It was about trust, about healing, about starting over.

When we collapsed against each other afterward, breathless and tangled in sheets, I felt something shift inside me. Something I hadn’t realized was broken until it started to mend.

Her hand found mine, fingers lacing together, and she rested her head on my chest, her breath slowing, and for the first time in so long, I felt peace. A peace I hadn’t known I needed.

And in the quiet of the room, with her beside me, I whispered softly, “I’ll never let you go again.”

She didn’t answer right away, but I felt the way she squeezed my hand tighter, her chest rising and falling against mine. She didn’t need to say anything. I could feel it in the way she held me.

And for the first time in a long time, I allowed myself to believe that we could truly begin again.

The quiet stillness of the room enveloped us, the soft sound of our breathing the only thing that filled the space. I held her, tracing the curve of her back with my fingers, savoring the moment as though it might slip away if I wasn’t careful. The weight of everything—the doubts, the fears, the mistakes—was still there, lingering in the shadows of my mind, but for once, I didn’t feel like I had to carry them alone.

She shifted slightly, raising her head to meet my gaze. There was a softness in her eyes now, the guarded walls that had once stood so tall between us slowly crumbling. I could see the vulnerability there, but also the strength that had always been her anchor.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but it carried all the weight of everything she’d been carrying inside. “I never meant to hurt you.”

I brushed a strand of hair away from her face, my fingers lingering against her skin. “I know,” I murmured, my voice thick with emotion. “I know. But we’re here now. We’ll figure this out. Together.”

She nodded, her eyes closing for a moment as if gathering herself. The air between us was charged with unspoken words, and I could feel the weight of the past year pressing down on us. But there was something different now—something that had shifted between us, something I hadn’t felt in so long.

Her lips found mine again, soft and gentle, a kiss that spoke volumes more than words ever could. It was an apology, a promise, a plea all rolled into one. And for the first time in so long, I allowed myself to believe in it fully.

When we finally pulled away, her forehead rested against mine, both of us still tangled in the sheets, the world outside feeling miles away. I could hear the distant hum of the city, the night stretching out before us like a quiet, unspoken promise.

“I love you,” I whispered, the words escaping before I could even think about them. But it felt right. It felt real.

She smiled, her fingers brushing against my cheek. “I love you, too. I never stopped.”

And in that moment, I knew. No matter the struggles we’d faced, no matter the secrets, the pain, or the mistakes, we were still here. Still us. And as long as we could keep finding our way back to each other, everything else would be okay.

We stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside fading into nothingness. In the quiet, there was only peace. The peace of knowing that, together, we could face whatever came next.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I finally let go of the fear that had kept me tethered to the past. Because with her by my side, I knew we could build a future. A real future. And nothing, nothing at all could take that away from us.

As the days passed, something began to shift between us. It was subtle at first, small gestures of kindness, moments of vulnerability that had been buried under the weight of secrets and doubts. But as we spent more time together, the trust that had once been strained slowly started to blossom again, like a fragile flower daring to bloom in the cracks of the world we had rebuilt.

Every morning, Sunghoon would make me coffee, just the way I liked it—strong, a little bitter, with just a hint of sweetness. It became our small ritual, something to ground us, to remind us that we were still learning, still growing. And every evening, we’d find ourselves lost in the quiet comfort of one another’s presence. Sometimes we didn’t say much, just the familiar silence that had always existed between us, but now it felt different. It felt safe.

One night, as we sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket together, he turned to me, his expression soft. “I’ve been thinking about everything. About what you did…and why. I don’t want to just forgive you. I want to understand. I want us to really move forward.”

I smiled, the warmth in his voice soothing the lingering worries in my chest. “We will,” I whispered, “We’re already on the way.”

Sunghoon gave me a small, genuine smile, his fingers lightly brushing over mine. It was a touch so simple, yet it carried all the weight of the world. I had feared this moment—the moment when the cracks would be too deep to heal—but instead, I felt something stronger than before. Something more real.

As the weeks went on, we found ourselves sharing more than just physical space. We started talking about the future—what we wanted, where we saw ourselves. There was no more fear of the unknown between us. Instead, there was excitement. There was trust, slowly but surely, weaving its way back into our lives.

I could see it in the way Sunghoon would ask about my day, genuinely interested, and how I would lean into him when I needed comfort, no longer second-guessing whether I deserved it. Our conversations had depth now, unafraid of the things we once kept hidden. We didn’t pretend anymore. We didn’t have to.

One evening, while we were cooking dinner together, Sunghoon turned to me with a teasing smile. “You’ve improved. Your cooking’s actually…not terrible.”

I laughed, playfully shoving him. “Hey, I’ve gotten better!”

He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me into his chest. “I’m proud of you.”

I could feel the sincerity in his words, the love that had grown back between us like something tangible. The fear and doubt that had once plagued me were nowhere to be found now. In their place was a quiet certainty.

We weren’t perfect. We still had our moments of miscommunication, of moments when the past reared its head, but with each day, the trust between us grew stronger. It wasn’t about erasing the mistakes we’d made. It was about learning from them and choosing to move forward together, no matter what.

And as I looked into Sunghoon’s eyes, I saw the same thing reflected back at me—the understanding, the acceptance, the desire to never give up on us.

In that moment, I knew that trust wasn’t just something that had to be given freely—it had to be earned. And we were earning it every day. Slowly, but surely, we were becoming something new, something even more beautiful than before. Something that could withstand anything life threw at us.

And for the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to believe in the future again.

In us.

Life had felt like it was finally settling into a quiet rhythm, like the calm after a storm. Sunghoon and I had been living together in peace for the past year, our bond mended from the cracks of the past. The tension had faded, leaving room for love, laughter, and domestic moments that felt so normal and reassuring. We’d shared so many firsts again—first trips, first lazy weekends in bed, first home-cooked meals. Everything felt right. Almost.

It was during one of these peaceful afternoons that I made a discovery. I was cleaning out the attic of our home, something I’d been meaning to do for months, when I came across an old box. It was tucked away in the corner behind some old furniture, covered in dust and cobwebs. The box was unassuming, wooden with a faded label that simply read, “Don’t Open.”

Curiosity got the best of me. I knew it was probably something from my past, but that label tugged at something deep inside me, urging me to open it. I hesitated for a moment, but then, with a deep breath, I lifted the lid. Inside, I found an old video tape. It was yellowed and cracked with age, but there was no mistaking the handwriting on the label: “For Y/N.”

My heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t like me to leave things unexamined, especially if they seemed tied to my past. But this felt different. There was an unspoken warning in those words. Still, I couldn’t resist.

I brought the tape downstairs and found the old VCR player we kept for nostalgia’s sake. Sunghoon was in the living room, reading a book. I hesitated for a moment before calling him over.

“Sunghoon, you have to see this,” I said, holding up the tape. “I found something in the attic…”

He looked at me curiously, putting the book down. “What is it?”

I popped the tape into the player, and the screen flickered to life. At first, there was nothing—just static. But then, the image cleared, and I saw him.

The figure of a man in a lab coat appeared. His features were unmistakable—he was Park Sunghoon, the real Sunghoon, the one who had died in the accident years ago. But this Sunghoon wasn’t the one Y/N knew now. He looked younger, more fragile, and tears stained his face.

“I… I don’t know how to start this,” the Sunghoon on the screen murmured, his voice choked with emotion. “Y/N… is gone. She passed away. Leukemia. It was sudden. I—I couldn’t do anything. She was everything to me. And I… I can’t bear it.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. She glanced at Sunghoon, whose face had gone pale. He looked at the screen, wide-eyed, his expression unreadable.

“In my grief, I’ve decided to do something I never thought I would. I’m using her preserved DNA, the samples we took when we were researching regenerative cloning… to bring her back. I—I have to do this. I can’t live with the pain of losing her,” the real Sunghoon continued, his voice trembling.

The video cut to a series of clips from the lab: footage of the real Sunghoon working late nights, mixing chemicals, monitoring equipment, and seemingly obsessed with recreating Y/N.

“I’ve used everything we learned in our research. I’ll make her whole again,” the video continued. “But this is for me, I know. For us. I want to have a second chance. A chance to make things right. If you’re watching this, Y/N… then I’ve succeeded. I’ve recreated you.”

The video ended abruptly, and the screen turned to static.

It was strange, to know the truth about their origins—about the fact that their love had been recreated, in a sense, by science and heartache. But as Y/N lay in Sunghoon’s arms that night, she couldn’t shake the feeling that none of it truly mattered. What mattered was that they were together now. They had both fought for this. They had both fought for each other. And nothing in this world could take that away from them.

Their love had brought them to this point—not fate, not science, but love. It was a love that transcended life and death, pain and loss. A love that, no matter what had come before, had always been destined to endure.

They had started as two broken souls, unable to move forward without the other. But now, they were whole again. Their love, their memories—no matter how they came to be—were theirs to cherish.

And that, in the end, was all that mattered.

The rest, the science, the questions of whether they were real or not, faded into the background. Because, in the end, they were real. Their love was real. And that was all they needed to know.

©️tobiosbbyghorl - all rights reserved

taglist: @raavenarmy-blog @maewphoria @limerenceisserenity @honey-bunnysweet @crispysharkwizard @semi-wife @beomgyus11 @bambisnc @feymine @yujinxue @xoxorara @cyjhhyj

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[teaboot]

How do you accommodate for face blindness when you need to tell if someone is the same person for work? I know your previous post listed what you pay attention to, but maybe you have any further tips?

I usually only remember people’s faces after I’ve talked to them several times and made a personal connection, and every time my ID gets checked I have to fight the subconscious “how will they know I’m actually me?”

I’d love to get better at telling when I’ve already seen someone, because as it is, watching movies and meeting with acquaintances in crowded places are always a journey…

Hair is a good one assuming the person in question doesn't change their haircut often. Another one I like is “flaws” (natural human variations) like wrinkles, jowls, acne, scarring, moles, crooked teeth, cysts, Balt spot shapes, fingernail shapes, swollen or discoloured or twisted ankles, unusual gait, large superorbital ridge, cowlicks, and odd hairline.

If I can find ONE of these things that’s great. If I can find TWO then I’m about 80% certain, if I can find three or- even BETTER, a tattoo or unusual piercing, defect, or birthmark- then I’m 100%.

I’m not COMPLETELY face blind- I do art, I can literally SEE faces- and I can REMEMBER THEM after maybe like. 10 meetings? Depending on how distinctive they are. If there’s something truly unique to pick up on, it may be less. But everyone’s faces all just mostly kinda look the same? Nose is always in the same place, eyes, chin, cheeks, ears. A face is a face. Lines happen mostly the same way, hair happens mostly the same way. The only people I can remember IMMEDIATELY AND FOREVER are people with- again- visible scarring, birthmarks, or tattoos. Those stick.

Ooh, but also!! Disabilities are… helpful. In a weird way. Because you may change your clothes or your hair or your makeup drastically, but most people only have one or two canes, one or two pairs of glasses, MAYBE two wheelchairs (everyone I’ve met with a wheelchair has only one, though) and if they have a prosthetic, even with long pants and a flawless gait, often times the fabric will lay slightly different over the joints, or they’ll be slightly stiff. Any kind of disability aid makes people soooooo much easier to recognize.

On top of that, people with a signature jacket, jewelry they wear every day like a ring or necklace, SHOES. Oh my god shoes are so useful. More with dudes, but people often have 1-2 favourite pairs that they wear most frequently and if I’m uncertain I’ll check what shoes they have.

Another thing is like. I thought two people wee the same person- More than once actually, but this one specific time- and didnt know otherwise till I saw them in a room together and their differences were clear. Then I just compared the two until enough distinctive differences stood out to know them later. Havent mixed them up since.

And shit, man- this is going to be bad but while I’m talking about it, I’ve recently learned I am ABYSMAL and differentiating between races. Which. I wouldn’t NEED unless I wasn’t a security guard and didn't sometimes need to describe a person.

White people are -usually- p easy. If they’re pale and have a pointy nose I can say Caucasian and be correct like 90% of the time out here. Better depending on how they dress because we dress… the way we do. Sometimes.

Black people. Darker skin, rounder features, usually dark brown or black hair, lots of variation in hairstyle (omg coloured braiiiiiiids, a girl in my college class had like hot pink added to her hair for a couple weeks and it was so helpful, by the time they were out I KNEW HER) usually softer edges around the nose and lips.

but EVERYONE ELSE. EVERYONE ELSE IS A BLUR. LIKE HOW TF DO YOU LOOK AT A GUY AND BE LIKE “oh he’s East Indian” “oh he’s aboriginal” “oh he’s a tanned white dude” HOW CAN YOU JUST KNOW WITHOUT ASKING. HOW. HOW HOW HOW

And it’s the WORST because sometimes I have to FIND PEOPLE and they’ll be like “50 year old south Asian male in a white sweatshirt average build average height wearing flip flops” and I’ll be like GOTCHU is this him? And my coworker will be like “for the ninth time that is a fully Caucasian man and he looks 30”

I ID race the way non-car people describe cars like “uhhhh it’s blue it has a round logo and uhhhhhhh i think it had a baby on board sign? Idk it was round” and it’s a cobalt blue 2015 Dodge Grand Caravan license plate 5X5-X5X or some shit, Christ alive

it has become embarrassing and I needed to confess because Jesus hell it’s bad

[madamechrissy]

ParrotKuna - a rare breed of demon bird!?!?

Pairings- Parrot Sukuna x F!reader (I can't with this shit LMAO)

Warnings- COMPLETE crack, mean backshots, Kuna has feathers, lots of cussing, degrading, Sukuna is a little shit starter, don't you dare call him a parakeet! Reader being a lil hoe tbh, fingering, creampie, and just shame all around <3

this is my turn for the Sukuna reincarnated into random animals <3 This is @yenayaps and @indiewritesxoxo fault so BLAME THEM!!!

You're kissing your date as you stumble into your apartment in the dark, he's gripping your ass and moaning as your purse falls, and you kick the door shut, only for your annoying ass parrot to start squawking and squawking. He's like some fucking demon with his red ass eyes, you swear!

Your date pulls back, blinking in confusion as your parrot 'Kuna' (it's what he always squawks, so that's his name) starts ramming into his big ass cage over and over. "Just ignore him, he doesn't like people," you drag his mouth back on yours, trying to tune out the squawks, louder and louder.

He always freaks out any time you have a guy over, fuck he's busted out of the cage and scared them before, it's so embarrassing, having been left with this damn bird when you got this place! At first you felt so bad the owners left him, but with the amount he eats and how annoying and mean he is, you get it.

He always bit the fuck out of you and anyone, and he requires the most fancy fucking treats, the pickiest damn bird. Sure, he was a big beautiful parrot, but you were about to get rid of him. He's gotta be worth more than your car!

You're focusing as he starts kissing down your neck, slipping his hands between your thighs, you see the glowing red eyes and turn away, like the damn thing was peeping, sqwaking even louder, that's when the annoying thing starts saying other men's names.

Satoru Satoru Satoru

"Who's Satoru?" you scoff, shaking your head now.

"Just a friend, mmm, more!" He's running his thumb over your clit, your panties dripping wet, it's been months since your break up with Gojo.

Suguru Suguru Suguru

"Who is that?" He's pulling off again, frustrating you as you now walk up to your parrot, scowling. He starts banging his head on the pretty cage, you've went through five with him, and you're about to be broke if he doesn't fucking stop.

"Shut it, now Kuna!" You earn a snarl from the pretty pink and red parrot, some rare fucking rainforest bird or something - he's waving he wings and chanting their names again.

"Are they like... boyfriends or..."

Friends with Benefits!

"Shut up!?"

Nanami Nanami Nanami!

"No, no, no!" You just maybe fucked them? A few times, but you don't need him to snitch on you! You take off your top then, earning your date moaning at the sight, your pretty breasts swaying just a bit, and that's when Kuna loses it.

He's tired of watching you fuck men, when he knows he can do it way better, so he's busted out of the cage again, using his beak to pick his own lock now, as you scream out. He flies at the guy now, flapping his wings and attacking him. You gasp then, you've never seen him so aggressive, pecking the poor guy over and over!

Out Out Out

"Your bird is possessed!" He snatches up his shirt and runs out the door now, you're so mad and embarrassed, glaring at the parrot, who's flying in a circle, while you hold your tits and shut the door.

"I'm selling you, fuck this! Ah!" Suddenly, you feel it, sharp nails digging into your breasts as you look down to see hands, big fucking hands, covered in little red feathers, sharp black ones cutting your skin. "huh!?"

"Tired of hearing you fake orgasms," comes the gruff voice behind you now, you look up to see the same red eyes that have been glaring at you, he drags you against a hard body. "Time I showed you how to really cum, brat."

"Brat!? Excuse me who the fuck... what the... are you licking me!?" He's chuckling now, as his tongue laps a stripe up your neck, before spinning you and pressing you against your door. He towers the fuck over you, huge and muscled, completely fucking naked then, his face half covered in long pretty feathers, and sharp teeth in a grin.

"Hear you playing with yourself all night, I'm tired of it," he huffs, you feel you have hit your fucking head- maybe the bird knocked you over!? He's lifted you, pressing you against his chiseled body, and you feel just how big he is.

"Where is Kuna at!" He's chuckling some more, as his feathered hands grip your chin.

"I'm Kuna, fuck you're soaked, that from me, or that fucking loser, huh?" He's aggressive then, demanding as he picks you up, you panic, while he's passing his birdcage, kicking it over with a loud clatter. You glare at him.

"You're so ungrateful, that was a thousand fucking dollars!"

"I'll fly around the house from now on," he throws you unceremoniously off the bed, you're scooching up it, when he yanks down your panties, he brings them to his face and moans.

"You're the one stealing them."

"They're comfy to sleep on, now bend over," you don't listen, so he flips you, groaning as he sees your pussy glistening for him, he's seen it plenty of times when you fuck your boy toys, but now he gets a good look at it. "Fuck, can't wait to finally show you what some good dick is, slutty fuckin' brat."

"Excuse me!? You're a parrot- ah!" Sukuna chokes you with one hand then, as the other whips out his huge cock, you gasp as you look back at him and see it, thick and veiny and leaking precum.

"Ya like it, huh brat? Want me to split your pussy in half, don't ya?" You hardly form a word, as he tugs at your hair, yanking it and slipping in two long fingers, moaning as he feels you pulse around him. "Say it, you want me to split you in half."

"N-no! I don't, you weird ass parakeet- oh fuck," he's yanked his fingers out now, sucking your juices off them and groaning, before smacking the fuck out of your ass. "Ow shit!"

"I'm a special rainforest parrot that's extinct, you should go to jail for having me, f-fuck your cunt... so tight..." he's sinking in now, stretching you out with his tip meanly bullying in your walls, you scream out at it, head falling back. "Can you even take me?"

"Y-you're a little... finch... hah!" You're grinning against the pillows as he smacks you harder, sinking his whole cock inside you now, you're stuffed so full you're gasping, gripping the sheets under you.

"Not a fucking finch, dumb little fucking slut," he's fucking harder now, as he grips your hips bruisingly, feeling just how good you are, no wonder those boys cum fast, but he's Sukuna. "Take it back, m'not a finch!"

"Mnh!" You're getting fucked harder now, mean thrusts bruising your cervix, gushing slick wetness down his cock and making a fucking mess as your- former parrot? - fucks you harder and harder, the sounds filthy as they fill your apartment.

"Take it back, hah - I'll let you cum, huh?" You whine at that, his feathered hands slipping up your ass, gripping it and spreading them to fuck you meaner. You're already crying out and gasping at how good he feels, balls slapping your clit, while his cock is burning your skin from the delicious stretch.

Are you really fucking some Parrot fucking hybrid!? Have you been reading too much smut on Tumblr???

"Kuna!"

He moans then, pausing, before yanking your hair, bringing you up to his knees and pressing a hand on your tummy, feeling his cock bulge it as he shoves you down harder. "Take it back, say it, I'm not a finch!"

"N-not a finch! Mnh, Kuunnaa please!" He's moaning now, fingers finding your clit and roughly rubbing. "There, there!"

"M'not a... f-fucking parakeet..." he's desperate now, almost whimpering before he gathers himself, biting your neck with sharp ass teeth and sinking them in.

"N-not a parakeet!"

"R-rare, fucking extinct..."

"Extinct... rare fucking... your cock ohmygod!" You're done then, uncaring of just how the fuck you got here, as Sukuna rails your cunt so good you're cumming all over his thighs, soaking all the random little feathers on them, and he's biting you again, pushing your orgasm further. "Kuna!"

"Only g-gonna fuck me, n-no more... Satoru, Suguru, Nanami-"

"S-sorry!"

"Slutty brat," he's huffing now, claiming you his as he pushes in so deep, you're squirting down his huge cock, gasping out then. "Gonna fill you up."

"N-no, can't cum in me!? What if I... have a fucking- ah!"

"Fuck that, gonna fill you up, beg for it." You're shaking your head, earning his fingers slapping the front of your cunt with a loud slap, stinging as you whine. "Only me, and no more cage, hah I'm gonna... take your bed."

"Wh-whatever, ngh!" You're done then, letting him fuck you until you scream out, shaking all around him, as your... pet? ... busts his hot load inside you, you'd panic about that later- praying you don't have baby fucking birds!

Sukuna is thorough after he cums inside your cunt, he makes sure to clean it up with his sharp tongue, and then he makes sure you two take a bath. It's honestly a little cute how he shakes out his feathers, but when you point it out, you get bent over the sink and fucked again.

Your date tries to come back over- commendable, but when Sukuna answers the door he runs away, so you suppose you're stuck with this fucking demon now. The back shots do help though! <3

YEP

Perm tags LMAO @alt--er--love @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @satoblue @fairygardenprincesss @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff @ibreathesmut @s777athv @twinklywinkly @akiii143 @squeezyvalkyrie @cookielovesbook-akie

[infamous-if]

any cool facts about any of the characters before the final cut? did you change any of them significantly compared to how you initially envisioned them?

Good question!

The biggest one is that Seven was supposed to have Blake's personality. Their role in the story as an ex-bandmate remains the same but they were going to be super antagonistic and smug and smirky and just mean. As I was writing I realized it didn't feel right with their storyline so I kept the antagonistic part of it but I changed the ~flavor.~ I wanted them to be sensitive and……………*sympathetic. I know some people may not agree but I think this Seven is much easier to feel for than a Blake version of Seven.

G and Victoria weren't originally going to be married but I think the marriage makes the affair feel 10x worse/the relationship even more suffocating and like a prison and that's great (for me).

G was supposed to be a very typical asshole unapproachable celebrity who is super mean and while I still kinda wish i did that sometimes i really do like this version of G who is just generally pretty nice and hasn't been completely changed by the industry (seeing them get worse in real time is part of the tragedy imo)

Soft Violence (and Seven) were supposed to be much bigger as a little hehaha at MC and the band after Seven left but it didnt make sense to have them on BOTB if they were pretty big. Seven wouldn't see the point (you'll know why down the line).

Not character related but for a very split second I wondered whether it'd be better to do a Real World style reality show in which they all stayed in the same house together and did Challenges like that. Then I did the Brittany Broski meme and realized my original plan of a moving tour was better (and more unique).

Adding onto this, I thought the idea of a music camp would be cool until I realized I was just recreating Camp Rock™

Players were going to have a choice to "choose" their drummer. (There would be three types of characters and you'd choose and it'd be flavor text in). Each character would come with their own problems/traits and some would be harder to get along with than others. I didn't do it because I love August too much and it was too much work for my first IF (especially since Infamous has a lot anyway). I'm still keeping that idea in the back of my mind though for a future story though !

There was supposed to be a film crew/camera guy(gn) RO that I regret not doing (E is kinda the bridge as a tour photographer). Maya was originally another character that would be a hater turned RO. I kinda regret that one too but the great thing about it is that I've been keeping those in my back pocket for the future har har. (Those didn't come to fruition because they didn't fit the story and Maya's role now just suits what I had planned much better so when I say I regret it, I don't. I just regret not being able to play with those dynamics hahah)

[chow0w]

if it’s not too much trouble could you redesign either Cricket or Moon? I love your art it’s so beautiful!! Your glory was design was just chefs kiss. Have an amazing day!

Thank you so much! Here's my take:

(I saw that a lot of people loved the creepy Wasp design, and trust me I DID think about making Cricket look similar but like.. I can't. I can't do that to her. I'll do it to Lady Scarab.)

Cricket's redesign is definitely one of those where I kind of didn't really do anything to change it - I really like her current design, and so most of this was just changing little things I think would've made it better. The main adjustments I made were definitely to her proportions - Cricket's wiki description is slightly vague on her build (because she has book cover art, I assume) but I was honestly never a huge fan of how slender she appeared in some splash art since I always imagined her being a little bit shorter/more muscular. She isn't doing hardcore farm work at her agricultural school, but she still probably knows a thing or two about hauling massive plants from room to room for class. That might just be me, though.

I also made her glasses way thicker and bigger, and really tried to lean into the octagonal shape they have - although I might have made that a little bit unclear. I really like to think that she's like those characters whose eyes turn into little dots when she takes her glasses off. The rest of her design is relatively the same - aside from her orange tinted wings and additional black/mustard splotches. Finally, I thought it would be cute to change the bag around her chest into a smaller satchel that rests at her side and wraps around her neck. I think I can safely say Cricket's book was my favorite from all of the arc 3 books - from the presentation and exploration of Jewel hive to the temple of clearsight, and most importantly how Cricket interacts with these events as they come and go. I seriously think it's the gem of the arc (but you guys can probably tell that based on how much I talk about its content in my other posts.)

To all of you who have been following for a while (or those who just stopped by,) thank you so much for your support! If you're interested in requesting a WoF character to be redesigned, head to my inbox or check out my pinned post and see if they're already on the waitlist! And to any fellow artists who are interested, I am running an art contest until the end of june! The challenge is to draw a scene from any WoF book or graphic novel, and there are more details below:

This link will take you to my discord server!

Thanks for reading this far! See you later ♡(>ᴗ•)

[aurumalatus]

The new guy is hitting on you, and it’s awkward.

On any other day, you probably wouldn’t be too bothered—you’d engage in shallow small talk for a few minutes before your lunch break. But today is your presentation to the board, and these slides aren’t going to finish themselves.

“Are you listening?”

Your nail catches on the edge of the ‘w’ key on your keyboard, and you wince. It’s hard to type and try to focus on whatever nonsense he’s spewing at the same time.

“Sorry, what were you saying?”

You’re not sorry, not even slightly, but that doesn’t seem to matter. Not when your coworker leans over your desk, tie dangling in front of your face as he eases the lid of your laptop shut.

“What the hell are you doing?” you splutter, completely baffled. He scoffs.

Guess the nice guy act ran its course, you think.

“You think you’re too good for me, huh? You’re just like all the other—“

“Did you get those slides finished or what? Seriously, my grandma could wrap this up faster. And she’s six feet under.”

You flinch at the new voice, and it’s Scaramouche that peeks his head past your office door. Assessing the situation—your coworker leaning over you and the snarl on your lip—he raises a brow.

“Akashi, what are you doing in here?” Scaramouche asks, arms crossed as he leans against the doorframe. “Last I checked, you have plenty of your own shit to figure out.”

Coughing awkwardly, Akashi (whose name you actually just remembered) lifts himself away from you.

“Was just checking on her work. Making suggestions.”

It makes you want to slap him. You’ve been here years longer than he has, so he has no business sticking his nose in your work.

Scaramouche seems to reach the same conclusion, based on the way he sighs, taking a few short steps toward the other man.

He claps a firm hand on Akashi’s shoulder, the other yanking on his tie—softly enough to pass for an adjustment, hard enough to imply a threat.

“Here’s a suggestion, then. Go fuck off to your own office and try doing some work for once. Don’t let me see you in here again.”

Scaramouche isn’t your boss, nor is he Akashi’s, but for the length of time he’s been here and the sway he holds in the office, he damn might as well be.

Akashi seems to take the hint, eyes downcast as he merely nods and scurries off. You and Scaramouche watch him as he goes, and after a beat of silence he turns to you next.

“And you,” he sighs, loosening his own tie around his neck. He usually wouldn’t be caught dead wearing one, but the importance of the presentation demanded it. “Get the slides done. You have two hours.”

He pauses mid-step when he turns to leave, casually tossing a granola bar and a warm bread bun on your desk.

Your eyes widen, trying to catch him as he walks out the door.

“Wait, I didn’t—“

“I bought two on accident,” he says, waving without looking back. “Just eat them. If you pass out during the presentation, it looks bad for me.”

And then he’s gone, and it’s quiet.

Truthfully, you wouldn’t even say that you and Scaramouche are friends—acquaintances at best, maybe. But he always seems to be looking out for you somehow.

Unwrapping the bread bun, you take a shallow bite.

It’s soft and fresh. But it doesn’t explain the thudding heartbeat in your chest.

[wileycap]

Hakoda the Grief Pirate it's time for Hakoda the Grief Pirateeee

Kya is killed, as in canon. Unlike canon, Bato is killed too. This means that rather than join the war, Hakoda goes mad with grief and gathers a few ships' worth of men - desperate, brutal men who want to repay the cruelty of the Fire Nation in kind. Not soldiers, not sailors, killers.

And he takes Katara.

The first place he goes is the Northern Water Tribe. He gets an audience. He goes to Chief Arnook and the elders and says: either I leave here today with a master for my daughter, or none of us leave this room alive.

Katara gets a master.

As in canon, Katara is a prodigy. With a year to focus on her waterbending and drilled by a man wearing her father's face who tells her "we're all going to die doing this" and "but we'll bleed them a thousand times over for every one of us" and most importantly he says "we're going to avenge your mother" - growing up under that man, Katara becomes terrifying.

Sokka is left alone. The last bit of love in his father's heart was spent on him, though he doesn't know it. It was spent on leaving him. It was spent on sparing him from seeing what his father would become.

Sokka goes out often, looking for traders and sailors and ships. He finds no news and too little fish. Until one day, an iceberg cracks open.

The boy is young and Sokka hasn't been a big brother for a while now, but it turns out that it's like riding a penguin - you never really forget. So when Aang gets kidnapped by some ponytailed jerk, of course he goes after him.

That he only manages to ruin Aang's escape and get them both captured is beside the point, okay? The Fire Jerk cheated.

(Appa follows them, if you're wondering. Aang doesn't seem to be in any real danger. Zuko isn't an especially merciless captor, no matter how he tries.)

Sokka finally gets some news. The Frost Wolf is believed to be a Northern raider (to protect his tribe from reprisals) and he is feared. He leaves only one survivor in each of his raids. He tasks them to deliver a simple message: the seas are no longer safe for the Fire Nation. He replenishes his crew with convicts and pirates. They say he has a crazy mechanist working for him. They say that an icy fog follows where he goes, blocking out the sun and chilling Firebenders to the core. They say he can't be killed.

-

"So, these guys of yours -" Sokka began and paused to let the answering "they're not my guys!" wash over him, "do they say anything about a girl?"

The Prince's ears reddened. "I don't listen to that kind of filth."

Which means you have listened, Sokka might have said if he felt like teasing. He didn't.

"Not like that! A girl, a little younger than me. Have you heard anything about that?"

Sokka held his breath. This was it. Of course, it didn't mean anything if Zuko hadn't heard...

"No." The Prince's voice was unusually quiet. Zuko's good eye glinted in the orange light of the torches.

Sokka couldn't help that his exhale caught in his throat on the way out, it wasn't - it was just a shock, he reasoned, it didn't mean anything that Zuko hadn't heard...

Zuko stood up and made to walk out. He stopped at the door.

"I'm sorry," the Prince said. "I have a sister, too."

The door closed and Sokka was left alone and with questions. Questions like:

How did he know?

-

The trip to the Fire Nation is long. Any experienced commander could have told Zuko to limit his interactions with the prisoners. To rotate out their guards and never have their meals brought by the same person if he could avoid it. Any experienced military commander would have seen the risk of two child prisoners, one of who is particularly genial and charming while the other is funny and sarcastic.

Iroh, one of the most experienced military commanders alive, encourages Zuko to learn all he can about his enemy. It's an advantage, you see.

(And if the watch lists are edited to put crewmembers with children into frequent and close contact with the prisoners - well, that's Iroh's prerogative. He is a General. And if there are a few minor navigational errors that lenghten their journey, well, that he knows nothing about. He's a General, not an Admiral.)

Meanwhile, Princess Azula is tasked with putting an end to the Frost Wolf's provocations. It would be terribly inconvenient if she were to have frequent encounters with another bending prodigy, about her age and wearing blue robes and a mask. They should make out about it.

Eventually, they'll all have to reckon with their monstrous fathers and murderous siblings.

[multihaven]

we are the people — drew starkey

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ inspired by ‘we are the people’ by empire of the sun

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ bf!drew starkey x gf!reader, fluff, the kind of romance author is craving

it’s truly like a movie. it always is like this.

whenever drew as a couple days off from filming, he loves to take you down the pacific coast highway during the sunset. it’s your guys’s thing.

it was the first date he took you on. just driving for hours, taking turns choosing which songs played on the radio, stopping at a restaurant for a late dinner, and then driving once more only to stop on the side of the road and walk down to the beach to look at the stars. all while getting to know each other inside and out. you knew you were done for that night because you could literally feel your heart falling in love with him that same night.

and today’s no different. it’s one of your favorite things to do with him.

the sun is blaring pink and orange, middle of june, the windows are rolled down, sunglasses adorning both of your faces, and it’s serenity.

Love in the summer

Followed the sun till night

you turn your head away from the view of the sea, now looking at drew. and he’s already looking at you. you feel your face flush and look away from him quickly. he still gives you butterflies every time he looks at you, your stomach fluttering in adoration.

“what? is my hair that fucked from the wind?” you giggle, brushing your hands over your untamed hair.

he smiles and shakes his head gently. he turns his focus back to the road and the hand that’s on your thigh squeezes a bit before his thumb starts rubbing gentle circles into your skin.

he shrugs. “jus’ love you.” he looks so good like this. one hand on the wheel, completely relaxed. no work on his mind for the next few days. just himself and enjoying his time with you. not to mention your favorite pair of sunglasses of his resting on his nose. yeah, you’re fucked.

you giggle once again, pulling both of your feet up onto your seat, knees resting against your chest. he grabs your hand in his and brings it to his mouth, slobbering kisses all over your knuckles and the back of your hand. you’ve never felt so free or so loved in your life. you feel high. high on the feeling of happiness and love and adoration for the man sitting next to you.

“oh! our song!” you exclaim, turning the volume dial all the way up.

and immediately, the both of you break out into song, the chorus screaming in every inch of the car.

“i can’t do well when i think you’re gonna leave me, but i know i try!” you sing, dancing as best as you can in the passenger seat.

“are you gonna leave me now? can’t you be believing now?” drew echoes your words with his own, all smiles and funny hand gestures.

“i know everything about you,” you pause and look at drew, pointing your pointer finger at you and him — following the ‘i’ and ‘you’ parts — and pausing your singing.

“you know everything about me,” he mirrors you, one hand still on the wheel, but using his other hand to point at himself and you.

and both of you scream-sing the next line at the same time, breaking out into laughs and dancing, living in the moment of each other.

“we know everything about us.”

you love this man more than anything in the world, and he tells you the same. all the time. how much he loves and adores you, how much he values you and how much he appreciates and respects how you understand that his job is always fucking crazy and that sometimes he’s gone for three or four weeks at a time. he always puts you first no matter what and reassures you whenever you need or whenever he feels like it.

just a bittersweet remembering and enjoyment of what you two have that has not been lost yet. and you know damn well you both hope it stays found.

[awaxagoras]

something something office au eheheh :3 amphoreus has infected my brain so ! phainon [ mydei and anaxa were supposed to be in this too , but it got too long and now im embarrassed . next post . trust me ] ALSO . . not really intentional but this is slightly yan coded . I love freaks sowwy (⸝⸝> ᴗ•⸝⸝)

okiii so hear me out abt office au [ I don’t have anything specific in mind so the details are up to you lol ] ur job isn’t anything special but it pays the bills . typical office position . replying to emails , making copies , organizing ur boss’ schedule , etc etc . gets intense sometimes considering how high you’ve climbed up the ranks , but it’s nothing you can’t handle

you haven’t met him yet , but you’ve heard a lot about the newest employee . despite the recency of his arrival , it sounds like he has already gained the respect of not only your coworkers , but the people above you , too . he was the one to initiate your first meeting , actually [ you feel kinda bad about not seeking him out first , but he doesn’t seem to mind ]

abruptly stops the elevator door from closing one morning before stepping inside with you [ it’s kinda weird that he never glances at button panel (ᵕ—ᴗ—) ] introduces himself as phainon , smiling brightly at you and politely offering his hand to shake [ his grip seems slightly firmer than it needs to be , but it’s probably just due to his extroverted nature ] he briefly tells you about his transfer from his old company to this one before imploring about you . once you get to your floor , he unexpectedly follows you to your desk . what a coincidence ! he’s on this floor , too ! ( ◠‿◠ ) nice decorations , by the way ! [ . . does he need to lean so close to you to look at them ? ] maybe you could help decorate his desk sometime haha [ more under the cut bc I yapped too much sowwy ]

his own work station is across the room from yours but that doesn’t seem to stop him from going straight to you whenever he has a question [ you had heard about this guy’s achievements and the whispers that he was the perfect employee . why is he asking you about the photocopier ? and why does it feel like he’s not really listening ? (•᷄‎_•᷅ ) ] you swear he’s always in the break room at the same time , too . haha wow another coincidence ! it’s like you meant to be or something haha . . [ he’s not really joking ] you can’t pinpoint when it happened , but he’s gotten your drink preferences down to a science . oh , no need to thank him ! [ judging by the way he turns his head for a moment in an attempt to hide the flush on his face , he’s quite happy that you always thank him anyway ⁠♡ ]

although he often seeks you out for mundane things , phainon never fails to jump to help you with your work [ even thought you don’t ask ] you’re grateful , at first . one glance at his work immediately proves that the rumours of his excellence are indeed true . it starts to get slightly irritating when he finishes projects that you’ve started without asking you or even mentioning it until after it’s been submitted to your boss

sure , his work is amazing and he breezes though it almost effortlessly , but you aren’t as helpless as he’s making you feel . he’s never condescending towards you , but you can tell he doesn’t take your words seriously . he’s not phased when you tell him that his actions aren’t necessary . haha alright , alright ! he’ll focus on his own work from now on . [ he won’t . the cycle repeats ] you’re starting to feel guilty now , too [ you didn’t even start this , either ! what the hell ! (•̀⤙•́) ]

both of you have relatively high positions at the company — you know firsthand that the workload can get overwhelming at times and now he’s carrying double the responsibilities ? and it’s because of you ? laughs at your concerns . he’s flattered that you care about him , but you shouldn’t worry so much ! he’s got this ! buuuuut . . if you feel like you need to repay him so badly , why don’t you go out with him sometime ? [ and sometime after that . and after that ] great ! it’s a date (๑>؂•̀๑)

[koimethehorizon]

Deltarune: What's the Deal with Ramb?

(MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR CH 3 of DELTARUNE)

Genuinely, who hell is this guy?

I spend an unhealthy amount of time overthinking Deltarune, so I will likely have an opinion, theory, or answer on practically every aspect of the game. (whether you guys get to read any of those depends on my work ethic.)

But with Ramb, the best I can add is that this is a rare case of an underwritten Toby Fox character. Borderline just a plot-device for the Ch 3 weird route.

...and maybe this was done deliberately?

Throughout Ch 3, Ramb works as a very effective bait for the fans keeping their eyes out for this chapter's secret boss.

An odd speech pattern, a distinct design, an uncomfortable familiarity with Kris, low-key kind of a weirdo, and who could forget the FREEDOM drop.

Like, come on. By his 2nd line, I'm sure most players were suspicious of this guy. Moreso, when you enter that ominous S rank lobby into an equally ominous, weird route minigame.

This has to be the guy right?

Yes, I'm still salty.

And so you keep progressing, grinding for those S ranks, chatting with the definitely-the-Ch3-secret-boss, killing some digital friends along the way.

You find out he's actually a library power strip that Kris and Asriel stole to play games way back when. He's not just any NPC, he KNOWS Kris. And in the chapter's endgame, Ramb drops the bombshell that he SAW Kris open the fountain and figures before anyone that they must've done it to have another adventure with Susie.

I never trust anyone who smiles like this.

Alright lay it on me Ramb, give me the bullshit bullets and let me kick your ass!

And then you fight ERAM, get the Shadow Mantle, and.... he's gone. For the rest of the chapter.

WHERE'S MY CRYSTAL RAMB???

A Rabbick in the S rank hall will tell you that something happened to Ramb, but you don't even get the liberty of knowing the specifics.

So what the hell? Was Ramb genuinely just some weirdo?

It actually wasn't until a week later that I found out that Ramb gets more backstory in the route where you talk with him less. In other words, the non-S rank path that secret hunters would've reset the chapter away from. Nullifying any more info on this character for most dedicated first-timers.

Rather than Ramb vanishing, he's just a block of stone in his booth. Interact with it and a Pippins will give you this:

Don't bother Kris. Ramb's already turned into stone a bit ago... He was a plug, but because you played with him like any other toy, it made him feel special. Might have given him a little bit of an ego, in fact...

Always condescending to any plan, saying "what's best for Kris?" Couldn't get rid of him, so Tenna made him "work the stand"...

Us from the Card Castle fit in fine. Him? He never really belonged. His first day at this stand, he joked "how about the usual?" ... no one laughed! Mixing drinks alone for himself, he wasn't allowed to handle the points...

No one will shed a tear for him. Inside, he was probably stone already.

... And it tells us nothing.

I'm not talking the boy-that-was-sure-a-lot-of-words type of nothing. I mean a far more mundane, miserable type of nothing.

Some have theorized that Ramb was the intended secret boss that the Knight didn't get the shadow crystal to in time.

Some also theorize that Ramb was the one controlling ERAM to have a 1v1 with Kris.

And even fewer might expect Ramb to return in a future chapter so we'll DEFINITELY know what the deal with him is!

Maybe I'm stepping my foot a bit hard here, but I don't agree with any of these. I think the point of this backstory is much sadder than we expected.

Ramb didn't know shit.

Every time Ramb talked about freedom, he wasn't even referring to the same realization that Spamton and Jevil had. Ramb wasn't aware of a grand prophecy, nor did he receive a contact from Gaster/The Knight/Carol or whoever the hell is on that phone.

Ramb placed all stock on his value and identity on being Kris's favorite. Like a parasocial fan of a celebrity. And as a result, he ruined any chance at a social life.

Funny enough, Ramb got NOTHING about Kris right.

Kris HATED playing the Shadow Mantle game. Kris didn't open the fountain for fun; it was to carry out the Knight's plan, which I'm pretty sure Kris isn't all that fond of either.

So all we've got left is this strange, lonely NPC who didn't even need a shadow crystal to be trapped in an existential rot.

He gave up on his life all by himself.

Whenever I see another "who's the secret boss of Ch 3" argument pop up, it makes me pity Ramb in a way I never have with any other Toby Fox character.

Ramb...but only thematically.

Spamton and Jevil are considered anti-social, insane rejects within their Dark Worlds. Yet because they've got the charisma and are powerful opponents, they're loved by many players.

Ramb has none of these qualities.

Other than his accent and design, there isn't much of anything to delve further into with this guy. Ramb absolutely does have some fans, but he'll never reach the same heights as the other bosses because he doesn't stand out.

Ramb's only self-imposed purpose was to help guide Kris to whatever he thinks freedom is and once we get the Mantle, he's fulfilled it, and we're never to see him again.

It's as if even the narrative wants us to forget about him.

[shiftingtribemaster]

Ok, Story time.

When I was younger I was a bit of a social outcast as I was a very “Out of the Loop” person (since I didn’t have a phone or iPad or anything technology like that). I also moved to where I live now when I was 7, so I definitely had to be the new girl.

I am also neurodivergent, so often I ran into the problem of people pretending to be my friend only to prove they never were.

When I was in 8-9th grade, I was harassed by a guy in the same grade. He messed with my head, would never leave me in peace, and got all of his friends involved. This got bad enough for me that I talked to my school counselor, and to this day we are not allowed to interact on school grounds.

The point of the matter is that I kept getting told to “ignore him” by my parents, and didn’t even know that what we was doing constituted as harassment.

I’ll explain this as simply as I can, so know that while this is not entirely accurate this is the best I can explain it.

After how much he messed with my head I started having a kind of “Shit List”, where even nowadays when anyone (but particularly guys) act toward me in any way that reminds me of him, they instantly go on that list and o can never be friends with them no matter the circumstance. I have yet to willingly interact with any of the people who have made this list, and I have a really hard time making friends with guys because of it.

I haven’t really talked to anyone outside of people close to me about how much this affects me because I don’t have the words (nor do I think my parents will truly listen and understand), and all I know is that I struggle to make friendships with all but a few guys who’ve never done anything wrong to me or that I knew prior.

I hate it, so fucking much, when someone else or myself is told to just ignore the bullies and suck it up.

Because there are psychological consequences to this kind of treatment, and we’re expected to move on like it never even happened.

—————————

For anyone who might be wondering and/Or concerned about me:

I’m actually in a really good place mentally at the time of writing this, and while I crashed out quite a few times I never dipped into complete depression during that time or now.

I do have a therapist who knows all the history, and I’m trying to work towards rebuilding my ability to be more open to guys. (Although with the current climate of both my country and my schooling, it’s not getting better).

While this guy and I are unable to interact, I learned from a former friend of his that he did it just to fuck with me, and as of right now has minor consequences.

I got an apology letter from him once. He was forced to write it, and I almost find it humerus nowadays at how much of a non-apology it is. I don’t think he really cared then, or cared now.

There’s more to this story but this is already a bit much and long, so if you have questions feel free to send me an ask. I’m willing to talk about how I dealt with it and am dealing with it, and in some cases it even helps to do so.

I wish you all an even better day tomorrow than you’ve had today, and I hope that someday we can teach kids the real effects of bullying, and nip it in the bud once and for all.

Shifty out.

Crazy how bullying is not really acknowledged as a real trauma like you really have to endure years and years of lord of the flies and then just move on like it never happened

[narcjsistx]

— NOT ON TIME, BUT ON POINT

ও bunny inglesias x fem!reader

ও warnings: bunny was revealed literally today for the first time and NOTHING is known about his character so don't come back here angry saying i changed him once his character is finally explained </3 it's just a fic!!

ও tags: @x3nafix ♡

ও 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me! | words: 0.8k

The heat of July is almost suffocating, but the coolness of the restaurant saves you a little from melting on the spot. Maybe talking to the three men about the last fight with your ex-friend wasn't the best idea since you're sweating with anger, but to deceive the wait and the idea of hatred that you're developing towards your boyfriend for being 2 hours late, talking is perhaps the only option. You don't even want to focus on the fact that Bunny hasn't replied to your messages for hours and that he hasn't even shown up at your usual restaurant, the same one that made you meet and fall in love 2 years ago. Talking for take away the hate and the idea that he left you hanging for the first time, well, that's the only option

"Did you understand what she did? what an extremely rude person, and i thought she was-" you say, speaking animatedly, miming the scene with your arms. the man in front of you snorts, while the others at the counter laugh "Come on, you always knew she was a shitty friend" says a man, the same one who has been listening to your stories for the two years that you have been frequenting this restaurant. you cross your arms over your chest "It wasn't that obvious! i mean, yes, but not-" you say, but the restaurant owner's laughter silences you "You're only doing this because you don't want to agree with Bunny!" he says laughing, and you curse him with just one look, grim enough to kill someone "I'm not doing this just because Bunny has spent the last two years telling me to kick her out of my life. I'm just telling the truth, guys!" you say, but the laughter of the three men in front of you only makes you want to run away and not pay for lunch, even though you never actually paid for it with your own money. You haven't done it for two years now, thanks to someone

"Bunny's been saying that for years and you've only just realized it. Stupid little girl, I don't know how that boy handles you..." one man says dejectedly, while another nods "I don't understand why she's bothered by agreeing with Bunny..." he says, and you slam your hand on the counter, furious "Who gave you this freedom to insult me so freely?" you say, looking at them badly, running a hand through your hair "And I thought I'd tell you this and find some comfort..." you say tiredly, but the owner shrugs "Bunny told us to keep an eye on you when you're here alone. We're doing what he would do" he says, and you snort "As if he's here..." you say defeated, but just at that moment an arm wraps around your arms, and before you can look up, a hat you know well blocks your view

"What if I were here?" says a voice that has been eating away at your life for years now, and you giggle, taking off your hat and squeezing it between your fingers, while you look at your boyfriend's face "It took you a long time. I had lunch alone" you say, and he kisses your head, letting you put his hat back on his head in the meantime "That's better. You didn't pay, did you?" he asks, and the owner takes the banknote from the boy's hands that he offers him "Two hours late for a simple lunch. I would tell you that if she had left you today, I wouldn't have blamed her" the man says, and the boy laughs, tightening his grip on your shoulders "I had paparazzi in front of the house, that's why I was late. You avoided her causing trouble, right?" he says jokingly, and you snort, even if amused "Nice, really nice. I wouldn't joke so much if I was 2 hours late for a date with my girlfriend, Bunny" you say, and he shrugs "I'm a star, in this case the only one in this relationship. Stars make you wait" he says, but you glare at him "The consider yourself single, if you're a star. Surely there's someone else you can share lunch with here, right?" you say, and the three men chuckle, now accustomed to your bickering

The boy kisses your cheek, cupping your cheeks with one hand "I could. But I’d rather share them with you" he says, and you roll your eyes, though you know his words are just silly "If anyone interrupts our lunch today, I swear to buy you flowers as soon as I finish lunch too. So forgive me, okay?" he says with his usual smiley tone, and you nod, although still a little annoyed by the hours of delay "I could think about it"

There's no way they're interrupting your lunch today, right? There's no way a random Japanese guy needs your boyfriend's help today... yes, you can definitely forgive him