#reapps

[apcomplexhq]

✦ Nome do personagem: Asami Watanabe. ✦ Faceclaim e função: Gaeul - IVE. ✦ Data de nascimento: 23/09/2000. ✦ Idade: 23 anos. ✦ Gênero e pronomes: Feminino, ela/dela. ✦ Nacionalidade e etnia: Coreia do Sul, sul-coreana. ✦ Qualidades: Inteligente, fofa e carinhosa. ✦ Defeitos: Inocente, manipulável e ansiosa socialmente. ✦ Moradia: Elysian Fields. ✦ Ocupação: Bibliotecária na Athena’s Temple. ✦ Twitter: @EF00WA ✦ Preferência de plot: CRACK, FLUFFY, ROMANCE, SMUT. ✦ Char como condômino: Extremamente quieta e sempre parece fugir das pessoas desconhecidas quando tentam conversar com ela, parece sempre evitar qualquer tipo de interação social que não seja absolutamente necessária, porém sempre está tentando ajudar todo mundo e não hesita em fazer de tudo para que as pessoas sorriam.

TWs na bio: menção à prostituição, abandono parental e bullying. Biografia:

Nascida na Coreia do Sul, Asami nasceu com o nome de “yuna”. Desde criança fora criada apenas por sua mãe – uma prostituta que engravidou de um de seus clientes anônimos, que desapareceu após descobrir que ela estava grávida. Após alguns anos sua mãe chegou a conclusão de que não tinha condições financeiras de criá-la, afinal ter uma criança em casa espantava clientes potenciais e, com 4 anos, fora deixada em um orfanato.

Yuna amava sua mãe que nunca deixou de ser carinhosa com ela, sempre fazia de tudo para conseguir dar de comer para a garota, mesmo não a tratando com tanto carinho. Por esses motivos, não entendeu o porquê havia sido “deixada” naquela casa cheia de outras crianças, nunca entendeu também o porquê nunca pode ver sua mãe de novo e também nunca entendeu o porquê não tinha um “pai”.

Por conta disso e também pelo fato de que o orfanato não era um lugar muito agradável de se viver – ela sofria na mão das outras crianças maiores, além do fato de que as cuidadoras simplesmente fingiam que não sabiam do que acontecia – Yuna desenvolveu uma condição: o mutismo seletivo.

Ela só conseguia se comunicar verbalmente com uma amiga do orfanato, ficando completamente muda e ansiosa na presença de outras crianças ou das cuidadoras que até tentavam forçá-la a falar, dito que quando havia chego no orfanato ela se comunicava normalmente. Ao completar 6 anos, Yuna havia sido escolhida para adoção.

Um casal japonês que morava na coreia do sul descobriu sobre a condição de Yuna e, por conta de que o homem era estéril, eles tinham certeza de que queriam adotar aquela garota. Ao verem-na pela primeira vez, o instinto materno de sua futura mãe clicou quase que instantaneamente.

Não foi uma adoção fácil, tendo em vista que ambos eram japoneses e Yuna era coreana, além de ser uma criança com uma condição tão complicada de lidar, mas que ambos eram psicólogos e também que o primeiro motivo para quererem adotar justamente Yuna era para tentar ajudá-la com o mutismo seletivo e dar um lar carinhoso e cheio de amor para ela foram pontos-chave para que a adoção desse certo.

Novamente foi um começo difícil: Yuna tinha 6 anos e havia estereotipado em sua cabeça de que o mundo estava contra ela. Seus pais foram extremamente pacientes, conseguindo fazer com que aos poucos Yuna se abrisse para eles. Não foi rápido, foi pelo menos um ano de adaptação, e então, em uma noite de inverno durante o jantar, finalmente suas primeiras palavras para seus pais ecoaram – “eu amo vocês.”

Pelo fato de ter sido adotada ainda nova, seus pais tiveram a oportunidade de mudar o nome da garota e naturalizá-la no japão e, após explicarem com calma o que o nome significava, e como isso a faria superar tudo o que havia acontecido até agora, Yuna fora renomeada “Asami”, recebendo também o sobrenome “Watanabe” de seus pais. Essa mudança marcou o momento em que Yuna – agora Asami – cortou relações com sua antiga vida e começou do zero. Era muito nova para entender essa situação ainda, mas seus pais sabiam que no futuro tudo faria sentido.

Crescendo em um lar carinhoso e amável no Japão, Asami se sentia confortável com sua família, mas seus traumas do passado não a deixaram. O mutismo seletivo havia evoluído para um espectro específico da fobia social: Asami não conseguia falar com as pessoas normalmente, apresentava sintomas de ansiedade. O problema sempre foi a fala.

Seus pais encontraram um método para que Asami se comunicasse de forma não verbal: após aprender a escrever, recebeu um caderninho e fora instruída a tentar se comunicar escrevendo para as outras pessoas e, surpreendentemente, aos poucos deu certo. Sempre elogiavam sua caligrafia bonita e, ao menos até o fim de sua adolescência, seus pais sempre faziam questão de estar junto dela quando saia, para explicar para os outros qual era a situação. Ao completar a maioridade, Asami passou por outro de seus maiores desafios: sair sozinha de casa para fazer as coisas. Novamente se adaptando aos poucos, chegou o momento onde Asami conseguia explicar sua situação para quem quer que fosse através de seu amado caderninho. Por conta de estar sempre envolvida com palavras escritas, Asami desenvolveu um amor praticamente obsessivo por literatura. Livros são seu hiperfoco.

Desde então, Asami sempre usou seu caderninho (seus, pois comprava praticamente semanalmente) para comunicar-se com as pessoas. Até guardava algumas folhas para se lembrar das conversas que teve com certas pessoas. Conseguiu um trabalho em uma pequena livraria calma e quieta após ser indicada por sua mãe que sempre passava por lá. Algum tempo depois se mudou novamente com seus pais de volta para a Coreia do Sul no famoso complexo “Acrópolis”, onde completou sua faculdade de biblioteconomia, começou a trabalhar na Athena’s Temple como bibliotecária e aos poucos tem desenvolvido sua habilidade de comunicar-se com estranhos.

[mcondance]

unfortunately remmick’s lord’s prayer has become a vocal stim for me. specifically “our kingdom come. our will be done,” cause it’s fun to say in an irish accent. and the first three lines of rocky road. and “to rrRATTLE”

others include “if you wasn’t his lil cousin, and a young pup to boot, i’d cut ya’ ass too thin too fry.

and if you threaten him again i’ll make yo’ drunk ass swallow that harmonica.”

“this ain’t chicago.

the fuck that mean?”

“stack… that you?

nah, fool, it’s jim crow. nigga, of course it’s me.”

“where yall from?

just up the road.

and how far’s that?”

“yall klan?

wh- uh- sir!”

“excuse me maam, i don’t think you should be here. you see, i’m with the twins—

with the twins? boy, if you don’t get the fuck out my face?”

“excuse me, boy. this here smoke? or is it stack?”

“how you be?

no miseries worth complainin’ about.”

“you not lil’ lisa, is you?

guilty as charged.

yo’ daddy here?

daddy!

bo chow.

look what the damn cat dragged in.”

“*beep beep beep* shit.

they stealin’!

mhm-hm.

*pew*

AHHHHH, YOU SHOT ME IN MY AS- smoke?

terry? boy, how you been?

i was doing better before you shot me in my ass

you tryna boost my truck.

this yo’ truck? i ain’t know this was yo’ truck-

bullshit! i told you it was his!

i thought she was lying! last i heard yall was up in chicago, working with capone.

yeah, well, we back now.

*pew*

WHY YOU HAD TO DO THAT?

can’t have some nigga talking bout’ how he almost robbed the twins. not without a limp to show for it.”

“yo’ daddy still live ‘round here?

yeah.

i just shot a couple niggas outside. then gon’ live, but they gon’ need some patchin’ up.”

“lisa, go get ya’ mama.

mama, daddy wants you.

you know, there’s two men out there, look like they been shot.

that would be my doin’.

why you gotta bring trouble?

trouble ain’t all he bringin’.”

“ay, lil girl. where you from?

shelby.

you heard of the smokestack twins?

of course.

good. i’m smoke. no no no now, you not in trouble.”

[aevumisles]

Without warning and no hesitation, I, Bii, wish to reapp for Lumine (abyss princess) of Genshin Impact. Application is under /app, etc. today's date is 06/04/25.

You feel stillness and motion pressing upon you from all sides. A familiar stirring draws you forward, and you wake once more from the long quiet.

You, LUMINE find yourself once more standing before the Terminus Tower. It has remained just as you once knew it, teeming with life. A guardian approaches.

What joyous occasion! Pleased, we are , Young Echo, for our paths to cross once more! Be swift in your readjustment, little one.

The guardian hands you the following:

A House Key. Emblazoned upon it is: #103, Eterna Village

Your former possessions, abilities, and emblems have been restored to you.

Welcome back to Aevum Isles.

— Mod Leillis  🌸

[jjcocker]

hi im yuri yuri3000 and RAPWOMEN RAPWOMEN RAPWOEMN TOAPWMN RPEAMWNE RPAMWNE RPAMWNORNRPAN RAPWMNE RAPWOEMN KENNRPAMWNNRPAWM EREAAAPWOMEN RAPWOMEN RAPWOEMN REPANWME RAPWOKENNREPWMN RRAPWOMENNREAPMWINENRAPWOMEN RAPWOMEN RAPWOMENN RAPWOMEN REAPWOMEN RAPWOMEN RAPWROMEM RAPWOMEND RAPWOMEN RAPWOMEN R

[angara-mfrp]

Hiya Hiya! It's Japes, I'm re apping Happy Chaos from Guilty Gear! It's currently 1/8 and you can reach me at atoasttomayhem right here on tumblr

"I'm here!"

Happy Chaos will remain on the masterlist.

- Mod Quoll

[archaictold]

𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 & 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥. 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 wisdom 𝘢𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘺. 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 lessons 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘵. 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦'𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘨𝘪𝘧𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘭𝘭.

𝐙𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐀𝐍. — a genshin impact original character. a study on 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦, 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, & 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘶𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦. envisioned by diz.

app. stats.

the liyue qixing's historiographer and former pupil of sumeru akademiya. his mission is to chronicle liyue as it moves into a new era of mankind, doing so in a way few before him have. nary a soul could match zhilan’s enthusiasm for the old world of teyvat, nor could they rival his bright-eyed curiosity as to what makes us truly human.

do you enjoy history? sociology? perhaps positing the essence of the human experience or anything of that nature? good! because he LOVES to talk about this! sometimes he talks about this in Great Length, even! it’s earned him the nickname ‘motormouth’, because once he gets going you miiiight be in for a crash course in history, totally free of charge!  ( he won’t quiz you, don’t worry. but he hopes you’re listening! )

“i can’t get spirited away from my home world, my manuscript is due!!”

grew up in the sleepy village of qingce, and sometimes finds city life a little overwhelming. after nearly two years in spirale, that's yet to change but he's getting better at it!

unusually optimistic despite his past hardships and exceedingly gullible. might blind you with his rays of positivity.

also remarkably good natured and kind. most would be hard-pressed to not notice his noble heart and his dedication to do what’s right.

believes that mankind is inherently good at its core with the capacity for evil, thereby making it limitless in possibility. this particular aspect of humanity is what intrigues him most.

has a complicated standing with the akademiya but has ultimately found relative success in liyue harbor. regardless of what others may think of his motivations, zhilan believes in them wholeheartedly. though he still considers himself a mere ripple in the waters of the academic community, even the smallest have the potential to produce the most mighty of waves.

[xaracosmia]

heyy this is han, and i'd like to reapp jin shirato. it's currently 9/2, and i can be contacted either here or @lowheeledshoes on twitter. (and. should be able to start rping again this month with some family things wrapping up)

hiii hannnnnn!! jin shirato has been reapped for you! excited to see you around again soon.

✨ assistant aperture

[melodiaemfrp]

hello!! it's ree and it's 7/21 and you can reach me here or on twt @ sakakiuryu (formerly getousugurus)... can i please reapp kaeya alberich and wriothesley from genshin impact? ty!!

Hey, Ree!

Kaeya and Wriothesley have been reapped.

~ SCRIBE OPERETTA

[projectthauma]

Hello, this is Thoaria! I'd like to keep Xander in the group if I can! Tysm!

hey thoaria!

xander has been released for you!

[mcrveilles]

just this once // ln4

word count: 1.1k warnings: casual intimacy themes, secrecy, conflicts of loyalty, romantic tension and suggestive content, clubbing, alcohol includes: friends to lovers, fluff, best friends little sister, brothers best friend summary: the group goes clubbing, things turn heated

PART TWO previous part - next part

tag list: sltwins

You're sprawled across your bed, staring at the ceiling as your phone buzzes beside you. Given your last message to your brother, you already know who it is before even picking it up.

Your cheeks flush at the nickname. He only calls you that to get under your skin, and he loves how much it annoys you. But after what happened between you two, it carries a different meaning to you.

You hesitate, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. The truth is, you are thinking about it. Thinking about him, specifically. How his hands had felt on your waist the last time you'd been together. How his lips had lingered on yours. How much you wanted—Your phone buzzes again.

Your heart skips a beat at that, but you choose to ignore it, tossing your phone onto the bed as you head to your closet.

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yourusername Monaco

liked by user01 and others

yourusername If life gives you lemons, add some vodka and hit the club. 🪩

maxfewtrell stop posting on instagram and get downstairs landonorris squad goaaaaaaaaaaaals 💅🏼 landonorris also🤤 ↳ carlando4ever LANDO WHAT ARE YOU DOING user02 wooooooooooooooow slay user03 mother is mothering

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The music pulses through the club, the bass thumping in your chest, the club now filled with people. You lean against the edge of the booth, sipping your drink, and watch the crowd sway under the neon lights. Then your eyes wander over Max and the others dancing and jumping around like idiots. Their unsynchronized moving makes you laugh and shake your head. 

Lando had disappeared somewhere in the crowd, and you’re torn between relief and annoyance at his absence. You sip your drink again, your gaze now wandering away from your group of people, and then you spot those familiar curls. Standing near the DJ booth, chatting with a girl—tall, blonde, and dressed to turn heads. Insanely beautiful. You can feel your stomach twist, but then you remember that you have no right. There are no promises between you and Lando, no agreements. Just one (or well, more) kiss. 

Still, when the blonde leans in, you swear you can hear her laughter ringing over the music. Why did you come again? You could’ve stayed cozy at home. You grit your teeth and down the rest of your drink. Being around Lando, especially in a setting like this, feels like playing with fire. It’s setting everything within her in flames. But well, here you are, trying not to let your gaze linger too long on the man who’s occupying your every thought since that night.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Max says, sliding into the booth next to you. His words pull your attention away from the scene across the room, “You jealous?”

“What? No,” you answer quickly, forcing a laugh and sitting up straight. “Why would I be jealous?”

Max, clearly unconvinced, raises an eyebrow, “You’ve been staring at Lando like you’re about to murder him or the girl he’s talking to. What’s up with you two lately? You’ve been weird.”

“Weird?” you repeat, your voice pitching slightly higher. “No, everything’s fine. I’m just tired and Lando talked me into coming.” Max narrows his eyes at that but shrugs. “Alright, whatever, but I’m not carrying you back like last time.” He stands back up, offering you his hand, “Maybe you should join us on the dance floor,” Max suggests, “It’s better than brooding over here.”

“I’m not brooding.” You let out a breath and wave his hand away.

Max raises an eyebrow and mutters out a ‘right’ before joining your friends again. Before you get the chance to react, Lando reappears, sliding into the booth on your other side, draping his arm casually over the back of the seat, his hand brushing against your shoulder as he settles in.

“You look like you’re having fun,” he teases, his voice low enough that only you can hear. You shoot him a look, which makes his silly grin even wider. “I was until I saw your fan club growing,” you reply dryly, swirling the ice in your glass.

Lando’s lips twitch into a smirk. “You’re not jealous, are you?” In return, you scoff, trying to mask the warmth rising to your cheeks. “Please. I couldn’t care less who you flirt with.” To which Lando chuckles and leans closer so that his breath tickles your ear. “Jealousy looks good on you, baby Fewtrell.”

It makes your cheeks burn, but you refuse to let him win. “I’m not jealous.” 

“Hmm,” he murmurs, leaning closer so his lips brush your ear now. “You sure about that?”

Your breath hitches, but before you can respond, Max reappears, slinging an arm around Lando’s shoulders. “What’s going on here?” You look up, “Nothing,” Lando and you say in unison, far too quickly.

“Stop sitting around and come dance,” Max says, already dragging Lando toward the dance floor. Lando shoots a look over his shoulder into your direction—half amused, half frustrated—as Max pulls him away. You roll your eyes, trying to focus on anything other than the way his shirt clings to his back or the memory of his lips on your ear.

When he turns around again and catches you watching, his grin widens, and he crooks a finger, beckoning you to join. “No way,” you mouth, shaking your head. He raises an eyebrow and steps closer until he’s standing right in front of you again. “Come on, baby,” he says, his voice once more, low enough that Max wouldn’t be able to hear over the music. “One dance won’t kill you.”

You look up at him, sizing him up, clearly thinking about your options. Reluctantly, you let him pull you onto the dance floor—close enough to your group of friends, but far away enough. The crowd presses in around you, and it’s impossible to ignore the way his hands find your hips immediately, guiding your movements to the beat.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” you mutter, voice barely audible over the music. “I’m not the only one,” Lando replies, coming close enough to let his lips brush your ear. And he stays close, his hands becoming more and more daring as you dance within the crowd. At one point, his hand finds the small of your back, guiding you closer to him as the music pulses around you. Even you dare to be a little bolder and wrap your arms around his shoulders loosely. “Baby,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

You look up at him, your breath hitching at the intensity in his gaze. But before he can say anything else, Max appears again, squeezing in between you with a grin, “Alright, break it up, you two. Sis, what’s with the face? You look like you’re being tortured.”

Tortured is one way to put it, you think, as Lando steps back smoothly, his expression unreadable. “She’s just not used to fun, Max.” You shoot him a glare, but Max continues to be as oblivious as before, too drunk and too busy scanning the crowd for their other friends.

[apcomplexhq]

✦ Nome do personagem: Jung Seri. ✦ Faceclaim e função: Wonyoung - IVE. ✦ Data de nascimento: 31/08/2004. ✦ Idade: 20 anos. ✦ Gênero e pronomes: Feminino, ela/dela. ✦ Nacionalidade e etnia: Coreia do Sul, sul-coreana. ✦ Qualidades: Perspicaz, resiliente e carismática. ✦ Defeitos: Calculista, reservada emocionalmente e impiedosa. ✦ Moradia: Elysian Fields. ✦ Ocupação: Florista na Persephone’s Petals e atua como consultora criativa em projetos artísticos. ✦ Bluesky: @EF04JS ✦ Preferência de plot: ANGST, CRACK, FLUFFY, VIOLENCE, ROMANCE, SMUT. ✦ Char como condômino: Jung Seri é uma condômina elegante e carismática. Transita com graça felina e um olhar atento, dominando seu espaço com segurança. Inteligente e estratégica, age com cautela nas relações sociais, preserva sua independência e atua discretamente nos bastidores, sempre vigilante aos detalhes.

TW's na bio: tragédia familiar (perda dos pais), luto, aparente fragilidade vs. força interna, emoções sublimadas, solidão e busca por afeto verdadeiro. Biografia:

Jung Seri nasceu sob o frio cortante do inverno de Seul, em um bairro tradicional e tranquilo da cidade, onde viveu sua infância em meio a uma atmosfera de conforto e cultura. Filha de Jung Minho, um empresário do setor hoteleiro que gerenciava com maestria empreendimentos sofisticados na Coreia do Sul e no exterior, e de Jung Soojin, uma chef premiada reconhecida por seu restaurante estrelado no Guia Michelin, Seri cresceu envolta por estímulos artísticos e intelectuais que aguçavam sua curiosidade natural desde cedo. Sua casa, situada em uma área arborizada e elegante, era um refúgio de paz, com jardins delicadamente cuidados e salas adornadas por peças de arte e livros raros, o que incentivou nela o gosto pela beleza e pelo conhecimento. Desde pequena, desenvolveu um olhar atento para os detalhes, acompanhando a rotina dos pais e absorvendo a paixão com que dedicavam-se aos seus ofícios.

A relação com o irmão mais velho, Jung Sunwoo, era de cumplicidade profunda; ele funcionava como um protetor silencioso e uma presença constante em sua vida, ajudando-a a se sentir segura para explorar o mundo ao seu redor com liberdade e alegria.

Durante a adolescência, Seri começou a se destacar não apenas pela inteligência notável, mas pela personalidade multifacetada e cheia de nuances. Fugindo dos padrões tradicionais e expectativas rígidas que frequentemente cercavam jovens de sua classe social, ela desenvolveu uma postura assertiva e ao mesmo tempo discreta, usando sua sensibilidade e charme como instrumentos para navegar por ambientes muitas vezes competitivos e exigentes.

Seu fascínio pela arte floral surgiu de forma natural, numa combinação de amor pela natureza e desejo de criar beleza a partir do efêmero.

Aos quinze anos, começou a trabalhar em uma pequena floricultura local, onde aprendeu as técnicas fundamentais e, principalmente, a arte de traduzir emoções em arranjos que falavam sem palavras. Essa experiência, embora modesta, foi o primeiro passo para que Seri descobrisse seu talento singular e a paixão que viria a definir sua vida profissional e pessoal. O ambiente da floricultura, com seus aromas delicados e cores vibrantes, tornou-se um espaço sagrado, um lugar onde podia expressar suas emoções e transformar a fragilidade das flores em símbolos de força e esperança.

Aos dezessete anos, a tragédia que marcou para sempre sua existência abalou profundamente os alicerces da família.

Um acidente automobilístico tirou a vida dos pais de maneira abrupta, mergulhando Seri e Sunwoo em um luto doloroso e solitário, forçando-os a amadurecer precocemente diante da ausência e do vazio deixados. O lar que antes pulsava com risos e conversas calorosas tornou-se um espaço de silêncio e memórias, e os irmãos precisaram se apoiar mutuamente para encontrar forças para continuar. Durante esse período de reconstrução emocional, Seri se aprofundou ainda mais no trabalho com flores, vendo nele um meio de canalizar seus sentimentos e um modo de dar sentido às perdas sofridas.

A arte floral passou a ser não apenas uma profissão, mas uma verdadeira terapia e uma linguagem para comunicar o que palavras não conseguiam expressar. A maturidade que ela desenvolveu nesse momento difícil ficou evidente em sua determinação silenciosa de não se deixar definir pela dor, mas de transformá-la em uma fonte de inspiração e renovação.

Aos dezenove anos, finalmente, Seri mudou-se para o Acrópolis Complex, um dos conjuntos de apartamentos e grandes mansões mais luxuosos e exclusivos de Gangnam, escolhendo a ala Elysian Fields como seu novo lar, onde passou a morar sozinha em um apartamento que refletia sua personalidade sofisticada e ao mesmo tempo discreta. Esse espaço tornou-se um verdadeiro santuário, cuidadosamente decorado para transmitir calma e beleza, onde a modernidade do condomínio convivia com os pequenos toques pessoais que revelavam sua sensibilidade artística.

A solidão do novo endereço não era sinônimo de isolamento, mas sim de independência conquistada com esforço e maturidade. Morar em Acrópolis, especialmente em Elysian Fields, trouxe a Seri a possibilidade de viver com o conforto e a segurança que almejava, além de estar inserida em um ambiente que combinava a agitação urbana de Gangnam com o refúgio particular que seu apartamento lhe proporcionava. A vista panorâmica da cidade, as áreas verdes cuidadosamente planejadas e o design contemporâneo do edifício ampliavam a sensação de liberdade e potência pessoal que ela cultivava desde jovem.

Hoje, aos vinte anos, Jung Seri é uma florista admirada e respeitada na Persephone’s Petals, uma floricultura sofisticada localizada no Bloco Ágora dentro do próprio Acrópolis Complex.

Seu talento para compor arranjos delicados e ao mesmo tempo cheios de personalidade conquistou uma clientela fiel, composta em sua maioria por moradores do condomínio e clientes exigentes de Gangnam. Para Seri, a floricultura é mais do que um local de trabalho: é uma extensão de sua alma, onde cada flor é escolhida com cuidado e cada combinação é pensada para contar uma história. O ambiente elegante da Persephone’s Petals reflete sua visão de beleza e perfeição, e seu atendimento atencioso e preciso a torna uma figura querida e respeitada no meio.

Apesar da delicadeza aparente, Seri é uma mulher de força interior, que sabe usar sua imagem com sabedoria em um meio social competitivo, mantendo o equilíbrio entre a gentileza e a firmeza que a definem.

Sua independência financeira, fruto de investimentos inteligentes e do apoio constante de Sunwoo, permite que ela tome decisões livres, dedicando-se tanto ao seu ofício quanto às pequenas aventuras pessoais que alimentam sua alma curiosa e sua personalidade multifacetada.

Por trás dessa imagem elegante e delicada, contudo, reside o lado mais felino e instintivo de Seri, um traço profundo que molda seu comportamento e suas relações. Ela se move com a graça e a precisão de um gato, escolhendo com cuidado os momentos de se mostrar e aqueles em que prefere desaparecer, observando tudo à distância com olhos atentos e analíticos. Essa faceta faz dela uma estrategista nata, capaz de calcular riscos e antecipar movimentos, agindo muitas vezes com uma frieza controlada quando a situação exige. Seri sabe usar o silêncio como uma arma, comunicando poder e mistério sem precisar levantar a voz. Sua independência é feroz, e ela se recusa a se prender a expectativas alheias ou se deixar dominar por emoções passageiras.

Em suas interações sociais, seu charme pode se transformar em um jogo sutil de poder, onde o envolvimento é sempre dosado e nunca completamente entregue. Essa dualidade entre a doçura e a reserva, entre a presença marcante e o recuo estratégico, é o que a torna única e irresistivelmente intrigante, como uma verdadeira felina que domina seu território com elegância e determinação. No entanto, apesar dessa natureza reservada e às vezes distante, Seri não é uma figura inacessível. Para aqueles que conseguem romper as barreiras que ela cuidadosamente constrói, revela-se uma pessoa leal, sensível e profundamente humana, capaz de grande afeto e proteção. Essa complexidade emocional se reflete em sua arte, na maneira como escolhe cada flor e cada composição, como se cada arranjo fosse uma extensão de sua própria alma multifacetada.

A vida em Acrópolis Complex oferecia o cenário ideal para que essa dualidade floresça em harmonia, permitindo que Jung Seri seja ao mesmo tempo a jovem princesa admirada e a felina livre que não se deixa aprisionar, construindo seu caminho com graça, mistério e uma força silenciosa que encanta e desafia.

[1byhwng]

(Drabble) “All Mine”— gong yoo

Summary : after a day of babysitting your favorite client you give into a desire that you thought would only happen in your dreams.

Warnings: reader is 28, gong yoo is 45, age gap, p in v penetration, unprotected sex, fingering, creampie, possessive gong yoo.

pairings: dilf!gongyoo x babysitter!reader

a/n — I’m trying a new style of writing..idk I just had a random burst of creativity and wanted to make this. If you like it please lmk but any feedback is appreciated. (Except hate)

The clock on the wall ticked past midnight when you finally settled onto the couch, the house silent except for the faint hum of the fridge and a few dogs barking outside. The kid was asleep, dishes washed, and toys put back into baskets. Another somewhat easy night.

You were scrolling through your phone when the front door clicked open. Mr. Yoo stepped in, tie loose around his neck, hair tousled like he'd run his hand through it one too many times. He looked exhausted—and unfairly hot. Not like you haven’t thought about it before. How could you ignore his looks when he walks around in nothing but sweatpants when he forgets you’re there?

“Everything okay?” he sighs, voice low and rough from what was likely one too many meetings.“Yeah,” you smiled, standing. “Quiet night.” His eyes swept over the—loose white shorts and grey tank top you’d changed into once the kid went down.

Comfortable. Casual. But the heat in his gaze made you wonder if he saw it differently.

“Thanks for staying so late,” he said, pulling his wallet out. “I owe you for the extra hour.”

You stepped closer to take the cash, but his fingers lingered, brushing yours. The warmth of his skin sent a jolt up your spine.

“You’re always saving me,” he murmured, eyes darker now. Something you haven’t seen before. But you weren’t complaining. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.” The words hung there, thick and heavy. Your breath caught. Did you mention he was unbelievably sexy—well he is.

Maybe it was the late hour, the wine he probably had at his office, or the fact that you’d imagined this moment too many times to count. But when he didn’t pull away, neither did you.

“I see the way you look at me, Y/N,” he murmurs, voice low and teasing as his hand finds your waist, fingers curling just enough to make your breath hitch. "Even an idiot could figure it out."

The smirk tugging at his lips is infuriatingly smug, like he already knows he’s right, like he’s been waiting for you to slip up. And maybe you have—maybe the stolen glances, the flushed cheeks, the way your gaze always lingers a second too long finally gave you away.

He leans in, close enough for his breath to brush your lips, eyes flickering down before locking with yours. "So, are you gonna admit it?" he taunts softly. "Or should I make you show me?"

Your breath hitched, heart pounding in your chest. Fuck this is really happening. He was close enough now that you could smell the faint trace of cologne under something warmer, muskier.

“And what if I wasn’t trying to hide it?” you murmur, voice softer than you expected, like the confession might break if spoken too loudly.

For a moment, surprise flickers in his eyes—quick, almost imperceptible—but it’s gone just as fast, replaced by something darker, something far more certain. His lips curl into the faintest smirk, fingers tightening on your waist like he’s daring you to take it back.

"Then I’d say," he breathes, leaning in until the space between you feels non-existent, dangerous, "it’s about damn time we stopped pretending."

The air between you crackled, thick with unspoken words and a tension that could snap at any moment. Hesitation melted away as his other hand slid up to your jaw, his thumb brushing gently along your cheek, the soft touch almost tender—but not quite.

He was giving you an out. A final chance to step back, to walk away from whatever this was before it went too far. His gaze held yours, searching, waiting for the hesitation to reappear.

But the warmth of his hand on your face was a silent promise, one that pulled you in even closer.

"Show me, then," you whispered.

That was all it took.

His lips crashed into yours, all the pent-up tension spilling over like a dam finally breaking. It wasn’t soft or careful—it was hungry, desperate, like he’d been holding back just as long as you had. Maybe he was But you’ll never know.

You barely registered the cash fluttering to the floor as his hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. He was warm, solid, and every inch of you reacted to the contact.

"You have no idea," he muttered against your mouth, "how many times I’ve thought about this, about you."

His confession sent a rush of heat through you. Just his voice was enough to make you wet.

"Then stop thinking," you breathed, fingers curling into the front of his shirt as you pulled him closer. A way of telling him your patience is wearing thin.

That was all the permission he needed.

In a blur, he guided you backward until your calves hit the couch. You fell onto the cushions with a soft gasp, and he followed, bracing himself over you.

"Still sure about this?" he asked, voice rough, eyes searching your for any sign of hesitation or fear. only to find nothing but eyes filled with lust.

You answered by tugging him down, lips meeting his again with a heat that left no room for doubt.

His hand slid under your tank top, fingers splaying across your bare skin, tracing slow, deliberate circles that made your breath hitch. The weight of him, the scratch of his stubble against your jaw, the low groan he let out when your hips shifted beneath him—it was all too much and not enough.

"Bedroom?" you whispered between kisses, half-laughing, half-breathless.

"Don’t think I can wait that long," he growled, mouth trailing down your neck, teeth grazing sensitive skin and making you arch into him.

The couch creaked beneath you as his weight settled over you, the heat of his body pressing you deeper into the cushions. One of his knees slid between your thighs, and instinctively, your hips ground against him, a soft gasp escaping your lips as you felt the undeniable pull.

His hand slid higher under your tank top, the roughness of his fingers brushing along the curve of your waist, trailing up to your ribs, teasing the soft skin. The heat of his touch made your breath hitch, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine, until his thumb hovered just under the swell of your breast, making the air feel thick, almost suffocating.

"Tell me to stop," he rasped, lips hovering near your ear, breath hot against your skin. "Because once I start, god I’m not sure I’ll be able to."

You swallowed hard, the ache between your legs already unbearable. You knew you’d been hoping this day would come, even if it felt wrong considering his daughter was asleep upstairs.

"Don't stop," you murmured, voice steady despite the way your heart pounded. "Please."

In one fluid motion, he yanked your tank top over your head, tossing it aside like it offended him. His gaze dropped, dark and possessive, as he took you in.

"Perfect," he muttered, almost to himself, before his mouth found the hollow of your throat, trailing down, down—until he closed his lips around a peaked nipple, sucking just hard enough to make you gasp.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, urging him closer as heat pooled low in your belly. He didn’t need encouragement. One hand cupped your breast while the other drifted south, fingertips tracing the edge of your loose shorts, teasing, testing.

"You’ve been walking around my house like this," he muttered against your skin, voice thick with desire, "and you expect me to act like a saint?"

You opened your mouth to answer, but the words died in your throat when his hand slipped beneath the waistband, finding you already wet and wanting.

"Fuck," he groaned, lifting his head to look at you properly. "All this for me?"

"Just for you," you admitted, cheeks flushing under his intense gaze.

That seemed to break the last of his restraint. He kissed you hard, fingers pressing into you, curling just right until you were squirming beneath him, chasing relief. A string of moans flowing from your lips.

"You’re so pretty," he muttered between kisses, the earlier bravado cracking into something almost frantic. "All mine."

Your lips never quite breaking apart, your hands exploring him like you’d starved for this moment—which you have.

"Last chance," he whispered, thumb brushing against your bottom lip.

You pulled him down, lips brushing his as you murmured, "please, Mr. Yoo.”

—————————————-

Time seems to slow as you surrender to the pleasure, the world narrowing to nothing but the warmth of his touch and the electric pulse between you. The room is thick with it—the rhythmic slap of skin against skin, ragged breaths tangled with soft gasps, and the whispered echo of your names like a prayer lost to the dark. Every inch of you is consumed, set ablaze by the heat of his body against yours, until nothing else exists beyond this moment.

His grip tightens on your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. Each thrust is rough, relentless—driven by pure need as he fucks into you with a pace that borders on desperate. The air is thick with heat and the sound of skin meeting skin, your whimpers mingling with his ragged breaths.

"Can’t—" he growls, voice breaking as he pulls you impossibly closer, "Can’t get enough of you."

"F-Fuck—baby, I’m close," he groans, voice rough and breathless as his head falls back, muscles taut with every desperate thrust. The slick sound of skin meeting skin fills the air, drowning out the frantic beat of your heart.

You try to respond, to tease or beg—you're not even sure which—but the words melt into a broken moan as his cock presses mercilessly against your cervix. Pleasure coils tight in your belly, stealing your breath and leaving you clinging to him like he's the only thing anchoring you to the world.

"That’s it," he rasps, gaze dropping to your blissed-out expression. "Let go for me, baby. Come with me."

The final surge of pleasure crashes over you both, sharp and all-consuming. His breath stutters as he buries himself to the hilt, hips jerking with each pulse of release. Heat floods you, thick and undeniable, as he spills deep inside, claiming you in the most primal way.

For a moment, neither of you move—just tangled limbs, sweat-slick skin, and the heavy thrum of hearts racing in sync. His grip on your hips tightens, like he’s grounding himself, like he can’t stand the thought of even an inch of distance.

"Mine," Mr. Yoo mutters against your temple, voice rough and possessive, but his touch softens as he brushes damp hair from your face. "All mine."

The weight of his body settles over you, warmth radiating from every inch of flushed skin pressed against yours. The room feels quieter now, like the world itself is catching its breath, the only sounds left behind are the soft hum of the night and the slow, steady thrum of his heartbeat against your chest.

He doesn’t move—not yet. Like if he lets go, the moment might slip away, lost to reality. His cock stays buried deep, the heat of his release still thick inside you, marking you in a way words never could. Possession lingers in the way his hand skims your waist, thumb brushing lazy circles into your damp skin, like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

"Mine," Mr. Yoo murmurs again, the word softer now, almost vulnerable. His lips ghost along your temple, trailing down to your jaw, each kiss slow and deliberate, as if he’s trying to prove a point neither of you would dare argue.

You can’t help the smile tugging at your lips, exhaustion softened by the quiet satisfaction blooming in your chest. "Yours," you whisper back, voice hoarse and laced with truth. There’s no hesitation, no teasing—just certainty.

That seems to break something in him. He exhales shakily, like he’s finally allowed to breathe, and pulls you closer until there’s not a sliver of space left between your bodies. The world outside could fall apart, and it wouldn’t matter. Not here, not like this.

Sleep comes slowly, the kind that only follows being thoroughly wrecked and thoroughly loved. And as consciousness fades, the last thing you feel is his lips brushing over your hair, followed by a possessive murmur, half-spoken, half-dreamed.

"Forever mine."

[aevumisles]

Without prior reserve, I would like to app Vash the Stampede from Trigun Maximum. My app can be found under /app. Stats under /stats. Thank you :)

You feel stillness and motion pressing upon you from all sides. A familiar stirring draws you forward, and you wake once more from the long quiet.

You, VASH THE STAMPEDE find yourself once more standing before the Terminus Tower. It has remained just as you once knew it, teeming with life. A guardian approaches.

Well, well, well. It seems that your time here is not yet over. You know the drill Echo. I'm sure you won't have an issue readjusting.

The guardian hands you the following:

A House Key. Emblazoned upon it is: 208, Seaside Province

Your former possessions, abilities, and emblems have been restored to you.

Welcome back to Aevum Isles.

— 🏵️ Creo

[hollowfaith]

"....?"

The house is here, but where's Klaus?

hello mods! here to reapp OC character aurelius vane-tempest, he was previously housed in Klaus' Home in the Mistwood and application can be found under /app Thank you very much :3

Welcome back to scenic Isola Radiale, Aurelius!

You will be housed in KLAUS' HOME.

You will retain everything you were given in your previous stay.

– mod pleiades.

[angara-mfrp]

Hiii this is Birb. Need to grisp my son again but I would like to reapp Rex Salazar from Generator Rex. His ass is going NOWHERE. The date is 1/8 too

If the show told us anything, it's that Rex is a difficult guy to get rid of!

Rex Salazar will remain on the masterlist.

- Mod Quoll

[ghcstao3]

(part 1)

-

As more days pass, the job doesn’t get any less strange.

Johnny is still poring over Ghost’s hint, trying to figure out how it could be possible that all these varying pieces are from the same artist. Unless it was someone more contemporary, experimenting in art styles of different eras—

Which would make sense, if not for the paints and materials not available in the present day, their methodology in creation having been lost to time, or its dangers realized.

And the signature. Scribbled consistently on every one of the pieces in the exact same place, exact same handwriting, even when the initials of S and R shift from the Roman to Latin alphabet, and when the length of the name itself shrinks and grows.

About every theory that pops into Johnny’s head is easily dismissed for another that makes slightly more sense, until he reaches another road block in reasoning. It’s impossible, plain and simple.

But at the end of the day, Johnny has to shake his head of those sorts of thoughts anyway. Because he’s here for a job, not to speculate, even when it’s his current employer that’s planted this dilemma in his head.

Speaking of—Ghost hasn’t gotten any less weird himself, either. Or, perhaps enigmatic, Johnny should say.

He continues to pose questions to Johnny as he works, but at some point they begin to sound less like questions from the owner of the artwork—and more like questions from the artist, as if seeking feedback.

All Johnny can do is answer honestly. He’s gotten better at deciphering Ghost’s hums and huffs and grunts, but not to the extent of really understanding what he’s thinking. Which only serves to confuse Johnny further about the whole… arrangement.

It’s on the last day, while Johnny is finishing up the last piece, that Ghost asks him the strangest thing of all.

“Say you were… immortal,” Ghost begins slowly, sometime nearing the end of the day; the end of Johnny’s contract, “would you choose to make a mark on the world, or remain invisible?”

Johnny furrows his brow. “I’m not sure. I mean—really, unless you’re big and famous, you kind of remain invisible to most, anyway.”

Ghost shakes his head, seeming almost frustrated by his answer—which would be a first. “No, not like—like if you made art, would you choose to keep it hidden, or would you allow it to be shared?”

It’s the first time Johnny has ever heard Ghost seem unsure of himself. He’s never seen the man falter like this, wavering in this intimidating, indifferent persona he’s thus far created.

Johnny suspects that there’s more to this question than it simply being a hypothetical.

“Depends,” Johnny says. He blinks up at Ghost, staring undeterred into that intense gaze of his. Sometimes Johnny thinks Ghost expects him to be nervous in his employer’s presence. “If it’s something personal, then sure, I’d keep it to myself. But I think in creating art, there’s also times that you’d want to display it, so I would. Not necessarily to leave something behind, but… maybe to inspire someone else.”

Ghost considers this for a long while, eyes raking over Johnny’s face for who knows what. Maybe a discrepancy in his honesty.

Eventually, he breathes slow and deep as he squares back his shoulders. “Then I’ll ask this again:” He pauses. “What do you think happened to the artist?”

The corners of Johnny’s lips twitch upward, though a proper smile never appears.

“I think he’s giving himself away right about now,” Johnny decides. It hasn’t really clicked to him, of course, that Ghost might be immortal—but it’s a conclusion he can at least speak aloud.

Ghost squints his eyes, and Johnny is inclined to think that means there’s a smile hiding beneath his mask.

“Suppose I have,” Ghost admits. Almost sheepishly, he then asks, “Does that change your answer?”

Johnny shakes his head. “I still think these should be displayed, if you’re willing. They’re… they’re beautiful pieces, and… why should you hire me to restore them just to keep them in storage?”

Ghost shrugs, and there reappears that new uncertainty. “I wanted a second opinion.”

Johnny laughs, shaking his head again. “Next you’re going to tell me you destroyed these yourself just to get it.”

Ghost stares at him a long, silent moment after that. Johnny’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline with the very clear answer to that joke.

“…Ghost.”

“It’s Simon,” Ghost corrects. “And I may have… tampered… with them. Just a little.”

Johnny scoffs. “Ghost, Simon, whatever. Some of these materials have been lost to time! And you just… you just—“

A deep, rumbling laugh escapes Ghost—Simon—that has Johnny trailing off from the rant he’d just been ready to go on. Art history is so meaningful to him, and he has a living man who can attest to those times in front of him, and—

And Johnny was just insulting him.

He shrinks back as Simon’s laughing tapers off, and that cold look in his eyes is overtaken by something warm, something friendly.

“Those pieces never meant enough to me,” Simon finally says, something melancholy falling over his tone. “But… I do have one more that was actually ruined by time that I think… I think I’d trust you enough to fix.”

Johnny’s eyes widen, perking up at the suggestion. “Really?”

Simon nods. “I’ll pay you however much, I—“

“No need,” Johnny interrupts. “You’ve already paid me… far more than you needed to, for the rest. I’ll do it, on one condition.”

Simon cocks his head, silently willing Johnny on.

The smile threatening Johnny finally releases, spreading wide across his face.

“You let me ask questions,” Johnny says. “I have a few debates to settle.”

Simon hums. Something… approving.

Finally, he says with an air of humour, and something oddly akin to hope, “I’m sure that can be arranged.”