#he's just facing a lot of new stuff in his life | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

starryjake · 2 days ago

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What do you think are the top kinks for Andteam?~~~ (I'm new to your blog. I LOVE YOU FOR STUNNING ANDTEAM!~💕💕)

(a/n: this took me so long i could not think of any kinks for the life of me buttttt this is what i came up with!!)

size - k is super tall and i think he would love being with someone a lot tinier than him. he likes someone he can make fun of for being short but when it comes to bed, he loves having someone that’s just easy to manhandle. he likes being able to lift you up or turn you around and just have his way with you with ease. feels a sense of pride about being so much bigger than you and likes to feel like he can protect you.

brat taming - likes to put you in your PLACE! secretly likes when you’re bratty but doesn’t show it at all, only shows how annoyed and frustrated he gets whenever you’re acting that way. he just loves to have an excuse to punish you: whether it’s edging you, overstimulating you, or if you’ve been really bad, then not letting you cum at all. he’s so cute and sweet most of the time but he can get pretty stern in bed!

begging - he’s so difficult i stg. i just know he’s gonna make you beg if you want something from him. you want him to finger you? you need to say please at least like three times. you want his cock? he basically expects you to be on your knees purely begging for him to give it to you. he just loves it so much, knowing you want him badly enough that you’re willing to beg like a pathetic little thing. and he will not hesitate to call you a pathetic little thing for needing him so bad.

more under the cut…

fuma:

breeding - like it just makes sense. he just loooooves having you in a mating press and fucking all his cum deep inside you, completely staining your insides. he’ll stay inside you for a few minutes just to ensure that his cum is doing it’s thing, and when he pulls out, he stuffs it all back inside with his fingers. he isn’t actually ready to knock you up yet, but just the idea makes him hard as a rock.

spanking - if his partner is being a brat, bro does not PLAY. he does not hold back. takes you to the nearest couch or bed and bends you ever his lap, spanking you and making you count until he feels like you’ve learned your lesson. it turns him on so fucking much feeling you writhe and shake in his lap, only to look up at him with teary eyes after and apologize for being a brat. almost always ends with him fucking the absolute shit out of you.

pet play - likes to put you in cute kitten ears or bunny ears, and collars too. likes to call you kitten and puppy and see you act all sweet and cute for him. LOVES it when you suck his dick while you’re wearing your ears, like i just know that’s the quickest way to make him bust. this way, he loves telling you what to do and you know you should do it if you want to avoid punishment (insert spanking kink).

nicholas:

• size - while k’s size kink is more in relation to the difference in height or body, nicho’s is more about his big dick lol. by that i mean he loves nothing more than to see you struggle to take his dick. it’s super hot to him the first time he’s having sex with someone and they can’t take it, but especially when he has sex with them again and they still can’t take it. like no amount of practice will ever get you accumulated to his big size.

• choking (giving) - he just looks like he likes it and like REALLY likes it. like he likes doing it hard too, wrapping his hand around your neck and actually squeezing it tight. obviously he’s not gonna squeeze it tight enough to like genuinely hurt you, but just enough to turn your face red and have you gasping for a breath. likes to do it when he’s fucking you real hard, when he just can’t control himself anymore and has to see you weak underneath him.

• marking (giving) - i just know he loves seeing you covered in hickeys. he’s careful when it comes to your neck, knowing it’s too obvious and too many people would be able to see it, which is why he opts for more private places that only he can see, like your thighs and hips and chest. you just look too perfect covered in purple bruises, each a little reminder of the sensual moment you had together.

ej:

• dirty talk - this may come as a surprise and i understand, but HEAR ME OUT! i just oddly see him as someone, when he gets in the right mood, just loves to tease you and get pretty nasty with you. just likes being a little mean to you during sex, always with a teasing grin on his face. teases you about how loud you’re moaning, about how you’re such a needy whore, how pathetic you are. i know this is a hot take but i know he has it in him!

marking (receiving) - likes marking you but LOVES when you mark him. nothing pleases him more than taking off his shirt, looking in the mirror, and seeing himself covered in purple hickeys all from you. he loves seeing the contrast of the old fading ones with the fresh ones, all scattered around his collar bones and chest. he likes when you bite him and scratch him too, anything that’s sure to leave a mark.

cum eating - he won’t force you, but he REALLY loves when you swallow his cum. if you’re sucking him off and he warns you that he’s about to finish and you keep your mouth on him, he gets SO EXCITED bc he knows you’re gonna let him cum down your throat. he has a habit of holding your head to his cock when he cums, ensuring that you get all his cum. then he’ll make you stick your tongue out once he’s done to make sure you swallowed every last drop!

yuma:

• quickies - i see him constantly having random spurts of energy that have him needing ways to get it out. as a result, he starts fucking you. these rounds only go for about five minutes but they’re just enough for him to release some of his pent up energy as well as make both you and him feel good. he also likes the slight risk factor in it because you never know when and where he’s gonna get the urge to fuck you.

• throat fucking - lives to see and hear you choke on his cock. when you give him the okay to fuck your throat, he goes for it and he goes hard. grabs you by the hair on the back of your head and just starts pounding your mouth. you’re gagging and drooling around him and practically crying, and he just loves it. especially loves it if you let him cum in your mouth and swallow it.

edging - he can lowkey be so mean during sex sometimes, and what i mean by that is he simply will not let you cum, at least not right away. he’ll get you so close, to the brink of your orgasm, and then rip it right away from you. he just loves to see how frustrated you get, sometimes to the point of tears, and how you beg with all your might to cum. normally, he eventually caves and lets you cum, but he likes to have his fun first.

jo:

• choking (receiving) - listen. he’s just so pretty and i can imagine my hand around his neck and him liking it. like the noises he would let out while you’re squeezing his pretty neck, soft little sighs and a deep moan here and there. i can see him shyly grabbing your hand and bringing it up to your neck to get you started.

• getting bossed around - idk what the actual kink name for this would be but hear me out! he just likes to let you do literally whatever you want with him and especially likes it when you’re a little mean about it. obviously don’t be TOO mean but you know…assert your dominance. likes when you declare what position you wanna be in and he just goes with it, letting you take the reigns.

• eye contact - i think at first when you initiated eye contact during sex, it made him super nervous and embarrassed, but he found that he kinda liked the way that being nervous and embarrassed felt. it just excited him more, and so whenever you grab him by the face and get him to look into your eyes, he just feels a certain way. he feels so shy and nervous, yet so close and connected to you at the same time.

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realityinsuspense · 2 days ago

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one step closer | chapter 4: day off

--summary: "me and him? in one apartment? yeah, right. nothing is going to happen" ~~ two strangers living together. not talking and just going about each other's lives. that was your plan. that's how you've always done things, and you've gone far doing so. so when you have to suddenly move into a new apartment with your new roommate, you expect almost nothing. almost.

--pairing: mingi x fem!reader

--genre: strangers to lovers, fluff, a little angst #mingi is cold and standoffish, #eventual mutal pining

--a/n: oh. my. god. hello to anyone still out there reading and happy 2025! this chapter has been a loooong time coming. had lots of life stuff going on, holidays, writers block, and overall perfectionism held me back from updating any sooner. as i re-read and proofread my work, i get quite tangled up in characterization and how i want the story to flow, which then holds me back because i suddenly want my work to be 100% perfect. but that in itself also holds me back from improving in general. thank you for your patience, and i ask for your grace as i navigate and continue to grow as a writer. thank you, love you, mwah! enjoy!! <3 (and again, there is a taglist, just let me know ^-^)

words: 6.8k

chapter 4: day off

12 years ago

The late spring air began to cool as the sun set, a light breeze kissing your skin. Summer was approaching. It was your favorite time of the year, and you usually couldn’t contain your excitement: longer days, vacation trips, and even something as simple as getting ice cream at the convenience store with your friends. You guys would hang out at the park nearby, sitting at the benches—laughing, talking. This summer was supposed to be special—your last summer break together with your junior high class. It was the last year before the start of all your high school days.

As the dusk settled in, you took that seat at the same park bench next to your best friend. Like you guys always did. But this time you were not laughing.

“You’re moving away?” You whispered almost to yourself, your eyes focused on the unwrapped ice cream cone in front of you.

You could feel Jongho’s gaze, but you were suddenly afraid to meet it. For the first time in your life, you were afraid to look at him. You didn’t want the news to be real.

“Yeah,” He said, turning to look at his own ice cream cone as well.

“In the middle of the school year?” You ask. It’s pointless; he’s already explained it, but you still wanted to try. He only nodded in response.

“Well… when are you gonna come back?” You murmur.

Jongho sighed heavily. “I don’t know if I will, or… I don’t know.”

Jongho was moving away with his family back to his father’s hometown. He was going to transfer to another school, and you and him were not going to finish high school together like you guys said you would.

You felt selfish for wanting to say he betrayed you. It’s not his fault. It’s for family, and family is important. You knew that. But it felt like your heart sank to the bottom of the floor after hearing the news. You grew up together. Jongho was your next door neighbor. He was your first best friend. And even your first crush.

“I can’t believe this…” You say softly.

“It’s at the end of the summer though, y/n,” He tries to comfort you. “We can still hang out like usual.”

“But still!” You exclaim, finally turning to him. You feel your eyes well with tears, and poor Jongho has this worried expression on his face. “What am I gonna do when you leave?”

Jongho then pulls you into a hug, and that tugs at your heart strings. You let yourself cry into his shoulder.

“I’ll still be your best friend even when I’m gone, okay?” He whispers, his voice shaky. You wonder if you crying is causing him to feel bad. Or that maybe he wants to cry too. It’s not like you’ll be the only one who will be missing him. He’ll miss you too.

“Promise?” You finally pull away.

“I promise.” Jongho smiles gently, and your heart flutters once more.

present day

“Someone take that pitcher away from him,” You hear Yeosang mutter to your left. “One glass of beer and he’s already gone.”

You chuckle and glance over at the other end of the table where San is talking a bit too loudly with other coworkers. They’re all smiles and laughs.

It was a different Friday night—a company dinner. This meant free food and free drinks. You down the last of the golden liquid in your glass.

You don’t usually drink often, so you decided to take this opportunity to let loose. It’s been a long week. Just like any other week, you suppose. But you felt that you haven’t had a real chance to just relax and have fun ever since you moved. It’s been nonstop stress and work. So why not? And if it has to be at the work dinner, then so be it. You were at least with your friends.

“Hey! Pass the pitcher over here too, don’t be selfish!” You project from your end of the table. San’s blushed out face is all smiles when he walks over with the pitcher of beer.

“Another drink already y/n?” San teases as he pours more into your glass. He turns to Yeosang. “And you?”

Yeosang shakes his head. “I think I’ll stop for now.” You take a small sip at first, then take deep gulps, the bitter taste burning your throat.

“Guys, just imagine this, but even better during my birthday party!” San says happily, then scurries off to the karaoke stage where your other coworkers have gathered and started singing. The music rings loudly in your ears.

Yeosang waves him off. “He keeps bringing that up. At this point I’m not gonna show up.”

You laugh in response. “He really is the life of the party.”

“And what about you?” Yeosang raises an eyebrow at you and glances at the already half drunken glass of beer. “You usually don’t drink this much at the company dinners.”

“Oh you know,” You chuckle sheepishly, slightly embarrassed at Yeosang’s observations. If there was someone that had the potential to become a detective, you’d swear it’d be him. “Just-” ”Let me guess,” He interjects. “Work. Life. Your roommate. Hectic isn’t it?” Bingo.

“You’re right,” You nod and finish the rest of your drink. “Just for tonight.”

“It’s okay, I’m not judging. Just worried, you know?” He says. You smile at his thoughtfulness and concern.

“Yeah,” You say, starting to feel a little buzzed. “I’m sorry I keep bringing him up. I… I feel like it’s all I talk about these days.. I swear I’m still interesting!” He laughs. “Don’t be sorry. I know roommates can be complicated. And maybe…he’s actually good guy or something.” Yeosang shrugs then takes a bite of some meat and rice.

“Maybe,” You say to yourself before you follow suit and take a bite of your food. Yeosang reaches for an unopened soju bottle sitting across from you, opens it, and proceeds to pour some into two shot glasses. “Really?”

Yeosang smiles and nods. You both raise your glasses. “Yup. To good guys! Cheers!”

You and Yeosang carry on your conversation amidst the loud conversation and music playing the background. You also chatted with some of your other coworkers who also joined in on your side of the table. This is kind of fun, actually. You decided you didn’t need to overthink anything in this moment.

After lots more rounds of meat and rice, alongside more beer and soju, you were stuffed. And you were definitely feeling the full effects of the alcohol. You did it. You reached your goal. As the night progressed, more people gave toasts and slurred speeches, and then it was finally time to go home.

It was nearly one in the morning, but the flashing lights on the street indicated that people were still out and about. The places closed late here, you noticed. San was completely wasted—slumped over Yeosang’s shoulders, trying his best to prop him up with his much smaller frame. The smaller one carrying the bigger one—it was a sight that made you giggle. After loudly expressing each other’s concern, Yeosang assured you they were going to be fine going home and that he’s done this a bunch of times. You also assured him that you’d be able to get home after his offer of sharing a cab. This part of the city was generally safe. And you, too, have done this before.

“Are you sure y/n?” Yeosang pressed. “It’s getting late.”

“It’s okay!” You urged. “It’s totally okay, I’m closer than you guys. He needs to get home asap.” You poked San’s shoulder, and Yeosang chuckled.

“Okay fine, but let me know when you get home!” Yeosang is already dragging San into a cab they managed to hail.

“You too!” You called out happily.

But then again, it’s been a long time since you’ve felt like this.

Feeling drunk felt so freeing, vulnerable, and scary at the same time. Your head was pounding, and your eyes were desperate to close. You were tired, but still so full of energy. You were aware of everything still, just…lighter. And now you were standing out alone, drunk in the night’s cold. Of course, taxis were to come and go, so you just stood at the edge of the sidewalk waiting for one, with your arms wrapped around yourself. Everything felt so heavy, and you didn’t want to move. You swear you could feel your heart thumping violently against your chest. Where the hell are those taxis?

“y/n?” You hear a soft voice behind you. Your first instinct of fear runs through you and you turn around quickly. A couple of feet away, stands someone you swear you’ve met before.

Someone…

“y/n,” He breathes. “It is really you.”

You try your best to concentrate, but your drunken mind is betraying you. You want to go home suddenly.

“Hi…” You whisper out. It was him…

Choi Jongho.

Was it really?

Your old friend.

Is this a dream? What is he doing here? What’s happening? Am I this drunk? Is this really him? What’s he doing here?

Your head was spinning with all these questions, and it didn’t help that you were drunk. You didn’t know what to do—what to feel.

He approached you gingerly, and you unconsciously recoiled.

“I.. I..” I want to go home.

“Are you going home? Let’s get you a taxi.” Jongho says.

“What are you doing here?” You blurt out. You wanted to believe that this was just an illusion. How could he possibly be here right now? And to face you so upfront like this? After everything….

“It’s a long story,” He sighs locking eyes with you, and smiles weakly. “Are you okay?” His face turns into an expression of genuine concern.

You can feel them.

Tears.

They’re coming, and you feel that burning sensation building up in your throat whenever you start crying. But you suppress it and swallow hard.

You hear a few cars pass by, and you glance back to the street. Finally. You quickly gesture for it.

The taxi slowly approaches the edge of the sidewalk where you stand, and you mentally thank the driver for coming at such a perfect time. You wanted to go home. You needed to go home. Away from this.

“I have to go.” You whisper, unsure if he’d heard you or not. You swiftly step into the vehicle, give your address to the driver, and catch one last glance at Jongho’s concerned expression before driving away.

This isn’t real. He’s not actually here. I’m drunk.

I’m drunk.

The ride back home was quick, and you used your remaining energy to thank and pay the driver. Getting up into the elevator required some deep breaths, as you were getting dizzier and dizzier—and all the more nauseous. Great.

“Too…drunk…” You mumble to yourself as you stumble into your apartment. You instinctively drop your belongings onto the floor and quickly make your way to the bathroom. You felt horrible. Maybe this was why you haven’t drank in so long…

That nauseousness caught up to you once you finally reached it, where you crouched and hunched over the toilet bowl, letting it all out. I drank way too much.

Now sitting on the floor, you leaned back against the bathtub to catch your breath. In that brief moment of stillness, your mind tugged at you to move. You were suddenly hyper aware of your physicality and environment. You knew you had makeup to remove, teeth to brush, and pajamas to get into. You had to stand up and get into your bed. You needed to clean yourself up. And your brain managed to give you a lovely reminder that you didn’t live alone. Just the thought of Mingi seeing this entire mess made you fearful. But your body betrayed you. You couldn’t bring yourself to move.

Your head was still pounding so you just shut your eyes and decided to give yourself a few moments. 5 minutes. In 5 minutes, I’ll get up.

The image of seeing Jongho tonight popped into your mind once more. His voice rang in your ears.

Y/n, it is really you.

It’s a long story. Are you okay?

He looked the same, but different. More mature. Stronger. Still just as handsome…

Was that actually real? Maybe. Probably. You didn’t know. And maybe you didn’t want to know.

Suddenly, he felt so far away again.

I’m drunk. I’m drunk. I’m drunk…

—

You gently blink your eyes open to the sunlight streaming in from the windows. Instinctively, you yawn as well. Oh god. For a moment, you simply lay there as you let your thoughts slowly come over you like a wave. What time was it?

Thank goodness you had the day off. Anyhow, you probably would’ve been extremely late. But you were also glad you got the chance to sleep in, as it was quite the night last night. You gingerly sit up on your bed, shedding off the warmth of your duvet.

You feel a slight headache rush to your head again. Maybe I’ll take it easy next time, you think to yourself. It had been awhile since you drank that much after all. You then briefly ponder how San even does it, and wonder how he handles his hangovers. Your thoughts are interrupted by your grumbling stomach.

You notice your phone at the edge of your bed and grab it.

12:08pm **

You ignore all the text notifications from San and Yeosang for now, and decided to order takeout. You were too lazy to make anything in the state you were in—plus fried chicken sounded perfect right now. After putting in your order, you notice that you’re still in your clothes from last night.

Huh.

You could’ve sworn you’d changed and gotten into bed fine, but you could hardly remember. You did remember throwing up like crazy, however. You jumped out of bed and took a look in the mirror—your makeup was still on and your hair looked dangerously disheveled. This calls for a long shower.

After gathering your things and a fresh pair of pajamas, you crack open your bedroom door and peek outside around the apartment. Mingi cannot see me like this, was the first thought you had. The thought of him seeing you like a mess after ordering him around about being clean felt contradictory somehow. But more importantly, you were embarrassed. It’s not like he’d care, probably… But…Where was he anyway? Was he out?

The silence surrounding the apartment told you that the coast was clear, so you quietly rushed into the bathroom and proceeded to take your hot, much-needed, shower.

When you were finally finished, you headed back to your room and freshened up your bedding. You felt so much better already. Five minutes pass when your phone dings, notifying that your order is officially delivered. Excited and absolutely starved, you head for the front door excitedly when you suddenly stop in your tracks to see Mingi in standing by the door. He was holding the door open and grabbing your takeout off the floor. Your stomach grumbled once again.

“That’s mine,” You say. He turns around in response, his face unamused. Guess he was home after all…

He’s wearing his usual loungewear, and his glasses are framed above his head, pushing his hair back.

“No, it’s mine,” Mingi replied bluntly. “You ordered fried chicken?”

“Yes!” You exclaim, approaching him. You attempt to examine the bag.

“Well my name’s on it,” He argues. Mingi tugs the receipt off the bag and holds it up to your face. “See?”

“But the app just told me it was just delivered right now,” You hold up your phone to his face for proof. “Maybe they put both of the orders in there? Can I see?” You lean in to look inside the bag, but Mingi moves the bag away from you. Your sudden closeness made you more aware of your height difference all of a sudden. You take a step back.

“What did you order?” He glances inside the bag, then back at you.

“A six piece, soy garlic. With a side of rice,” You sigh. “And you?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Same… except it was a ten piece for me.” Mingi looks into the bag again, then proceeds to walk towards the kitchen in silence, ignoring you.

“What?!” You follow him into the kitchen.

“Why do they do that?” Mingi takes out both orders from the bag and places them on the dining table. “Is it easier for them to put two orders in one bag even though they’re different?”

“I think it’s because we live in the same place, maybe they thought it was meant to be ordered together…” You respond, staring at the food on the table. “And our orders aren’t even that different.”

“Whatever,” Mingi takes a seat and starts eating. You awkwardly stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do. *Uh…*You guys don’t ever eat at the dining table together. Does he expect you to leave? You suppose you could. You could take your food into your room for privacy, but then again it would just make the room smell like fried chicken…

“Are you not going to eat?” He asks, interrupting your thoughts. Your eyes widen at his bluntness, and you take your seat across from him. You don’t argue since you really were starving.

“I will,” You say and proceed. It was delicious, greasy, and filling—the perfect hangover cure. You guys eat in silence for a while. Luckily, you both distracted yourselves with your phones, so there was no space for small talk, thankfully. You wouldn’t be able to stand it. And he didn’t seem to want to talk to you anyways. What is there to even say honestly, you thought. This is how it should be.

You were in the middle of responding to Yeosang’s texts when you hear him place his phone back on the table.

“You’re welcome, by the way.” He says.

You look up, slightly confused. For letting you sit with him at lunch? For giving you your food? “For what?”

The corners of his lips tug up slightly, but then his expression returns to its neutral, indifferent state. “I think I went up to use the bathroom around two in the morning. Nearly had a heart attack seeing you on the floor. I didn’t know you went all out when you drink..”

Your eyes widen. Oh no…

“Wait, you…” Your words falter as your brain finally connects the dots. It was no wonder you were still in your same clothes and makeup. You usually had the strength to complete those tasks no matter how drunk you were—but I guess you hadn’t been that drunk. The memories of last night seem to gather once more, and you feel your face heat up.

“Yes,” Mingi says after swallowing a mouthful. He scans your face, and his eyes show a slight hint of amusement. “You wouldn’t budge, no matter how long or hard I shook you. I had to flush that disgusting toilet bowl, and carried you to your room.”

“Oh god,” You throw your face in your hands. “Oh my god. That is so embarrassing-”

“It’s fine, I know it was a Friday night just-” Mingi glances back down to his food. “Don’t do that next time.”

“That won’t happen again. I can usually handle myself. I don’t know- I guess last night was too much, I was-” You scramble to find the words, but decided not to put forth any excuses. You sigh heavily. “Thanks..”

Mingi simply nods and finishes up his food. After checking his phone one more time, he stands up.

“Well, now I think you owe me y/n,” He says and slides over his dirty dishes to me. “My dishes, for the next two weeks?”

“Huh?!” You scoff with your mouth half full of chicken. What the hell? You decided to challenge him with his own words. “What happened to keeping to ourselves and doing our own chores?” You did NOT want to involve yourself with another roommate related fiasco, yet here you were. It was as if these conflicts were inevitable, and you two kept clashing at the most random of times.

“Oh I know, but you didn’t. Drunk on the bathroom floor definitely crossed that line,” Mingi says matter-of-factly. It was true. You shivered at the reminder that he carried you into your room. What did he even think of you? You immediately pushed that thought away. **“But anyway… as roommates. I helped you, and now you have to help me. Right?”

Roommates.

“Fine, is that how it’s going to work now?” You sigh in defeat. “Two weeks, and that’s it.”

“Deal.” Mingi smiles a little, then leaves the kitchen.

What just happened?

next chapter >

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tags: @hwaskookies @chicksmoothie

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starsintheskyandtheeye · 23 hours ago

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"So why the fluff piece," Jimmy asked, leaning up against the shelves by Lois's desk. Since ghosts didn't show up well on camera Perry had him working with Cat on a high society wedding over making the article look like a product of cheap ghost hunting. This was the first time he'd seen Lois, or Clark, since before they'd gone back to what was apparently ghost central station.

"You mean instead of talking about the near literal war going on between LexCorp and half a dozen religions? Or those religions spinning desperately with the fact that ghosts are real and don't want to talk to them? Or something about the scientific discoveries that lead to this mess, or the ones since? Or literally anything other than a fluffy morality piece," Lois answered, spinning slowly in her chair as she did, to stare pointedly at her partner. "I don't know Jimmy, why don't you ask Clark."

Clark smiled beatifically at his partner's sore loser behavior and it showed in his voice as he spoke directly to Jimmy. "Those are the headlines topics in all the other big papers right now, yes. But do you know why those are the big topics?" Clark saw Jimmy's confused look, and Lois's eye roll, and said, "Wait, I'll rephrase, do you know why all the other papers are reporting on the fallout from the news?"

"Ohhhhhh," Jimmy said, understanding. "Very clever CK. We've got the only published interview with an actual ghost, and they're all focusing on boring old humans.

"Still though, why the general fluff instead of a specific point?"

"Do you know how hard it is to interview a teenager," Lois answered, annoyed at the memory. "Much less a dead one," she said, a little more subdued. "We were originally going to focus more on Phantom's life and death, or the nature of the afterlife, or on how exactly the crossing over happened."

"So why didn't you? Those both sound like your usual stuff."

"Like she said, evidently the teenage ability to avoid the subject remains after death," Clark said, remembering the way the kid had managed to politely, firmly, and slightly desperately changed the subject every other time they asked a question. He hadn't heard someone change the subject that many times in one sentence since he'd asked Bruce how Selina was doing on her trip to Themyscira.

"And, much as I hate to pin my name to anything sweet and fluffy," Lois said, "It's the right article to write right now. Public opinion is fickle, showing people the humanity of these guys important. You've seen how much emphasis LexCorp is putting on the dangerous aspect and those mad scientists having so much of their work focused on studying them like animals."

"This changes the tone," Clark said, picking up the thread where Lois lost it to future story threads. "People will read it because it's the first ever verifiable interview with a ghost. And while they're reading it they'll see something a lot calmer than anything else being published right now. A story about a different culture, and a very relatable person on the face of it.

"It makes sense," Jimmy acknowledges, "but I'd hate to be in between Lois and her next story. Especially if she goes after Luthor like I heard Perry talking about." Lois focused on Jimmy at that, with a hint of the look that made him so concerned for her next story subject.

"Did Perry okay me to write another piece directly about Luthor?"

"Not sure, I just heard him saying something about the Ghost Investigation Ward with your name, his, and 'inevitable.'"

Lois's grin was downright predatory. Jimmy winced a bit and looked to Clark to support. Clark was smiling softly at his partner as she whipped her chair back to her desk to begin typing.

"Oh that reminds me Jimmy, did you get those pictures of LexCorp's water treatment facilities? Perry's busy and I think he'll be okay with it if I pick one to go with my article about lead pipes in Metropolis."

"Yeah CK, I got them like you asked, a couple where the sign is front and center and a couple where it's mostly pipes with a few branded junction box type things. I'd go with the pipes, it looks technical and gets your message across more subtly."

Clark grinned a smaller version of Lois's scary smile. He thought a moment then told Jimmy. "You should go with Lois next time. You're the best photographer I know. I'm sure you can get something usable, or at least interesting from the ghosts."

"Just Lois? Not you both?"

"Probably not no. Superman was there last time, and said that he'd be working a lot in Metropolis soon," Clark coughed a bit then said, "Apparently he went with us to take a look at what LexCorp was doing. We found some leads so I'm going to be staying here to report any developments as they happen."

"I can't decide if you're a great guy for giving Lois all the scoops on literal ghosts or a very smart guy for finding a way to keep all the scoops on what our own literal alien celebrity is doing."

"He's a menace and I'm so glad you're finally noticing Olsen," Lois chimed in without looking up.

"Oh definitely a great guy," Clark said. "Just a simple farm boy right here."

Respect for the Dead

By Lois Lane and Clark Kent

1,436 words

By now most of the world has been shaken by the news.

Ghosts are real! And ghosts are in danger! The original publication written by Lois Lane can be found here but we are not here to follow that well trodden avenue of discussion.

Here at the Daily Planet we have elected to focus on speaking to the ghosts themselves, rather than debate their existence alongside our fellow papers. During the hunt for the new source of Kryptonite that sparked this discovery Lois Lane made contact with one Danny Phantom. Originally he chose to anonymous but since the outpouring of support from much of the world he has since chosen to come forward publicly.

Given that the ghostly teenager is operating as a hero similar to our own Superman much of his personal history could not be shared. What was safe to share however was very different from what this reporting team had been expecting.

We had gone in prepared to hear the story of what caused a ghost that looks like a schoolboy to lead a life of ghostly vigilantism.

What we got was sweetly sarcastic individual giving us amusing anecdotes of his start as a hero, descriptions of the stranger habits he's gained since his death, and many many tips on how to politely interact with a ghost. At our confusion (who knew there were so many different types of ghost!) Phantom went on to explain and correct several common misconceptions about ghosts. So without further ado; here are the highlights of that discussion.

We begin with what was given to us as the number one rule of human/ghost etiquette. Never ask the individual, be they glowing werewolf, ghostly lunch-lady, or undead rock star, about the circumstances of their death.

It seems simple does it not? A matter of everyday politeness, and yet that is the number one reason for communication breakdowns between ectoplasmic entities and still living humans. Fortunately for the health of the interview this reporting team did not make that mistake. Phantom did not explain the nature of the offense but did not need to. It was clear that the, until then, friendly conversation would have ended abruptly if we had gone any farther down that path.

What we were encouraged (and warned) to talk to a ghost about was their obsession. As Phantom explained, "It's what drives a ghost, why we are still here, or why we formed at all."

When asked about his own obsession Phantom laughed a bit and said, "I'm a bit young for a ghost, so I don't really have one yet, I bounce around a lot. My doctor, he's a yeti, says it's normal for me though! The options are all over the place though. I know one ghost that haunts the high school to prevent bullying, a really nice guy. Another just wants to have her music heard by the world. Unfortunately her music brainwashes people to love her so we aren't super close. Or another that is all about granting wishes, but not in a singing blue genie way, in a fairy tale way, it's a mess whenever she gets over here."

That seems to be a common theme in ghostly/human interaction. Ghosts largely mean no harm but the pursuit of their own obsessions can have devastating effects on any that stand between them and their goal. Something to keep in mind if you're ordering pizza when the Box Ghost is at large.

Hoping it wouldn't cross into the realm of ghostly faux pas we went on to ask how old Phantom is. Once again Phantom seemed somewhat awkward although no more than what seemed to be his baseline when talking to (self claimed) famous reporters, saying only, "Time works differently in the realms. It can be really weird sometimes, you'll be talking to someone that looks like a toddler only to learn that they were last in a human world during the 1400s or something."

As Phantom continued to share however, the everlasting aspect seemed to be the least interesting part of the Infinite Realms, or the Ghost Zone as the Doctors Fenton, previously mentioned as ghostly experts here, call the place where the vast majority of ghosts dwell.

Ghostly yetis practicing medicine, while certainly not the least of the inhabitants were just the start. Phantom went on to share with us a sampling of the being he has encountered in his travels, medieval women moonlighting as temperamental dragons, the very concept of time, a warden of any ghosts that cross his path, and of course the ubiquitous creepy toddler so often featured on the silver screen.

According to Phantom up until extremely recently (whether by ghostly or human terms we were unable to determine) the Infinite Realms was closed off from our own home except for the occasional haunting. Which was explained to us by the telling of what was, to Phantom, a very funny joke about pop culture influencing ghost culture as people died and brought it over with them. From this we can glean several things. That the realms of the living and the dead have never been so far apart as it would have seemed to the living. That the near future will hold many changes as major religions, governments, and the common people hear what the dead have to say as they weigh in on what respect for the dead really means. And that while many things do translate, ghostly humor is not one of them.

Although of course that may be that, despite his real age being possibly many times our own - combined, Phantom is still eternally a teenager. And a teenagers jokes are often incomprehensible to any who do not share that state.

When asked about the sudden ghostly interest in our own living Earth Phantom had this to say, "Lots of ghosts want to go to the lands of the living. Especially anyone that used to be alive themselves. And anyone that didn't is curious what the fuss is about. Earth is so different from the ghost zone but it's still where a lot of us came from. If someone gets a chance to hop through the portal they'll go, to see how things have changed, or to keep things from changing, or just to stretch their obsessions. Really it's a chance to go home, just for a little while," he said, reminding us that for all they look like aliens ghosts are just as human as you or I.

With a few caveats.

The portal Phantom spoke of is an invention by the Doctors Fenton, Ectobiologists. Up until recently Jack and Maddie Fenton had been the worlds foremost ghostly experts, building a portal to the "Ghost Zone" in order to study what up until recently had been considered to be a non-sentient classification of emotional ectoplasmic imprintation.

We spoke to the researchers after our interview with Phantom, at his request. Despite the recent evidence come to light the couple remain the foremost (living) human scientists in the field. When asked about the setback to their work they had this to say, "We were devastated of course. To learn that we won't be able to study spooks -" Jack Fenton broke off there, at an extremely well executed elbow jab from Maddie Fenton who then said. "We got an extreme tunnel vision, a hazard of obsessive science. We were told we were wrong about the existence of ghosts for so long that we forgot to check that we were correct about their nature. We look forward to pivoting to ghostly anthropology and human/ghost interaction technology."

Ultimately we did not learn any groundbreaking secrets, but then if a ghost willing to go on record ( a written record at least, our recorded transcript of the conversation was near unusable due to static) you sit down and listen. We can never anticipate what a reader will take from an article but if we could make a suggestion? In this reporting teams opinion, the balance of ghost and human realms is not unlike the inversion of a mirror. We are reflections of one another. Opposite, yes, and dangerous to one another for it, but ultimately we are all the same. After all what is a ghost but emotion and ectoplasm (according to current science)? And for all that we try to rise above it, what is a human but emotion and flesh?

Fin.

Coming Soon!

Keep an eye out for top ten tips on ghostly interaction and interviews with the Justice League on diplomatic efforts with GHOSTLY ROYALTY!!

#dpxdc #dc x dp #Superman #Lois Lane #Clark Kent #danny phantom #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc prompt #no beta we die like danny

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bingbuang · 3 days ago

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Random af Dallas Winston headcanons!!! (sad stuff included because I can't not ugh) ♡

Dallas doesn't smoke to look tuff, he's got it just as bad as ponyboy. After he told Johnny and Ponyboy to go to the abandoned church, he ends up smoking so much, pacing around his room until he has a coughing fit, and buck makes him stop.

(Movie dallas btw) He's insecure about how big his eyebrows are. He plucks at them unconsciously, until someone points it out. Along with this, he has this weird fear of getting a unibrow because his dad had one, and he constantly scratches between his eyebrows, just in case one is there. (There's not.)

He has ADHD, and can not stop moving ever. I imagine him and Johnny going to a diner, and he's just spacing out, bouncing his leg, and doesn't notice the violently shaking table until Johnny says his name.

After they found Johnny in the lot, Steve and Soda pop had to stop him from finding and (probably) killing the socs. He was so fucking angry.

Steve doesn't fuck with Dallas, and Dallas doesn't fuck with Steve. They once got into a fight and both got *real* fucked up, and now they're both kind of rivals.

Dallas is strong, we know that, but he has muscular legs. Because if he rides horses, ain't no way he's gonna have chicken legs.

He has HUGE hands. Sometimes, he just grabs Ponyboy's entire face. Why wouldn't he?

He doesn't actually like alcohol. Unlike with the smoking thing, he only does it to look tuff. Sometimes, he swaps it out with some soda. Even better, if he does it looks like he has a high tolerance = more tuff.

He really only has street smarts. He dropped out of school when he was 13 and moved to Tulsa, and his parents never bothered signing him back up. He didn't mind though. He stayed with the Curtis's during school hours, and he actually gained a little weight because Mrs. Curtis spoiled him with baked goods.

Once he grew up more, and the greaser vs soc conflict started getting more apparent in his life(and when he started getting an ass), he began losing weight by running.

Speaking of running, he can run for a VERY long time. He got used to running from cops, and he got hella stamina. I like to believe when cops see him doing some illegal shit like starting a fight, they don't bother getting out of the car, because that kid is going to sprint. (But Dallas is smarter, he waits for them to get out first.)

he can NOT grow facial hair. Even though he has light skin and dark hair, he can't grow one for shit. One time he got called 'Babyface' by a girl, and it destroyed his ego. So when he learned Johnny would occasionally shave (like once a week) he was kind of pissed.

He wants a piercing, but he's terrified of needles.

He's gotten used to sleeping on hard benches in prison cells, so he can sleep anywhere he wants, even in jeans.

He definitely prefers soc girls. He doesn't really know why, but he likes the contrast of his greaser personality and a soc in a relationship. He thinks it makes it more fun.

When he learned Sylvia was cheating on him when he was in prison, he was a lot more upset than he let on. He used to visit her every day, and now he just solemnly hung around with the Curtis's.

He chews on his necklace a lot. Darry tells him to quit, but he don't listen. One time, Darry just got pissed and grabbed Dallas by the jaw, and told him (very angrily) to spit it out.

He can eat stupid fast. He got good at it from when he was in prison and had to eat quickly (even if he hated the food) so nobody would take it. He does get sick from it occasionally, but he can hold it down.

One of my really obscure headcanons is that Dallas is half-korean from his mom. He doesn't speak a bunch of Korean because he doesn't live with his mom anymore, but he likes fucking with new officers by pretending he can't speak English. Also, he doesn't really like bringing up his ethnicity because it reminds him of his mom too much.

As I have reblogged before, he can not swim. Pass it on.

that's all I have for now!!!! Love y'all 😍

#dallas winston #the outsiders #dallas winston headcanons #the outsiders dally #dally winston

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robin-wing-man · 1 day ago

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"Prison? I thought you'd moved beyond this. I'm disappointed, honestly. You're still going by Batman's version of justice"

You know, people love to slap labels on me. Circus kid, Boy Wonder, Batman’s ex-sidekick, Nightwing—take your pick. I mean, technically, they’re all true, but none of them really sum it up. It’s like calling Bruce “just a guy with a car.” Sure, it’s accurate, but it doesn’t exactly cover the whole picture.

For starters, yeah, I grew up in a circus. The Flying Graysons. If you’ve never heard of us, I don’t know what to tell you—maybe get out more? We were kind of a big deal. Swinging through the air, defying gravity, making people gasp—it wasn’t just a job; it was life. Turns out, being raised in a traveling circus full of questionable characters prepares you really well for crime-fighting. Who knew? Acrobatics, showmanship, knowing when someone’s about to try and stab you? Basic skills, honestly.

And then there’s the whole “Robin” chapter. Or saga, really. Look, I’m not going to sugarcoat it—working with Batman was... an adjustment. One minute, I’m living on the road with my family, and the next, I’m fighting psychos in Gotham’s alleys with a guy who growls more than he talks. Bruce isn’t exactly what you’d call emotionally available, but the man knows how to get stuff done. Say what you want about his personality (or lack thereof), but he’s good at what he does. Did I enjoy getting lectured about justice while dodging bullets? Not exactly. Did I learn a lot? Definitely.

But here’s the thing about being a sidekick: eventually, you have to stop being one. I’m not saying it was easy breaking away from Bruce—because, wow, it wasn’t—but I needed to figure out who I was without him. Enter Nightwing. New name, new suit, same sarcastic attitude. I ended up in Blüdhaven, a city that makes Gotham look like it’s trying too hard. It’s grimy, it’s messy, and it’s mine.

So, who am I now? Depends on the day. Sometimes I’m Dick Grayson, the guy who drinks too much coffee and still doesn’t know how to fold fitted sheets. Sometimes I’m Nightwing, the guy who flips off rooftops and pretends he’s got it all together. Most of the time, I’m just trying to survive the chaos and not fall on my face. You know, the usual.

See you on the other side, or not.

-- Dick.J.G.

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pursued-by-the-squid · 2 days ago

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iii. location drop

pairing: eventual gi-hun x gn!reader x in-ho

word count: 7.1k

ao3 | masterlist

Young-il is so… interesting. In many ways he reminds you of yourself – he’s always studying the world around him, always listening, he can be remarkably serious and endearingly lighthearted in the same conversation, and he’s wickedly sharp. Much smarter than you are, that’s for sure, but you like that. It’s nice to speak to someone with so much life already lived and hear the way they view the world, even if it doesn’t always align with your own ideals. He challenges you, too. In ways you never would have imagined. That’s what makes him so intriguing.

His smile catches the light when you see him. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he says as he starts shrugging off his coat. His cheeks are flushed from the cold, his hair pushed away from his face in an elegant swoop.

You hum lightly into your cup. “Business stuff?”

Young-il nods. “Of a sort.” He eyes the extra cup of coffee on the table as he moves to sit across from you. “Trying something new?”

“It’s yours,” you correct. “Black Americano, right?”

Surprise tints his features and you feel a stab of pride for managing to catch him so off guard. “You remembered.”

His reaction shouldn’t sit as warm and cozy as it does in your chest, but you don’t fight it. Still, you try to play it off with a shrug. “I remember all kinds of things.”

A hand slips into his trouser pocket and it doesn’t occur to you until he’s pulling out his wallet that he wants to repay you. Before he can utter a single suggestion, you stop him. “Oh, no, that’s alright. I don’t mind,” you reply with a politely dismissive wave. “You can cover me next time, if you want.”

Truthfully, you’re still adjusting to the idea of purchasing whatever you want when you want it. You can’t (and won’t) go out and buy a brand-new sports car or anything, but even something as mundane as a coffee feels like a splurge with how strict you’ve been in the past. Gi-hun wants you to be happy, though, to have all your needs met, and if that’s what he wants…

“I was starting to think you weren’t coming,” you say after a moment. That wasn’t exactly what you had intended to say; you were trying to find something to say that wasn’t the same boring topics he always hears from you, but your mind had wandered and gotten lost somewhere between point A and point B.

Young-il’s still a bit taken aback, but you can see him smiling when he takes a sip of his coffee. “You would have missed me that much?”

He’s very clearly teasing you, but the fact of the matter is that yes, you would have missed him if he hadn’t shown. You don’t have many friends apart from him and Gi-hun who is, more often than not, busy doing whatever it is that he does. It’s not exactly a normal friendship, no matter how hard you strive to make it so, no matter how much you’ve come to care for him. Young-il, on the other hand, is less closed off, more engaging. He’s a normal businessman who does normal things like drink coffee and do guest lectures for some of the business students. You haven’t been able to see any of his talks yet, but you have a feeling they’re good.

You hide your own smile behind your cup when you go to take a sip, hoping that he doesn’t see just how tickled you are. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The conversation flows loosely from there. Young-il has recently taken over his business from the previous owner and as a result, his time is limited. Too many meetings, too much paperwork, and a lot of strategizing. You, on the other hand, have several short papers due this week that you’ve been putting off, not to mention the final project looming in the back of your mind as each week ticks by.

“There’s an extra credit module I was thinking of completing,” you say casually, as if your heart isn’t about to beat right out of your chest. “We have to visit the art gallery here on campus and write a reflection about our experience.”

You’ve been thinking of asking him to go with you. It makes sense considering he’s always on campus. You might almost think him a student if you didn’t know any better. But the difference between thinking about asking and actually asking is great – you don’t even know if he likes art, if he cares enough about your casual little friendship to meet you outside of weekly coffee meetings and words exchanged in passing on your way to the bus stop. Maybe you’re asking for too much. What if he thinks you’re weird?

So it takes you by surprise when Young-il leans forward slightly, his curiosity piqued. “I wasn’t aware there was an art gallery.”

You wipe a bit of liquid from the corner of your mouth. Could it really be this easy? “Yeah! They have a rotation of displays and visiting artists. The one we have currently is focused on surrealism. They’re displaying copies of some famous pieces, as well as art from several of our students.” Your eyes dart nervously over Young-il’s frame, trying to determine how open he is to the idea. He seems interested enough. “I haven’t been to a gallery in a little while and the extra credit would help raise my grade a bit.”

He nods thoughtfully. “It seems like you’ve already decided to go.”

“I think so, yes.” Your lungs constrict painfully below the canopy of your ribcage. If you don’t ask now, you’ll never find the courage to try again. “Would you like to go with me?”

A moment ticks by uneventfully. Then another.

Searching Young-il’s eyes tells you nothing. You can’t determine what he’s thinking, no matter how hard you look. The only insight his silence offers you is the weight of his gaze as he studies you, as if you were the art piece and he the seasoned purveyor.

His head tilts ever so slightly to one side. “You want me to join you?” He doesn’t sound disinterested in the idea, but neither does he sound fully invested.

You swallow nervously. “Yes. If you want.”

“Why me? Surely you have other friends you could go with, some of the students in your class, perhaps?”

Ah. So he’s not interested. You can feel your face heat up with the embarrassment of his rejection. You suddenly find the shapeless stain of a former coffee spill on the table inexplicably fascinating.

“I guess I probably should have asked one of them first.” You try to wrap the tail end of your response in a light chuckle, but it’s forced and uncomfortable. You end up grimacing more than anything else. “I’m sure you’re busy, what with your business and everything.”

What you want to say is that you wouldn’t go with any of your classmates even if you were paid to do it. What you want to say is that you’ve come to greatly enjoy his company and the little breaks in your otherwise monotonous routine that his presence provides. But of course, you can’t say any of that.

You reach for your drink, hoping to fill the awkward space with a couple sips of something tasty, but you’ve already drained the cup. There’s nothing left except for a few spare drops.

Young-il shifts in his seat, drawing your attention as he adjusts his sleeves. He’s rolling them up to his elbow, exposing all that previously unseen skin and the muscles of his forearms, and… Oh. Maybe this means more to you than you’d previously thought. Maybe you’ve developed a bit of a crush. That’s embarrassing.

“Next Tuesday,” he says, his attention still focused on the task at hand. “I have a break in my schedule around noon.”

For a few scattered inhalations, you’re left feeling lost. You were so sure he was uninterested based on the, well, everything about him, but now he’s saying exactly the opposite.

“I… Huh?”

The corner of his mouth twitches and for the briefest of micro-minutes, you think you see something soft hidden in his eyes. “If you’re free then?”

Right. Next Tuesday. Noon. Your brain putters around for a bit as it tries to play catch up to the conversation, but eventually the fog clears. You have an opening in your schedule around that time, too, funnily enough. The date is set – not that it’s that kind of date – and the conversation fades back into normalcy, but the entire time your heart is racing because Young-il has agreed to go with you and you feel an abnormal amount of excitement pooling in your stomach because of it.

The thing is, Gi-hun has told you before that you ought to make more friends. He knows that he is essentially the only person you spend time with on a regular basis and he’s not sure if he should feel guilty or honored by that fact. He should be happy for you that you’ve finally found a friend, that you’re getting out of your apartment and socializing. It’s just that when he had pictured a friend, Gi-hun had imagined someone around your own age, not… this.

The unknown man looks closer to Gi-hun’s age than yours. Not that that’s a bad thing. He’s your friend too, isn’t he? He simply finds it worrying. Older men and younger college students are something of a suspicious combination, no matter how refined and put together they seem. Like your new friend.

Still, there’s nothing harmless about meeting a friend for coffee. An older friend. Who doesn’t seem to do much apart from loitering around the business building and talking to you.

You’re fine, he tells himself, even as he pulls the brim of his cap down over his eyes and sips at his own drink. You can take care of yourself. But it doesn’t hurt that he’s here to watch over you, just in case. The last person in a suit to approach you had turned out to be a recruiter and it would be foolish of him to assume that you’re safe simply because you’ve thrown the card away and started heeding his advice.

Jeong-rae and his men are busy scouting the subways with a few more sets of eyes than usual to make up for Gi-hun’s absence. He has a pistol on him in case things go badly or your mysterious new friend turns out to be something he’s not, but he thinks (he hopes) that won’t be necessary.

Your coffee meet-up ends within the hour. Gi-hun has already finished his own drink long before, but he keeps sipping at his cup to sell the illusion that he belongs here, tucked into the corner of the campus coffee shop and watching you. He tries not to feel like he’s doing something wrong. Because he isn’t. He’s keeping you safe. If you’d had family or friends in the Games when he was there, he would have sworn to look after you and that’s all he’s doing now.

You head for the bus stop, your friend heads for the nearest parking lot. Gi-hun follows. He watches your friend settle into a very normal looking car – not obnoxiously flashy, but not a rundown heap of scrap metal either – and drive off, and he follows closely in his own vehicle. And if he gets a bit of a rush from tracking this man down and vetting him, then that’s his own business.

The man drives to a corner store and disappears inside for several minutes. When he comes out again, he drops a bag into the passenger seat and leans against the door while he smokes. Gi-hun suddenly pretends to find his mobile very interesting. He double, triple, and quadruple checks his incoming messages – no sign of the recruiter so far – and eventually finds himself pulling out his own stack of cigarettes and lighting one up.

By the end of the night, Gi-hun’s mission leads him to a hotel in one of the quieter pockets of the city. Your friend is entirely unthreatening and uninteresting. He feels a little foolish for letting himself get so caught up in his own paranoia – taking a gun with him? Really? Whoever he is, this man hardly looks like the same unhinged species of psychotic as the recruiter that had sealed his fate so long ago.

You can handle yourself, he reminds himself, perhaps for the fiftieth time today. And he knows it’s true. You’re smart and very capable, even if you are a bit trusting. You’re not the problem – it’s the rest of the world that worries him, the recruiters and game runners of society who could snuff out your light without blinking an eye. He won’t allow it, not even if it aggravates his paranoia and leaves him sleepless in the early hours of the morning.

Gi-hun will just need to keep a closer eye on you. To keep you safe. It’s a small sacrifice to make in return for your life.

In-ho carefully studies his reflection, smoothing a hand over his hair and straightening the collar of his shirt. He doesn’t usually wear a suit when he meets with you like he does when conducting Game business, opting instead for dark, soft things like turtlenecks and knit sweaters. Spring is finally here, but the chill of winter still lingers, so he suspects you’ll be neatly bundled as you were when he met you in the autumn. He’s mirroring you, trying things that subconsciously lure you into a false sense of security, and you’re falling for it every step of the way. It’s no wonder Gi-hun managed to worm his way into your life.

Gi-hun.

His mouth curls into a self-satisfied smirk. 456 had been a bit of a surprise, admittedly, a wrench in his otherwise perfectly executed plans. But In-ho has the training of a decorated police officer; 456 is gutter filth. And gutter filth, no matter how cunning, how desperate, or how rich, cannot overcome decades of rigorous training with the best police force in the country. He spotted Gi-hun the moment he pulled out of the campus parking lot – the rest had simply been a game that he was willing to play.

Today is a game of another sort. In his youth, In-ho had never been much of a flirt. Charming, perhaps, even suave if he was in the mood, but a flirt? It just wasn’t his style. But there is something to the Young-il persona that prompts him to try. Perhaps it’s the anonymity. Maybe it’s the low stakes and high reward – you’re not a genuine romantic prospect, you’re a target, and that means that it’s not his ego being bruised by your potential rejection but his predatory prowess.

Except you haven’t rejected him. You have, quite surprisingly, invited him further into your life. You have carved out a space for him in the otherwise uneventful and meaningless scope of your existence, and In-ho is painfully curious to discover how far he can push you before you fall completely.

He arrives at the gallery nearly an hour early, content to peruse the art nearest to the entrance and sufficiently prepare himself. It’s been several years since he has studied art in any meaningful way. He was more prone to it in the years before Oh Il-nam and Gi-hun’s Game, but he was more prone to many things back then – holiday phone calls to his brother, flowers at his wife’s grave. He doesn’t have time for such things anymore. Still, he finds the familiarity of the art, the artist, and the solemnity of viewership a comforting thing.

When you appear several minutes before noon, short of breath and clearly frazzled, In-ho finds it difficult to suppress his smile. You make your intentions so clearly known without ever realizing how transparent you are. Eagerness is written across your face so plainly, it may as well be a brand. Your eyes light up when you spot him, like a child encountering their favorite toy. Only – no, that’s a poor comparison. As young and foolish as you may be, you aren’t a child. A pet, perhaps. Clever enough with the capabilities you’ve been born with, but ultimately submissive to the hand of the master that feeds it.

“Hi,” you greet him with a flash of a smile. You’re already pulling off your coat only to grip it in your mouth while you start rummaging through your backpack, all before he can get more than a simple ‘hello’ out in response. Hardly a minute later, you’re settled with a notebook and pencil in hand, and your coat shoved haphazardly into your backpack. “Okay. Ready.”

He allows himself a moment of genuine amusement. “You seem eager.”

“Always eager to learn, Young-il-nim,” you answer with a little tap of your pencil against your forehead.

He takes the initiative to open the gallery door for you, reveling in the small victory of your poorly hidden surprise. “I take it you haven’t studied much Surrealism before, then?”

You shake your head. In-ho is keen to observe your expressions, but already you’ve tilted your face away to analyze the first painting, a popular Dalí piece that makes a clear impact on you. You murmur your way through the informative sign plastered beside the canvas with furrowed brows and inquiring, contemplative eyes.

“That’s so sad.”

He scans over the sign, confirming the information he already knows – a commentary on the Spanish Civil War of the 1930’s, made by an apolitical artist who chose to side neither with the fascists nor the Republic that rose up to fight it. What is it about political neutrality that is so heartbreaking to you? Or are you, perhaps, more drawn to the hollow grief portrayed in the painting itself?

Before he can find the words to ask, you’ve already taken the initiative to expand upon your remark. “His sister was killed by one side and his friend by the other. But he still didn’t take a side.” The hand holding your pencil is hovering lightly over the sign, fingers almost but not quite touching the words – as if you were afraid to touch it and mar its tragedy with your own simplistic worldview. “I can’t even imagine that.”

Something akin to sympathy flares up inside him before quickly turning to the flush of displeasure. Not anger, not yet. “Imagine what?” he prompts.

At last, you turn your face and allow him the chance to swallow every minute, flickering micro expression. “Any of it. Losing your family to the people who are meant to help you and then losing your friend to the people who want to hurt you.” The knot in your throat bobs when you swallow. How curious that you seem to be so deeply affected by something you have no true understanding of. “I guess I wouldn’t know which side to choose either, but I can’t say that I’d want to side with the fascists.”

In-ho nods, unsurprised. No, he can’t imagine that you would either. He tries not to think too hard on the implications – of the painting, of your sudden swell of emotions, or of the memories already pressing hard against the interior of his skull.

Your head tips down as you scribble a few notes in your book, followed by the click of your phone camera. He glances over your handwriting, a mix of Korean and your native tongue, before you eventually step away, turning to the next piece. He stays, only for a heartbeat or two, eyes lingering on the canvas before finally deciding to trail after you.

Most of the pieces in the gallery are somewhat familiar to him, though he doesn’t care for all of them. Some are too fantastical for his tastes, some are too nonsensical. Others leave him feeling perplexed, as they once did when he was younger, more bereaved and less inclined to the logic that rules his life now. And then – then there are the pieces that remind him of the Games. Chess pieces in vast, unending landscapes. Peering eyes devoid of faces, studying the audience the way the VIPs study the players. Staircases that lead to nowhere and doors that open to nothing, tangling together like the labyrinthine maze of pastel walls he has come to call both his home and his work.

Your reaction to each of them is as predictable as ever. “‘We often believe we're being led to a higher place when perhaps we're not going anywhere,’” you read. Your pencil taps against the corner of your mouth. “Well, that’s a bit grim.”

He suppresses the urge to roll his eyes – barely. “Is it?” Surely you can see the logic in such an argument, even if you don’t agree with it? Or must he spell everything out for you?

The gears in your head begin to turn, slow and steady. “It sounds more like depression to me than an actually viable outlook on life. Maybe you aren’t going anywhere because you’re holding yourself back, you know? You’ve closed all the doors that you can escape through and now you’re ramming your head into the wall, wondering why nothing’s happening.”

In-ho’s exhalation is heavier than it usually is, the tone of it caught somewhere between amusement, contemplation, and disbelief.

“Not that I’m judging him for feeling that way, Mister…” You lean in to check the name of the artist. “M.C. Escher.”

“I suppose you find it hard to relate to – feeling hopeless?” It’s not entirely fair of him to say and he is more than aware, but he wants to see that spark in your eyes. He wants to hear you explain yourself. Prove to him how miserable the world is, that your vision is flawed.

But where In-ho had expected anger, he instead finds something more subdued. The subtle tilt of your head, betraying the indignation you feel at his assumption. The flexing of the muscle in your jaw. The deep inhalation that makes your ribs expand. You make a sound in the back of your throat, a quiet hum overflowing with enough emotions that he can’t possibly translate them all. “I didn’t say that,” you murmur. “I just… prefer to be optimistic instead. When I can be.”

You don’t seem to like the labyrinthine staircases leading nowhere and he wonders, not for the first time and far from the last, how you would fare in the Games. Optimism is beloved by the naïve – it won’t get you very far. How would you have fared in his Game? In Seong Gi-hun’s? How quickly would your optimism have killed you?

He takes another opportunity to study you as you shoulder past him, still clearly upset by his remark. You are such a sensitive thing. How do you manage to survive in the world burdened by the weight of your own sympathies? Is it Gi-hun’s money that eases your heart, makes it easier to ignore the death and corruption all around you? Is it your own ignorance that makes life bearable?

His hands twitch with the sudden desire to pull you apart and discover exactly what it is that makes you tick. What mechanisms lie beneath your skin? Would you cry if he pulled them out one by one? Would you rage?

“I’m sorry,” he says, coming up behind you as you move to the next collection of works. “I’ve upset you.”

“No,” you reply, too quickly for it to be anything other than a lie. “I just wanted to look at the others, that’s all.”

You’re a terrible liar, at least when you’re agitated. In-ho rests his hand on your shoulder, his tongue already sharpened with the blade of a few clever words, when he happens to look up and catch a glimpse of the painting you’ve chosen to study. It hits him all at once – the empty nights, the cheap bourbon and even cheaper whiskey, the agonizing pit in his stomach, the hospital bills – and suddenly, In-ho finds that he can do little more than stand there, his mouth agape, and sway against the current that threatens to sweep him off his feet.

René Magritte. L’Empire des lumières. He would know it anywhere.

He’s distantly aware of you turning to look at him, your shoulder twisting under his hand, your voice curling around the shape of a stranger’s name, but it’s little more than a vague, hazy noise in the back of his mind.

A brightly illuminated sky dotted with pearlescent clouds. (He thinks of the arenas, splattered with blood.) A darkened street. Trees silhouetted against the clouds. A house, lonely and empty, its reflection in the water below unfocused. (He thinks of the apartment he’d had with his wife, how empty it was when he returned home from the Games.) A single lamppost illuminates the darkness of the house. One. Alone. Sturdy and strong, blazing against the emptiness.

“What is it? Young-il-nim?”

“My wife...” The words croak out of him, unbidden, unwanted. He shakes his head to try and clear his thoughts, but he can’t shake the memories.

Your hands drop – wherever they had been on his person previously, he doesn’t know, nor does he care. All he sees, all he knows is the apartment he had holed himself up in after she died. Some small, cramped shoebox that offered less personality, less freedom, than the rooms he offered to his own soldiers. The two little fish on his desk, long dead by now. The books he left behind. The card from his first Game – the only thing left of her. The paintings.

The paintings.

He can still remember the first time he saw them. Drunk on grief and so violently angry at the world, he had stumbled his way through Seoul, reliving the old haunts from the happier days of his marriage. The theatre, the mall, the academy he had graduated from, the gallery where they met… He remembers his face being wet with spit and tears. He remembers peering in through the darkened windows, searching for something that no longer existed. He remembers the paintings, the isolated lamppost standing tall in a sea of hopelessness. He remembers thinking he may as well be that lamppost, trying desperately to illumine an abandoned house haunted by the Games that had stolen his hope, his humanity, his last moments with the only person in the entire world who could have saved him.

In-ho pries desperately at the air around him, trying to relearn how to breathe even as he’s swept below the current. He’s only vaguely aware that he’s left you behind, that his surroundings have shifted. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.

He should have known better. Magritte is one of the most popular artists in the genre. He should have expected to see his works, but he hadn’t been thinking clearly. He was so focused on his game, on luring you further into his trap and wielding the victory over Seong Gi-hun’s head. He was so busy playing the Front Man that he had forgotten Hwang In-ho.

“I need to apologize.” It’s the first thing he says when he sees you again, almost two weeks later.

You wave him off very politely, but he can tell that you’ve already started to close yourself off to him and that simply won’t do. After everything he has suffered and endured to lure you and 456 into his trap, he will not allow his plans to crumble over a past he cannot change.

“It’s alright, Young-il-nim. I could tell you were upset. I’m just glad you’re okay.” Your eyes are sad for the first time since he’s met you. “I was worried.”

For a moment – the briefest, most fleeting of seconds – he allows himself the indulgence of your compassion. He may not need it, but it is a balm on the freshly torn open scar of his grief all the same. He covers your hand with both of his in thanks. The words don’t come for a very long time.

“My wife died eight years ago.” And he can still see her face even now, even after everything he’s done. “We met in a gallery, like the one here. She loved art, loved the theatre and music. She was… bright.” Like a streetlamp illuminating the darkened eaves of his heart. “After she died, that painting was the first thing I saw and it–.”

He’s struck by the onslaught of tears poking at his waterline. He shouldn’t be telling you any of this. Yet some ancient corner of his heart that had shriveled up the night he held her death certificate in his hands is crying out, desperate to be heard, and for once, In-ho doesn’t have the strength or will to fight himself.

“It reminded me of what she was to me – a light in an unforgiving world.” He swallows hard as the world swims all around him. He can feel your gaze on his cheek, your fingers curled around his. “I hadn’t expected to see it again and I reacted poorly.”

The swiftness of your reply nearly guts him. You press your body closer to his, from your shoulder down to your knees as you lean in, voice soft and eyes misty. “You didn’t… you didn’t do anything you shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.” You rub your thumb over the back of his hand and all In-ho can do is stare. “I’m sorry you had to relive that. That’s… I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

It isn’t worth much, but the apology is kind and he appreciates it for what it is.

“What was her name? If you don’t mind me asking?”

“Min-jung.” Her face flashes across his memory again – the wide eyes and bright smile he had fallen for so instantaneously, the laughter, the joy. “Kang Min-jung.”

You repeat the name to yourself with a reverence he doesn’t expect, but then, he hadn’t expected any of this. For all the control he tries so desperately to cling to, In-ho is wildly out of his depth. He feels unmoored and listless.

“It’s a beautiful name. I’m sorry you lost her.”

He nods. “As am I.” It’s the truest thing he’s said in years.

“Is there…” Your mouth tilts into a frown as you search for the right words. “Is there anything I can do for you?” The inclination of his head and the exaggerated lifting of his brows encourages you to explain further. “I just feel bad. You wouldn’t have reacted like that if I hadn’t invited you with me.”

There, he realizes. It’s an opening, a crack for him to slip his fingers into and apply some pressure. A glimpse at control. After two weeks of drowning in memories and grief, In-ho relishes the thought.

“You have nothing to apologize for, [___]. But I would like to make it up to you, if I can.”

“You don’t have to–”

He raises his hand with a smile. “I would like to.” And because you are the naïve, optimistic thing that you are, you will say yes. “Allow me to drive you home today.”

The first time he enters your apartment is a bit surreal. It had been a hired hand to install the camera that he studies you through and he’s learned quite a bit that way – your practically non-existent breakfast routine, the things you watch on your TV (you’ve rewatched the same show at least five times in the last month and a half, surely there’s something more fascinating you could be doing with your time?), and sometimes he can even catch a conversation or two between you and Gi-hun. Those occurrences are always so interesting. But actually stepping into your living space provides In-ho with even more context to the knowledge he’s already gathered.

You have a very specific taste in candles, not wholly unpleasant but perhaps a bit of an acquired taste. There is an entire wall of your living room that has been unviewable until now, mostly wall décor of the variety people your age tend to obsess over like pop groups and Western franchises, but there are other things too. A photo album of your time spent in Seoul. A crisp, dried-up plant that might once have been green. Little trinkets you’ve clearly purchased at some hole-in-the-wall tourist trap. And the amount of books you own is surprising. Old textbooks from classes long since passed, well-worn Korean workbooks, even romance novels that would make any sensible person flush with shame.

“It’s just down there,” you say, pointing vaguely to your right as you shrug off your backpack. “The door doesn’t always close fully, so you have to push it a little hard.”

He nods his thanks and starts down the hall. There are two doors: one to your bedroom and one to the toilet, though there’s only one that he actually finds interesting. He manages to sneak a glance into your room as he passes, but the shades are drawn and the door is only slightly cracked, so there isn’t much to see. In-ho thinks that one of his cufflinks may eventually find its way inside.

The bathroom is as uninteresting as he had suspected it would be, though small things still catch his eye. He cannot truly recall the last time he was so thoroughly surrounded by the presence of another person. Your scent lingers in the hair products, body wash, and body spray, your personality sparkling in the bits of jewelry scattered on the counter. Your favorite color is made apparent in the towel, toothbrush cup, and floor rug, and even your underwear preference jumps out at him. You must have left them on the floor after you showered this morning.

In-ho feels a surge of memories flaring at the base of his skull, begging to be released, but he pushes them back. This isn’t domestic. This is business, plain and simple. The comparison is superficial at best and he will not entertain it.

He flushes the toilet to keep up appearances, washes his hands, then quickly undoes one of his cufflinks. It rolls quietly down the edge of the door until it finally stops somewhere inside your room, and he smiles to himself, just for a moment, to revel in his success.

You flash him a smile of your own when he re-enters the sitting room. “All better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

You’ve curled up on the sofa in his absence, scrolling absently through your phone as he meanders toward the front door. “Oh, are you- are you leaving already?” And don’t you sound so distraught at the idea?

“Unfortunately, yes. I have a business meeting in a few hours,” which is a blatant lie, “and I don’t want to take up too much of your time.” He goes to adjust his jacket sleeves one at a time, waiting patiently, patiently for you to rise from your seat and bid him farewell.

“Aw. Well, good luck with your meeting, I guess.” You reach past him to open the door. “Don’t work too hard, now. You might hurt yourself.”

In-ho chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He fixes his other sleeve, fingers fumbling with the empty space where there ought to be cool metal, and he halts mid-step.

Your eyes drift to the open part of his shirt sleeve where his wrist is exposed. “You okay?”

He schools his face into something more serious. “My cufflink is missing. I… I could’ve sworn I still had it in the car.” As if he actually cares about something so trivial.

Much to his delight, your entire expression crumples. “Oh no! D’you think you lost it somewhere in here, or…?”

You accept the lie so easily, it’s no wonder that 456 was able to approach you. Are you truly so gullible that you cannot see through even the simplest of manipulations?

“I’m not sure,” he hums.

“Can I see?”

True confusion wrinkles in his brow when he looks at you. “What?”

One of your hands lifts to point at his right arm. “The other one. Can I see what it looks like?”

In-ho nods and offers his hand without hesitation, twisting his wrist to allow you a better view, but he finds himself stilling as you draw nearer. Your expressions are always genuine, but often some level of restrained or distanced. You like him, but you try not to show it. Yet now, as you had only an hour before, all that hesitation seems to dissipate in the wake of this small inconvenience.

And then you touch him. It is a brief and unassuming thing, merely the press of your fingertips on his forearm as you tilt his wrist toward you, but for In-ho, you may as well have shot him point blank. Some strange uncertainty passes over him, accompanied by a tightening in his chest and a hesitation in his lungs.

“I’ll take a look around in here,” you say, as casual as you ever are and entirely blind to his current state. “Maybe it fell off when you came inside.”

The collar of his shirt feels too tight when he swallows. “I’ll check the bathroom.”

You aren’t afraid of him. The realization is akin to the detonation of a bomb. Here, in this moment, he is not Oh Young-il. Young-il is a vulnerable dream wrapped in just enough mystery to keep you coming back to him time and time again. In this moment, he is the Front Man, he is a man with decades of police training and cunning drilled into his skull. And you aren’t afraid of him.

He wanders into the bathroom with unseeing eyes, his forearm tingling in the same spot where you’d touched him. Your toothbrush stares back at him, unblinking and undisturbed by the intensity of his glare. How many years has it been since someone looked at him and was visibly unafraid? How long since he has felt the touch of anything beyond the clinical sting of forceps and his brother’s bullet in his flesh?

Hyung…

He squeezes his eyes shut against the sound of Jun-ho’s voice, the frayed nerves around the edges of his bullet wound suddenly twisting in agony.

“I’m going to check outside!” you call from the sitting room. “Be right back!”

This is ridiculous. Even as he shoulders his way from the bathroom to your bedroom, he can feel himself growing more and more agitated. The overhead light flickers on as he swoops down to grab his cufflink. You’re nothing more than a pawn in the grander game. You have no clue how incredibly unremarkable and minuscule you are. His gaze flits over framed photos of your friends and family, the unmade bed, the hamper of folded laundry and the lazy pile of dirtied clothes just beside it. You’re nothing, no one. He could squeeze the life out of you right now and no one but 456 would even miss you.

The tendons in his hands constrict, suddenly curling his fingers into fists. He could do it. You would fall apart so easily in his hands.

He looks to the small, cluttered table beside your bed. A clock, a bodhisattva figurine (likely from any number of the temples across Seoul), a phone charger, a book. You are so painfully mundane. Killing you would be a favor, to himself and anyone unfortunate enough to know you, and it would shatter Seong Gi-hun. That much he can be sure of. So –

In-ho pauses mid-step. His pulse ticks just below his ear. He turns.

The book on your table is brand new, he can still see the price sticker along the spine and the receipt you’ve manufactured into a bookmark, but that isn’t what draws his eye. It’s the painting on the cover, the name of the artist that makes him feel as if he’s just been dragged to the lowest depths of the ocean.

René Magritte – L’Empire des lumières.

He would know it anywhere. He spent five whole years staring at the damn thing from inside the four cramped walls of his shithole apartment. The first painting he saw after…

He rushes for the exit as fast as his legs will carry him.

“Did you find-? Are you okay?” You’re standing just inside the front door, your phone in hand and the flashlight still turned on, peering curiously at him.

He very nearly drops his car keys when he tries to snag them from the table. “I have to go.”

“Is everything alright?”

He doesn’t reply, can’t reply. There aren’t words. But your voice lingers long after you’re gone. Other things linger too, other pieces of the past that haunt him no matter the time or distance spent trying to disconnect himself. He feels flayed apart and exposed. He feels raw. He feels… angry.

He buys himself a bottle of whiskey on his way back to the hotel, the cheapest, shittiest brand with the most bitter taste. He drowns himself in it. He spends the entire night locked inside his hotel room, his insides pulling at his outsides, fingers itching to pull the trigger on a loaded gun. You, Gi-hun, himself, he doesn’t care who dies, so long as the influx of memories and regret and utter fucking loneliness dissipate and he is allowed a moment of peace.

But for a man like Hwang In-ho, for the Frontman, he knows there is no such thing. Peace is a luxury only afforded to a few, usually the rich fucks who fly themselves to the island to bet on lives and bloodlust.

You likely think you have that same peace, bloated as you are with Gi-hun’s money. You hadn’t been so different from him before 456 came into your life – a student with a dream, low on funds but high in hopes – except you had found favor where In-ho had not. There was no rich, pathetic billionaire with a guilty conscience to spare him several hundred thousand won when his wife and child were dying. There was no mercy to be found in the cruel and selfish loan sharks, doctors, or police chiefs. There had only been the Games and their unfaltering equality.

His lip curls into a snarl as he downs the last of the whiskey. Equality. 456 had shattered that illusion, but In-ho knows exactly what to do to piece it back together. After all, there’s only one place in the world where true equality exists.

#seong gi hun x reader #gi hun x reader #hwang in ho x reader #in ho x reader #squid game #my fics

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nerdierholler · 2 years ago

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When Adam told Ethan that he’s so strong, how did Ethan feel about that? (~agentnatesewell)

I wanted to refresh myself on that scene and as it turns out, I stopped right at it with an Ethan run last time I played.

In the moment, he brushes it off because of the task at hand, coupled with another almost moment with Adam. He can't afford the distraction. Sometime later when things have calmed down again and he's trying to pick up the pieces that Adam left behind he replays every conversation they had and finally thinks about it.

Part of him just wants to lose it with uncontrolled bitter laughter but he doesn't. He holds it in. He feels like a failure and fraud. How disappointed Adam would be to find out how weak he really is. Perhaps things are better this way.

Then he hides that conversation away again, like he tries to do with so many memories of moments with Adam. It never really works, but he tries. He throws himself into training and getting up to speed as a full agent. He tries to be as confident and breezy as usual. Adam sees those things and mistakes them for the strength he projected on Ethan. See, Ethan's fine. He's working harder than ever and settling into his new roll. Sure things can be awkward and he's a little more quiet at times but that's all normal for everything he's been through and perhaps even a sign of maturity because part of him always worried that Ethan didn't take things seriously enough at times.

Oh how wrong he is.

There's another version of this in my head where Adam says that to him at a different time, where Ethan isn't about to march off into certain danger. In that conversation he sees that, while Ethan is strong in many ways, that much of what he shows the world is a mask. Adam finally sees the emotional stress and strain that Ethan's been carrying. This is one reason I love the breakfast conversation choice where you can ask Adam about agency gossip about him. Maybe I'll sketch out that alternate conversation about strength sometime.

#thank you so much for the ask #and giving me a chance to ramble about Ethan #he really isn't very mopey #he's just facing a lot of new stuff in his life #both with the supernatural and emotional #ethan langford #adam du mortain #twc #the wayhaven chronicles #life at nerdy holler

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doodlejoltik · 5 months ago

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my favourite writing device is having an un-Rei-liable narrator

#rei #volo #cheren #// tikposting #// character meta #the crowd booes me off the stage #forgive the pun XDDD his name is too easy to pun on #the way i write it it's not a conscious choice. it's just how the pov character (rei) experiences and contextualises the world #revealing backstory and personality and mindset through narration !!!!#not necessarily out of malice it's just. how he views things #interpreting new and foreign experiences through the lens of what came before...#conversations which read differently to different people.#in the context of rei that's stuff like unease around authority figures #always choosing his words carefully to project an image of competence (he has to be needed)#distrust and not taking things at face value but also paradoxically a fragile and nurtured sense of almost blind optimism #when it comes to friendships. like volo. (everyone turned on me when the sky turned red but it all resolved itself in the end didn't it?)#(what makes this different? / a lot of things. / i choose to believe)#volo [directly]: “i won't be stopped from my goal” rei thoughts: we can work with this!!!!#and everything with Arceus too and his divine blessings and a plan that will work out in the end #if Rei can just... figure out what part he's meant to play. interpreting events as a narrative hurtling towards some unknown conclusion #i am talking about rei here specifically but this writing device is so good in general #would be fun to try get inside volo's head. there's so much going on there i don't understand yet #quite fond of that one analysis post about how volo lacks emotional intelligence and sees relationships as transactions #not necessarily out of malice it's just how he views things. whether because of past experience or brain chemistry #also need to give a shout to cheren my guy who is an outsider pov who projects his own experiences onto new things so that he Understands #(an outsider to Hilbert and N's clash of truth and ideals. life changing experience and knowledge but felt just a little off to the left)#(the narrative repeated again with new heroes. all he can do is help them but it falls on their shoulders in the end)#(no wonder he tries to insert himself into Situations)#anyway tag ramble over feel free to also ramble to me about your takes XD #rei pokemon

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kevyeen · 7 months ago

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I wish being weird and batshit insane was socially acceptable, conforming to societal norms is killing me.

#finding new friends is hard because they wanna talk about their life or say smth about the weather when i'm foaming at the mouth about #some gays either driving fast cars or fast bikes or in insane sitcoms the average person just doesn't know exists or like wont watch #why must we talk about the weather when i can explain to you in excruciating detail why annie from community is lesbian #“hi” and he said he cloned him with the dna of a homing pigeon so if he feels a compulsion to come back- hey where are you going man #but also talking in general is hard like no that's not the response i wanted but no now you're too enthusiastic so my mind tells me ur faki #not just this stuff but this shit id what i can say rn #anyway #my finals over time to deep clean my bedroom & find a relic from my toxic codependent homoerotic teenage friendship that blew up in my face #also languages suck i can't express myself in any languages i know i should learn german i've heard they have a lot of words #kevtalks #im very close to some sort of breakdown also the jury is still out for what kind tho and it's the fucking uni entrance's fault

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rivaiin · 1 year ago

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ok now that ive had a couple of hours to sit on it the new conversation with buzzo at the ending of joyful sucks absolute ass. i liked the rest of the new content Specially the new boss in painful but the stuff with buzzo is..............................

#wheres the nuance the care the love thats on the rest of the game #if we take what buddy says at face value its weird cause she barely knows who lisa is #so how could she know what kind of relationship she had with buzzo #and if we take it as buddy somehow channeling the spirit of lisa to spill that stuff its probably even worse #cause like whats the point of every other interaction between buzzo and lisa then #i sort of get the idea that they wanted to portray buzzo as a pathetic man but like. he already was #just maybe not in the same way as other pathetic characters #this mans been hung up on the same thing for his entire life but like. it was a life changing event. it Was traumatic #he blames everyone except the person that was actually hurting lisa and keeps taking some kind of fucked up responsability over it #even tho he was a child at the time too #hes not cool for deciding to carry out a lifelong revenge against someone that was as against the wall as he was #like i just dont get what was the point of it all #to rub it in that hes not over lisa after all this time? as if it want already obvious?#and the entire conversion is so awkwardly written #like i dont remember the exact line but when buddy says she knows cause shes a woman #as shown in literally the next post credits scene she doesnt know what a mother is but she has lived the Normal girl experience #honestly being a hater here but it doesnt feel like they would say that #speciallt after how good the rest of the new content is #the campfire conversations are wonderful and all the stuff from painfuls secret boss really fleshes out brad a lot more #Anyways i liked the de stuff but the price hike and the bugs and this really spoils the experience #at least the old version of the game is still there

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peapod20001 · 2 years ago

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I hate trying to describe like. A characters voice and accent and shit cus I!! Don’t know the words for things!!! 😭 but anyways idk if these are entirely how he sounds but you kinda get the vibes of how Rory sounds with these songs here-

youtube

You get the vibes right?? You get what I’m goin for???? 🥺??

#about my ocs #oc voiceclaim #I’d like to think this fits his character a lot too. he talks of love and death quite a bit. but he feels an equal amount of appreciation #for both. he knows they’re equally important #his way about life is too appreciate moments as you live them. don’t dwell too long on the past and don’t be fearful of the future #it may not seem like it but he’s very passionate about his family and stuff. he seems like he’s livin super slow but he’s just taking the #time to appreciate things lol. he likes trying new things and seeing others experience things for the first time #he didn’t use to live like that tho. like who do you think Carolina and her siblings get their rambunctious nature from? XD #like if he didn’t already know what that personality entailed I don’t think he’d have made it LMAO like he KNOWS all the shit their pulling #cus it’s the same shit HE pulled!! 😭 oh I so badly wanna rambunctious Rory now lmao like. him and his 1st love were the personification of #a raging wildfire and flooding rains. both destructive in their own way #obviously they reeled that shit in eventually. like. look at him. Rory is literally just some short guy that makes the :3 face #he’s a lot more chill now. but he still has hellfire moments (how else would he keep his fire gremlins under control if not by pulling out #the hellfire?) anyways yea. Rory <3 love him lots he’s like love personified for me #ohh I also wanna show his reaper stuffs...gmmmhmhmmhm #Youtube

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skitskatdacat63 · 16 hours ago

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Mattmac's acting in TD will never not be insane to me, bcs its probably the only acting that genuinely fully made me think, yeah he completely escaped into the role. It's not that there's not any other actors out there that I think are amazing, but it's still often hard for me for the most part to separate the actor and their roles, especially if I've seen a lot of their work. Meanwhile, even just looking at a still of Rust, it's so hard for me to perceive, oh wait that's not a real guy?? Rust isn't out there???

#if this makes sense lmao #idk its so odd bcs ive watched interstellar so many times more times and it literally came out the same year #yet it doesnt affect my perception at all as it often does w most other actors i like when i watch other works of theirs #aaghhhhh like im not saying mattmac is the BEST actor of all time and that everyone else is inferior #theres a lot of roles i can think of that were amazing and that i fully bought into #rather theres no other character i can think of where i genuinely get baffled when i remember theyre not real #if that makes sense?? like ill usually still look at a character and their actor is in the back of my mind #like saying wow their acting is so good in this!!#meanwhile w td im like ...wow rust is such a cool guy hes so fascinating. wait wdym mattmac played him #i feel deranged saying this cause idk if im getting my point sdkjhfs #ig part of it is the fact that td covers a good portion of his life so you see a lot of aspects of his character #but he just feels so REAL to me #as i said even looking at screencaps i cant think of him as mattmac. he IS rust. thats some guy!!!! that exists!!!#id say the acting in td is generally really amazing BUT #i realized since i last watched it some actor in it was in a comedy show i watched which completely influenced my perception of that actor #so when i saw his face w that new context i couldnt buy his character at all anymore bcs he was just that dude from the other show #meanwhile ive watched a lot of mattmacs stuff before and after yet ive never though of rust when seeing him in another role or vice versa #AAAHHHHHH MAN. sorry i just really love that show and i think rust will forever be some actual person to me. hes out there i swear #idk the picture thing is especially so odd bcs as i said interstellar is from the same year and he has a pretty similar look #yet im still like. no those are clearly two different people. and i think of mattmac when i watch interstellar but not td so ?????#thought let me be clear his acting in interstellar is also amazing and real to me.#just not in the way where he becomes a real indistinguishable person to me #anyways. cough cough. i have a problem.#catie.rambling.txt #true detective

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yerchokito · 1 month ago

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PRETTY KITTY TURNS PRETTY HORNY .ᐟ FT SATORU GOJO

synopsis - finally you decided to adopt a new friend at the adoption centre! only, he wants to be more that friends…

warnings - p in v, brief oral sex (fem receiving) unprotected sex, slight manipulation(?) creampie, shitty smut, petname: master used mockingly, not thoroughly proofread, talk of potential children, lowk masochist gojo, ect ect. fem reader

notes - yay I finally got this out! lol it honestly did get a bit sloppy at the end but I wanted to get this out b4 christmas!enjoy! the smut is lowkey short but I don’t want to fix it..

edit - I just realised I posted this on his death date

Phew, you did it.

You finally grew a pair and adopted a newly rescued snow-leopard hybrid! After months of your self-pitying you managed to convince yourself to adopt a friend!

You spent many, many hours contemplating on whether to actually adopt. And many hours more watching sad videos on hybrids, how mistreated they are out of the adoption centre.

That was more than enough to convince you.

Now you have an exotic hybrid of your own! And he’s just the cutest little—er big thing! He’s got fluffy little ears, a handsome face, striking blue eyes, and the fluffiest tail in the world!

You’ve learnt a lot about him. His name is Satoru Gojo, around the same age as you! Unfortunately, he spent a lot of his life in illegal fighting rings. Poor thing almost got killed a while back. Luckily, his caretakers at the agency have had no aggression problems with him! He’s affectionate, friendly, reckless at times, but overall great to have as a first time owner!

He’s really—really big. His head just about reaches the ceiling of your small apartment. It's gonna be hard finding clothes for the man. Let alone a bed.

But that’s all a problem for future you!

Packing him in the car was a hefty thing, his tallness being the main problem, a little cramped (he had to lay half his body on the floor) but it worked in the end!

As soon as you bought the little—uh, big critter home, you pampered him with affections. Petting his head, rubbing his ears, scratching under his chin all that stuff that makes him mushy in the brain!

The only problem would be leaving him alone… he’s fairly clingy. You’ll just have to work on that. He seems capable enough. Hopefully…

Note to self: get a baby cam.

˗ˏˋ — ˎˊ˗

Maybe this was a mistake.

Satoru’s a really good guy, he’s friendly, definitely affectionate and really clingy. All good qualities that you love about him!

But, there are qualities you come to… dislike, so to say.

He’s bratty. defiant against your house rules, a back-talker.

He always wants attention. Pushing things off counters or using his tail to block your eyes whenever he wants to annoy you.

He’s very manipulative. Using his wide eyes to trick you—or anyone—into giving him sweets!

He’s also unbearably horny, probably his worst trait. Always trying to rub against you, heck even mount you! For someone so angelic-looking, he sure ain’t an angel.

And you can name a couple of… embarrassing incidents.

Incident #1

“Hey—Toru! What are you doing, stop that!” You shout, trying to push him back and away from— wait, are those your panties he has in your mouth!

“Satoru! Bad boy, get those out of your mouth!” You splutter, face flushing red.

But, apparently you adopted the devil.

He tilts his head in an innocent way, ears flopping to the side as he deviously munches on your precious—and very expensive—underwear.

You try to wrestle them away from his maw, unlucky for you, you’ve also adopted an abnormally tall hybrid. His innocent act drops as he dangles them above your head, laughing at your embarrassment.

Of course, he gave it back. Not without it slicked in his spit and now turned crotchless.

It was… not a great moment for you or your hopes of being dominant over him.

Incident #2

It’s a nice sunny morning, you got up earlier than your alarm, made a nice breakfast, and finally got that darned work assignment finished.

A peaceful day.

Until your precious kitty takes his biting urges on you.

“Satoru, do-don’t bite meee!” You whine, once again trying to push away the snarky beast. God, why must he be twice your size.

He chuffs, pining you with his weight as he nibbles at your skin. Tail swaying mischievously behind him.

“Mn—be still, lemme jus’…” He whispers. Devious man he is. His nibbling becomes full-blown bites, decorating your neck and collarbone in a bazillion bite marks.

Satoru only giggles at your pathetic attempts of squirming away. Pfft, you think he’ll let you walk away? Nothing gets away from his keen eyes.

Needless to say, the bite marks were not a fashion statement at work. Didn’t really capture as many complements as it did laughter.

Note to self: Invest in a muzzle.

Incident #3

Now, maybe this is your fault. You did notice the change in behaviour, he’s always been clingy— the staff at the agency did say he was… the possessive type. But! You didn’t notice the possessiveness until now! So it’s not entirely your fault.

Okay, maybe his growling at your friend— male, should you note— was a teensy red flag, the constant butting of his head against you was also alerting you. So you maybe-sorta-should’ve predicted this.

Maybe if you realised that Satoru is not entirely human (even though he acts like it), you would’ve remembered he has an amazing sense of smell.

“aaahnn… mornin’ Toru’, how did you sleep hm?” you yawn. The lack of response is unnerving, and rude.

“Hey now, ts’ not nice to ignore me, Satoru.” Again silence, wait—what the-?

“Oof! Satoru—gah!—get off!” You struggle, your overgrown hybrid kitty has decided to pounce on you, his full weight crushing you.

“H-hey—oh!” Did.. did you feel that correctly, is your boy.. oh gosh.

“Mrrow…mn, you smell s’ good.” His breath is hot against your neck, sniffing at your throat, his fuzzy ears rubbing under your chin.

“Mnh—heat, in heat? mrr..” He purrs, big hands encasing yours as the big idiot rocks his hips against your backside— oh my.

“H-huh? No, down Satoru! Bad boy—ooh!—don-don’t!” You try not to moan out as he ruts against you. Licking at the nape of your neck, almost mockingly.

“Heh— shh, I’ll take care of ya. Aw’ you’re so small compared to me..” Satoru breathes, chuckling like he always does.

…

Lets just say, Satoru has become real good friends with the spray bottle.

Note to self: Get him neutered.

˗ˏˋ — ˎˊ˗

And there are way more incidents as… sexual as these ones. You love the big guy, he’s cuddly, got a fuzzy head, really warm, but he seems to really enjoy mounting you. Like, really badly.

He’s become a menace! I mean, you knew he wasn’t neutered, but you didn’t think he’d be interested in you!

It's almost everyday he tries to get in your pants! Gotta hand it to him, he’s really persistent.

Well, you won’t be taking any of his nonsense today!

“Satoru! Breakfast!” You yell out. You hear him scurrying around the corner, jeez food fein.

“Heh, mm waffles..” He purrs at your feet, nuzzling against the back of your knee.

He wraps his tail around your ankle, hands gently kneading at your leg. Nose twitching at the sugary smells.

“You hungry, sweetie?” You coo, petting the big oafs head.

Awh, maybe you’re being too harsh on him. He’s your baby, he doesn’t know any better!

˗ˏˋ — ˎˊ˗

Oh who were you kidding, of course he knows what he’s doing! Why are you so gullible?

What was supposed to be a nice, calm, peaceful, non-sexual breakfast, ends up with your mischievous kitty munching on your pussy instead!

He’s got your legs up, knees having small-talk to your shoulders whilst he —quite literally— devours you.

“Satoruuu!— don’t do thaah! Oh!” You squeak. You weakly push on his head, trying to get him away from your front.

Unfortunately, Satoru is a determined cat.

“Mnn, be still. M’ hungry.” He purrs between your legs, the vibrations of his voice send tingles up your spine.

For Satoru, that delicious nectar leaking out of you is heavenly. Until this thin, pathetic piece of fabric ruins his meal. If only he could just…

rripp!

“H-huh? S’toru! Those were expensiveee— haa!” You scold. well, try to. It’s hard to speak when you’re literally breathless.

He tongues at your now naked pussy, slurping all that gooey goodness you so graciously produce. So sweet.

He pulls back, your cunt and his mouth connected by a sloppy string of spit. He coo’s and presses a kiss hard against your clit, making you twitch and moan.

Out of the corner of your eye you see the devil incarnate smiling so sweetly, his tail curling around your ankle. What was once a sweet gesture is now no longer reassuring.

Your ‘innocent’ kitty now has free rein to your more… primal parts. The stronger scent pulls on Satoru’s will, he whines at the sudden, yet aggressive urge to bury himself inside you.

Hmm maybe he should.

Hoisting himself up, Satoru leans back on his calves, admiring the little mess he’s made of you. Flushed red, panting, drooling, and completely high on the pleasure. His pants tighten.

He’s been blessed with such a cute owner!

˗ˏˋ — ˎˊ˗

Plap! Plap! Plap!

“Haa— d’aww don’t be so shy, master. Heh—fhuck!” Said the devil incarnate, mockingly.

Satoru is a condescending bunch, cute but really full of himself. It’s shows in his way of fucking.

He has you on your back, legs resting on his broad shoulders as he literally folds you in half. Your head is just reeling, your face is covered in his spit, hairline all sweaty, jaw hanging open, and you're burning all over!

His cock is big, too big. It nearly split you in half when he tried to fit it in. He’s never been a patient kitty.

“Awhhh— masterrrr, you’re tightenin’ up sho’ muchhh…” He purrs. Tail swaying mockingly.

Leaning forward, Satoru nuzzles his ears against your cheek, wanting to be pet.

Unfortunately, you’re incoherent to his requests. Too focused on the harsh rutting of his cock into your sticky cunt.

“Heyyy… pet meee,” He whines, “Hm? Heh— tappin’ out already?” His eyes gleam with mischievous-ness as he grins a toothy grin. You’re not gonna make it out alive.

He bites his lip, giggling at your pleasured face. If only he could take a picture, save this moment forever. He cups your face, caressing your sweaty cheeks, then presses a loving kiss to your lips.

“Mwah! Hehe— you’re so cute,” He whispers against your lips.

In midst of this somewhat sweet moment, the pace of Satoru rolling his hips against you increases. Then turning into him full on slamming his hips into yours, huffing as he focuses on pounding you into next week.

All you can do is grip onto him, tugging on his ears. He moans pornographically, drooling as you harshly grip his sensitive ears. The painful yet pleasant sensation sparks something new in Satoru.

With the intent to breed, Satoru turns you over. His chest to your back as he leans his weight on you, arms wrapping tightly around your sweaty skin.

This new position gives Satoru a better chance at giving you some cute mini him’s!

“Oh! Oh!—Toruuu’!” You squeal, tears now brimming in your eyes at the overwhelming feeling that is undoubtedly him.

Without warning, you cum. Hole clenching and spasming and coating his lower body in a translucent liquid.

“Hm—hah— I knew you wan—ahn—wanted me!” He mewls, quickly pounding in and out, creating a wet ‘schlick!’ sound.

Oh you’re so perverted! Letting your precious kitty take you like this!

You’ll never live this down.

Satoru doesn’t seem to care.

“Oooh— m’ cumming, nng— masterrr!” He moans, non-stop humping into your creamy pussy, drooling all over you.

“Not—not insideee! Toru’!” You cry out, pushing your hips back to get him off of you, it does the opposite.

His tail wraps around your thigh as he cums. It splurts frantically inside of you, his cock twitching violently as he whines in pleasure.

It’s hot, sticky and definitely a thick load. It feels endless, liquidy rope after rope. But it feels so refreshing.

He pulls out (you didn’t think he would), nuzzling and purring at the nape of your neck. Innocently licking at your tear-stricken cheeks.

…

It’s been so long since you last experienced this pleasure.

You’ll definitely regret this later.

˗ˏˋ — ˎˊ˗

Oh god, why did you do that!

Having sex with a hybrid is just a different type of low, even for you!

Oh jeez, you're just as perverted as him! Oh whywhywhywhy! He was just supposed to be a companion! Not a—

“Mrr, pet meee..” Satoru whines, pawning at your chest. He’s back to his old self again.

Mostly. He’s become more… confident in his abilities over you. Let’s just say after your regrettable (not in his eyes) playtime with him, he has no restraint on mounting you now. The idiots even started humping you in public!

Which is why you’ve been leaving him at home.

Now more than ever, you two spend a lot of time together. Mostly consisting of naps, him licking you, more naps, eating… recreational activities, blah blah blah. He now sleeps on your bed, he’s more like an overstayed one night stand than an exotic cat.

At Least he’s extra cuddly!

#.toru #hybrid satoru #snowleopard!gojo #hybrid!gojo #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo #gojo headcanons #gojo smut #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #jjk x reader #jjk headcanons #jjk smut #hybrid jjk

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