#i see them in every song i listen to????? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

amoristt · 1 day ago

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the night falls like heaven

「 ✦nam-gyu/reader ✦ 」 tags: sfw // hurt/comfort, pining, nam-gyu's pov, lots of angst in an edgy way, very light drxg mentions,

a/n: this'll be a 2 part mini series! so excited to get this started ugh tysm to anon who requested this word count: 9.2k | songs i listened to (x) (x) original request (x)

・❥・Nam-gyu was not a man of many regrets.

If he had to count, he could fit them all on one hand. Mostly from when he was a teen. Younger and somehow even more impulsive than he was now, drinking through money like water and getting into fights he’d never remember. The worst of them all, however, was one he hadn’t thought would really eat at him. It was unlike himself to get hung up over a girl of all things, but good lord, he was hanging. Strings and all, like a marionette, bleeding and sore at the joints.

Tough to swallow couldn’t even compare to the feeling of when that specific regret suddenly pops up in the same room after years of abandon. If he hadn’t been so down bad, the sight of you would have only ruffled up his feathers enough to remind him of a better time, but in God’s honest eyes, those feathers of his had been ruffled since the dawn of the very instant you left. The door hadn’t even had a chance to hit you on your way out, nothing but dust and tears in your wake. He was stuck fast, left to his own devices, bouncing between wondering why he let it go so bad and whilst also begging God himself to make you stop being such a bitch.

But the worst part, the worst part is that even now you still carry this aura of over it all around you. Self-respect colliding with the want to be loved was never an easy tango to dance, all steps just pulling and pushing and trying to snuff out useless feelings and red hot passion. But you twirled until he did what he did best and nudged you to the brink of your breaking point. All that sweet, sweet adoration drained from your face and he saw it- dignity. He saw it on you on your way out of his apartment, storming past him with biting tears in your eyes. And now, years later, he gets to see it again from across the room.

You’re sitting on a high, high bunk you’ve claimed as yours, people watching. Other than the initial moment you’d seen him in the bubble of people, you haven't bothered sparing him a second glance. It was a beautiful moment- your eyes widening, stopped dead in your tracks before you were on the move all over again. He’s sneaking glances through the corners of his eyes, watching you over his shoulder, and you can’t even give him another second of your day. And the thing that really bothers him is that he knows he can’t stop.

Out of everyone in this room, your distant presence is a fiery beacon in the darkness and he’s an angry, bitter moth. It’s in his very nature to circle and flutter one step behind, seeking the light, burning at its touch. Singed wings and an endless sneer. If only he could just stop touching the heat, he would surely move on. But he just can’t, and the fact that you can pisses him off so much it makes him lose his breath at times.

He wished, with the very core of his entire being, that you were weaker. Or, at least, stupider. Maybe then you would have lived up to his expectations and showed up to his door, or at his club, teary eyed and lonely without his superior presence around. He could see it behind his eyes at night, the waver in your voice when you’d beg him to come back into your arms, and more importantly, back into your bed.

I told you so, he’d say, with that shit eating grin and a hand on your waist guiding you out from the cold.

A forlorn, guideless sheep in need of your shepherd. He could be that for you. If only the word boyfriend didn’t make him shudder with every last fiber of his being. If only that specific little thing wasn’t your breaking point. Your face haunted him- that halo around your irises fading into something far away and charred when he’d had the nerve to actually laugh at you for it. You were grabbing your things and leaving, and he sat watching every moment in clips. It wasn’t anything, back then. You were just mad, in a few days you’d be right as rain climbing into his lap and peppering kisses along his throat. You’d be back, he was sure of it.

But then the days turned into weeks. And then, to his distaste, those weeks faded into months of silence. He started to catch himself looking for you in crowds, visiting places you’d frequented at just to linger around like an awkward ghost in case he spotted you through the shifting crowds. But you were gone- vanished.

Fine. You’ll never see me again, asshole.

Those words had been etched into the very walls of his cranium since they’d left your lips in a scathing hiss. Such nasty words, but they shook with every consonant.

Among your pride was a healthy blend of honesty. You had been true to your word- he really did never see you again. Wiped your slate spotless of anything Nam-gyu.

And it drove him fucking crazy. It made him sick to his stomach in a way he did not think was possible. It was out of control- he couldn’t stop thinking about you, you, you. He missed you more than he didn’t, and he was angrier at himself than he’d like to admit. So instead of admitting, he funnels all that anger into the very shape of you. Drags in the idea of you, his memories of you and shoves them down, down, down, until he truly did think he hated you, after all.

Until he’s clenching his fist so tight he’s drawing blood and telling himself he’s better off now, without some whining bitch in his ear begging him to stick that boyfriend pin into the thinness of his skin. Thinks that without you hanging on his arm all the damn time, he could really go out and have some fun. He thinks, and he thinks and he thinks until he’s thought too much and suddenly he loves you again and he misses you so bad it’s crushing him under the sheer weight of your absence.

So, Nam-gyu does what Nam-gyu does best once again, and he drowns himself out with the bitter taste of drugs on his tongue and the sear of alcohol in his blood.

It all stops.

For a time, anyway.

You always found ways to seep back into his mind one way or another. Songs that would only make it a second in before he was mashing the skip button. A tv show you’d watched together surviving on the screen roughly a whole minute before it’s switched off. Sometimes it was when he saw something he knew you’d like- a shitty video or meme. Other times you came to him in whispers while he laid out on his own living room floor, out of his mind watching the blank ceiling above him twist and writhe under his spotty vision with a needle poking out of his arm.

But, most times… Most times you would slither your way to the forefront of his mind just before bed. The touch of you, the smell of you.

The shape of you underneath him. Hands and quiet breaths. He could still hear the noises you made ringing in his ears, stored away in his memories just to taunt him when he was indisputably alone. Soft skin, even softer thighs. Always so warm, and so wet. So willing. You would come to him while he curled over himself in bed, drunk on porn and memories.

And afterwards, when Nam-gyu had finished, he would throw his head back onto his pillow and ignore the way it felt like there was a lump in his throat. And that would piss him off even more, because fuck, you should be there with him. Laying by his side running your hands through his hair until he’s falling asleep balancing on the fine line of afterglow and dozing off.

But you aren’t. You’re doing fuck all with who knows in places he’s never been to, places you probably begged him to go but he couldn’t even remember the name of. You hadn’t answered a single one of his texts, you hadn’t picked up a single call and everytime he hears the first couple seconds of your stupid voicemail he wants to crush his phone in his hands. Vexation was a slippery slope into the fires of fury- rage was like a parasite under his skin, eating away at what little rational thinking he had.

Voicemail after voicemail. Text after ignored text. Anger was the hardest stage- rage grew horns on the crown of his head and it turned him into something he couldn’t recognize. Or, something he refused to recognize- desperate and heartsick.

It was supposed to be you. Not him.

He filled the endless gaps of you with drugs often and women when he could. For a short time it would work and he would wonder why he ever let someone else get him so, so low. But then the drugs would wear off. The random woman in his room that he never bothered to learn the name of would grab her clothes and saunter out the door. He stopped letting them stay the night. He could never sleep, stared at the ceiling until 5am wondering why he still felt like shit. He would be right back where he started, sitting on the couch, staring at the door watching you leave over and over again.

You stopped updating your socials, quit hanging out with the few people that bounced between his and your crowd, successfully scrubbed him of your life entirely. After a year, he resorted to asking around if anyone had seen you. The answer, as always, was a firm no. It was a corrosive feeling, a constant churn and thrum within the cage of his ribs. It made him even more unrecognizable to himself. Made him invite women into his lap just to shove them away when they didn’t smell like you, or sound like you. Or laugh like you.

It had been so, so perfect before. It was fun, and it was hot all the time, and sex with you felt like heaven was a place on earth. Why couldn’t you see that? Why did you have to go and ruin it with your words and pleading eyes? Nam-gyu doesn’t roll like that. You knew that. He’s a free spirit, he tells himself. No chains, no labels. No holding him down. Even if it was at the feet of this gorgeous, gorgeous body and a honey sweet voice that just always seemed to know what to say. Beautiful eyes that always watched, a smile so saccharine, whispering words against his ear so dirty it made him shiver just to think about.

The world was too vast to be held down.

But, truth be told, he was held down.

He is held down.

When you walked out of his apartment those years ago, he never left that spot, chewing his nails and anxiously spinning the ring on his finger, watching you go. He started seeing it behind his eyes. Replays it, changes the course, wonders where he’d be right now if he’d just said something different.

Finding you at the games was like divine intervention. It had to be. Some higher power had crossed his path and plopped you right in front of him. With rolling eyes and a deadpan stare at anything except for him, sure but you were there and you weren't going anywhere anytime soon. God had heard his drug induced prayers of stupor.

Now it was all about waiting. Waiting for the right moment to dive in and recapture you within him and he’d be right back to drinking you in at every chance he had. He’d do it differently this time, do it right so you’d cling to him and wonder why you ever wanted to leave at all. Make you wonder why you were so stupid to have been so stubborn when everything you could ever need was in the palm of your hand. He was sure of it. That strong, bullheaded expression would blitz is something vulnerable in his hands. A lurch of excitement riveted under his skin among the nerves.

For now, he waits, and watches. Your presence could never go unnoticed by his dark eyes.

It’s unfortunate for him that Thanos takes a notice to you, too. It’s hard not to, really, when every time he follows Nam-gyu’s locked line of sight it always leads back to you- this little sweet thing perched up at the peak of the bunks alongside the back, watching the room with this bored stare between mundane yapping with other players.

“Someone you know?” Thanos’s voice had this subtle drip to it, this underlining excitement that Nam-gyu picks up on almost instantly. His expression stays cool, mostly uninterested despite the way he can’t seem to pry his eyes away from you even as he answers.

“Yeah.”

“Who is she?”

And then he’s stuck. Because his mouth opens for a split second to say, my ex, but he can’t quite say that, now can he? But he also can’t say an old friend either, because you simply weren’t. What you two had was something else entirely- a new plane he struggled to navigate, lovely when things were good, a hellscape when they weren't. The lines were always so blurred, fuzzy with sex and warm laughter.

He decides on something mostly true. “Someone I used to hang out with.”

“Girlfriend?” Thanos’s brow raises with his chirp, leaning forward with clear interest.

“No.” It comes out quick- too quick, and too heavy. Tinged venom with more baggage than even he could handle at times. Thanos catches it on impact and whistles.

“I see. So you won’t care if I go chat her up? Hm?”

“Don’t bother. She’s not like that.” Nam-gyu’s scoffs before he can stop himself, this unsettling seed of jealousy planting itself in his chest.

“Hm… I guess we’ll see, huh?”

You’re dismounting from your bed and climbing onto the stairs when Thanos jumps to his feet, and Nam-gyu can already feel that itchy panic starting to blotch away at his skin. His hands, his cheeks. That seed takes its place within him bearing vicious roots.

“Man, don’t bother,” He’s touching at Thanos’s sleeve, his shoulder, anywhere he can to try and gather his friend’s attention. “She can be kind of a bi-”

All it takes is a swat to Nam-gyu’s chest to stop him dead in his tracks, words dying his throat. Shut down, watching his friend take quick steps to you, Nam-gyu following close behind to witness. If only he could be firmer, never demanding, always suggesting. Always rolling over and showing his soft underbelly at Thanos’s whim. Instead, he lets his lips press into a tight line and let’s it all happen right before him.

You’re on the bottom step and taking a seat, and you see the rapper approaching before he gets a word in, but your eyes skip over him entirely and settle onto Nam-gyu’s. Distress is building in his muscles, but he’s making damn sure to keep himself in check.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone? You want a friend?”

Up closer now, sharing your space, he sees all the things he’d been missing so deeply throughout the years. You still look just as he remembered- still bearing this expression of bemused coolness, still having these all seeing eyes that seemed to cut right through him.

“A friend?” you hum, and your voice threatens to pull him in like gravity. “You wanna be my friend?”

If jealousy could sprout through his skin, it’d be an ugly beast of horns and claws. But it can’t, so instead, it takes shape in the way Nam-gyu’s eyes are flicking between yours and the rappers, hands wrapped up in his sleeves.

“Stick with me, yeah? I promise to keep you safe. My number one priority.” And Thanos is patting his chest, flashing those painted nails. Makes Nam-gyu’s chest tighten, his stomach growing sicker by the second.

Damn, you can see it, too. There’s no denying the way he’s cringing behind that distant smirk, and he doesn’t think to hide the way he’s twisting his rings on his fingers. When you click your tongue, he knows what's coming.

“Stick with you, hm… Sorry, but I try to work alone. Partner’s tend to, how do I say…” Those eyes of your slice through him all over again, honing into him when you finish your sentence. “Disappoint me.”

Fuck. Disappointment. Oh god, how that sears into Nam-gyu’s skin. The way you look the rapper up and down, visually sizing him up, would make his heart leap into his throat if he were under that same scrutiny. He never understood how you could always be this intense with such a sweet, sweet face. Kindness was certainly a luxury and he missed it, that never ending fire that kept him warm.

“I can change that for you,” Thanos sings. “I’m a legend here for a reason.”

“Legend? I’ve never heard of you.” Your brows raise in amusement.

“You will. Thanos.” He puffs his chest out and nods, a half cocked grin playing over his lips. “Guy’s like me, we don’t disappoint.”

The man actually finds the nerve to reach down and pluck your hand, bringing his knuckles to his lips. Nam-gyu feels red hot scorching through his face but he’s locked in place, watching it like a car crash. Relieved when you yank your hand free and shove it into your jacket’s pocket. It’s the only good thing out of this entire interaction, he finds, especially so when Thanos’s smirk falters into a tight surprised line.

“Don’t go and do all that. Guy’s like you will always disappoint me.” You lean back against the wall of the step, vexation evident over your features. “How about you talk to me again after the next game, yeah? Maybe I’ll feel different. Thanos.”

You always were so good at slamming the door in people's faces, always brought Nam-gyu joy to witness you shut down the advances of some poor loser trying to gain your affections. Thanos knows he’s been hung out in the cold, too. Barking up the wrong tree in the wrong neighborhood in the wrong country. So, he takes a loose step backwards and shrugs.

“Your loss.” He sighs, and Nam-gyu follows him all the way back to his bunk in brooding silence.

Wringing his fingers, he can’t help himself when casts a glance over his shoulder to find you one last time before you’re obscured behind metal frames and moving bodies. When he does, he feels a rush of heat in his cheeks when you’re already stuck fast staring right back, watching him go. He’s silent when he sits down at his little corner of the dormitory, silent when Gyeong-su is harping praises at Thanos. Silent, even, when Thanos says he’s determined to bring you to his side of the map.

However, he noticeably tenses when Thanos mutters, “What a babe, huh? I should go visit her after lights out.”

Almost immediately there’s hands on his shoulders, pushing and nudging him, demanding his attention. The deepest of sighs leaves the rapper, ducking his head to find Nam-gyu’s eyeline.

“Come on, man. Don’t be pissed, it’s in my nature, boy. Be honest. You into her?”

“Me and her…” Nam-gyu swallows. “We used to mess around.”

“Lucky you.” Thanos’s is shoving Nam-gyu’s shoulders again. “You cut her lose?”

No, she cut me loose. But Nam-gyu can’t bring himself to say that, the words lost and barred at the tip of his tongue. In the silence, Thanos takes it as confirmation.

“That’s so cold. If I had her, I’d never let her out of my sight. Sheesh.”

Nam-gyu can’t even form words at all, anymore, irritation and envy wrapping tendrils around his throat and snuffing him out. Your earlier words spin through his brain like a carousel- come find me after the next game. Were you being serious? Were you just saying that to mess with him? He knows you- he knows your tone better than he even realizes, but he suddenly can’t decipher what’s honesty and what isn’t anymore. Jealousy blinds him, thick lenses leading him in all sorts of binds.

He should have talked to you. He should have made the first move and made sure the first time he was breathing your air was alone. Now he’s anxious, he’s resentful, and he’s humiliated for some reason he can’t quite place. It doesn't help when he can’t resist the urge to look at you one last time, just one for the road, and you’re chatting idly with a man lounging on the other side of the steps you’re currently sitting on. There’s a five foot gap between your bodies but Nam-gyu doesn’t care- the anger that rips through him is blind, you may as well have been fucking the man right in front of him.

It’s all he can see, tunnel vision encompassing him all the way until the moment lines start to form for lunch. Stewing in his jealousy, a bitter taste blooming over his tongue, he doesn’t jump in line because he’s got an appetite, but simply because you were rather eager to fill your belly. He tails you, matches every step and still has to jump out in front of a random player from taking the spot directly behind you.

You notice him with a fleeting look tossed over your shoulder, eyes darting from the corners of your eyes and then forward, still as a statue. Desperate to not interact.

Nam-gyu can’t help himself.

“You into Thanos?”

You audibly laugh at him, and the sound makes him shred the inside of his cheek.

“Maybe. What’s it to you?”

Everything. It’s everything to me.

You look up at him over your shoulder, watching him through your thick lashes with scorn written all over those beautiful irises. There’s a flash image of you- a memory, tangled between the bedsheets, looking up at him with those gorgeous eyes and tear stained cheeks with his hand wrapped around your throat. It’s quick but it hits him like a sucker punch right to the gut. He sucks in a sharp breath. He wants to touch you- he almost does, but the line moves forward a beat and you’re moving with it away from his hesitating fingers.

“I’m just asking.” He’s trying to be coy, but you can see right through him.

“You worried, Nam-gyu?”

That hits him like a sucker punch too. He’d forgotten how his name sounded on your tongue, how it rolled off so perfect and pretty even when you were pissed at him. Sometimes specifically when you were pissed at him, this bubbling anticipation running through him in waves, your passion always the spark lighting the fire in his belly.

“I’m not worried.”

“You are.” Clocked him, again. Peered into the windows of him and saw that angry ocean of spite and regret behind his eyes. “I know you are. I can see it on you.”

“Not worried.” Nam-gyu shrugs, but he can’t meet your eyes anymore.

Another sigh ghosts from your lips, but it’s quieter, defeated, almost.

“I’m not interested in your friend. I’m not interested in anyone.”

And then, he says it. Quietly, as if he doesn’t want you to truly hear.

“...You seemed interested.”

“So you are worried.” You’re crossing your arms and he stares down into your hair, shoving his hands into his pockets. “What if I was? You clearly had nothing to say about it. You were right there- you didn’t tell him we had history? Or did I mean that little to you?”

You’re mad. Holy shit, you’re still so mad at him. But then his brain scrambles to tell him the good side of things- anger is not indifference. So in some ways, maybe more than others, he’s still in that little dome of yours ratting around amongst your thoughts. Means that if he does this right, it would mean something to you to be better this time.

His lips press into a tight line. He should have talked to you, and now it’s biting him in the ass. It seemed like everything always bit him in the end. And he always let it happen, watched and never interfered. You drive the nail you’d plunged into him even deeper when you throw his words, from all those years ago, right back in his face. That last thing he had said to you before you, or the idea of you, had become a black hole.

“You know what, Nam-gyu? What was it you had said? Oh- uh, why don’t you focus on yourself and I’ll focus on me, yeah?”

It stings. It stings so bad that he physically recoils from the sound of his voice on your tongue, words spilling that just don’t seem right coming from you. Bitter resentment rises in his throat, this reflexive coping mechanism to bite back overtaking his senses. He wants to say I shouldn’t have said that. He wants to say, hear me out. But what ends up leaving him is just as ugly as the rest of his feelings.

“Jesus. You’re still a bitch.”

The very instance those words tumble from him, he’s already regretting it with every fiber of his being. Even more so when you pluck your bento box from the guard and spin on your heels to glare absolute daggers into the very pits of his soul.

“Get over yourself. I’m glad we had this talk, it was very refreshing.”

This time he does jump to stop you, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. “Just listen-”

“No.”

He doesn’t hide the way he watches you scamper off to your little ledge, hopping up onto your bed and enjoying your vantage point above all else, focusing on your meal. The man you’d been chatting with earlier is in the bed next to yours and that’s just fucking great. The guard has to pry his stare off of you, and a bento box is practically shoved into his chest, urging him out of line.

Nam-gyu hates the stone anchoring in his guts. Almost as much as he hates how his appetite never quite returned. All food tasted the same when you left, nothing compared to what you’d used to make him.

The bento box was no different.

That night, sleep avoided him. There was something keeping him awake- buzzing under his skin no matter how many times he’d rolled over and shifted himself into a new position. Of course he knew what it was- it never really left him, after all. The fact of knowing you were across the room, all alone in your bed, was this incessant knock in the back of his skull tapping him back into reality whenever he found himself comfortable enough to doze off. His mind was stuck on you, as always, wondering what you looked like right now.

Did you sleep the same as before? Laying on your side, hair messed over the sides of your face and splayed over the pillow, those heavy lashes of yours kissing along the bone of your cheeks. He always told himself that it was you who was attached, that he was some great being and you simply touched the stars through him. How wrong he had been to think that, when the entire time he’d fit so perfectly against you, he a piece to your puzzle.

How wrong he had been, because when he’s staring up idly at the ceiling, he thinks of the better days in his life. Always, always, it was you. Thinking of you sitting pretty in his passenger seat, watching out the window as the world blurred by in rushes. The wind blowing through your hair, your necklace catching the glint of the sun. You’d feel his eyes on you and you'd turn and smile at him so darling, so lovely, that he thought it could heal. Remembering when you’d walk into a room, shining like a beacon just for him. You’d find his lap, find his hair, find his lips against your own and you’d cry his name like a prayer.

He was an idiot to have thought he was the something in the nothing- it was you.

Even when he finally drifted off into sleep were you still infecting the very membrane of his mind. In his dreams, you were just as warm as you had always been. Bated breaths, hanging onto every word that left his lips, fingers that longed to touch and stroke and feel. His heart slowed to a peaceful beat, and his body curled into his pillow and blanket, trying to recreate the shape of you in his arms. For a time that evening, it worked.

But then he woke up, and Thanos was leaning over his bed asking him if he was dead, and all those wonderful moments he’d relived were gone in a rush of bright lights and endless chatter bouncing off the walls of the dormitory. Like an addiction, the first thing he thought of when he sat up, was you. Thought about you all the way through the winding staircases and into a giant room with rainbow’s painted over the hard floor. So lost in thought that he almost misses it when the speaker starts instructing them- a 5 player minigame race.

Teams of five. Okay, he could do that. Easy. Gyeong-su, him, Thanos. That was already three.

It’s natural instinct when he starts to search for you in the bubble of people, his fourth member, even though he’s more than sure you’re all too excited to send him packing. The way you had looked at him at dinner the day before, he wasn’t sure if you’d even entertain a conversation with him at all, let alone join their team. But this is beyond an argument- beyond him trying and failing to lull you in, this is life and death.

“Hey, there’s your girl again.” Thanos spots you first. He follows Thanos’s line of sight and sure enough, there you are, standing with your hands shoved into your pockets with this far away expression he can’t quite read.

His girl. It would make him shiver, if he wasn’t already on the brink of tweaking.

“Let’s go see if she’s changed her mind.”

Thanos is running his hands through his hair and popping the collar of his tracksuit, a particular bounce to his step when he bounds right for you. Just as the first time, always on the lookout for yourself, you spot him coming before he gets to you. Already you’re annoyed.

By the time Nam-gyu slithers up beside him, you’re already turning Thanos’s first wave of advancements down, a snark to your tone and a glint in your eyes.

“I’m good, thanks though.”

Thanos blinks, looks left and then right. “You’re good? I don’t see a team?”

“I’ll find one.”

“You got one right here,” He pats his chest again, before he slings his arm over Nam-gyu’s shoulder haphazardly. “Come on. You’ll be safe.”

The intensity in which you roll your eyes is fierce- an expression Nam-gyu really had only thought he could draw out of you. To make matters worse for his friend, you don’t even bother with saying no again. Instead you merely wave a dismissive hand and turn on your heels, meandering into the crowd.

“You were right, Nam-su.” Thanos’s face drops and he unwinds his arm from Nam-gyu’s shoulder. “Not getting anywhere with that one.”

Nam-gyu is so focused watching you, that all he murmurs is, “It’s Nam-gyu.”

“Yeah. Nam-su, Nam-gyu. Look over there.” He has to force himself to look away, following Thanos’s point in the other direction you’d gone. A girl with short black hair stands off to the side, eyes traveling and sizing up all her potential team mates. Thanos pops his collar again, a hound dog chasing a brand new scent. “Let’s go see what she’s up to.”

For the first time, Nam-gyu doesn’t follow him. He says, you go, you go, and lets Thanos wind himself up all on his own before watching him go. He’s much more concerned with you and your team, this sense of anxiety starting to bud in his gut.

He finds you like a moth to flame. Your shoulders slump at the sight of him, tired and irked.

“Not this again.” You groan. “What, do you think you’re gonna come sweeten me up and I’ll say yes? I’m not playing on your damn team.”

Nam-gyu shakes his head and steps in front of you when you try to turn away again. His nerves are on the rise, and so is his temper. You draw it out of him like nothing else, he can’t stop himself.

“Why not?” He asks, looking down at you with furrowed brows. You cross your arms, barring yourself from him.

“Because I’m not.”

“This is no time to be stubborn. You don’t know what the next game is. You might need guys on your team.”

“I plan on it. There’s other men here other than you and whatever the hell his name is.”

Other men. Nam-gyu’s mouth dries up, his fingers already wringing in his sleeves. His jaw tenses with his temper, teeth grinding.

You didn’t need other men, not when he would do anything under the sun to keep you safe. Anyone else may just let you die. Can’t you see that?

“Why are you being-... Being like-...” He stops himself. Holy shit, his brain actually fires off the warning shot and he stops dead in his tracks staring at you in bewilderment. You adopt this expectant glare, a spiteful uptick to your lips that darkens your eyes.

“Say it.” You sneer. “Go ahead, say it. I’m being a bitch, right?”

The word fights against his lips to get out. You’re waiting for it, at the edge of your seat, fully ready to take it in and chew it up and spit it out right back at him. But he bites it back and he swallows it down into his chest because this means something to him. Because it might mean something to you.

“Being like this.” He stammers. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”

Your eyes widen just a fraction. “Keep me alive?”

“Can you really trust anyone here? You know me.”

“I do know you.” A flash of something provoked and somber rivets within your eyes. Anger mounting, your heart colliding with your brain in real time right before him. “That’s exactly why I won’t be on your side.”

If he’d had his foot in the door before, you were properly shoving it back outside. He doesn't know what to do, so he does the first thing he can think of as a creature of impulse, and unfortunately when it came to you that meant he was all hands.

“Wait-” He catches you just as you’re turning away, tries to bulldoze over your defiance and smooth out all the harsh edges of your protests with the broad flats of his palms. Fingers clutching your tracksuit at your shoulders and then he’s realizing that he’s touching you for the first time in years. Your skin from underneath your jacket is just as warm he remembers, your eyes are just as doe-like at his touch too. Stubborn and ornery but overflowing with passion and static energy that settled into his bones. He needs it, he needs it. The obsession of you hits him in waves of yearn.

He needs you more than air, he thinks.

“Get your hands off of me, right now.” But you aren’t tearing him away- so maybe that’s progress.

“Come on.” He ducks his head, shoulders slumping, and it physically hurts him to feel this desperate. “Stay with me.”

Oh, you don’t like those words one bit. They hit your eardrums and your eyes narrow in slits, and then yeah, you’re reaching up and catching his wrists in his iron grip before ripping his paws off your jacket. It takes a long moment for you to speak, but when you do, he swears he can hear the devil amidst the heartache.

“You know that I can’t stay with you. Never again.”

His hands twitch to touch you again- anything to keep you there for a moment longer.

“Come on.”

Sadness like pits swirl in your eyes, drags your lips into a frown. “You gotta’ stop Nam-gyu. I can’t do it.”

An awful, awful mass grows in his stomach when you turn your back on him. Gets bigger with every inch you build between you and him, threatens to take over entirely and swallow him whole right in the middle of that room. If it did, and he was to be gulped up by the void, perhaps he wouldn't have to feel like this any longer. And he wouldn’t have to watch you disappear behind all the moving bodies.

He was weaker than he was three years ago. You made him weaker. Back then, if you’d been so sure of yourself he found it rather easy to deter you. A beastly way about him when he would have just ripped you by the hand and brought you over to his team and made you sit the hell down and just stay with him. Something possessive, something under his skin at the thought of you sharing the same air as anyone other than him. You used to be so malleable in his hands- but he knows, now more than ever, that that was truly never the case. You let yourself be pliable. You let yourself fall to him. He could never, not even now, make you do anything. Not really.

That’s the part that burns him to the peaks of his soul. That strength about you. You’re so much stronger than him, with an energy iron so it’s like running headfirst into a wall when you’d no longer graced him with your softness. Such a double edged sword, that will of yours. That attitude and the passion made him feel alive. Cold and disposed after you’d properly slammed the gate right in his face. No leverage, no space for him in your heart any longer.

It’s cold, Nam-gyu finds. Lonely without you.

And then Thanos goes and invites some random girl with a poor attitude (that isn’t yours) and an even weaker buddy. He tries to tell him- remind his friend of the potential disadvantage but like always all it took was a dismissive wave to get him to screw his lips shut. Rolled over, tongue caught in his throat, weakened.

He spends a majority of his time waiting for his teams turn arguing with Se-mi and tossing gazes over his shoulder to keep a very keen eye on you, only to find a sneer growing on his features after seeing you chatting with the same player as earlier, the man with the bed next to yours. Laughter and smiles roll from your lips as natural as breathing air, and he’s nudging you with his arm and you’re letting him with this expression of pure amusement.

That should be him.

That ugly face of betrayal peeks through the cracks all over again, with guilt and anger and regret following in tow close behind. Sitting on his shoulders like little devils, spinning and racing through his body in waves. If you saw his face- you’d never suspect it, but his hands shake in his lap. His jaw tenses so tightly his teeth could burst into powder. Squared shoulders and an endless drag to his lips. Something in the sight of you enjoying that guys presence is reminding him of all these shitty feelings he’d been faced with when you two were together- well, no, not together, he remembers- and then he’s even angrier. Angry at you, angry at that random ass player you were talking up, angry at himself for letting it get here in the first place.

Thanos pops open his necklace beside him and draws a fun little pill from its contents, and Nam-gyu makes it a mission to get his hands on one of those sweet little pick-me-ups. The pill is bitter on his tongue but he swallows it down in delight. And it works, too, because the moment the colors start to glow and fuse together and all sounds become this echoing fishbowl of noises, you’re vacated from the corners of his fuzzy mind. For a time, he’s at peace all over again, lost in the blurry joy.

By the time he comes down, he’s already back in the dormitory.

Though it takes a moment for him to realize it, he’s taking inventory of all the surviving players. One by one, watching them fill the room and find their creaky beds or their little groups. Most were distraught, though some were particularly perturbed. It takes a couple teams before he understands that what he’s really looking for, naturally, is you. He’s always searching for you, even when he knew you weren’t searching for him back.

That’s the change, and it dawns on him like a rapture. He’d never had to care before- you were always this constant in his life, something that would always bounce right back if he tossed you aside. He didn’t give a damn if it upset you, he didn’t give a damn if it ate away at you like termites through wood. But now he does, and he gives so many damn’s they’re driving him crazy.

Any moment spent sober and lucid were moments entirely taken up by you.

Any moment now you’ll come strutting through those doors, head held high and gunning it to make sure Nam-gyu knew exactly how much you didn’t need him.

But then ten teams turn into twenty, and twenty five into thirty.

“How many teams were there?” Nam-gyu asks with a voice steadier than even he expected. Thanos doesn’t need to question anything, watching the doorway all the same.

“Fifty-six.” Se-mi hums from her spot, leaning back against the steps.

Thirty eventually turns to fifty.

Too much time has passed, and you’ve still yet to pop out through that doorway. He double checks those who’d already shown their faces, hoping to find you through the cracks of them, but you’re simply not there. There’s a shovel digging pits and moats into his stomach. Another wave of players trickles in and he scans them all over the same, only to feel that hollowness inside him grow once more. They saunter to their beds, to their little groups, taking up space and taking up air that should belong to you.

Where the hell were you?

“Only two teams left,” Thanos hums. “Where’s that girl of yours?”

Nam-gyu can’t force himself to answer this time around. So, instead, he presses his nails between his teeth and nervously shifts his weight from left to right. Though he shrugs, the anxiety within him was palpable, all lines and tension that he tried to bury with nonchalance. But it wasn’t working, and felt like he was being ripped apart from the inside out.

Mind racing, thoughts circling him like birds over fresh kill. The final team walks through the doorway, slow as zombies, shifty eyed and hurriedly rushing to their beds. His eyes sit on the door, waiting, waiting.

No one comes through.

His shoulders fall limp.

You didn’t make it.

“That’s a shame.” Se-mi sighs, the sound swimming in Nam-gyu’s ears.

Loss, real loss was a foreign feeling within his chest. He’d seen it described in the movies, in songs, this soul eating all consuming weight that blanketed over bodies and crushed, but nothing could have ever prepared for the blistering moment it wrenches itself within the confines of his heart, within the deep ache of his bones. It didn’t settle properly in his throat- his body trying to force the alien ripple of dread stitching itself right between his ribs. It hurts- his lungs can’t take in air. His breath wheezes past his lips in shallow pants, unable to tear his eyes away, like at any moment you’ll suddenly materialize right before him.

He presses his lip into a tight line and digs his nails into his palms, anything to release a fraction of the agony festering within his body.

Brain on fire, shaking hands and the image of you dead in a thousand different flashes, a sting to his waterlines that has him scrambling to shove his fingers against the thin skin.

Don’t fucking cry. Don’t fucking cry.

“Bad luck. Sorry, boy.”

All the skin on his body has flushed red and sticky. He ducks his head down towards his lap, desperate to hide within himself, even more desperate to hide this part of himself from the watchful eyes of his group. He should have just made you join them. Should have thrown you over his shoulder and wrapped an immovable grasp around your arm and held you hostage until everyone had a team and then you’d have no one else to turn to. No one else, nothing else except for him.

He can’t even hear his friend’s counterfeit empathy over the swell of his heartbeat in his ears. His body is too heavy to hold up, his arms dragging as lead, his head even heavier on his shoulders. Uncanny urges to tear at the skin of his face overcome him and he has to bury them into his hair in release, roughly running his digits through the black locks, trying to breathe and breathe and breathe. A lump the size of a boulder burrows into his throat.

Cracking his eyes open to peek down at his lip, squeezing them shut when his vision is wet and blurry. His lower lip trembles until it’s caught in his teeth, biting hard into the skin.

Don't fucking cry.

Why did you have to be so stubborn? If you’d have just let him take care of you this one fucking time, you would be alive right now. You should be alive right now- pissed and glaring fury in his direction but breathing and taking up space and existing-

“Ah, they made it. Here I thought they were all goners.”

Se-mi’s casual tone barely reaches him, but it’s got him frantically flicking his gaze back up to the archway, his hands falling from his face, trying to see through the blotches in his sight. A handful of players take soft steps into the room, all shaken up, all bewildered.

There you are. His racing heart stops entirely.

You’re sauntering into the dormitory like a wounded animal, all hands wringing out in front of you and lines drawn into your frown. For the first time, in Nam-gyu’s eyes, you look small. Frightened. Every step you take has a weight to it he’s never witnessed you bear. And even from across the room, even with rigid tears trapped in the corners of his eyes, he can see the grip of fear on the flat of your throat.

All those jumping thoughts settle into a tunnel vision, you at the epicenter of his quaking nerves simmering down into stillness. He forgets how his chest had twisted as if a knife had been planted between his collarbones, and he forgets how he had almost lost his lunch right there on the floor. All because you’re standing there in the middle of the room hugging yourself, white as a ghost, even paler when you lift your head up and see the way Nam-gyu is trapped in your line of sight.

Nam-gyu see’s it. No hate, no dejection.

Relief- this instant where your widened eyes soften, your frown lifts into a slack-jawed breath of solace. It rocks his world when it hits him and it lights a flame so hot under his skin it’s burning through his veins. All the air trapped in his lungs leaves him at once and he can pinpoint the exact moment all the tensions in his shoulders and back melt away in nothingness. The tears dry, his lower lip released from his gnashing teeth.

The man you’d joined earlier pats your shoulder and offers you a pathetic, wavering thumbs up. You can’t seem to return his dull enthusiasm. In fact, you look worse than Nam-gyu’s seen you thus far. Changed, all wires sticking exposed and sparking. There’s this lifelessness to your body when you climb up the stairs and have to heave yourself up into your bed, crossing your legs and resting your chin on your palms propped up over your knees.

When your eyes meet his, he expects some sort of sign of contempt, or perhaps maybe you’d refuse to meet his gaze entirely. Instead, for the first time since you’d arrived, you find him first.

You offer him a pitiful open palmed wave.

The pearly gates crack open and Nam-gyu feels it again- warmth. Even just a little bit, like lighting a match in a snowstorm, huddling around the flame. He half cocks a smile, and he waves back.

Lunch came quicker than he’d anticipated, and much to Nam-gyu’s dismay, you weren’t exactly thrilled to hop into line. In fact, ever since you’d let him jam his fingers back into your closing door, you’d hardly acknowledged anything other than your lap. Even more so upsetting, that player you hung around tapped your mattress to gather your attention, pointing to the line, sighing in defeat when you’d shook your head.

Jealousy seeps into his wounds all over again, quiet, but equally as simmering. Don’t act like you know her. Little devils tapping away at his psyche. She doesn't need you to check up on her.

But then again, he realizes, maybe you do.

His mouth dries when the sound of his thoughts footsteps come running up on him. His greed. His innate ability to leave you unchecked and grappling. That was among the sea of problems Nam-gyu had been struggling to grasp. Here he was, trying to drag you back into the tar pits of his hold and he hadn’t even tried the basics of kindness. The step one of it all. Always taking, taking, taking and demanding more at every swipe. Always expecting, never building.

So he jumps into line before he can second guess himself, and he takes his bento box with a grateful nod and he doesn’t waste a second before he’s chasing the trail of you to your bed. From your high point, perched and unmoving, all he can do is climb the stairs and rest his hands over the corner of your mattress. Your far away gaze lifts from your lap and settles down to him.

The air is different. The landscape of you has changed.

“What is it.” Your tone is uncannily flat, but it’s void of its bite, its drive.

“Can I come up?”

It’s a simple request, but it leaves a shake at the end of his sentence. It’s only natural when he mentally prepares himself for you to slap no onto his forehead, but you scoot over, and he takes the spot so quickly you wouldn’t even have the chance to say no if you thought about it too much. He hoists himself up and over, fills the gap at your side, just as he should have done days ago. He sits the bento box at the crest of your lap.

“What’s this?” Blinking down at the food, you make no effort to pick it up.

“Fish and rice.” Nam-gyu shrugs. “Looks like an egg, too.”

“I can see that. I meant, what are you doing giving me this?”

“...You didn’t get anything.”

As your fingers gingerly touch the container, eyes scanning over the contents, Nam-gyu feels he can breathe easier. This is a win for him- you aren’t fighting him anymore. Still on the edge, always ready to run, but the look in your eyes isn’t pure hatred or outright hurt. A swell of pride overcomes him when you pluck the chopstick and murmur, thank you.

You’re pliable. Now, more than ever.

You eat in silence. He lets you eat in silence, even though peace isn’t exactly one of his virtues. Partly because he doesn’t know what to say to you, but mostly because he’s got this innate fear that he’s going to say something shitty and you’re going to hate him all over again for it. A million words are always shoving and pushing against his lips and he fumbles with navigating them. So, silence, it is.

But it doesn’t bother him. Silence meant that you were simply just there, existing, the one thing he had longed for over the years. He knew, deep in his heart, he’d fucked up when he began to miss the very presence of you. No sex, no drugs, no push or pull, just you. And now he gets to take whatever you’ll give in micro doses, greedy and starved for you. Fighting the urge to pull you into himself where you could never climb out. He refrains- he forces himself to just be there.

No longer could he be the creature he had been all those years ago. He had to be different- not all rough edges and clawing hands, ripping and taking. Or dark eyes watching your every move, or jagged words cutting your flesh with the highs and lows of his tone. Something better, this time. Something for you.

Tomorrow would be a new beast entirely. And, in less than a few hours, the lights would flicker off and bask the dormitory into hues of red and blues. You would lay alone in your all-too-large bed and he would sink into his mattress drugged out of his mind thinking countless thoughts of you, you, you. The distance would feel like miles- he needed you right there, right then, always. Anything other than what he had sitting beside you was a vast ocean.

The bento box appears in front of his lap, half eaten.

“You’re not going to eat it?” Nam-gyu’s brows knit.

“You should eat, too. What, scared of my germs now?” You murmur, and when he meets your eyeline, he sees something familiar in those hues. Something nurturing, sweet. Tender.

Nam-gyu picks up the chopsticks, and he eats. For the first time in years, his food tastes like food.

#squid game #namgyu x reader #nam-gyu x reader #angst #imagine #nam gyu x reader #nam gyu squid game #player 124

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waynes-multiverse · 1 day ago

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What d’you mean you didn’t “hate it”?! Those were fucking awesome, love!! Every single one was crafted perfectly (and I fully agree with all of them lol). And as a huge Swiftie, let me just tell you that every time I listen to that song, I think of Soldier Boy without fail 😂🤍

Favorite lines below the cut:

He’s a walking contradiction.

He can be crude and crass and violent, but his hands that are scarred and calloused from years of supposed war and bloodshed, are so uncharacteristically gentle when they touch you like he’s terrified of breaking something he doesn’t know how to stitch back together.

That’s such a beautiful description of him 😭💕

"Fuck, you’ve ruined me" he murmurs one night, pressing his forehead to yours, breath warm against your lips. “You made me a goddamn pussy.”

This user has melted into a puddle 🫠🫠🫠

But he’s fluent in actions.

I loved that comparison! He does seem like someone who’d be better at actions than words 💚

He’s an asshole. A menace. A walking disaster.

The son of all bastards 😂🫶

“Because it was fucking beeping” he answers when you find bullet holes in your microwave.

Dead 🤣🤣 Gramps ain’t a fan of the microwave, I see lol

Loving Soldier Boy is fighting for feminism while actively losing the war.

Truer words have never been spoken when it comes to SB lmao

He’s trying? (He’s not.)

He didn’t mean to? (He absolutely did.)

He’s a work in progress? (Is he?)

Ahaha I loved this! Such a realistic layer to loving him 😂

Absolutely amazing job, Pam! They were beautifully written, damn funny, and even a little fluffy 😍💚💚💚

Loving Soldier Boy…

Soldier Boy x reader (drabble)

Summary: Just a short n’ (bitter)sweet drabble about what it’s like to love Ben.

Warnings: language, innuendos (c’mon, it’s Ben), mention of violence

Song inspo: I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can) by Taylor Swift.

Loving Soldier Boy isn’t easy.

You knew Soldier Boy was a handful. Hell, he knows he’s a handful. And you know Ben has never been handled before. Not properly. Not by someone who knows when to push and when to pull, when to hold steady and when to let go.

But you?

You thought you had him figured out.

He’s bad news — at least that’s what everyone keeps telling you.

“That man is not safe” MM says, arms crossed.

“He’s straightdown psychotic” Annie agrees, looking at you like she’s waiting for the spell Ben must have put on you to break.

Hughie just grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck. “Are you sure about this? Like, really sure?”

Frenchie sighs. “I have seen many dangerous men, mon coeur, but that one?” He shakes his head. “That one is the iceberg that sinks the ship.”

Even Kimiko seems to eye you with pity.

And Butcher — he just tsked.

“That’s a bloody dangerous game you’re about to play, luv.”

But all that didn’t matter.

Not when Ben flashes you that cocky, wolfish grin. Not when he pulls you in with that fiery gaze that makes your pulse stutter. Not when he touches you like you’re the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.

He’s a walking contradiction.

And you love it.

You love that you make him hesitate.

That you make him stay.

"Fuck, you’ve ruined me" he murmurs one night, pressing his forehead to yours, breath warm against your lips. “You made me a goddamn pussy.”

Loving Soldier Boy is mastering the skill of interpreting nonverbal communication.

You see, Ben isn’t good with words. Not the important ones, anyway.

But he’s fluent in actions.

Like how he always, always keeps a hand on you — your waist, your back, the nape of your neck — like he needs the physical contact to remind himself you’re real and still with him.

Or how, when you’re pissed at him, he won’t apologize outright, but he will fix your coffee just the way you like it, set it down in front of you with a grunt and a pointed look, like There. Happy now?

Or the way he watches you when he thinks you’re not looking. Like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you because no matter how much of a dick he is sometimes, the thought of him possibly outliving you haunts him.

He’s an asshole. A menace. A walking disaster.

And yet, when he pulls you into his lap, his fingers threading through your hair, his lips ghosting over yours—

You think maybe he’s worth the trouble.

Loving Soldier Boy is a delicate art.

It’s catching the flicker of rage in his eyes before he explodes, steering him away from the fire instead of into it.

It’s letting him run his mouth, knowing that half the shit he says is just to get a rise out of people, and the other half—

Well.

“Because it was fucking beeping” he answers when you find bullet holes in your microwave.

Ben’s not stupid.

But when he came back from the dead, or, you know, from 40 years of being locked up, you’re starting to realize… he might not be as up to date as he thinks.

You blink. “Because it was beeping?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, leaning back against the counter like he didn’t just pull some absolute batshit nonsense. “Wouldn’t shut the hell up.”

“That’s… literally its job, Ben.”

“Well, now it’s unemployed.” He smirks. “Like half the people I’ve worked with.

Loving Soldier Boy is like wrestling with a live grenade.

Violence isn’t just second nature to Ben — it’s first.

He doesn’t do restraint.

Like the time some guy got a little too close to you at a club and ended up with a broken jaw — because Ben doesn’t do warnings either.

Or the time he punched a cop without even thinking about the consequences.

“To be fair, he was being a dick.”

“He was giving you a parking ticket.”

Ben scoffs. “Exactly.”

“Oh my God.”

“What?” He throws his hands up, all mock innocence. “I told him not to touch my car.”

Loving Soldier Boy is fighting for feminism while actively losing the war.

There’s something infuriating about Ben’s shameless, unapologetic brand of horniness.

His jokes are always just a little too loud, just a little too offensive, making you cringe even as he smirks, because he knows damn well what he’s doing.

And yet, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it.

And he knows it.

No matter how many times you glare at him, no matter how often you mutter “Ben, we are in public”, he sees the way your breath hitches, the way your thighs press together when he leans in too close, and he can practically smell the forming pool in your panties.

“C’mon, sweetheart.” His voice is low, dripping with amusement. “Don’t act like you don’t love it when I talk dirty to you.”

You glare at him. “You literally just told the bartender that I needed something ‘to keep my mouth occupied.’”

Ben grins. “And I stand by that.”

You fight the urge to groan. “You are insufferable.”

He leans in, his lips just barely brushing against your ear. “But you like me insufferable.”

And fuck.

Maybe you do.

Loving Soldier Boy is realizing you’re the one really losing the fight.

When the team calls you out on his bullshit, you just sit there and listen.

You have no defense.

Because what are you even supposed to say?

He’s trying? (He’s not.)

He didn’t mean to? (He absolutely did.)

He’s a work in progress? (Is he?)

And despite what everyone says — despite the fact that he probably won’t ever change — you can’t seem to stop yourself from diving headfirst into the madness.

Maybe you can’t fix him.

But damn if he doesn’t make it worth trying.

The chokehold this man has on me is insane — help

Also… This sat in my drafts for months, but I gave it a reread and didn’t completely hate it — so here you go. Hope you enjoyed!🤍

xx Pam

#wayne reads #fic rec #amazing writers 🤍#soldier boy #soldier boy x reader

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bapeach · 2 days ago

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Boombastic

Just a short story while I try to get back into writing. Don't love it, but it's better than nothing 😁 Constructive criticism is always welcome. Find my masterlist here :)

Pairing(s): Nika Mühl x female!reader Word count: 1.3k+ Summary: You catch Nika watching TikTok edits of you.

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When you enrolled in UConn, your only plans were to play basketball and get a degree. You didn’t care about making friends or getting a girlfriend. You only really wanted to play ball, but you knew you needed to have a backup in case something happened and you could never play again. So a degree in communication it was.

It’s not like you struggled making friends, you just didn’t ever have your own little friend group. You hopped from group to group, always a friend to everyone, but never letting anyone get too close. Well, that was before you came to university. If you really thought you were going to be able to only be teammates with your basketball team, you thought wrong. Joining that team means joining a family. And thank God for that. You loved those girls to pieces and were happy to call every single one of them your best friends.

You were especially close to Nika, however. Which was a good thing, seeing as she was also your roommate. And maybe you also had a tiny crush on her, but no one needed to know that. Sure, you two playfully flirted with each other all the time, but that was all just a joke. To the Croatian, at least. You meant every single thing you said to her. Things like how she was the prettiest girl you’d ever seen, how her smile could light up the darkest rooms, and how if she were yours, you’d treat her right.

There are moments when you think she might like you back. The way she looks at you isn’t the way friends look at each other. Friends also don’t blush the way she does when you lean in close to mutter a compliment. But then you start overthinking it and make yourself believe that you’re just imagining things. Because there is no way that the goddess that is Nika Mühl will ever like you.

----

You hum your favorite song to yourself as you walk through the hallways. You’d just gone out for some errands and were on the way back to your dorm. You wonder if Nika is already there or if she’s still with Paige. You hope she’s home, maybe then you two could finish the show you’d started a while ago. You quicken your step a little as you near your dorm. When you open the door, you take a step inside to see Nika already on the couch, her back towards you.

A grin appears on your face as you quietly put your stuff down on the table next to the door. You open your mouth to say something, but you know that wouldn’t do much. Nika is wearing those annoying headphones that you complain about at least once a day. They’re great for the person wearing them, the sound is clear, and outside sounds are completely muffled. They aren’t so great for the people around them, though. You can clearly hear everything the wearer is listening to, while they can’t hear you yell at them to turn it down.

You start taking off your shoes as you hear the song playing on Nika’s phone. You smirk a little as you recognize the music. Boombastic by Shaggy. The song has been all over your fyp all week, so you figure the brunette is scrolling on TikTok. Your face scrunches up in confusion when you’ve finally taken off both shoes. The song was playing on repeat. “I swear to God if she’s watching an edit of herself to that song,” you think to yourself as a mischievous grin grows on your face.

You walk over and pause behind her, watching her phone from over her shoulder. Your mouth drops open as you see yourself in the video. A smirk appears on your face as you watch Nika play the TikTok over and over again. You see that she’s already liked it and has it saved to one of her folders. You shoot forward, snatching the phone out of her hands as you quickly back up.

The brunette bolts up as she looks at you with wide eyes, her cheeks blazing red in embarrassment. “Y/N, give me back my phone!” She huffs. She tries to take it out of your hands, but you hold your arm away from her as you look at her cockily. “Damn, I look good,” you hum, pursing your lips.

“Y/N, please,” she begs, looking at the floor. You tap her profile as you check out in which folder she saved the video. “Oh. My. God… You have a folder with 102 edits saved of me?” You laugh in shock and amusement. The Croatian girl burns an even brighter red as she stops trying to steal the phone from you, having accepted defeat. She sits back down as she puts her face in her hands. “Shut uppp,” she whines.

You look away from the phone towards the brunette, your smile softening. “God, she’s adorable,” you think. Nika huffs as she hears you take a screenshot of the number and send it to yourself. She wishes the ground would open up and swallow her whole. Once you’re done, you throw the phone next to her, not looking as it bounces against her thigh.

You grab your own phone, saving the screenshot before opening your TikTok. After a few swipes, you put your phone back in your pocket as you look at Nika with a grin. Feeling her phone buzz, the brunette grabs it and unlocks it to check your message. She stares at the picture you sent for a few seconds. It was a screenshot of your own TikTok account, a folder with her name on it visible. The number “253” on display.

“You… you have 253 TikToks saved of me?” She says as she looks up at you, her eyes wide. “102 is a rookie number. I thought you liked me?” You tease as you cross your arms. She rolls her eyes as you walk over, a smirk forming on her face. “253 of me? People are gonna think you have a crush on me, Y/N/N,” she grins. You grab her hand and pull her up from the couch. Her cheeks flaming as you pull her against you. “Hmm, and so what if I do?” You say with a low voice as you grab her chin.

“I’m not sure I believe you,” she replies, looking up at you with doe eyes. “Is that so?” You mutter, leaning a little closer to her. “Mhm… Why don’t you show me how much you like me?” She mumbles back. She barely has time to finish her sentence as you pull her face towards your own. You kiss her hard and deep as you grip her a little tighter. When you’re out of breath, you back up a bit and smirk. “How was that for proof?”

She rolls her eyes at you, a grin on her face. You soften a bit as you look at her. You move your hand to cup her cheek as you rub your thumb across it. “I really like you, Niks,” you say, your voice barely louder than a whisper. You don’t care about the fact that you’re looking at her with vulnerable, desperate eyes. You needed her to know.

She grabs your face in her hands, pulling you close. You stare into her eyes, only being a few inches away from her. “Then why haven’t you asked me out yet?” She murmurs, her lips a small pout. You look at her in adoration and a hint of regret. “I’m sorry for being too scared to… Let me make it up to you? Dinner at 6 tomorrow?”

She grins at you, pulling you in for another kiss. “Deal.” You beam a wide smile at her before smirking. “So… Do you often watch TikToks of me on repeat?” You let out a deep laugh as Nika slaps your shoulder, pushing you away. You grab her wrists, pulling her back against you in a hug. “You’re a jerk,” she mutters against your chest. “Yeah, but you love me,” you reply, feeling her smile against your shirt. “Hmph,” she huffs, but squeezes you tighter.

You suppose those damn headphones aren’t so bad after all.

#nika muhl x reader #nika mühl x reader #nika x reader #nika muhl oneshot #nika muhl #oneshot #imagine #uconn huskies #uconn wbb #nika muhl x you #wlw fanfic #Spotify #BaPeach writes

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i-am-a-bad-influence-writes · 2 days ago

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Into my arms

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Masterlist Word count: 773 Sylus x Reader

Summary: Sylus likes telling you about music. You like Sylus's voice.

Author's note: I felt like we all needed a tiny little bit of fluff after seeing those banners.

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He's been yapping for a while now. All the while, sweet sounds play from his record player. Every once in a while he gets up to put on a different record, but he seems to be sitting down a little closer to you each time.

Tension is rising, yet Sylus pretends he's unaffected. You are not pretending, you couldn't if you tried. It feels like your hands are itching to touch him, but you know this is important to him.

This is one of the ways he shows affection. He wants you to know what he likes and he wants input on what you like. His collection is extensive and strange. It goes from Tom Waits to The Beach Boys. From The Cure to Dolly Parton. From Metallica to Jim Croce. Surprisingly, he has something to tell about almost all of them.

He tells you about the differences between The Beatles and The Rolling Stones. About how The Beatles had a good boy image whilst being from rough backgrounds, while The Rolling Stones were from privileged lives and had a bad boy image. He tells you about David Bowie's album Lazarus, a testament to his own body failing and approaching death. He tells you about all the songs mentioned in Hozier's Sweet Music. And about how most people know Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds from the song Red Right Hand while he considers Into My Arms, a raw testament to love and believing in that deity only to ask it to bring his lover to him, a much better song.

Talks on and on about all these beautiful words strung together, about the instruments, about the quality of the recording. You love to listen to him. Love to hear him talk about these things that he seems so passionate about, but he has barely scratched the surface.

All the obscurer things he loves to listen to sneak their way into these moments every once in a while, but still he tends to go for love songs when you're around.

He sits down next to you after changing the record again and looks over into your tired eyes. The night owl that he is, he hadn't considered it is your bedtime already. 'Are you tired, sweetie? We can go to bed.'

You shake your head and position yourself onto his lap with one swift movement, your hands gently laying on his chest. Like two pieces of the puzzle, his hands slot against your hips as he looks up at you like he's looking into a fire. The forever changing warmth of your love enveloping him.

'Keep talking,' you tell him. He nods and starts talking about the record he just put on whilst his thumbs gently rub over the fabric of your bottoms. A song from Jim Croce that almost sounds like a lullaby. Time in a Bottle.

His words intertwine with the music like a baseline. You feel his voice rumble in his chest under your fingertips and move yourself closer to feel it in your own chest. Your arms wrap around him as you lean your head on his shoulder.

Slowly, the combination of sound and vibration lulls you closer and closer to sleep. Your mind gets carried on his sentences, gently floating around. Every once in a while, you hum to let him know you're still listening, but he can feel your breathing slow.

'Let's go to bed. I'm getting tired,' he states, more so for you than for him. But, truth be told, he has been sleeping exceptionally well ever since he's started sleeping in your arms. He stands up with you in his arms, clinging to his body like a koala.

'No,' you grumble, not really noticing he's gotten up, 'keep talking. I like hearing you talk.'

'Alright,' he agrees with a smile and he does.

As he carries you into the bedroom he tells you about all the love songs that remind him of you, all the lyrics that to him feel like they were written about you, all the guitar solos and music breaks in songs that make him feel like you are right there with him...

and he keeps talking until he snuggles up to you under the covers. He takes a few seconds to listen to your gentle breathing. He lays his head on your chest, the thumping of your heartbeat relaxing him like nothing else ever has. You have fallen asleep, and that seems the perfect time for a confession to him.

'But besides all of that, my favorite song is the sound of your voice when you greet me in the morning.'

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moeitsu · 3 days ago

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The Dark Tide Siren!Arthur Morgan x Reader Modern AU Ch 7 - Bound Beneath a Sirens Song Summary: With a storm looming on the horizon, the air crackles with an undeniable energy—every moment, every touch is charged like lightning waiting to strike. When Arthur invites you to take a swim, how could you possibly refuse? After all, it’s just a swim... what harm could come from that? wc: 11k tw: none! Swim Back! ↞ ﹏𓊝﹏ ↠ Sail Ahead!

AN: Longer chapter, got a little carried away. But reader finally gets to kissy on her fishy :3 (also like 80% of this takes place underwater, so pls don’t read too much into the logic of it)

tag list: @photo1030 @v3lv3tf0x @ireallyhonestlydontcare @shygamergirl01 @cloudywithachanceofcrisis @sevikaspuertoricanwife @abducted-cowz @ilovethatforyousworld @gatodebiquini @onyxlune @bomdada

I was searching for trouble and I knew it

The pull toward him was undeniable, like the tide dragging me into deeper waters, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to fight it. There were a thousand reasons why I should pack up my things and head home, but none of them were strong enough to make me leave. Every day, his voice echoed in the back of my mind, a secret siren song ringing in my ears, impossible to ignore.

I told myself this was an adventure—something new, something extraordinary. When in my life would I ever experience something like this again? But deep down, I knew it was more than that. He wasn’t just some fascinating creature to be studied, he was a person. A complicated, intriguing, wonderful person who had been through hell and somehow still found the strength to trust. Over the past week, I had watched him transform before my eyes, shedding his fear and anger like an old skin. Seeing that change unfold lit something warm and dangerous in my chest.

I knew I was going down with this ship, but I refused to raise the white flag in surrender.

Not when he had come so far. Not when I had seen the way his shoulders relaxed when he listened to Mary-Beth ramble about her favorite books, or how he watched Tilly’s hands with quiet fascination as she scribbled down notes and hypotheses, pausing only to tap her pen against her lip in thought. He was still wary of the men, his trust slower to form, but he was trying. And that effort—it meant everything.

Tilly pestered him with inquisitive, practical questions, always seeking to unravel the mysteries of his existence. She wanted to know what he remembered about his mother, about his people, about the depths of the ocean he had never been free to explore. She wanted to see his lights up close, to hear the cadence of his native tongue, to piece together the puzzle of his biology with a scientific curiosity. At first, Arthur was hesitant, his answers clipped, wary. But I was always there with them, and at times, it felt like he looked to me for permission. A gentle smile, a small nod, and his face would soften just slightly, his bioluminescence flickering to life.

It was as if I was telling him, Go ahead. You’re safe to be yourself here.

Mary-Beth, on the other hand, was smitten with his personality. She had a habit of chatting his ear off, switching from one topic to another with the ease of someone who never ran out of things to say. She talked about her love for writing, about her life back at college, and the not-so-secret crush she had on a certain fisherman at the facility. And Arthur—he listened. Really listened. He hung onto every word, his curiosity evident in the way he tilted his head, the way he asked his own questions. It was clear that as much as we were fascinated by him, he was just as eager to understand us.

And for the first time in his life, he was free to learn without the shadow of pain and fear looming over him.

It was the end of the week. The summer sun was sinking low in the sky, bathing the outdoor section of Arthur’s tank in molten gold. The facility had closed to the public not too long ago, and the girls would need to head home soon. The warm eastern wind carried the briny scent of the ocean, filling my lungs with something grounding, something familiar.

I, for one, did not plan on leaving with them.

There was a part of me that longed to dive into the unknown. To explore someone who, in ways I couldn’t yet explain, felt just a little bit like me. Every day, the pull had grown stronger, the ache sharper. I wasn’t sure if it was curiosity or something more—but tonight, I could no longer ignore it.

Mary-Beth was carefully braiding a section of Arthur’s sandy blond hair, her fingers moving with practiced ease as she wove small strands together. Arthur sat comfortably with his elbows resting on the platform, arms crossed as his long tail floated lazily in the water, the gentle sway of it almost hypnotic. Tilly, stretching her legs with a sigh, checked the time before nudging Mary-Beth.

“We better get moving. My mom doesn’t like when I’m late for dinner.”

Mary-Beth groaned dramatically, her lips forming an exaggerated pout. “Oh, come on, Tilly. It’s Friday! We’re young adults—we should be spending our weekends staying out late, having fun! Can’t we stay with Arthur a little longer?”

“Ouch, guess I’m just chopped liver,” I muttered with a laugh, shaking my head. Though, in truth, I didn’t really mind that they preferred Arthur’s company. Because it meant I got to spend time with him too.

Arthur chuckled, the deep sound vibrating through his chest as he gave them a reassuring smile. “It’s not like I’ll be going anywhere,” he said, amusement dancing in his glowing blue eyes. “We can pick up where we left off when you girls come back. Go home, get some rest—study up on those science books so you can teach this old fool some new tricks.” He added a playful wink, making Mary-Beth giggle as she gathered her things.

I stood as they did, walking them to the door, dragging my feet ever so slightly. The anticipation in my chest was a restless thing.

And then, finally—the door shut behind them with a heavy thud. Their footsteps echoed down the hallway, growing softer until they disappeared completely.

And just like that, it was just us.

Arthur and I.

This was what I had been waiting for all week—just a moment alone with him, without the others, without distraction. But now that it was here, now that the opportunity had fallen right into my lap, I wasn’t exactly sure what to do with myself.

I wanted to talk to him, to ask him questions, to know him in ways no one else had. But I had already spent every day listening to his stories, absorbing the pieces of himself he was willing to share with the others. And yet, there were still so many things I desired to know. More personal, more intimate details about his life that I had no business prying into.

I was so lost in my own thoughts that I barely registered the way Arthur tilted his head at me, eyes searching mine.

“You alright, darlin’?”

The smooth timbre of his voice pulled me back to the present, washing over me like the tide pulling in.

I blinked, offering a small smile. “Yeah, I was just thinking.” I hesitated for half a second before adding, “Mind if I hang out for a bit?”

His eyes lit up, and it wasn’t just the setting sun catching in the water.

“Sure,” he said, shifting slightly as he regarded me. “This ain’t gonna get you in trouble, though, right?”

He had a point. There was no reason for me to stay after hours. But surely, I wasn’t breaking any rules. Not really.

I smirked. “Only if I get caught.”

Arthur huffed out a laugh, the sound warm and familiar, as if we had known each other for years instead of days. I realized just how much I needed to know him. Not as some scientific marvel, not as a myth brought to life.

But as Arthur.

As I moved toward the edge of the ledge, letting my legs dangle in the water, Arthur followed without hesitation. It was as if we were tethered by some invisible thread, an unspoken pull drawing us together. He stopped just before reaching me, lingering in that space between caution and longing, his hesitation palpable. I could see the gears turning in his mind—how close is too close?

I reached out, offering my hand in a silent invitation. And when he took it, I felt the warmth of his palm against mine despite the coolness of the water. He pressed himself against my legs, his chest firm and solid, his heartbeat strong beneath my skin. Wet arms came to rest on my thighs, soaking through my shorts, but I barely noticed. The moment was too charged, too fragile, as his gills fluttered against my legs, I parted them slightly as if breathing him into my embrace.

He was so close now. Close enough that I could study every detail of his face—the faint scar hidden beneath his short beard, the dimple at the base of his nose, the way his lashes curled like delicate brushstrokes. Freckles dusted his cheeks and shoulders like constellations etched into his skin, mapping stories I would never fully know. His second eyelids, faint but visible, reflected the soft light filtering through the water, a feature evolved to protect his irises, and yet, he still looked at me with such openness. His lips were smooth, and when he parted them, I caught the glint of sharp teeth, a stark contrast to the tenderness in his gaze.

Content had settled over his handsome rugged features.

“Arthur.” His name slipped from my lips, quiet but sincere. And before I could stop myself, the question that had been lodged in my heart finally surfaced. “Are you happy here?”

I felt him tense, his body stilling against mine. He took a slow, measured breath, but there was no avoidance in his gaze, no flicker of hesitation. Only the truth.

“Happy is... a foreign word to me,” he admitted, his voice carrying the weight of a lifetime of uncertainty. “I like it here, but it’s not exactly what I’d call… home.”

The word sounded strange coming from him, like he was tasting it for the first time, unsure of its meaning. My chest ached.

“It’s a bit lonely when you’re all workin’,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “Quiet. But it’s a nice feelin’, like I can just be.” He shrugged, as if that small solace was enough, as if it didn’t matter.

A sigh escaped my throat before I could swallow it. “I’m sorry, Arthur, I wish there—”

“Don’t,” he cut in, his tone firm but not unkind. “You’ve got nothin’ to apologize for, sweetheart. You’ve given me more freedom than I’ve ever tasted in my whole miserable life.”

I smiled at that, but it was a poor attempt to mask the tightness in my chest. I wanted to do more for him. I wanted to erase every wound, every scar of his past. Show him true happiness, not just some artificial slice of freedom.

“Besides,” a slow, knowing grin tugged at his lips, revealing more of those sharp teeth. “If you had never brought me here, I never would’ve met you.”

His hand—webbed, calloused, yet impossibly gentle—lifted to my face, his fingertips tracing the curve of my cheek with aching reverence. Like he was afraid I might dissolve beneath his touch, fade into the air like seafoam.

“And I’m happy when I’m with you.”

The words settled between us, sinking into my bones, heavy and undeniable. I should have said something back. Should have acknowledged what was happening between us.

But I couldn’t. Because if I did, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to pull myself away.

Arthur held my gaze for what felt like an eternity, a storm of emotions swirling between us like the eye of a cyclone—hot and cold currents colliding, the pressure building, pulling us into a dance neither of us dared to break free from. It was unspoken, this tether between us, but I felt it with every pounding heartbeat, with every inch that closed between our bodies.

“Would you swim with me, my girl?”

My breath caught. The words barely registered, not because I hadn’t heard them, but because of the way he said them.

My girl.

It rolled off his tongue so effortlessly, like it was already a truth neither of us had acknowledged yet. My stomach twisted, and a rush of warmth bloomed across my cheeks under the golden light of the setting sun. Arthur watched me, eyes shimmering with mischief, but there was something else there too—something deeper, something that sent a shiver down my spine.

“S-swim?” I squeaked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Arthur chuckled, the sound low and rich, like I had just recoiled from something ridiculous—like he had asked me to eat a raw sea urchin instead of simply taking a swim. “Yeah. If you can ignore the sharks and stingrays, it’s practically paradise,” he teased, tugging at my hands as if I might just leap in fully clothed without a second thought.

The meaning of his request finally sank in. My pulse kicked up a notch. This wasn’t what I had planned when I stayed behind with him, wasn’t how I thought I’d fill my time. I had imagined more talking, maybe more of those easy laughs he shared with the girls. But this—this was something different. Something thrilling.

I’d be in the water with him. In his natural element.

A voice in the back of my head stirred, whispering a reminder of what Lenny had said about siren courtship. His bioluminescence, the purring, the gift-giving—he’s in mating season.

I shot those thoughts straight to hell.

This wasn’t about that. This was just swimming. Nothing more. Nothing dangerous. What harm could be done?

Right? Right.

A grin broke across my face, excitement bubbling in my chest as I practically sprang to my feet.

“I’ll go change into my wetsuit.”

* ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊ *

I bounded down the corridor, my heartbeat matching the quick, eager rhythm of my steps. Excitement thrummed in my veins, bubbling up inside me until it felt like I might burst. This is happening. I could barely contain myself, giddy at the thought of what was to come. To see Arthur as he was meant to be—in the water, in his element. To watch the way the water broke for him, how effortlessly he moved, commanding the space with just the flick of his powerful tail. The thought sent shivers down my spine, a thrill unlike anything I had ever known.

I was so lost in the fantasy that I didn’t notice the electrical closet door swinging open until I nearly barreled straight into a solid chest.

“Woah!”

Hands gripped my shoulders to steady me, and I blinked up to find John staring down at me, brows raised in surprise. “Hey, uhm—didn’t realize you were still here…you going for a swim or something?” His gaze flickered down to my wetsuit, to the towel in my hands, then toward the hallway that led to Arthur’s tank. His expression shifted, concern knitting his features. “Shit, is Arthur alright? Did something happen?”

I let out a breathy laugh, shaking my head. Just like John to assume the worst. He always played it cool, pretended not to give a shit, but deep down, I knew better. The fool had a heart bigger than his ego—not that he’d ever admit it.

“Arthur’s fine,” I assured him quickly. “I’m just… going for a little swim. That’s all.”

John’s eyebrows shot up, but before he could grill me on why exactly I was voluntarily diving into the water with a half-siren, I cut in.

“What are you still doing here, anyway? You hate working late on Fridays.”

He sighed, exhaustion lacing his tone as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Hosea asked me to check on the generators. Since we got that big storm coming this weekend.”

Right. The hurricane. I had been so wrapped up in Arthur, in my own tangled emotions, that I had almost forgotten.

“Oh, right. Hurricane Eliza.” I rocked back on my heels, clutching the towel to my chest, suddenly feeling exposed. “I heard she’s gonna be a real beast.” I tried not to sound uninterested, but all I really wanted to do was turn back to Arthur.

John hummed in agreement, but his eyes lingered on me a beat too long, as if he could see straight through my flimsy attempt at nonchalance.

A quiet laugh rumbled from his chest. “Yeah, uh—I guess I’ll leave you to it then.”

He turned, heading back down the hallway, but not before shooting me that look. The one that said he wasn’t buying it.

“John! Uh…” I swallowed hard, nerves creeping back up my spine. Why did I feel like I was a child getting away with something? “Please keep this between us. I-I’m just—” I fumbled for the right words. Just what? Just going for a swim? Then why did it feel like I had been caught sneaking off to do something much more nefarious?

John smirked, dragging a finger across his lips like he was sealing them shut. “Your secret’s safe with me. Have fun with your shark boyfriend.”

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “He’s not—”

John was already strolling away, ignoring my rebuttal. “If he tries anything, I’ll gut his ass personally,” he called over his shoulder, his voice echoing down the corridor.

I laughed, shaking my head. “Think I’ll take my chances, Marston. Seeing as you still can’t swim!”

Without turning around, he raised a middle finger in the air.

Grinning to myself, I clutched my towel a little tighter and turned toward the hallway that led to Arthur’s tank. My heart pounded for an entirely different reason now. This was finally happening.

The moment I stepped onto the platform, my heart clenched with a brief flicker of doubt. Would he still be as eager now that I was actually here? But before that worry could take root, the surface of the water broke, and Arthur emerged with effortless grace, resting his arms on the ledge like he had been waiting for me all night.

“Took you long enough,” he teased, his voice a low rumble beneath the gentle crashing of the waves beyond the facility. “Was startin’ to worry you changed your mind.”

I grinned, shaking my head as I tossed my towel onto a plastic chair. “Like I’d pass up this opportunity,” I mused, reaching for my flippers. “Spoke too soon about getting caught. Ran into John in the hallway.”

Arthur hummed in acknowledgment, but his attention was already elsewhere. I followed his gaze down to my feet, watching the way his expression softened with curiosity. Slowly, he reached out, his webbed fingers glistening under the golden light as they ghosted over my ankle.

I stilled as he lifted my foot slightly, his thumb brushing over the sharp ridge of ankle bone before gliding downward in a slow, deliberate motion. When the back of his claw traced up the arch of my foot, I couldn't help the quiet giggle that escaped me, my toes curling instinctively.

Arthur's eyes flicked up at the sound, his lips twitching with amusement before he focused back on my foot, turning it this way and that as if studying an artifact he couldn’t quite make sense of.

“Why do you wear these?” he asked, finally shifting his attention to the flipper I had yet to put on. He tapped the stiff rubber with his claw, brows furrowing.

I chuckled, slipping the other one on. “They’re flippers. I can’t swim like you do. My feet aren’t smooth or streamlined, and I don’t have the muscles like you.”

Arthur’s lips parted slightly as he mouthed the word to himself. “Flippers,” he repeated, testing the sound on his tongue before looking back at me. “So these make you more like me?”

His question sent a strange warmth through my chest. There was something so earnest in the way he asked, his fingers trailing along the length of the fin as if he were trying to understand what it meant for me to move through his world.

“Essentially, yes,” I murmured, a small smile playing at my lips. “They’ll help me keep up with you.”

Arthur let out an exaggerated snort, giving me a pointed look. “Darlin’, that’s a bold statement.”

Grinning, I kicked my foot out of the water, sending a spray into the air. He flinched slightly, watching the droplets rain down before glaring at the stiff black rubber with playful disdain.

“That’s just insulting.”

I laughed, adjusting the strap on my other flipper before sliding a pair of goggles over my forehead. Arthur cocked a brow, tilting his head as he eyed them.

“Ain’t even gonna ask,” he huffed, but then his tone shifted, growing more serious. “How long can you hold your breath?”

The change in his voice sent a shiver down my spine. The playful banter faded, replaced by something quieter—something deeper.

I swallowed, my fingers tightening around the edge of the platform. How long could I hold my breath? I was about to dive into his world, a place where he was strong, fast, in control. The thought sent my pulse skittering, but I forced a steady breath, meeting his gaze head-on.

“Less than a minute,” I admitted, though I knew it was probably closer to thirty seconds.

Arthur took in the information with a slow nod, his ocean-blue gaze flickering downward to the depths of the tank. The water reflected against his skin in shifting ribbons of light, making him look even more otherworldly. “Just stay close to me, alright?”

I didn’t need to be told twice.

Pulling my goggles over my eyes and nose, I inhaled deeply, letting my lungs expand before slipping off the ledge. The cool water embraced me instantly, a rush of sensation flooding my senses as the world above blurred into nothingness.

And then, through the clearing bubbles, there he was.

Arthur moved—no, glided—with an effortless grace that no human could ever hope to match. The full arc of his powerful tail cut through the water like a blade, propelling him forward with a strength that sent ripples cascading outward. The bioluminescent blues and purples that traced his scales shimmered like stardust, catching the fractured light that filtered down from above. His tail fin, a broad, elegant half-moon, unfurled behind him with each movement, undulating like the slow, hypnotic pulse of a jellyfish. The way it rippled through the currents, fluid and weightless, was mesmerizing—a dance like the ocean itself was draped in silk.

For the first time, I was seeing him as he was meant to be. Free. Powerful. Impossible. A gateway into a world unknown. He belonged to nobody, and no man.

His sandy blond hair drifted around his face in feathery strands, framing the rugged lines of his features, softening the sharp edges of his jaw and cheekbones. His gills flexed slightly, expelling a faint trail of bubbles as he moved, blending into the swirling currents. And then there was his smile—devastating, knowing, teasing. It was the kind of smile that made the world tilt, that made my stomach tighten with something warm.

He belonged here, in the water, in the vastness. And yet, as his ocean-blue eyes met mine, glowing faintly beneath the surface, I couldn’t help but feel that, somehow, in this moment—he belonged with me, too.

Arthur reached for me, and without hesitation, I took his hand.

Webbed fingers curled around mine, warm even in the cold water, and with the smallest tug, he guided me deeper. The tank transformed before my eyes—the artificial world of rock formations and coral structures now seemed vast and infinite from this new perspective. Schools of fish darted past us in flashes of silver, weaving effortlessly through the currents.

But I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

Arthur twisted effortlessly, rolling onto his back so he could watch me, his tail propelling him smoothly as I floated just above him. Watching me with that same toothy, teasing grin.

I kicked my feet, feeling the resistance of the water as my flippers sliced through it, but it was nothing compared to the sheer power he held in every movement. His tail moved in slow, deliberate strokes, adjusting his speed with fluent precision, allowing me to drift above.

I suddenly wished I had a tail like his—to feel the strength coiling in my muscles, to move through the water with that same primal ease. To command the currents as if they were an extension of myself. But I was clumsy in comparison, merely paddling while he swam with the mastery of something born from the deep. And yet, he didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he looked amused, watching me with a quiet adoration, like I was the marvel here—not him.

For the first time in my life, I felt truly weightless. Suspended in the water, drifting between reality and something almost dreamlike, I had never felt so free. Despite the vastness around us, Arthur was the only thing keeping me tethered.

Then my chest tightened. A sharp, familiar burn spread through my lungs. Shit. Has it been a minute already?

With my free hand, I pointed to the surface, signaling to Arthur that I needed air. But instead of guiding me upward, he pulled us deeper. My stomach dropped. A chill slithered down my spine as his grip on my hand remained firm. What is he doing?

I tugged, trying to free myself, but his hold only tightened. Panic began to set in, my heart hammering wildly in my chest. No… No, no, no! My limbs burned, my body screaming for oxygen. The water suddenly felt too thick, too heavy. It was crushing me, swallowing me whole.

He shook his head.

A bolt of horror shot through me. No? What the fuck do you mean, NO?!

Was this some kind of sick game? Had I been a fool to trust him? My mind raced with a thousand possibilities, each one darker than the last. What if I had just made a terrible mistake? What if everything we shared had been a lie? What if Arthur wasn’t what I thought he was?

Was he going to kill me? Am I going to drown?

Just as the last ounce of my strength gave way, just as I thought I was about to give in to the burning need to draw breath and fill my lungs with water, Arthur pulled me against his chest. I expected him to kick his tail sending us upward, to break the surface in a powerful burst. He had asked how long I could hold my breath, surely that wasn't to plan my demise in a timely fashion.

But instead, he did something I never could have anticipated.

His hands came up to cradle my face, his touch gentle even as I writhed against him. His bioluminescent veins pulsed with soft light, a delicate glow between us. His eyes, deep and steady, locked onto mine, silently urging me to trust him. But my mind was blind with panic, lungs burning as they gave out.

Then he leaned in and pressed his mouth to mine.

A kiss? Now? My mind screamed at me to pull away, to fight, to swim for the surface before it was too late. I felt it crawling under my skin, a desperate need for air or I was going to die!

I gasped but instead of choking, instead of water rushing into my lungs—

I breathed.

A rush of oxygen filled my chest, sharp and startling, like drawing the first breath of life. Arthur's lips parted against mine, his tongue slipping past in a way that was less about hunger and more about necessity. He was giving me his breath, sharing something vital and instinctual, something so intimate it sent a shiver down my spine and ignited each of my nerves in white hot fire.

I inhaled, my fingers digging into his shoulders as I clung to him, taking in the air he offered me in desperate, greedy gulps. My lungs burned, but not from lack of oxygen—it was the lingering ache of panic, the rawness of fear ebbing away, replaced by something deeper. Something calming.

Relief. Arthur never meant to let me drown. He was never going to harm me. I silently cursed myself for not trusting him. But this was something I never would have expected.

The rhythm came naturally after a few moments. A slow, controlled exchange. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Arthur matched me, his chest expanding against mine, his gills flaring as he cycled the air between us. Drawing in enough breath for both our lungs. Somewhere in my frantic attempt to survive, my goggles had been pulled off, floating aimlessly somewhere behind me.

Now, nothing separated us. No barrier, no confusion. Just the warmth of his lips and the steady strength of his body as he held me in place. His breath kissing every pore.

My arms wound around his neck instinctively, fingers tangling in his billowing hair. I could feel the powerful ripple of his muscles as he kept us suspended in the water, his tail moving in slow, effortless sweeps. His veins pulsed softly beneath his skin, casting an ethereal glow between us. It was mesmerizing, hypnotic even.

I consumed him like a fire that devours, drawing him in deeper. Seizing his lifeforce. Claiming it as my own. Taking.

The air he breathed into me was unlike anything I had ever tasted. It was liberating, pure—like petrichor. When the earth is warm with rain-soaked soil after a summer storm. Rich and electric and unmistakably him. It filled every aching part of me, chased away the fear, replaced it with something that left me dizzy.

This wasn’t just survival. This was something else entirely.

Arthur wasn’t just giving me air—he was threading himself into the very fabric of my being.

With every inhale, he poured into me like the tide rushing into a hollowed-out cave, filling the spaces I didn’t even realize were empty. A piece of him—vast, ancient, and arcane—flooded through my heart, echoing through its chambers, coursing through my veins in a heady, intoxicating rush. It curled into the hollows of my lungs, wove through the sinew of my muscles, and settled deep into my skin. Clinging to me like the saltwater after it dries.

It wasn’t just breath. It was him.

He invaded me, not with force, but with something far more meaningful—an offering, a communion. A sacrifice. Reaching inside me his presence wrapped around my very cells, touching every inch of me in ways I had never imagined. It was like swallowing starlight, like sinking into the depths of the ocean and becoming part of it, losing myself to something endless and infinite.

I felt the ocean’s pulse, a steady rhythm thrumming through me. It was life, boundless and eternal. And gods above, it was mighty.

With each exhale, he didn’t pull away—he gave as much as I would take. As much as I needed to calm my thundering pulse. Traces of him held me, saturating my body with something more than air. He left himself in the marrow of my bones, in the pulse of my wrists, in the spaces between each heartbeat.

I was no longer just breathing. I was becoming.

Somewhere in the tangled mess of our situation, I hadn’t noticed Arthur bringing me back to the surface. When we finally broke through, the rush of cool ocean air kissed my cheeks, sending a shudder through me. I felt like I had just stolen something forbidden, something ancient—like I had partaken in a divine secret that was never meant for human hands. As if I had slipped past the gods unnoticed, grasping at eternity, daring to hold onto something beyond biology, beyond comprehension.

And still, despite the overwhelming weight of what had just happened between us, my instincts took over. I gasped for breath, gulping down fresh air, grounding myself in reality—even as I mourned the loss of that impossible intimacy. I pushed myself back onto the platform, slumping onto my back with a heavy huff, my limbs trembling from the lingering adrenaline. I barely registered Arthur rising beside me, his own chest rising and falling in deep, measured breaths.

Poor thing. I really did steal the breath from his lungs. Literally.

The thought sent a dizzy rush through me. Had I gotten too carried away? Had I taken too much? I wasn’t even sure what too much meant in this situation. My mind reeled as I tried to make sense of it, to unravel the impossibility of what we had just shared.

“Holy shit,” I exhaled, still trying to steady my racing heart. “Arthur, why didn’t you tell me you could do that? I thought you were trying to drown me!”

I pushed up onto my elbows, my gaze locking onto his face as he hovered in the water between my legs. He looked just as disoriented as I felt, the glow in his veins pulsing slow and steady, like the aftershocks of something neither of us could fully comprehend. He blinked up at me, his gills fluttering slightly as if he was still catching his breath, too.

“M’sorry,” he murmured, his voice softer now, more careful. “I asked how long you could hold your breath… I—I thought you knew what I was doin’. I never meant to scare ya, sweetheart.”

His eyes held nothing but sincerity, and yet I still couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“How the hell was I supposed to know that?” The words came out sharper than I intended, my emotions still tangled up in the lingering panic.

Arthur flinched—not physically, but I saw the way something in him pulled back, just slightly. The guilt in his expression sent a pang of regret through my chest. He truly hadn’t meant to frighten me.

“I thought humans did it all the time,” he admitted, scratching at the back of his head. “I’ve seen ‘em press their mouths together, sharin’ breath. Never really understood why, though… Since you’ve got plenty of it up here.” He waved a webbed hand through the air as if the concept itself was baffling to him.

This caught my attention. I stared at him, dumbfounded, my heart giving an odd little stutter. Oh, Arthur. I sat up fully now, moving closer to the edge as his words sank in. He’d seen humans do it before? It took a moment for it to click, for realization to dawn over me like the slow crest of a wave. Oh. He’d seen humans kiss.

“Oh, honey, that’s not—” I hesitated, rubbing my temples with a sigh. How the hell do I even explain this to him? “It’s not the same when humans do it,” I tried again, my voice softer now. “We’re not actually sharing breath. Not like that… not like what we just did.”

Arthur tilted his head, his brows knitting together in confusion. He was trying to understand, I could see that much, but I was probably upending his entire perception of human behavior in real-time.

“Then… why do you do it?”

I let out a slow breath, trying to piece it together in a way that made sense. “It’s called kissing. It’s a way humans express affection. Like a silent conversation… a way to say things without words—like ‘I care about you,’ or ‘I want to be close to you.’” My fingers curled against the damp fabric of my wetsuit. “When two people press their mouths together, they’re sharing a connection, and sometimes…” My voice faltered, realization creeping up on me as the words formed on my tongue. Gods above. It hit me that we had just done practically the same thing. “...sometimes even a little piece of their soul.”

Arthur was completely still. His eyes, dark and fathomless, locked onto mine like the pull of the tide, widening ever so slightly as his pupils expanded. A shiver ran through me, the weight of his gaze so intense it felt like he could see straight into my core.

Then, as if drawn by some unseen force, he moved closer.

The water rippled gently around his body, his movements slow, deliberate. He mirrored the way we had sat together earlier, but this time, he braced his hands on either side of me, his arms caging me in a way that sent a deep warmth curling in my stomach. The space between us was nonexistent, the air suddenly thick, charged with something I couldn’t quite name.

“Kissing…” Arthur repeated the word, barely more than a murmur, tasting it on his tongue.

I could almost see the gears turning in his mind, the way he was processing everything I’d just said. And I knew, with startling certainty, that he was thinking the same thing I was.

What we shared underwater… was far deeper, far more intimate than any human kiss could ever be.

“Yes, kissing.” My voice came out softer than I intended, and I swallowed against the sudden tightness in my throat. Fuck, why did I feel so nervous? He was so close I could taste the salt on his breath, feel the warmth radiating from his skin despite the cool water between us. Those deep, knowing eyes never left mine, watching me like he could read every thought flickering through my mind.

“Th-there’s many different ways to kiss,” I went on, my voice betraying my nerves. Why the hell am I even telling him this? “It’s not always on the lips. You can kiss pretty much anywhere on the body.”

His pupils dilated slightly, the dark pools nearly eclipsing the striking blue of his irises. “Anywhere?” His voice had dropped an octave, rougher, like sea water pulling back before a crashing wave.

I nodded, feeling heat creep up my neck. “And it’s not always between partners. Parents kiss their children, relatives kiss their loved ones, some people kiss their pets.” My fingers fidgeted, he was so close now I could feel the smoothness of his chest as he drew breath. “You can even blow a kiss.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed slightly, his expression shifting from something unreadable to pure confusion. “Why would someone do that?”

A soft giggle bubbled up my throat, his curiosity catching me off guard in the best way. “People do it when they’re beyond each other's reach. A way of sending your affection through the air.”

Feeling emboldened, I reached for his hand—broad, webbed, strong but gentle beneath my touch. His skin was cool and smooth, glistening in the fading light. Slowly, I lifted his arm and guided the back of his hand toward my lips.

“When you blow someone a kiss, you have to bring it to life before letting it go,” I explained, my voice barely above a whisper. Then, without breaking eye contact, I pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the wet space of his palm, exaggerating the smacking sound just enough to tease him.

Arthur went completely still.

I felt the tension coil in his muscles, the way his fingers twitched slightly against my own. When I pulled away, my eyes flickered to his face—and oh. His cheeks were tinted a deeper shade of pink, a faint but undeniable flush creeping along his cheekbones. Was he… blushing?

I bit my lip, suppressing a grin as warmth curled in my chest. I had just made him blush.

Arthur blinked, looking between his hand and my face like he was trying to make sense of what had just happened, like he was trying to feel something beyond the physical sensation lingering on his skin.

“There,” I said proudly, admiring my work as if I had just painted something delicate and unseen across his palm. “Now, you blow it away.”

I gently turned his hand toward the ocean, the sky now fading to a deepening indigo as the sun traded shifts with the moon. The first stars flickered to life above us, their distant glow reflecting in the water, shimmering against Arthur’s iridescent skin. Then, slowly, I blew on his palm, a soft breath carrying the invisible gift away.

Arthur inhaled sharply. His gills flared at the gesture, pulsing with some unspoken emotion.

I released his hand, but instead of pulling away, he brought it to my face. A breath hitched in my throat as the rough pad of his thumb traced over my bottom lip, dragging slowly, reverently. The touch was featherlight, but I felt it everywhere.

His fingers trembled slightly. His eyes burned with something deeper than curiosity now—an insatiable hunger, a deep, aching longing.

I heard him swallow before he spoke, his voice barely rising above the whisper of the roaring waves, rich and weighted, like he was holding himself back. “…and where does the kiss go?”

The words rolled over me, sweeping me into the depth of his need. Arthur’s gaze searched mine, pupils blown wide, his entire body coiled with restrained tension. We were already so close that I could feel the warmth of his breath, hear the tremble in his voice.

“To someone you love.”

It mattered little to me which one of us closed the distance—only that we did. The moment our lips met, the world fell away, as if time itself had paused to bear witness. The moon, ever watchful, seemed to still the tides, holding her breath in quiet admiration, offering her silent blessing.

Arthur kissed me with an aching slowness, as if savoring something precious, something fragile. His lips were warm, firm but yielding, and impossibly gentle. Nothing like before—when he was breathing life into me. No, this was different. This was the slow unraveling of restraint, the surrender to something we had long denied. The intertwining of unspoken desire, of aching need.

The ship was sinking. And I finally raised the white flag.

A shiver ran through me as I brushed my tongue against the fullness of his bottom lip, teasing, testing. He groaned—a deep, guttural sound that sent heat pooling low in my belly—and parted his lips for me.

The first stroke of his tongue against mine was devastating, deliberate, and utterly alien. Silken and warm, but textured—each ridge on the top of it dragged against my own, sending sharp, electric pulses straight down my spine. It was longer than I expected, sinuous and impossibly agile, exploring me with a slow, unrelenting hunger. I gasped into his mouth as he curled it against the roof of mine, the friction sending a deep, aching thrill through my body.

He tasted of salt, like the sea breeze just before a storm, rich and heady with something darker beneath—the faint scent of musk, the wild pull of him. My fingers reached up around his neck, one hand cradling his jaw. Desperate to keep myself tethered as I drowned in the sensation of him, the way he felt—all sharp edges and smooth restraint, barely contained.

Arthur kissed like he knew what his touch did to me, like he had been waiting to unravel me, to steal the breath from my lungs and make it his own.

And I let him. I let him take me.

The soft bristle of his beard scraped against my skin, leaving a tingling warmth in its wake, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. His fingers skimmed my waist, pressing just enough to anchor me, as if afraid I might slip away.

All I could taste was him. All I could breathe was him. Arthur, steady and unshakable, yet trembling with want. The only thing that mattered in this moment was us.

I didn’t need to open my eyes to see the glow of his bioluminescence. Its colorful shimmer lit up the space between us, painting the darkness behind my eyelids in swirls of deep indigo, flickering like a living halo.

The heat of his body pressed against mine, damp and feverish, as he surged forward, rising from the water.

The platform was firm beneath me as he eased me down, his weight settling just enough to trap me beneath him. Then, suddenly, I felt it—before I even heard it. A low, resonant purr, vibrating deep in his chest and pouring into mine, rattling through my ribs like the hum of something ancient, something meant to lure and ensnare.

And like the vibration of his purr I could feel the need exuding off him in waves.

His lips crashed against mine, no longer gentle but desperate, fevered. His tongue, ribbed and serpentine, curled around mine, stroking, caressing, dragging across every sensitive nerve like he wanted to learn me by touch alone. The sensation sent a sharp pulse of need straight to my core. I moaned into his mouth, but he swallowed the sound, pressing closer, devouring me with each frantic kiss.

His bioluminescence pulsed in time with his heartbeat, casting a rhythm of shifting blues and purples against my skin. His fingers, slick with seawater, traced up my sides, leaving a cool trail that burned in contrast to the heat pooling between us. I wrapped my legs around him as strong hands curled against my waist, squeezing the tender soft flesh.

Powerful hips rutted against mine, the hard press of something unmistakable beneath his scales sent a shudder through me. Mixed with the slick proof of his arousal, the sensation was maddening. And I had no doubt he could smell my own—if not taste it.

The kiss turned messy, wet, tongues tangling in a frantic battle for dominance neither of us cared to win. My nails scraped against his shoulders, feeling the shifting muscles beneath his damp skin, and his purr deepened—a growl mixed with something more animalistic. He nipped at my bottom lip, tugging just enough to make me whimper, then soothed the sting with another slow, dragging stroke of his tongue.

I was drowning in him, in the salt, the heat, the way he tasted like the storm rolling in over the horizon. His hunger was intoxicating, and I met it with my own, chasing every kiss, every desperate movement.

Breath became an afterthought and the only thing that mattered to me was more.

We lay together like this for what felt like eternity, our breaths mingling in the humid air, bodies still pressed close, reluctant to part. My fingers traced lazy circles over the damp skin of his back, memorizing the ridges and dips of muscle beneath the glow that pulsed gently through his veins. Every flicker of light felt like a whisper, a secret between us.

And then he pulled away. I whimpered softly at the loss, my body instinctively arching toward him, unwilling to break the connection. A shimmering string of saliva still tethered us before he reached up, swiping his thumb over my swollen lips, his touch almost possessive.

His sapphire eyes—drowning in pools of endless black—studied me like I was something holy, something to be worshiped. His pupils had expanded so wide they reflected the moonlight itself, making him look less like a man and more like something wild that had crawled out of the deep to claim me.

He leaned in, breath warm against my ear, voice a low, husky murmur. "Did I do good?"

The words alone were enough to make me tremble, but then he nipped at the shell of my ear, his sharp teeth scraping before soothing the sting with the soft press of his lips.

I could hardly form a thought, let alone a coherent answer. His mouth was relentless, lips dragging over my throat, finding sensitive spots with an infuriating precision, nipping and sucking until I was gasping, grasping at his shoulders like they were the only thing keeping me tethered to reality. My wetsuit suddenly felt suffocating, unbearable. If he didn’t stop, I would shed it and take him right here, consequences be damned. It hardly mattered if our bodies could even fit—all that mattered was the heat, the need, the way he was unraveling me with every touch.

"Good—" I managed, the word rasping from deep in my throat, thick with want. "Doesn’t even begin to describe it. There are no words, Arthur. That was—"

He whispered something against my skin. A soft murmur, thick with devotion.

It made me pause. Whatever he said wasn’t English, and it certainly wasn’t human. The sound was rough, like the shifting of stones against the ocean floor, but it carried a melodic cadence, a fluidity that sent a shiver rolling through me.

I pushed myself up onto my elbows, my pulse hammering as I searched his face. "What do those words mean?"

Arthur slowly eased himself off me, sliding back into the water with a grace that reminded me he was not just a man. He belonged to the sea, to something vast and untamed, yet here he was, staring at me like I was the only thing anchoring him to this moment.

I followed him to the edge, pausing as my fingers hovered above the water.

He said the words again, softer this time.

"It has a few meanings," Arthur admitted, his gaze sweeping over my face, studying me with the quiet intensity of a painter capturing his muse. His throat tightened around the words, as if it hurt to speak. "My Ma used to say it to me when I was a kid, before I was taken."

I swallowed thickly as he held my gaze, and then he spoke the translation, each word sinking into my chest like a vow, like a promise meant only for me.

"My hearts will follow you to the end. Into every horizon."

Giving me little time to react, Arthur wrapped his strong arms around my waist and pulled me back into the dark waters. The shock of it stole my breath, the sudden cool embrace of the salt water wrapping around me like silk. The only light was his pulsing glow, shifting hues of deep indigo and soft cerulean, casting shimmering patterns against my skin. Above us, the stars blinked in quiet witness, scattered across the sky like tiny echoes of his bioluminescence that flickered beneath the waves.

I looked down, my breath hitching. The water was so dark now I could barely see the tips of my toes. An endless unknown stretched beneath me, and for the first time, I felt the tendrils of fear creeping in. My pulse pounded against my ribs, instinct screaming at me to retreat, to find solid ground.

But then I remembered his words. What they meant. What they implied. There was no turning back. I was being carried on the wind, letting the current take me where I needed to go. All I had to do was trust him.

Tentatively, I wrapped my arms around his neck, feeling the way his body moved against mine—fluid, effortless. It was like he could sense my hesitation, my uncertainty, because before I could voice it, he pulled me closer.

"Arthur…"

His warmth was a stark contrast to the cool water, his broad chest expanding with each measured breath. I could feel the steady exhale from his gills as they brushed against my thighs, sending a strange, almost soothing sensation through me. He held me tight, one strong arm wrapped securely around my waist, keeping me anchored to him, to this moment.

"There’s something I want to show you," he murmured, his voice low and steady, the promise of something unknown lingering in his tone.

"But… I—I can’t—" My throat tightened, the weight of the ocean pressing around us, reminding me of my limits. I wasn’t like him. I couldn’t breathe down there.

Arthur didn’t even let me finish the thought.

"Hush, darlin’," he soothed, his lips grazing the shell of my ear before pressing against my temple. His voice was a whispered vow, a quiet command laced with reassurance. "Let me be your breath."

Before I could protest, he sealed his lips over mine, the kiss deep and consuming, and I felt it—his breath flowing into me, warm and intoxicating. A strange sensation, like the ocean itself had bent to his will, filling my lungs with something alive.

And just like that, the fear ebbed away.

* ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊ *

It took a few tries to get used to Arthur breathing into my lungs. At first, it felt unnatural, like my body was rejecting the very thing keeping me alive. My nervous heart devoured each breath like a greedy little sea snake, twisting around my chest, tightening, constricting. But Arthur was patient. He never seemed to mind.

I tried to hold it longer, to prove I could endure, but it was as if he could sense my discomfort before I even knew it myself. He never let it reach the point where panic crept in, never let my lungs burn from the inside out. The moment he sensed my struggle, his strong fingers would find my chin, tilting my face toward his. And then, with a quiet kind of reverence, he would seal his lips over mine and breathe life into me.

And, like before, he was never the first to pull away. Arthur let me take as much air as I needed, as many breaths as it took to steady the wild thunder of my pulse. There was no impatience, no frustration—only trust. A trust unlike anything I had ever known.

I was completely and utterly at his mercy.

The water was darker than I had ever seen it. A thick, endless abyss stretching in every direction, swallowing everything beyond the faint glow of the facility’s underwater lights. They cast eerie, shifting beams, just enough for monitoring water levels, but not enough to truly see what lurked in the depths.

And there was so much lurking.

Every creature we passed seemed to materialize from the void, slipping through the water like ghosts from a world I was only beginning to understand. I knew these animals, had studied them, cared for them. But here, under the shroud of darkness, they felt different. Unfamiliar. As if I were a trespasser in their domain.

A particularly curious stingray drifted above us, its broad body gliding effortlessly through the water. I looked up—and nearly choked on my own scream.

The pale, ghoulish underside of its body loomed above me, its strange, human-like mouth and vacant eyes staring down with an uncanny, haunting expression. My body acted before my mind could catch up—I jerked violently, nearly kicking Arthur square in the chest, my limbs flailing in pure, unfiltered panic.

Once again, he calmed me with his breath. His warmth spread through me, steadying the frantic rhythm of my heart, and I felt it—the quiet shake of his chest, the vibration of something light, and effortless. Laughter. It bubbled up his throat, muted by the water, but I felt it, a tingling hum against my lips before we pulled away.

His fingers found my wrist, strong yet careful, guiding my hand upward. With a slow, deliberate touch, he traced his thumb along my palm, unfurling my fingers one by one.

The stingray hovered just above us, its massive wings rippling like silk through the water. And then, with a slow, ghostly glide, it brushed its velvety skin over the tips of my fingers. Like a whisper, like a greeting.

I had touched stingrays before, plenty of times in the shallow touch-tank, where children giggled and splashed, reaching out to feel the slippery softness of their skin. But never like this. Never in their world, where the touch was theirs to give. It wasn’t me reaching out—it was them, exploring me.

He lifted his hand in front of me, and what he did next sent warmth blooming deep in my belly. With deliberate care, he hooked our index fingers together—a silent sign, one I recognized instantly. Friend.

My chest tightened at the realization. Not only had Arthur remembered that fleeting moment we shared when he was bleeding out on the beach, but he had learned the gesture. He had taken it as his own, stored it away like something precious, something worth keeping.

A lump formed in my throat, but I swallowed it down, curling my finger a little tighter around his.

I made a quiet promise to teach him more later.

Arthur pulled me forward, guiding me through a submerged tunnel. The familiar structure clicked in my mind, recognition settling in my bones. We were entering the back section of the tank—the place away from prying eyes, from tourists pressing their faces against glass. This was his sanctuary. Where he spent his time when he wasn’t with me or the girls.

Curiosity sparked in my chest. What does he want to show me down here?

We swam deeper, the water thick with shadow, but I trusted his grip, the steady pull of his hands as he led me forward. And then, nestled within the rock and kelp, I saw it.

A small cave. A hidden space tucked away in the depths of the tank. I wasn’t sure how I knew—but I did. This was where he slept.

Something about it felt lived in, personal. The flattened kelp was arranged in a circular shape, almost like a nest. It wasn’t just a hiding place. It was his. I could picture him here, curled up in the quiet dark, unguarded, safe. For the first time since I had met him, I wondered what it felt like for him to rest. Unguarded, unshackled, away from cold prying eyes. To just be.

Arthur pulled me inside, his arm wrapping instinctively around my waist as his bioluminescence flared to life. Light bloomed from his skin, illuminating the space in shifting blues and purples, and what I saw nearly stole the breath from my lungs.

The rock-like walls were etched with various drawings, their rough surfaces covered in markings that varied in detail and size. Some depicted the sea life he shared the tank with—familiar outlines of stingrays, sharks, seals and fish. Others were delicate sketches of underwater plants, their flowing tendrils stretching across the stone like living things.

Curiosity tugged at me, pulling me away from Arthur’s side. I swam closer, reaching out to trace my fingers over the carvings. The grooves were deep, uneven, reminding me of ancient cave drawings. He must have used his claws, carefully etching each image into the stone, leaving behind proof of his existence in this lonely place.

Behind me, Arthur was searching for something, his large hands sifting through layers of kelp. He reached beneath the safety of his makeshift bed, pulling out something dark and solid. But my attention was still on the walls, my heart hammering as I took in every detail of his underwater art.

Then, Arthur waved a hand, pulling me from my trance. I turned to him just as he pointed toward the farthest side of the cave.

And I released my breath.

There, among the sketches of fish and plants—was me.

It was a simple drawing, lacking the fine details of his other works, but it didn’t matter. With the rough material he had to work with, it was still a masterpiece. My heart ached at the sight of it, at the thought of him carving me into the walls of his world.

But it was what he did next that truly unraveled me.

Arthur lifted a webbed palm to his lips, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to his skin. Then, with a small smile, he released a stream of bubbles toward the drawing—just like I had taught him. An expression of affection, a gesture so sweet it made my chest tighten.

I could have kissed him right then and there. Well, I tried to.

But this gentle giant, ever concerned for my well-being, misunderstood my intent. The moment our lips met, he must have thought I was seeking air. He held me there for a breath longer, and though I wished I could stay pressed against him forever, he was already wrapping a strong arm around my waist, propelling us forward with effortless strength.

I barely had time to process what had just happened before we were darting out of the cave, leaving the warmth of his sanctuary behind.

Arthur still held something tightly in his other palm, and as he guided me through the darkened waters, I realized we were heading somewhere new.

The temperature dropped, the light fading into near blackness.

The deep sea exhibit.

Once we reached a spot he found satisfactory, we floated in utter stillness. The silence of the deep pressed around us, thick and all-encompassing, making me acutely aware of my own heartbeat thrumming in my ears. The nerves crept up my spine again, cold and slithering.

It was pitch black.

I couldn’t see my own hands in front of me, couldn’t even make out Arthur’s features except for the faintest shimmer of his dimmed bioluminescence. He was holding back, keeping his glow subdued, and I had no idea why.

Why did he bring me here?

Then, all at once, his light flared to life.

The sudden brilliance stunned me, a galaxy of blues and purples bursting from his skin like a supernova in the dark. But it wasn’t just him, his radiance set off a chain reaction.

And the void around us moved.

At first, I thought it was my eyes playing tricks on me, but then I saw them—hundreds of creatures emerging from the abyss, answering his call.

Arthur was a beacon, and the deep-sea life responded to him like moths to a flame. Lanternfish flickered in and out of sight, their tiny lights winking like stars in the midnight ocean. Jellies pulsed with ghostly luminescence, their delicate tendrils undulating as they drifted past. Squid, cuttlefish, sea angels—so many creatures I couldn’t begin to name—came to life before my eyes, weaving in and out of the glow like spirits caught between worlds.

They surrounded us in a slow, mesmerizing dance, silent sentinels bearing witness to whatever was about to unfold.

And at the center of it all was him.

Arthur’s radiance was breathtaking, his skin an ever-shifting nebula of color and light. But it wasn’t just his appearance that captivated me—it was the way the ocean responded to him, how it bent to his presence, how even the wildest, most elusive creatures drifted close as if he were something sacred.

He was neither fully man nor entirely mythical. He was something else entirely.

Something that felt indescribable. And in that moment, in the hush of the deep, I understood this pull toward him for what it truly was.

Love.

The solid object he had brought with him turned out to be a large oyster shell, its rough surface barely catching the faint, shifting glow of his bioluminescence. Holding it steady in one hand, he traced a pointed claw along its lip, prying it open with slow, practiced ease.

I watched him with quiet reverence as his fingers slipped inside, moving carefully, deliberately, as if retrieving something precious. When he finally pulled his hand free, his fingers curled tightly around whatever lay within—his fist closing around it with such purpose that my breath crawled up my throat.

A pearl. It had to be.

The empty shell drifted downward, spiraling slowly to the bottom of the tank, forgotten. Arthur didn’t watch it sink. His full attention was on me.

His hands found mine, and the moment our fingers met, my pulse thundered. Heat raced through my veins, my entire body suddenly hyper aware of the weight of the moment, of the way the water seemed charged around us. Before I could even find the words to ask what he was doing, his hand rose, his palm pressing gently against the curve of my neck.

Then, he breathed into me. Warmth spread through my lungs, steadying me, grounding me, but this time, it felt different. Because when he pulled away, his lips still so close I could feel the lingering press of his breath—his mouth moved.

Arthur was speaking. The realization sent a shiver rolling through me. And then I heard it.

His voice.

It was nothing like the deep, gravelly tone I knew from above water. Here, in his element, it was something else entirely.

A melody.

A song, resonant and fluid, shifting in pitch like the ebb and flow of the tide. It wasn’t just words—it was music, a chorus of sound that wrapped around me, kissed the deepest parts of me. It filled my chest, soaked into my bones, made my skin hum with the rhythm of it.

It was haunting. And heavenly.

Tears pricked at my eyes. I didn’t even understand the words, but I felt them. Like a current pulling me deeper, like a promise whispered between waves. And in that moment, I knew—he wasn’t just speaking.

He was singing to me.

Arthur opened his palm, revealing the pearl nestled against the warm glow of his skin. Its milky-white surface shimmered beneath the shifting blues and purples, catching the light like a tiny piece of the moon itself.

A gift. For me.

My heart thundered, a deep, resounding pulse that seemed to echo through every fiber of my being. My mind raced, recalling everything I had learned about his kind—about the significance of this. Gift-giving was a siren’s way of accepting courtship, of expressing mutual desire, a bond far deeper than mere affection.

Did sirens mate for life? Could they have more than one? Am I his first?

Why, of all creatures, did Arthur choose me?

The questions crashed over me like waves against the shore, relentless and unyielding. But then I looked at him. And every uncertainty melted away.

His gaze, luminous and breathtaking, held nothing but certainty. The sweetest smile tugged at his lips, his blue eyes alive with glowing radiance. There was no hesitation, no doubt in his expression. Only him—only us.

His lips moved again, shaping the words I now recognized, a melody that sent warmth cascading through me.

My hearts will follow you to the end.

Emotion swelled in my chest, thick and all-consuming. I reached for him, wrapping my fingers around his, closing the pearl between our palms—sheltering it, protecting it. Safe from the darkness of the tank, from the weight of the unknown, from all the uncertainties that once held me back. It was ours now, cradled between our touch, a silent vow sealed in the space where our hands met.

Arthur had brought light into my life, breath into my lungs, and adventure into my soul.

And as I pressed my lips to his, I knew—I would follow him too.

Into every horizon.

AN: Listen, lets just ignore the fact that aquarium tanks are absolutely NOT built like this. And we’re also gonna pretend that the reader can see underwater bc I forgot to add the goggles. OH WELL. We're getting creative. With the way everything is going, I'm hoping that the reader gets to fuck her fish man (husband) by chapter 9. YOU GO GIRL!

Also enjoy these inspo pics from that last scene. Utterly gorgeous creatures!! (CR to frida.yolotzin on instagram!)

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #ao3 fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #red dead fandom #arthur morgan x you #ao3 #monster x human #monster romance #monster au #siren x reader #siren au #rdr2 modern au #arthur morgan smut

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sophies-junkyard · 22 hours ago

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While he’s still trending, this is your sign to explore Kendrick’s discography. He’s so much bigger than this beef with Drake (and the “beef” is so much bigger than “he hates Drake!” but I’m hoping we all know that by now). Here’s some ideas on where to start:

The GNX album has incredible range . From hype tracks like “Tv off” to the introspection of “reincarnated”. It’s a 10/10 (literally). If you only have the energy for one album, this is a solid pick. It’s a good way to sample what he’s about and see where he’s heading.

After that… I mean for me it’s gotta be Mr. Morale and the Big Steppers. How do I even explain this? People who were surprised by “Meet The Grahams” had CLEARLY never heard “Mother I Sober”. This album will leave you staring at the void in stunned silence. It’ll make you feel empty inside but like… in an addicting way. It’s a masterpiece. If you’re intimidated by the number of songs, I would AT LEAST hear “United in Grief” and “mother I sober”. (Drake directly referenced “mother I sober” in his track “family matters”. He aimed low while ALSO misinterpreting the story like a fucking clown. Embarrassing af lol.)

2015-To Pimp a Butterfly. Depending on who you ask, this is Kendrick’s best work, and uh… yeah it’s hard to disagree. This is Kendrick in his element. A brutally honest examination of racism and violence wrapped in some of his most aggressive vocals to date (and I mean he LITERALLY uses so much growl on these tracks). But the MUSIC is…. chill? It’s also varied as hell. It’s an evening of slam poetry backed by smooth jazz. Then he’ll hit you with a slick guitar riff and some panicked breathing into the mic. The album is crucial to understanding Kendrick as an artist. Picking standouts on this one feels stupid (and everybody has a different opinion) but “Alright” and “King Kunta” are classics. “I”, “How much a dollar cost”, “you ain’t gotta lie”, “the blacker the berry”…. I’m just gonna end up listing every song. I’m also a fan of the“for free-interlude” lol. Oh and “Mortal Man”. I honestly don’t think there are any skippable tracks on this one. Just let it flow.

His 2017 album DAMN was a major success, and was how I got into Kendrick. If high school parking lots came with an OST, “HUMBLE” would’ve been our Green Hill Zone. Idk if that made any sense. Point is, it was popular as fuck. “DNA” was another huge hit. The album sounds edgy and hyped, but the lyrics are an invitation for the audience to like… choose his fate. It’s all about judgement day. Growth, reconciliation, criticism of fame. It’s a shame that it got reduced to “omg humble is a banger!!”. The fact that Uncle Sam shouted at Kendrick to “TIGHTEN UP!” And he performed HUMBLE in response... Damn.

2011- good kid, m.A.A.d city. “Money trees” is a classic with a super chill beat. And the metaphor of “planting money trees” has become a huge part of his identity. Representing his literal desire to share the wealth with his community, and his desire to stay true to his roots. It was ALSO something Drake dissed him for “failing” to do (though his record of philanthropy says otherwise). The titular songs “good kid” and “m.A.A.d city” are iconic. “Swimming Pools” is often cited as his first big hit. Side note: The album cover featured a van (I think it was a Chrysler?) that became a symbol of Kendrick’s career. and Drake fucking destroyed it in one of his music videos. Bitch.

There’s so much. He also has a series of 6 songs called “the heart” that usually drop before a new album. He has a ton of other albums that I didn’t even mention because this post is way too long. I know I skipped a lot of bangers so please let me know about them. Also this post 100% assumes everyone has heard “6:16 in LA”, “Euphoria”, “meet the grahams” and “not like us” because… I mean come on. Ok that’s all. happy listening!

#kendrick lamar #he’s been making bangers for 20 years #and the posts I’m seeing are a mix of ‘yay Drake beef’ and ‘plz don’t reduce him to a beef he’s an artist’#but I haven’t actually seen people TALKING ABOUT his other work or making recommendations?#so like. idk here’s some of his stuff to chew on #mr morale and the big steppers #to pimp a butterfly #gnx kendrick lamar #music recs

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anpanbun · 2 days ago

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share gay treebark facts about stagelight au immediately

1- Ren laying in bed watching very old song cover clips Martyn has on his AUstagram with a silly smile on his face

2- Ren loves listening to Martyn speak. Martyn loves watching Ren's mouth move when he's mouthing along to a song.

3- Their first kiss is after Martyn plays a gig and the crowd is just so so into the performance and it goes so so well and Ren is just so happy and excited for Martyn that he cant stop himself from just grabbing Martyn's face and kissing him

4- Martyn recognizes Ren as Red King instantly from an old photo because no amount of dramatic stage makeup will stop him from recognizing the face he spent a long time staring at

5- Before they're dating before Martyn even knows Ren was in Red King, someone flirts with Martyn after an open mic, and Ren gets so jealous. He's not one to just let it pass idly by at that point though, so he channels some of that old rockstar energy. He pushes his sunglass up off of his face and they push back his hair, he does the rockstar strut, he gently brushes his hand against Martyn's to let him know he's there, before wrapping arm loosely around his waist in a clear show of possessiveness. [This is so out of character for the, as Martyn as seen so far, shy, quiet, hot guy he's slowly befriending via texts and AUstagram messages. And this is a very funny scene to me cause of it]

6- I need to remind everyone that Ren has big hands, this is just an actual fact about the real life man. So with that here's something my friend Beans said: "i was just thinking about martyn sitting there with ren’s big hand on his shoulder like wow never noticed how big his hands are. haha. well anyways."

7- After Martyn knows about Ren's history, Ren offering to teach him his trick to doing this one super iconic riff from a Red King song. And of course, clearly the best way to show Martyn how to do this is to have Martyn sit in between Ren's legs with his back to Ren's chest so that he can slot his hands over Martyn's and rest his head on Martyn's shoulder to see their hands. Clearly.

8- Important knowledge, Ren has trauma related to alcohol because of the car wreck scandal and the press accusations (even though he was sober during that). So if Martyn drinks even a little bit while at or near Ren's house, Ren makes him stay the night. The first time this happened Martyn accidently fell asleep on Ren's bed while they were talking, and Ren can't just wake him up to ask him to move..... and he's kinda trapped cause Martyn is laying too close for Ren to be able to get up and go sleep in the guest room without disturbing him so.... oops guess theyre sharing a bed now. And what do you know that habit just continues every time Martyn sleeps over, oops.

9- Important knowledge, Ren is touch starved. Ren sitting on the floor so that Martyn can pet his hair and scratch behind his ears.

10- Ren gets horrible nightmares, and Martyn's voice helps soothe them, so on nights when Martyn isnt there. Ren listens to recordings of Martyn's song covers over and over again or calls Martyn in the middle of the night and Martyn knows to just yap about anything and everything until he hears the soft noises of Ren's sleeping breath.

If I say anymore anon I might explode into a million pieces

#stagelight au #treebark #anpan answers

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bluespiderlully · 2 days ago

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KNY - Fix it! AU (+ My Characters) Canon Hashiras

This is the first post of the modern AU series, where I'll share with you moodboards and headcanons, for this post I'll cover just the canon Hashiras and in the next ones we'll see the non-canon and the OCs ones. A little warning: some of these headcanons are angsty but the concept I want here is of course hurt/comfort and it's a "bad things happened in the past but things aren't going bad now, we're all friends" kind of things. Anyway angsty headcanons aren't the majority.

🌊 Giyu Tomioka

Knows how to play piano, likes classical music a lot

60s/70s/80s sci-fi books reader, would probably start a conversation about a random book he red and end up talking about philosophy, religion and politics (Enmu and Harriet are the only ones to have actual conversations about the topics and don't just stand there confused).

Loves marine biology but never succeded in making a goldfish survive for more than one week.

🌫 Muichiro Tokito

Definitely a cat person.

Suffers from sleep paralysis and nightmares but draws anything disturbing he sees as a copying mechanism, Giyu thinks his art is pretty cool.

Super skilled at snowboarding and skateboarding.

🌪 Sanemi Shinazugawa

Overprotective with everyone he becomes friend with.

He always has rage issues, but they used to scare Ayumi off so he started working on it and managed to become calmer.

He doesn't listen to music, he listen to NOISE, if a vocalist doesn't sound like a clogged sink he doesn't listen to it.

🐍 Obanai Iguro

Has a Glasgow smile after surviving a serial killer attack. In this AU he wears a mask too, he just doesn't like to show the scar. He doesn't eat in front of people for the same reason.

Owns a black ball python and a white hognose snake and spends a lot of time decorating his terrarium (but he is careful with the hognose one, he doesn't want him to get stuck stucked as they always do).

Interested in occultism, reads a lot about it.

🌸 Mitsuri Kanroji

She does ballet since when she was 4.

Very good at baking sweets, but likes few of them so she always ends up giving them to others.

Makes friends easily and very quickly, her and Kyojuro are best friends since they were at kindergarten.

☄️ Tengen Uzui

When he was a child he wanted to become an astronaut, now he found out about planetary defense and wants to become part of that organization because "diverting asteroids is cool".

Got in every kind of trouble at school.

Drives like he could respawn infinite times.

🦋 Shinobu Kocho

Could talk about chemistry for hours.

Listens to metalcore and hyper pop and ends up hyperfixating with a song and listening to it until she ends up hating it.

Friends with Obanai, enjoys spending time with him and helping with his terrariums.

🔥 Kyojuro Rengoku

Eats a lot but would set the kitchen on fire if he tries to cook anything.

Couldn't get a driving licence and gave up on trying for his and others safety lol.

Cancer survivor but still feels insecure about his scars and about the fact he has some extra weight. He doesn't like talking about that.

Parts: | 1 | 2 |

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jokeroutsubs · 2 days ago

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[ENG SUB] JokerOutSubs x RADIOaktivno collab: Joker Out – Souvenir Pop (19.11.2024)

Audio + CC link here

On the 19th of November 2024, Bojan and Kris were guests of the RADIOaktivno podcast (Facebook, YouTube) with Boštjan Najžar to present and discuss every song from their new album, ‘Souvenir Pop’. This is our fifth collaboration with RADIOaktivno, as we also provided English subtitles for the following videos: ‘Umazane misli’ album presentation, 'Demoni’ album presentation, 'Gola' single presentation, and 'Šta bih ja' single presentation. Check them out if you havent yet!

Once again, many thanks to Boštjan from our team!

youtube

Credits: Transcript, review and subtitles by a member of JokerOutSubs, translation by @chaosofsmarty and TT katysmusic77, proofread by @flowerlotus8 and IG Gboleyn123.

Transcript below the cut 👇

‘Muzika za decu’

We're Joker Out and you're listening to RADIOaktivno.

Host: We heard 'Muzika za decu', a song by Joker Out from the album 'Souvenir Pop'. Kris in Bojan, welcome to RADIOaktivno, after about two years.

Kris: Hi, thank you for the invite.

Bojan: Hi, well it's nice to be back.

It's become a tradition of sorts, every two years we meet around Halloween, before November.

Bojan: Absolutely, we've been in your studio twice so far. That was, I believe, Nace's first interview as a new band member. Today it's just Kris and I, but we're also in a new environment, in Ljubljana.

Kris: It's also indicative of the fact that we always release new albums in autumn, so... Yeah, we had one... we released the first one in October, the second one at the end of August, the start of September, and this one in November.

So you're very fond of autumn.

Kris: I think we just... the first one began this cycle. It happened in autumn by chance, and then we adapted the others accordingly.

Bojan: We messed up, because we basically ruined all of our summers with working on the album, instead of swimming in the sea.

Don't you want a holiday?

Bojan: No, we don't want a holiday, "ew!"

'Demoni' was the latest album. Have the demons chased you away now, or have you chased them away?

Bojan: Darn, sometimes we manage to chase them away, sometimes they chase us away, but I'd say that we picked a good name for the album 'Demoni'. When we talked about what would encapsulate everything the best, everything that happened and all the songs, I see that we already thought very well about the future as well.

Did you look into the crystal ball or read cards?

Bojan: Apparently the crystal ball, but we could easily name this album 'Demoni 2'.

Kris: I was thinking, the second– I mean, this album should be called Pandemonium, so that it would...

Bojan: Pandemonium, yes.

Kris: So that it'd be a logical continuation of the second one.

But this time, your album is titled 'Souvenir Pop'.

Kris: Yes, 'Souvenir Pop' is basically... for a long time, we couldn't find a suitable album title. We had all sorts of limitations, mostly only and exclusively in our heads. We wanted a title that somehow in a very punctual, short sentence, in a word or two, encapsulates our whole experience, from Eurovision onwards. And the optimum scenario was that the word or expression would be understandable in all three languages which appear on the album. And then 'Souvenir Pop' came to mind. And maybe now, Bojči can explain the message behind it.

Bojan: Right, I mean, we saw and experienced a lot of things, we were in a lot of new places, we met a lot of new people, we tried a lot of new food. To summarise, a lot of new things, which is hard to take home with you, right. Luckily, we also created a lot of beautiful memories for ourselves there and those were our souvenirs. In principle, I always liked to bring home or receive a magnet from a trip, so I would say that this sentiment of bringing something home from abroad is very dear to my heart. And bringing home memories, bringing ideas for the songs, makes it even more special. And I think we experienced something like this for the first time, this big accumulation of new feelings away from home, so this 'Souvenir Pop' blended together nicely with all the music that appears on the album.

Did you buy yourself a souvenir in each place, or a magnet to put on the fridge?

Bojan: Absolutely, in each place. And I always buy... five of them, like: for me, for my parents, for grandmothers, for...

And you, Kris, did you bring a souvenir from each concert city?

Kris: We mostly... I did bring a souvenir, but actually not because I was shopping for them, but because we received a whole lot of souvenirs from our fans, all sorts of bracelets, plushies, local, for example... they love to bring us sweets or local desserts because they know we have a sweet tooth, so... I brought home all sorts of stuff and that's basically also a part of 'Souvenir Pop', definitely.

We started our conversation with the song 'Muzika za decu' ('Music for Children'), but your music isn't just for children.

Bojan: Yes, no, I mean, this song is sort of a... a playful, silly approach to our music, I would say. Actually, the word 'deca' (children) refers to basically everyone, who dares to be a child, not just to physical children. Although at the end, we hear real children, but that's more for, what can I say, because of... Yeah, for the added special effect, and because it fills our hearts when we hear children singing, which we also heard a lot of on these trips, because people are constantly sending us videos of their children, nephews, grandchildren, of children singing in primary school or kindergarten. Especially since 'Carpe Diem', it became much, much more frequent. So yeah, this album, and all the music of course, is for the people who let themselves be... who let themselves relax, listen, think. We touch on a lot of topics here, so I believe it's worth a listen.

'Šta bih ja' will be next.

Bojan: 'Šta bih ja', yes. That was the first single which was created during our journey in London and it was obviously a clear mental response to the new environment, to the feeling of being a foreigner for the first time, so yeah, a sort of Balkan rock 'n' roll melody.

‘Šta bih ja’

'Šta bih ja' and Joker Out on the show RADIOaktivno. If you look back on your journey to Liverpool, if I were to draw the line, I would say it was very successful.

Kris: I mean, I doubt anyone thinks that it wasn't successful. We're more than satisfied with what we got out of Eurovision. From the very start, our goal was to gain an audience from abroad, mostly in Europe, and we succeeded in doing so. And also, whatever happened with the result at Eurovision didn't really stop us or kill our spirits at the time. Basically, right after Eurovision, I believe two weeks after, we were already flying to Dublin for the first two concerts abroad. So we had a lot of drive back then and that drive still keeps us moving forward, basically. And I think that you can feel that drive at the start of the album, in the first couple of songs.

Could you then say that it's not necessary to win, to be successful later? That Eurovision on its own can be good promotion?

Bojan: Absolutely, you absolutely don't have to win to gain success. In our own way, we won, because we, as Kris said, achieved our goal, right. What I'm trying to say is, you win when you achieve a goal. It'd be difficult to get a better outcome, if we're completely honest with ourselves. Now, the result could probably be better, it could also be worse, right, at the end of the day we weren't last, which is also fine. But... But what happened as a result of that is... it doesn't have a value, well, it's impossible to evaluate it, because... Many people who had a way better result didn't manage to achieve what we did. And we went there to get that, so right at the beginning... even during Eurovision, I actually had a segment where I was asking the contestants, would they rather achieve 21st or 22nd place, and later be successful, or win Eurovision, and then it's all up to fate. And most of them answered that they would rather achieve a lower place and then continue their music career. Like a prophet.

Kris: Bojan the prophet.

Bojan: Prophet.

Yeah, maybe it's better to hear "five points" than "twelve points".

Bojan: I don't know, I mean... I don't know if we even heard "five points", to be honest. I believe we heard "three points" at some point, but...

Kris: No, our 12 points... We got them from Serbia. We... Serbia was the only country who gave us 12 points. But I'll say it like this, our... Our victorious moment happened during the semi-final, when we got through. They dragged it out for so long, they announced us last. It was really tense, but because of that, the joy when they announced us as finalists was even greater. And honestly, I... For me, that was the main euphoric moment during Eurovision and I don't need anything more than that.

I think that happened because you were so modest and authentic.

Bojan: Yes, we actually were ourselves. We... Except maybe a bit more pink than usual, if we... with hand on heart.

Was it planned?

Bojan: Well, I don't know, when we started talking about the style for Eurovision, Damir Ponorelii, who was our designer, had this idea of The Garden of Eden as the theme for the costumes. And it seemed very fitting to us all, we liked what he outlined, and I think it fit well, it blended really well with the song. It also blended well with us, with our easygoingness. It added a lot to it. If we came there dressed maybe a bit more seriously, a bit more uptight, our performance probably wouldn't have looked the way it did. It can quicky pull you into an unwanted over-seriousness, you know, so I think it was a very good move, going with the open, relaxed, happy colours, which added a layer of ease to everything.

Coming up is probably your biggest hit so far, 'Carpe Diem'.

Kris: Yes, 'Carpe Diem', I don't think I need to use many words here. It's the song with which this album began, with which... without which this album wouldn't have been possible. And as much as I might cringe sometimes when I hear it, because I've heard it so many times, I'm glad it's on the album.

‘Carpe Diem’

'Souvenir Pop' from the band Joker Out, Kris and Bojan are on the show RADIOaktivno. Now that Eurovision is over... You made quite a few acquaintances during that time, or a lot of acquaintances.

Bojan: A lot of acquaintances. To me, actually, the biggest, most heartwarming thing, is the fact that in this year and a half on the tours, so many performers whom we met at Eurovision joined us on stage. And I'd almost dare say that this has never happened before, performers hanging out like this after Eurovision, especially on stage. So the fact that we managed to get, in practically every country we went to, a performer from that country on stage with us, who was with us that year at Eurovision, and play their song with them, was amazing, both for us and for the crowd. So, we've made very beautiful friendships, and we keep in touch often, and I think that every time we go to a country where we know someone, we get in touch and meet up.

What kind of process do you use to pick musicians to collaborate with?

Kris: We really didn't collaborate much in that sense with musicians, all there was, was the performance on stage. And for the stage and backstage, it goes without saying that some primal friendship energy has to exist. The performer you want to collaborate with has to intrigue you enough musically, creatively, that you want to make something new together with them, even if it's just one performance of a pre-existing song on stage in front of an audience. And honestly, at Eurovision, it turned out there's actually a lot of people with whom we wanted to share that experience. Especially those who appeared with us the most, like for example Käärijä, Gustaph, last year's Belgian representative, there's plenty of others, but those are the ones I can think of now.

Bojan, do you speak any Finnish yet?

Bojan: Very little. I'd say "ei", that's "no" in Finnish.

Although there was a lot of talk about your collaboration, or your friendship, with the Finnish representative back then at Eurovision.

Bojan: Yeah, that was... That was very very wide-spread. One can say I've never experienced going so viral before in my life. It was, it was interesting, it's definitely... It was definitely interesting to follow along, because the two of us, I'd say, offered quite a lot of material. But, I don't know, Jere and... Jere, Jere and I really clicked amazingly and I saw him a lot this year, too, I was in Finland quite a few times. We even went on holiday together recently, so... It's truly a beautiful friendship that happens rarely, I think, after high school.

I have to point out another collaboration, which isn't from Eurovision, and that's the collaboration with Elvis Costello and the wonderful duet.

Kris: Yes, that was the most unexpected collaboration that came out of this whole story, and it's actually not even connected to Eurovision. We, of course, already knew Elvis before it, and also idolised him to a degree. And then it turned out that our previous bassist Martin's godfather, who is an Englishman from Liverpool, is a good friend of Elvis's, and had, in the past, when we were releasing our music, at the start of our careers, shown him our songs and sort of laid the groundwork for the entire thing, for this collaboration. And after the release of the 'Demoni' album, which also included, of course, 'Novi val', Elvis listened to it and sort of initiated it himself, that... that he finds it a beautiful song and he'd try making an English version of it, or writing an English version of it. And then, when he'd written this English version, he got so into it that he wanted to actually record that version with us and that's how 'New Wave' happened.

I also saw the video, when you sing with him live, I think it was in Oslo.

Kris: Yes, that was the cherry on top of this absolutely unbelievable story, well, I'll put it this way. We had a tour of the Nordic countries last September, and it just so happened that a day before our show in Oslo, Elvis had his solo performance in the Oslo Opera, which is a magnificent building, I think newly constructed. Yeah, pretty new. And we wrote that we'd like to come see him, if nothing else, and he immediately replied: "No, you won't come and watch, you'll come and perform." So we suddenly, two hours after we found out that he was there, found ourselves at the soundcheck, on stage at the Oslo opera. I was playing his acoustic guitar, some Martin acoustic...

Bojan: 77 years.

Kris: No, before that, before World War Two. I... honestly it was quite... I felt sick to be holding such a guitar in my hands, but it was the right moment for something like that to happen.

Stephanie. Who's that, Bojan?

Bojan: Stephanie, that's... that's a muse. That's... Everyone will find their Stephanie, I think, in the story. It's, how would you say, I sort of experienced this song as the love of my life, who I met and lost in the same night.

'Stephanie'

'Stephanie' from the band Joker Out. How are you being received by the audience across European stages? Given that most don't speak the Slovenian language, and you sing in Slovenian, Serbian, English.

Bojan: Yeah, it seems quite unbelievable that time and time again, when we step on stage, people sing in... Now I'll say perfect Slovenian, because when there's a crowd of people singing together, these micro-mistakes get lost and it actually sounds like they're singing in perfect Slovenian. Which can confuse you a bit sometimes, because you're really in a place where no one speaks a word of Slovenian, generally, but you feel like you're at home. So... they react wonderfully. I think it's very specific, since they don't speak Slovenian, they put a great deal of time into really learning the lyrics by heart. While doing that, they of course translated them and learnt their meanings and they actually wait for the concert, to finally be able to spill out all this knowledge that they've accumulated through time. And it's an incredible outpouring of energy. It's very loud, it's very intense. I don't know, it's the feeling like how after COVID, we all suddenly started going out, attending all possible concerts, because... because the soul and body demanded that we finally let loose. That's the feeling at the concerts. Like they've been locked in a cage and they came and just spilled all of that out of themselves.

After all, you've even recorded the noise at concerts. Though the loudest ended up being Stožice.

Bojan: Yeah, we measured the noise level for the song 'Sunny Side of London', because in the chorus, there's a part where the audience screams. So we deemed it fitting to take a noise-level meter and measure how loud the audiences were across Europe. And we actually breached the limit of, I'd say, safe noise level in multiple cases, where I then actually told the audience to cover their ears while they're screaming because of how loud it got. It went, I don't know, past 120 dB, or how much was it, 130 (dB). So yeah, an interesting little project.

Besides all of these languages that you now have in your repertoire, is there any that's a challenge? A song in a second, third, fourth language?

Kris: Yes, we played around with the idea of having another foreign language on it quite a lot, a Romance one, I know Bojan is good at Spanish, in particular. But that's really something that'd be more of a one time experiment than a regular creative channel. We didn't manage to do it this time, we were so focused on these ten songs on the album, and in the languages in which they were created, that there wasn't... that we didn't find the time for anything else, but... Maybe at some point, there's something completely different coming.

Now that there's so many concerts behind you, did your creativity suffer for it?

Kris: Yes, it did, it did. Mostly due to so little time between concerts and creating. Immediately after the concerts, we went into the studio, or our rehearsal space, to create music, and then we immediately went back on tour. And that's how the story went for a full year and a half. I think that... far from any of us thinking that we're releasing a bad album or something like that, but there'd probably be more material if we took more time to create. And maybe we'd decide to put only ten songs on the album anyway, but as it was, I think that we really squeezed out the maximum, when it comes to new music, from this year and a half, with what tour scheduling allowed us.

Bojan, is there any time, then, to sit down in peace and create, or do any ideas pop up on the way, on a bus, in a van?

Bojan: Generally, these stories happen parallel to everything that's happening. I wouldn't say they're actively being embodied in that time, but yeah, it's only after you're able to move away from a concert, a bit, that what comes up in your head starts taking shape. And it'll be good to have some free time, well, next year with the start of the year, when these New Year's concerts end, and before the beginning of probably the next, March or April tour.

Is the creative process the same as it was before, or has it changed?

Bojan: I'm not sure. Generally, there's always new versions forming, some conglomerates of creating. On this album, we jumped a lot from instrument to instrument, too, so it all ended up being more similar to a laboratory, or a sandbox, where the formulas, toys and such are interchangeable, right. I don't know. The band is the same, the producer is the same, so generally there's not a lot of difference. Except for the fact we've actually abandoned the rigid system of only playing the instrument you play. For example, Jan reached for many kinds of keyboards, a lot. Nace also spent some time focusing more on, I'd say, more synthesised bass, or production itself, and then post-production on the computer, and so on. There was a lot of jumping around.

'Ako toga više neće biti' will be next.

Kris: Yeah, that's basically a song which caught me unawares. With the final version, I...

Bojan: Surprised.

Kris: Surprised. It surprised me a lot. I'm very, very happy with the final version and I think that it's definitely one of the best songs on the album.

'Ako toga više neće biti'

'Souvenir Pop' is an album by Joker Out, completely fresh, which we're introducing today on the show RADIOaktivno. Bojan, the lyrics are in Slovene, English, Serbian. How do you decide the language of the lyrics?

Bojan: I don't decide, the songs usually get created in a certain language and I prefer if they stay in the language in which they were created. Because the story usually starts writing itself with the music, or music sparks a thought process, which awakens a story. And then rearranging that is usually not the most honest thing in the world, at least to me. So the music dictates the language. But I would say that having more languages on the album, is really a result of us spending this year... of me spending this year and a half thinking in these three languages a lot. Not just being in touch with them, but... when you spend a long time with a language, you start to think in this language as well. And... So I would say that the order of the songs on the album is also a very, well, healthy presentation of our thought process during this time.

Do you record at home or abroad?

Kris: Well, half and half. For this album... We recorded half of it in Hamburg, in Clouds Hill studio, where we also recorded 'Carpe Diem' two years ago, and the other half... and that doesn't mean that we made half of the songs there and the other half here, but let's say that 75% of the framework was created there, and the rest was finished in Ljubljana, because we ran out of time there.

There are ten songs on the album.

Kris: Ten songs, yes, for the third time. A third album with ten songs already. In our head, that's a minimum for an album, apparently. I know that we all wish to put out an album with more than ten songs one day, but we need more time and more of a creative break for that, for sure.

The cover of the album shows you lying in bed. Bojan, you're facing the wrong direction.

Bojan: Yes, this picture was created on... on the morning of the final, I think, or... Right? On the morning of the Eurovision final, when we were recording a promotional video. And even then, it...it was giving off energy, it was calling out for… I remember we were looking at the picture even then, and we said: "Darn, this looks like something that this album could become eventually." And I think it encapsulates very well... Just like the name 'Souvenir Pop', this picture also encapsulates the fact that we lived together for a year and a half very well. And that we were kind of squeezed in a small place for the first time. First of all, none of us had our own comfort zone, instead, we shared our comfort zone. We had to really adapt for the first time. And... yeah, it's a very honest picture. This picture came to life by chance, it wasn't created as a planned photoshoot or anything like that, and... and for that reason, I think it's suited for this album.

Kris, it looks like you're on a postage stamp.

Kris: Yes, that's because we are on a postage stamp. We look at this album, and we want the listeners to look at it like that as well, as our parcel from abroad. It's our... Our message home from abroad, in a way. This is our diary, our inner thoughts, that weren't in the public eye most of the time, and it's basically like a check-up: "Look, this is what's going on with us.We're here, listen."

After all, if you look at the stamp closely, you can tell where you come from.

Kris: Yeah, I mean, definitely. I think the whole photo illustrates where we come from, because the whole album is also intertwined with this idea of homesickeness and with the sense of belonging to our places. And because of that, we... visually, it seemed appropriate that this should be reflected on the album cover.

The chicken on the stamp appears to be running somewhere.

Bojan: Oh, this chicken. This chicken is actually... This chicken is actually our logotype, that ended up very distorted, for the sake of looking lika a stamp, and it can actually be mistaken for our Slovenian chicken, if you look at it quickly.

Kris: I only noticed this now.

Bojan: So really, this logotype is a win-win situation.

Two in one.

Bojan: Exactly. We killed two birds with one stamp.

'Bluza' will be next.

Bojan: 'Bluza' will be next. A song that came out as the third single from this album. Fourth, I'm sorry, fourth single from this album. And I have to say, it's my first time experiencing that groups of elderly people are sending me videos from weddings, baptisms or afterparties where, instead of 'Cesarica', they sing 'Bluza' at the end. It's an interesting song. So yeah, it appears to be a song for a late evening or an early morning.

‘Bluza’

Joker Out, Kris and Bojan are with me on the show RADIOaktivno, 'Souvenir Pop' is the album we're introducing. On the 22nd of November, you start the promotional tour.

Kris: Yes, on the 22nd of November, we'll be back on the concert stage, in our local Cvetličarna, to be exact. We've thought a lot about how... because we haven't been in Slovenia a lot for about ten months, and we thought about what would be the most effective way, for us personally and for our fans, to return to concert stages on our home ground. And of course we thought about all the possibilities, but in the end we came to the conclusion that we really enjoy doing smaller gigs. And that the first album we introduced, called 'Umazane Misli', we introduced at Cvetličarna, which was quite a historic achievement for us at the time and we actually still look back at this event with fond memories. So we wanted to recreate that for the third album, so we decided to have two gigs in Ljubljana's Cvetličarna again to present the third album.

And then other Balkan capitals, and then Maribor on the 6th of December.

Kris: Yeah, we're basically heading on some kind of regional tour across... more or less across countries in the former Yugoslavia. After the two concerts in Cvetličarna, we're heading to Novi Sad and Belgrade, after that we're going to Skopje, and yeah, like you already said, Maribor and finally in Vienna.

Bojan, you already mentioned earlier that you'll head around Europe in spring.

Bojan: Yes, most probably. That was the plan when we last talked with our booking agent. Next summer, we hope to play at as many festivals as possible, which take place during summer. And then we'll adjust the time around it for our own tours. I expect that in March or April, we'll be heading to at least a few European countries, and then, when the summer ends, there are two possible scenarios. One is to visit countries in Europe which weren't a part of... either the first cycle, or the festival cycle. And we'll definitely be spending more time in Slovenia than we did this year, that is, on Slovenian concert stages.

Is there also any demand outside of Europe?

Bojan: Yes, we've been asked to play outside of Europe. We were invited twice to tour across Australia, which would consist of three or four dates, a one week tour. Unfortunately we didn't decide to do it at the time, because timewise, it wasn't compatible with the creation of the new album and with other concerts. Maybe if there's still enough interest next year, and if our schedule will allow it, maybe we'll fly to Australia next year. That would be really nice. We also had a concert booked in New York, which we also couldn't do at the time, because it just all happened too fast for us to be able to get working visas, so we also had to skip that one. But you never know, right? The future might have something planned for us.

'Lips' will be next.

Bojan: 'Lips'. 'Ustnice' (in Slovenian). Yeah, and this is probably... I would say, the most, what can I say, the most distinct song on the album, a song on its own. In fact, it almost works as some kind of a movie trailer, music for a movie trailer. A dramatic, dark song with a slightly different sound.

'Lips'

Joker Out, Kris and Bojan are with me. How "friendly" are Joker Out with artificial intelligence (AI)?

Kris: I honestly doubt that any of us actually uses artificial intelligence. I maybe used it when I had to translate something, but nowadays it's already, as far as I know, if you just type some text in Google Translate, AI translates it for you. But that's it, as far as that's concerned. I think we all avoid it a little bit because we don't really understand it, nor do we want to really, so it doesn't take over our lives, and mostly so it doesn't take over our artistic creation.

Bojan: Yes, I'll just confirm what Kris said. We don't really embody people who would play with AI too much. For now, I think it also doesn't really contribute a lot to our creative process, and concerning the personal usage, it frightens me more than it delights me, so I give it a wide berth.

I use AI to help me plan interviews and usually it also gives me answers to the question about which are the most popular songs of a certain artist. What do you think, which five songs did it list for you?

Bojan: Oh, probably... I'd say 'Carpe Diem', 'Umazane misli', 'Gola', 'Vse kar vem', and... and something else. Maybe 'Demoni'?

I'll also ask Kris.

Kris: Yes, certainly 'Carpe Diem', 'Umazane misli' for sure, and I would for sure say 'Demoni', and then my mind comes to a stop. Maybe... yeah... Maybe 'Katrina' is also an option, and 'Novi val'.

The Microsoft Copilot listed the following: 'Carpe Diem', 'Demoni', 'Umazane misli', 'Sunny Side of London' and 'Plastika'.

Kris: I get it all, except for 'Sunny Side of London'.

Bojan: Yes, me too. Me too. Maybe the keyword 'London' matched with all the Google searches for London and that's how it got "a billion" streams. No, I don't know, I would then probably also agree. Those are definitely songs that work the best at our concerts... Oh, I totally forgot 'Plastika'. And 'Sunny Side of London' is a bit, I would say, artificial unintelligence.

Yeah, you know, it's often wrong. If I were to ask who are the members of a certain band, it lists totally incorrect ones.

Bojan: Really? Well, yeah. Well... we probably shouldn't count on it 100% just yet, right.

The next one will be 'Mesto duhov'.

Kris: That's actually a song which was also created in London and it was primarily in English for quite some time, but then we decided we would actually rather have it in Slovenian language. And that's how a song was created about the feeling of alienation upon returning home.

Bojan: I would jump in here. It's not actually a song about the alienation when coming home, but it's more a feeling of a very clear pessimism when returning home, which was new to me. That is, the atmosphere has changed completely, that people increasingly talk about the reality and the approach of a war. Young people very honestly and clearly show a certain fear, unease. And it's actually the only, and also the first, entirely pessimistic song that I've ever written, because I feel like... That sometimes you basically have to... sometimes you have to put in a song exactly what you're feeling, that is, it's not always, we don't always feel like we will... that the new wave will manage to swim, and sometimes you have a feeling that... that everything will go to (beep), right, and that's that song.

I see you just self-censored.

Bojan: Yes, I self-censored just in case.

I wouldn't do it.

Bojan: Well, there you go, then it's good that I did it.

‘Mesto duhov’

Joker Out, album 'Souvenir Pop', Kris and Bojan are with me. How do you see the Slovenian music scene now, with so much international experience? Where are we, compared to other countries?

Bojan: We actually have, I would say, the most blossoming live music scene, gosh, maybe in the world. Everyone we talked to from abroad, from whichever country, and told them that in Slovenia, in almost every village, there's a concert every week on a professional stage, with professional lighting, sound system, with security service, with a backstage, and so on and so on, they couldn't believe it. They couldn't believe that in such a small country a person can constantly perform. When we told them that we had about 30, 40 gigs across all of Slovenia... that's science fiction. That... People have around four, five gigs, and even those are constantly in the same venues, the same recurring events. So yeah, that's a complete luxury we have here. And I'm very glad, because we have a lot of great artists, new young artists, a lot of bands, solo artists... So I'd say that we have a phenomenal music scene.

Kris: I definitely agree with everything Bojan said. I think that... maybe just to add something, which is basically a confirmation of what Bojan said, this quality of the Slovenian music scene, not just on a local, but also at an international level, that after we got fans from abroad, there are a lot of other Slovenian young artists who gained fans from abroad, I noticed. And it means that a certain Slovenian cultural influence, not just ours but in general, spilled abroad as well. And actually I find that very encouraging, and I also see that in the last year and a half, a lot more of our musical peers are also thinking about possibly making it... at least in the area of the former Yugoslavia, if not in broader Europe. That's an excellent boost and a great confirmation from the outside word.

AI also answered the question about which bands are the most similar to you. What do you think?

Bojan: Worldwide?

Yes, it basically listed bands from Europe and Slovenia. To narrow it down.

Bojan: Yes, then I would say somebody like Siddharta maybe made it to the list, Arctic Monkeys, and that's... I don't know if it listed Big Foot Mama from Slovenian ones. Unless it listed like, somebody completely different, like...

Kris: Maroon 5.

Bojan: It put Selena Gomez for us, and...

No, it didn't go that low.

Bojan: Enrique Iglesias. I don't know, who was it?

Kris: Yeah, good question, how much it's actually... But I would say that, I know that, for example, when you look at a certain artist on Spotify, at the bottom there's a segment that says: "Others also listened to," and it shows you icons of various artists. And with us, the Spotify algorithms, or with any other Slovenian artist, detect... If it's a Slovenian artist, it will be listed below. So, the first two kind of make sense. I don't know, I guess MRFY will also appear with us, and Big Foot or Siddharta. And then it'll start to throw out Modrijani, Dejan Vunjak and all that.

Bojan: Everybody.

Kris: That's because the algorithm conglomerates everything, like, this is Slovenia, two million people listened to this, it doesn't matter if there's a border, it's the same taste in music and you can listen to that. So I wouldn't be surprised if there are also artists like that on the AI list.

There were five of them, LPS, then Sudden Lights from Latvia, Siddharta, MRFY, and Buč Kesidi from Serbia.

Bojan: Oh, good, nice collection. We saw Sudden Lights when we played in Latvia, they came to our concert. We saw LPS multiple times, they were also our supporting act in Czechia and they played a fantastic show. They are also... The crowd responded really well to their performance too. Siddharta, okay, it was kind of obvious. MRFY... I don't know how similar we are, but right, let's say we have the same producer, so maybe AI detected something with regards to that. Who was the last one? Right, Buč Kesidi. Yeah, and Buč Kesidi are good friends of ours. I wouldn't say we're that similar, but we absolutely really like their music, so there's that.

Kris: It must have detected that they acted in our last music video.

Second to last will be 'Sonce'.

Bojan: Yes, 'Sonce' is... 'Sonce' is a song that was created very much as my sort of direct reaction to the current situation in Palestine. At first glance, or at first listen, one might think that it's a love song, but it's not. It's actually a story of a son who speaks to his mother after his death. Jan wrote a wonderful piano arrangement, so the song is actually, I'd say, very specific, only piano and vocals. Difficult to listen to, it doesn't have a recurring chorus. It really comes and goes more like a story than a song. By structure, too.

'Sonce'

Kris and Bojan, to conclude this conversation, more information about you online, on all social channels, social media.

Kris: Yes, these days there's so much info about everyone, but especially about those of us that are more exposed, entirely too much online. So, if you want to know where I was born, how old I am and such, you can find it all on Wikipedia. But otherwise, if you want to keep up with more serious stuff, like concert locations, when new music is coming out, where you can buy some of our... an item of clothing or a CD, it can all be found on our website www.jokeroutband.com. But otherwise, we're currently also using a completely new platform called Openstage, which is meant for our biggest, most enthusiastic fans. And it's essentially a platform where you sign up with your email or phone number and the city in which you go... you live, or in which you attend concerts. And in exchange for that data we offer very special, let's say... Exclusive pre-listens, the option of buying tickets before they're released to the general public, various interesting things, and at the same time, our listeners help show us where they are in Europe and where we could perform.

Is the album out in only digital form or is there a physical version too?

Bojan: The album is of course also released in physical form. Although for the vinyl release there's a bit of a wait, because these days, the printing of the vinyl is more, I'd say, a luxury than the norm, and the wait for the print is truly long. But CDs are coming. CDs are coming. Quicker than the vinyls.

So there'll definitely be something the fans can hold in their hands.

Bojan: Absolutely, absolutely. It's nice to hold music in your hand, too.

The album is completely fresh. The tour is coming up, like we've mentioned. Will there be some rest afterwards or none?

Kris: There will be, and we're all very grateful for it. We have a collective break in January and February. A part of the band are even going on holiday together for a while, but I hope we'll be able to really disconnect ourselves this time. Because even now, in the year and a half since Eurovision, we had time to go on holiday, a short one, a week, two weeks, but never really had the time to disconnect our brains, which is actually the thing we need most, and we really, really hope that's coming in January and February.

Is it hard to disconnect from music?

Bojan: It is, yes. It was practically impossible to disconnect from music. Even now, when two shorter, I'd say, holiday breaks happened, it actually wasn't a holiday in the real sense of the word, because the album was finishing up and whole nights were being spent... The team that was in Slovenia, was in the studio in Slovenia, and those of us who weren't in Slovenia, we just stayed up all night, listening over the phone and gave our reviews of the mixing, the mastering and so on. So it was a very... it was a very hectic holiday, really.

Any other single from the album?

Kris: Yes. Actually, five songs from this album have already been released as singles. There's probably going to be another. We've just released the new album, and we're actually waiting to see which of the unreleased songs gets the most popular. And maybe we'll decide based on that which one will be next and when, but definitely not before next year.

To finish this conversation and the presentation of 'Souvenir Pop', another song, 'Everybody's Waiting'.

Bojan: 'Everybody's Waiting', a song that came out in February of this year, during the time we were in London. It's a song that speaks about experiencing and overcoming an internal crisis, about the feeling of always having to shine. I'd say a song that I very much like to return to as a listener of our music, which I don't listen to a lot, right, because it might be a bit weird. Or not, I don't know. But I really like coming back to this song. It calms me, I really like the arrangement, I really like how the song sounds and I really like the song.

Some musicians listen to their own music in their cars, and then get upset about finding so many mistakes.

Bojan: Yeah, that... That's not me. I'm not that kind of musician.

'Everybody's Waiting' to finish it off. Bojan and Kris, thank you for being guests of the show RADIOaktivno, I wish you success and busyness going forward.

Bojan: Yes, thank you very much for this truly nice and in-depth interview.

Kris: Thank you. See you when the fourth album is out.

Definitely. November in two years.

Kris: Yeah, no, it'd be in December, right, the only autumn month that's not yet... yes.

'Everybody's Waiting'

We are Joker Out and you're listening to RADIOaktivno.

#joker out #jokeroutsubs #bojan cvjetićanin #bojan cvjeticanin #jan peteh #jure macek #jure maček #kris guštin #kris gustin #nace jordan #Youtube

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haytan · 3 days ago

Text

WILDFLOWER | G.A

inspired by billie eilish's wildflower. I think you can already predict that it's very angst. I cried writing this and I love it even more because of it.

𓍼 WORD COUNT: 3390

𓍼 SUMMARY: after listening to Two People on Good Riddance tour something invades you, like a fever.

𓍼 WARNINGS: angst, good ending...

good riddance had been out for a few months now, yet you still remembered the nights when gracie came home late from the studio. it might have seemed like a bad thing, but she always found a way to make it up to you—small surprises, late-night apologies that always ended with her between your legs—so, in the end, it was never really that bad.

one of the things you admired most about her was her honesty, especially when it came to her feelings. while working on the album, she never let you forget how much she loved you, how important your relationship was, and how those lyrics were nothing more than echoes of old wounds.

more than anyone, you understood what this album meant to her. it wasn’t just a way to express everything she had been through, but the first project that was truly hers, a piece of her heart laid bare. and you had been there for every part of it.

before love ever crossed your mind, you and gracie were just friends. and you had the luck—or maybe the curse—of knowing her ex-boyfriend, of watching them grow together and, eventually, fall apart.

it should have been easy to let time wash it all away, to accept that the past was nothing more than that. you had promised yourself it wouldn’t matter anymore. you had promised gracie, too.

but then two people started playing.

and when gracie sang that one specific line—

"and you know, you know every inch of my body"

that was when the tears started falling, before you could even think about stopping them. that was the night you started seeing him in the back of your mind again when you started feeling like you were burning alive.

but you knew she didn't mean to hurt you.

so you kept it to yourself.

…

the next morning, usually filled with kisses and silly conversations, is ruined by a tension that settles between you like something unspoken—thick and heavy. the air inside the apartment feels too still, as if it’s holding its breath, waiting for one of you to break the silence.

gracie leans against the sink, absentmindedly stirring her tea, though you’re not even sure if she actually intends to drink it. her fingers tap a slow rhythm against the ceramic mug, eyes fixed on some distant point.

you sit on a stool by the counter, arms crossed, so close yet so far away. the hum of the fridge, the faint ticking of the clock on the wall—everything sounds too loud in the midst of the silence between you.

"are you really not going to talk to me?" gracie finally says, her voice quieter than usual but heavy with frustration.

you exhale through your nose, hearing your own heartbeat echo inside your head. "i don’t know what you want me to say."

"i want you to say whatever it is that’s bothering you."

you shake your head, staring at a spot on the floor. "it’s nothing, gracie."

she laughs, but there’s no humor in it. "liar. you shut down the moment we got home. you barely looked at me all night. just tell me what’s going on!"

"i already told you—i’m fine."

"no, you’re not." she leans forward slightly, exasperated. "and i’m tired of pretending i don’t notice when you’re upset just because you refuse to talk to me."

your chest tightens. part of you knows she’s right. but another part—the one that’s been burning since last night, since that damn song and the way it made something ugly take root inside you—wants to resist.

you run your hands through your hair, a habit stolen from her. "maybe i just don’t want to talk about it, okay?"

gracie shakes her head. "god, why do you always do this? why do you always push me away when something’s wrong?"

"because i don’t want to fight with you!" you snap, your voice rising as your patience wears thin. "i don’t want to ruin the morning or… or make things weird before your show!"

gracie exhales sharply, setting her mug down on the counter harder than she intended. "and you think not talking makes everything better? because right now, it just feels like you’re shutting me out."

you press your fingers against your forehead, breathing heavily. "i just need time, okay?"

"time for what?" her voice wavers now, a trace of hurt seeping in. "for me to stop asking? for me to just sit here and pretend i don’t see that you’re upset?"

"for me to figure out how to talk without sounding like an idiot!"

that makes her pause. the tension between you crackles in the air, the silence stretching too long.

gracie swallows, the sound making you shiver.

"you know what? forget it," she says, turning back to the sink and picking up her tea.

you close your eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply. "gracie—"

"no, i get it." she cuts you off, taking a long sip. "you don’t want to talk. fine."

gracie turns back to you, searching your face for some sign of regret, but she finds nothing but confusion.

"in the end, i’m always the only one trying to fix things," she says before walking away, the sound of her heavy footsteps echoing as she climbs the stairs.

you stay there, sitting on the stool, staring at the empty space where gracie stood just seconds ago.

your fingers grip the edge of the counter, and you let out a shaky breath, frustration still pulsing beneath your skin. this wasn’t how you wanted the morning to go. this wasn’t how you wanted things to be before her show.

but now it’s done.

you rub your face, trying to clear your thoughts. but everything feels blurred, tangled—a mess of emotions you don’t know how to unravel.

the apartment suddenly feels too small. the air inside it, too heavy.

you need to get out.

standing up quickly, you grab a sweatshirt draped over a chair and shove your keys into your pocket. the soft click of the door unlocking echoes through the apartment, but there’s no sound from upstairs. no attempt to stop you from leaving.

a part of you wishes there was.

you walk down the stairs slowly, hands buried in your pockets, with no real destination in mind. you just keep moving.

the cold morning air hits you the moment you step outside, and an immediate urge to cry swells inside you. your nose starts to sting, your eyes well up, and before you know it, those words are replaying in your head again.

"and you know, you know every inch of my body."

you know she loves you. you should let this go, shouldn’t you? but he lingers, always there, in the back of your mind.

last night, when gracie wrapped her arms around you, kissed the nape of your neck, and told you she loved you, you wanted to turn around, hold her tighter, tell her you loved her more, and start a silly argument over it.

but every time she touched you, all you could think about was how he felt.

had gracie ever looked at you and seen him? in the dark of the bedroom, between kisses and whispered promises, had a part of him ever slipped into her mind?

and if, just for a moment, she had wished it was him instead of you?

you try to push the thought away, try to hold onto the certainties gracie gives you—the way she reaches for your hand without thinking, the way her eyes light up when she talks about you, the i love yous that sound so real.

but doubt creeps in, spreading like a loose thread unraveling everything.

what if they’re not?

what if, deep down, you’re only here because he’s not?

the thought tightens in your chest. you swallow hard and keep walking, unfamiliar streets closing in around you.

but nothing feels as endless or inescapable as the maze inside your own mind.

…

the lights dim, and the crowd erupts into cheers. the air is electric, pulsing with anticipation, and gracie feels it thrumming through her veins. she grips the microphone tightly, fingers trembling just slightly, but she forces herself to take a deep breath. this is her moment—her show. no matter what happened this morning, she needs to push through.

but she knows better than to think she can just shut it out.

as she steps onto the stage, her eyes scan the audience, moving quickly over the sea of faces. the adrenaline in her chest spikes as she catches sight of you.

standing near the back, hands buried in your pockets, shoulders drawn tight, looking at her like you’re not sure whether you want to be here or not.

the moment stretches between you, thick with words left unsaid.

gracie knows that for months she has been exposing you to these painful memories embedded in her own songs. but she also knows that they are past pains, without weight or meaning, and she expected you to know that too. if something was wrong, you would tell her. wouldn't you? but as she stands there, watching you from the stage, doubt grips her chest.

did i cross the line?

abrams swallows hard, forcing herself to keep moving, to wave at the fans screaming her name, to smile like she’s okay. but her mind is already somewhere else, stuck in the heaviness of this morning, the way you looked at her, the sound of the door clicking shut behind you as you left.

she drags in another breath, stepping up to the mic as the opening chords of the first song hum through the speakers. the setlist is the same as always, but tonight, everything feels different. she wonders if you can feel it too, if the weight pressing down on her is pressing down on you as well.

and then the next song starts.

the one that ruined everything last night.

the crowd sings along, voices blending with hers. her gaze, however, is locked on yours. she sings the line without hesitation, without breaking, watching the way your jaw clenches, your eyes darkening just slightly. she wonders if you can tell that she’s looking at you. if you can hear what she’s trying to say through the words that once meant something else.

i didn’t mean to hurt you.

it’s just a song. it’s just a song.

but that doesn’t make it any less real, does it?

the song ends, the moment passes, and yet, the weight lingers. the rest of the show blurs together—flashes of movement, chords, applause—but that moment stays lodged in her ribs, burning like something she doesn’t know how to name.

by the time the final song fades, the crowd’s cheers ring in her ears, and gracie barely remembers getting through it. sweat clings to her skin as she steps backstage, her heart still pounding too fast, and she doesn’t know if it’s from the performance or the way you looked at her.

she doesn’t have time to figure it out before she hears movement behind her.

turning slowly, she finds you standing there, just a few feet away.

you’re still wearing that same guarded expression, the one that makes something in her ache, but there’s something else beneath it now. something hesitant. something like regret.

she wants to say something, anything—but what is there to say?

where were you?

are you okay?

i’m sorry?

but before she can choose the perfect false words, you take the first step. "we should talk… at home."

"yeah, definitely," she says almost automatically.

you hold each other’s gaze for a moment, both fidgeting with your hands—shared habits.

the ride home is silent. the radio plays some random melody, but neither of you really listens. gracie keeps her hands on her thighs, fingers restless, resisting the urge to reach out. she doesn’t know if it would be welcomed. if she still can.

on the other side, you stare out the window, your hand so close to hers. close enough that if one of you just…

but no one moves.

back home, the silence is just as heavy. gracie drops her bag on the counter but doesn’t step away, fingers gripping the marble as if she needs something solid to hold onto.

this time, there are no distractions. just the two of you and the space between you.

"can we talk now?" gracie asks, her voice low.

"yeah," you answer hesitant. but it takes a moment before you can actually speak.

gracie’s breath seems caught in her chest as she waits, and you hate it—hate how uncertainty spreads across her features, like she’s bracing for something bad. but the truth is, you don’t even know how to put what you’re feeling into words.

you run your tongue over your dry lips before finally saying:

"that song last night, two people… it really fucked me up."

gracie blinks a few times, surprised by the raw honesty in your voice. she swallows hard before responding.

"i didn’t…" she pauses, the words dying before they fully form. "i didn’t mean for it to hurt you."

"i know." you squeeze your fingers, letting out a heavy sigh. "but it did."

gracie nods slowly, eyes fixed on you, unsure of where to step. "you never said anything before. about the song, about…" she hesitates. "him."

"because i thought i was fine," you admit, your voice coming out rougher than you intended. "i thought i had let it go. but hearing it—hearing you sing it—just brought everything back, and i hated it. i hated that it still gets to me."

gracie stays silent for a moment, her gaze locked on you like she’s searching for the right thing to say. then, in a hesitant, almost resigned tone, she asks:

"do you want me to stop singing it?"

do you want that?

"because if you do, i will."

"of course not," you say, shaking your head. "that’s not the point, gracie."

"then what is the point?"

"i don’t fucking know!" tears start streaming down your face, and suddenly, you’ve never felt more exposed than now. "i’m sorry…" you bring your hands up to your face, as if trying to hide somehow.

gracie doesn’t think. she just moves.

before she can second-guess herself, she closes the space between you, wrapping her arms around your trembling frame. you tense at first, your body stiff against hers, but then, slowly, you sink into it.

your hands clutch the fabric of her jacket, desperate for something to hold onto, something solid in the middle of everything unraveling inside you.

gracie presses her face into your hair, eyes squeezing shut. "hey," she whispers, voice barely steady. "it’s okay. you don’t have to be sorry."

but you shake your head against her shoulder, fingers tightening. "i hate this," you choke out. "i hate feeling like this. like i’m stuck. like i—" your breath catches, breaking apart in your throat.

gracie pulls back just enough to look at you, cradling your face in her hands, her thumbs brushing the tears from your cheeks. her gaze is searching, pained, but steady. "then don’t do it alone." she almost whispers. "let me be here. let us figure this out together."

"look at me," she continues, tilting your chin up with gentle fingers.

your breath hitches. "gracie—"

"i love you."

you swallow hard, eyes flickering between hers. "i know that you love me."

"no." her grip tightens, not to hold you in place, but to make you feel her, to feel the weight of what she’s saying. she looks at you like she’s searching for something deeper, something that words alone can’t reach. "i don’t want you to just know. i need you to feel it. i need you to feel it in every vein in your body, how much i want you, how much i love you, y/n."

your chest tightens, throat burning with unshed tears.

"you’re my baby, my girl, my fucking adorable, sweet princess," she breathes, her forehead resting against yours. "i’d give you the whole damn universe if you asked me. and i’m sorry for not noticing how hard this has been for you."

"you don’t have to do anything," you shake your head. "it’s not your responsibility. it’s not your fault."

gracie lets out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, brushing a stray tear from your cheek with her thumb. "i’m your girlfriend, of course it’s my responsibility. but it’s not just that—i want to. i want to be here. i want to hold this with you."

you let out a shaky breath, your forehead still pressed against hers. the warmth of her hands, the closeness of her body, it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

gracie watches you, waiting, giving you space even as she holds you close. there’s no rush, no expectation. just her, just this moment, just the steady rhythm of her breathing mixing with yours.

"i don’t know how to stop feeling like this," you admit, voice barely above a whisper.

"you don’t have to figure it out all at once. we’ll take it one step at a time. no pressure, no rush. just us."

you close your eyes for a moment, letting yourself lean into her, feeling the warmth of her presence wrap around you like something safe, something solid.

then, after a beat, you whisper, "say it again."

gracie pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, her lips curving into a soft, knowing smile. "i love you."

you shake your head. "no. the whole thing."

her hands tighten around your face, eyes dark and unwavering as she speaks again, voice like a vow:

"i don’t want you to just know how much i love you. i need you to feel it. in every breath, every touch, every part of you. you’re my baby, my girl, my sweet, adorable princess. and i’d give you the universe if you asked me."

tears slip silently down your cheeks, but this time, they don’t feel heavy. it’s love, because of love.

gracie catches one with her thumb, her smile turning just a little teasing, a little mischievous. "and i’m never singing two people again unless you say it’s okay."

you let out a breathy, tearful laugh, shoving her shoulder lightly. "i never said that."

she grins, eyes crinkling, before she leans in and presses the softest, most deliberate kiss to your lips. like a promise. like a beginning.

gracie doesn’t pull away right away. she lingers her lips barely brushing yours, memorizing the shape of you, like she’s making sure you feel every ounce of her love in that kiss. when she finally does part from you, it’s only far enough to rest her forehead against yours again, her breath mingling with yours in the small space between you.

"you okay?"

you nod, a little shy now, a little overwhelmed but in a way that doesn’t hurt as much anymore.

she smiles, thumbs still tracing light patterns on your cheeks before one hand slips down, lacing her fingers with yours. "come here," she says, giving your hand the gentlest tug.

abrams leads you to the couch, pulling you down with her, and before you can even think, she’s tucking you against her side, wrapping you up in warmth. it’s so easy, so effortless—the way your body finds its place against hers, the way her arm fits snugly around your waist, like you were always meant to be here.

"do you wanna talk more?" she asks after a moment, her voice soft. "or do you just wanna stay like this for a while?"

you don’t answer right away. instead, you shift, pressing your face into the curve of her neck, breathing her in. she smells like vanilla and something distinctly her, something comforting.

"this," you murmur against her skin. "just this."

gracie hums, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. "okay, baby. just this."

and so you stay there, tangled together in the quiet, her fingers trailing lazy patterns along your back, your hands resting against her chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breathing.

it’s not perfect. there’s still a lot to talk about, a lot to work through. but for now, in this moment, in her arms, you feel safe.

and that’s enough.

guys…

thanks for reading <3

back to nav

#˚🐇⋆hayfics!!#gracie abrams x reader #gracie x reader #angst

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ariaste · 6 hours ago

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*sidles up to* hello! I need you to know the absolute death grip Running Close To The Wind has on my psyche. I have listened to it at least 9 times and read it at least twice. As a disable polyamorous kinky queer with 1 nb partner and one golden retriever boyfriend I have never felt more more lovingly courted by the narrative.

I thought it had been long enough for me to be normal about my emotions but it has not!!!! Instead please have this list of things i admire.

Every Single Character clearly has a rich internal life and develops and changes!!! I can't think of a single character that speaks in more than one scene that doesn't develop. Even Lt Viyan goes from cheerfully neutral to "stressed about the cake festival"

This goes double for how much of Tev's we can see even without the Captain's Log!!!! Tev has SO MANY FEELINGS.

I love the implication that the thing that finally broke their relationship the last time is that Avra sung a song in public that talked about Tev's body, and he never cottons on to the problem! Tev's body and Tev's gender are so thoroughly uncoupled to him that it never even crosses his mind it could be a problem, but it destroys Tev's trust. You would not believe the amount of time I have spent chewing over that one.

And all of that is before the story!!!!! There is never a moment of "Tev and Avra had been fucking off and on for 13 years, since Avra first came to the island of Lost Souls for work etc etc etc" but there is so much backstory that rewards you for paying attention, plus the tension of not knowing things at first.... beautiful

Julian is one of the things I have not processed sufficiently yet. I love him and his dom voice and how his emotional Journey starts off much more oblique to the reader because Avra doesn't know him as well and then the bar scene and and and. Aaaaaah. Special mention also to the lake scene

They're all adults with careers!!!! Not just adults, but adults of diverse ages and life experiences. Except Ellat, who is baby.

Pirate Society really does feel like a it's own distinct cultural group while also maintaining the sense that all of the Pirates came from somewhere with their own traditions, names, and values. You're so good at diversity that doesn't feel like just checking boxes and also doesn't fall into stereotypes.

You have made your own posts about disability in this book and I have been at this for an hour so I will leave it at: yes, thank you

The possibility that the goddess of luck is directly interfering with Avra (possibly deliberately trying to expose the secret) not just making him lucky, for example Avra's overwhelming need to go for a walk when they get to the hotel. I like that this is ambiguous mainly bc Avra just refuses to engage in that conversation

Avra is very smart actually!!!!! He talks about keeping his head empty but he is clever, insightful, educated, and curious about the world

Tev and Avra's murkey understanding of BDSM and aftercare - they have been doing both! But they are not good at it and Avra clearly has no idea what Julian's dom voice is doing to him. Tev knows enough about aftercare to cuddle Avra through the worst of it but also is Anti Touching. Cat's line, "and every so often having the honor of being entrusted quite profoundly with caring for you for an hour or two," implies a lot of trust and some hardcore emotional fallout!

I am going to send on this now before I lose my nerve about being perceived but thank you for writing My Favorite Book

[Second message postscript] Also I forgot to mention the absolute scathing critism of captialism, imperialism, and institutional power. Those things are. Also. Important to me.

I am truly and genuinely honored by these messages. Thank you for the absolute cornucopia of lovely compliments, thank you for taking so much time to write them out, and particularly thank you for all of your excellent insights! And listening to it NINE TIMES and reading it at least twice!! that is so many!!!! It only came out eight months ago! Wow, that is incredibly flattering. <3

I will respond to a couple of your points with the number of your comment: 1 & 2. Yes, Tev has SO MANY FEELINGS, thank you for noticing! I think it is easy to overlook how many feelings Tev has because most of them are expressed as Angry, but that doesn't mean they are Angry. Tev just copes with every emotion by also being mad at whatever caused it.

3. Y'know, I was about to say "To me it was more about Tev feeling shame and humiliation because Avra had exposed part of their sex life and one of Tev's kinks (their collection of spooky dildos)" but then I thought about it for two seconds and! No yeah, you're kind of right actually! Because that IS related to Tev's contentious relationship to their body, isn't it. And so is the Tev Doesn't Like Being Touched thing as you mentioned later -- it is all bound up in the trauma and psychic damage they took from growing up in Tash. Avra's song in particular I think just hit one of those triggers that is both personal/individual and cultural, and... as stated before, Tev copes with every emotion by also being mad, and those were some very, very big emotions they had. But yes, all that was going through Avra's mind was "Breaking News: Captain Teveri az-Haffar is so fucking hot, you guys, let me tell you ALL ABOUT IT" -- because to him, that's a praise song, that's the sort of thing people say about Xing Fe Hua (that he was an incredible pirate and "he kissed me full on the mouth") so why would it not be fine to also say it about Tev? He was using very Scuttle Cove culture-logic, and in THAT contexts, he was right, it does increase Tev's word-fame. But he also stepped on a major landmine in the Tash culture-logic. So... I feel like that illustrates one of the great tragedies of human interaction -- you can set out with the best of intentions and nothing but love in your heart and still manage to hurt someone you care about. That shit keeps me up at night, let me tell you what.

7. Ahhhh THANK YOU! This is something I work very hard at, because I too really dislike the "checking boxes" approach to diverse representation. It never feels sincere, for one thing -- as if the authors care more about diversity (the abstract concept) than they do about people (the living, breathing individuals they're writing about (or the ones who are reading the book)). I think it was particularly easy to do in the case of Pirate Society specifically because I went into it thinking, "Man, every single person on this island has a Story. NOBODY is here by accident except for the people who were born here, but even that is a Story in this context. How many different reasons can I come up with for someone having to throw their life away and move to the Isles of Lost Souls as one of its eponymous lost souls?"

11. Yeah the problem that Tev and Avra run into with their sex life is that they're both profoundly bad at intimacy. All the fraught bits of their relationship stem from that underlying wound they have to work around. Fortunately Julian is very good at intimacy. It is Julian's whole jam.

Anyway THANK YOU AGAIN for the truly lovely message -- the points I didn't respond to were only because I was like "mmm [sage nod] yes that's true" or "ah what a kind comment!" or both. :)

(Side note, but if you would enjoy talking to some other people who also love this book very much, there is an official fandom Discord server here: https://discord.gg/DTyee9HRR9 Come join us!)

#running close to the wind #alexandra rowland #books #fantasy

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ikyoudreamofme · 1 day ago

Text

memories-chris sturniolo

C/W:death, loss of a loved one, possible hints to suicide.

A/N: I apologise in advanced, I nearly cried writing this, listen to the song while reading it puts you in your feels. I’m sorry this I’ll make it up to you at some point. I’m proud of this one though

________________________________________

When you die the brain replays seven minutes of your life.

past

You and chris stumble into the house laughing hysterically, your hand grasping into his bicep to help you climb up the stairs before toppling over onto the floor. Chris laughs louder clutching his ribs as he heaves in a dry breath. You had no memory of what was so funny just that it was creating a memorable moment between the two of you.

~🎞️~

A knock on your door pulls you out of your doom scrolling forcing you out of the warmth and comfort of your bed the cold air hits you painting goosebumps across your arms. Chris stood at the door with a big smile across his face when you open it, a big bouquet of flowers, your favourite, in his hands. You smile stepping out in the bitter cold wrapping your arms around him tightly being careful of the beautiful orchids in his hands.

~🎞️~

You hold the keys in your hand standing in front of the door, chris beside you “you gonna open it?” He hums placing a hand on your shoulder. You nod bringing your hand up unlocking the door with a click pushing it open. The fresh smell of the house, your house, fills your senses. Chris walks in behind you, his hands find your waist as he dips his head to your ear whispering “welcome home baby.”

~🎞️~

It was the annual summer fair that took place in a random field in the middle of July. You,Nick,Chris and Matt had all arrived, splitting up to go on separate rides or play a festival game. You were walking away from a carnival game a big smile wipped across your face as you carry a teddy bear Chris had won you walking hand in hand with chris towards the ferrets wheel. You sat down placing the bear, which you had named billy, on your lap waiting for chris to sit beside you. Everyone had got on the ride and you slowly made it to the top. The bright sky sprayed purples,pinks and oranges blending in with the clouds, the sun resting on the horizon, it was beautiful. You watch the clouds move across the sky in awe your hazel eyes glowing in the sunlight chris couldn’t look away he thought you were gorgeous, the women he would marry, the women who would carry his children you were the women he wanted to spend the rest of his life with and he knew it. He brings his hand up to your jaw pulling your stare away from the canvas in front of you, he had a soft look on his face, a look of love. Chris took a long inhale before speaking “ I love you y/n so much” Chris spits out quickly but slow enough for you to hear. Your eyes widen eyebrows raising ever so slightly smiling at him before leaning in to press your lips together. The kiss was slow and passionate, you pull away whispering “I love you too.” Resting your head on his shoulder as he wraps his arm around you.

~🎞️~

Chris was a well known YouTuber with 7 million subscribers on his channel with his brothers, he kept most of his life private including his relationship with you, he knew how his fans could get and how parasocial some of them can be. You and Chris had been together for a year and 6 months and chris could easily say it’s been the best 18 months he’s had in a while and he feels comfortable sharing your relationship or parts of it. You wake up from a nap picking up your phone seeing numerous notifications from instagram and tiktok. Opening them you see a photo of chris laying on your chest, your hands in his hair it was a photo you took not too long ago. He had tagged you captioning it with a simple heart. Every refresh of the comments there was at least a hundred more of fans going crazy congratulating chris and loving that he’s happy it made you smile, you leave a comment, the same heart he had captioned the photo with.

~🎞️~

It was movie night, every week you and Chris would make popcorn and get loads of sweets and sit and watch a film in his room. You lay under the covers in one of Chris’ hoodies your head in his chest arms wrapped around his waist. Chris’s arms wrapped around you protectively, his hands trailing shapes across your thighs. This was your favourite moment of the week a time when you can relax in the arms of the boy you loved, the boy that made you feel so safe and so loved you were happy because of him.

~🎞️~

It was your first halloween with chris, one of your close friends was throwing a halloween party and you planned to have a couples costume with chris. After many disagreements you both agreed on Steve and Nancy from stranger things, you threw your hair in a ponytail and put your costume on walking up to Chris. After a mini photoshoot you left for the party excitement rushing through your veins, parties were your scene you loved them and Chris knew it very well.

~~~

present day

Chris was dressed in a black suit your favourite flowers in his blazer pocket, pink ones, his hair was a mess like he had ran his fingers through it over and over. The surrounding of his eyes were dark and dead his pupils dilated and bloodshot from the thousands of tears that had left them since that day. The day he never wanted to come especially so soon. He walked out of the room his heart beating louder with every step he took closer to the stage in front of the crowd of people who sat teary eyed in front of him, some were already sobbing. He looked over at the coffin on the right of him the teddy he had won you sat on top of it with flowers placed around him.

Chris took a deep breath before reading off of the paper layed in front of him. “I never thought I would have to do this so young and so soon but y/n was such a big part in my life in all of our lives she always made me smile and laugh, she brought happiness to anyone who needed it, she found a way to make everyone’s day better… especially mine she made my life perfect like it came out of a romance book.” Chris choked on his words taking a second to hold back his cries “Whenever I was tired of stressed she would be there to help me through any struggles I faced. Her laugh was funnier then what made her laugh in the first place and her smile was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Everything about her was so beautiful, so perfect. She was a great friend to anyone especially my brothers Matt and Nick who loved when she was around nearly as much as I did. she made everyone feel welcomed and happy. She was the daughter,friend and girlfriend everyone needs in their life and I’m so happy she was in mine. I love you so much y/n our memories will be forever I’m so sorry I couldn’t help you when you needed it. Goodbye sweetheart.” Chris finishes, he was now crying hysterically tears pouring out of his eyes as he walks off the stage, the audience crying with him. Matt and Nick walk up to him crying too embracing chris in a much needed hug.

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hy6erion · 5 hours ago

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Thank youuu! Ok so the song is diner and diatribes, and basically the song is about wanting to leave the function (a dinner, a party whatever) with your partner as soon as possible because everyone is just talking so much and being annoying and whatnot. But you can't leave just yet as that would be quite rude so you settle for the second best, mentally planning what your are going to do as soon as you leave (/I'd suffer hell if you'd tell me/ /What you'd do to me tonight/). And I'm just imagining reader and viktor being sassy and teasing eachother the whole night waiting to see who breaks first (/Let there be hotel complaints.../), and from there you can do literally any (leave it there or develop it further, whatever you feel like writing)

I just thought I'd give you some of my interpretation and thought on it but feel free to listen to it and/or read the lyrics and interpret it however you'd like❤️

~🍒

𝐃𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐬 - 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✰⍣..𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭.

⇢ 𝐧𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐠𝐧 (𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤), 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩, 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧/𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞

𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝!! 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 (≧◡≦)

The dining hall of Piltover’s Grand Atrium was nothing short of extravagant. Crystal chandeliers bathed the room in a golden glow, polished silverware reflected the light like tiny stars, and the hum of conversations swelled into an insufferable, droning symphony. Every attendee was dressed to impress, and the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and finely aged wine.

It should have been a lovely evening.

It wasn’t.

You shifted in your seat, resting your chin on your hand as yet another Zaunite-Piltovian relations speech droned on. Across the table, a council member was detailing their plans for a “more efficient trade system,” which was just a polished way of saying they wanted to make even more money off Zaun’s labor.

Viktor, seated beside you, was the picture of polite disinterest, his fingers drumming lazily against the tablecloth, his cane resting against his knee. He looked devastatingly handsome in his finely tailored suit, his cravat slightly loosened as if even his clothing couldn’t tolerate the dull atmosphere.

You leaned in, voice low enough for only him to hear.

“If I have to listen to another self-important noble prattle on about ‘mutual prosperity,’ I might start throwing butter knives.”

Viktor let out a quiet chuckle, his lips curling into a smirk. “That would be quite the scandal. Though, given the state of these conversations, it might be considered an act of public service.”

You sighed dramatically. “Can we leave?”

“Not yet, dear. That would be rude.” He was teasing, his voice laced with amusement. “But don’t worry, I’m sure the next speech will be even more riveting.”

You gave him a slow, deliberate look. “I’d rather suffer hell.”

His amber eyes flickered with interest, a glint of mischief dancing behind them. “Would you now?”

Your lips parted slightly, but before you could answer, a server passed by, refilling your glasses with an absurdly expensive vintage. You turned your attention back to your untouched plate, twirling your fork between your fingers.

Viktor, however, leaned closer, his breath just barely grazing your ear.

“Tell me, what would you rather be doing instead?” His voice was low, smooth, carrying an unmistakable challenge.

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze, and the air between you tightened. You tapped a finger against your lips, feigning thoughtfulness. “Hmm. Let’s see. Anything, really. But if I had to pick…” You tilted your head, letting your lips ghost just shy of his jaw. “I’d say something much more… hands-on.”

Viktor’s fingers stilled against the tablecloth, his smirk growing just a fraction sharper. “How bold of you.” His eyes flicked down briefly, then back up, filled with knowing amusement. “Though I do wonder… how long can you keep up this little game?”

You narrowed your eyes at him playfully. “Oh, I can last all night.”

His smirk deepened. “That, my dear, is a lie.”

You scoffed, taking a slow sip of your wine, letting the glass linger against your lips. “You underestimate me, Viktor.”

“Do I?” He raised an eyebrow, voice as smooth as silk. “Because you seem quite eager to leave.”

You exhaled through your nose, barely holding back a laugh. “And you don’t?”

He shrugged, leaning back slightly. “I’m patient.”

“Oh, please.” You rolled your eyes. “You’re just as bored as I am. Maybe even more.”

Viktor hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps. But I am also enjoying this.”

“This?”

He turned his head slightly, his voice a quiet murmur. “Watching you squirm.”

Your breath hitched, but you recovered quickly, tilting your head with faux innocence. “Oh, I’m not squirming, dear.” You dragged the endearment out just enough to make his eyes darken. “If anything, I think you’re the one losing focus.”

Viktor let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Such a dangerous individual.”

“Only for you.”

The weight of the words settled between you, and for a fleeting moment, the world around you faded into insignificance—the dull speeches, the clinking glasses, the insufferable crowd.

But then, of course, the universe decided to punish you both.

“Ah, Viktor!” A new voice broke through your bubble, and you internally groaned. A particularly talkative professor from the Academy took the empty seat beside Viktor, immediately launching into a discussion about hextech regulations.

Viktor, ever the polite conversationalist, turned to respond, though you caught the brief flicker of irritation in his eyes.

Your fingers, hidden beneath the table, brushed against his knee. He stiffened almost imperceptibly, but he didn’t look at you.

You smirked. Slowly—deliberately—you let your fingers trail a little higher, barely grazing along the inside of his thigh.

Viktor’s posture remained composed, but you felt the tension in his leg. His fingers curled around the stem of his glass, tightening just slightly.

“—but of course, I’d love to hear your thoughts on the latest developments,” the professor was saying.

Viktor exhaled through his nose. “Ah, yes, of course. The, ah, latest—” He cut himself off as your fingers danced higher. His jaw tightened. “Developments.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

Leaning in, you whispered, “Something wrong, Viktor?”

His eyes flicked toward you, sharp and knowing. “Oh, not at all.” He shifted slightly, placing his cane against the floor with a firm click. His free hand—warm and steady—found your knee beneath the table. “Though I do believe two can play this game.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers slowly traced along the inside of your thigh, mirroring your earlier actions with devastating precision.

You swallowed. Hard.

His smirk was maddening. “What was that you said earlier?” He tilted his head, mockingly thoughtful. “Oh yes. ‘I can last all night.’”

You clenched your jaw, glaring at him. “You’re evil.”

“Mm, only for you.”

Damn him.

The rest of the evening was spent in a silent war of nerves, subtle touches, teasing words, and heated glances that promised retribution the moment you were alone.

When the dinner finally—finally—ended, and you were able to slip away unnoticed, Viktor was barely a step behind you.

And by the time the hotel doors shut behind you both, all pretense was gone.

Let there be hotel complaints.

—

The door clicked shut behind you, the dim golden light of the hotel room casting a warm glow over the space. The luxurious suite was elegant—ornate crown moldings, plush velvet drapes, and a grand four-poster bed that practically demanded to be ruined.

But you barely spared it a glance.

Your breath was still uneven from the last few hours—the dinner, the teasing, the war of patience that had nearly shattered your composure. Viktor stood just a few steps away, his posture deceptively relaxed, his cane still in hand, but his amber eyes were dark with something heady and victorious.

You swallowed.

“You walked fast,” you murmured, your voice hushed, thick with anticipation.

He tilted his head, his smirk creeping in. “And you nearly tripped twice trying to keep up.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “You’re one to talk, bolting out of that dining hall like a man possessed.”

He took a slow step forward. “I simply have a… strong sense of direction.”

Your pulse quickened. He was toying with you, dragging it out just to see how much further he could push before you snapped. The problem was—you wanted to snap.

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, tilting your chin up.

His smirk deepened. “And yet you are the one who started this.”

Your mouth opened to argue, but then—suddenly—he was in front of you, close enough that the scent of ink, iron, and something distinctly Viktor filled your lungs. His hand reached up, fingers ghosting along your jaw, tracing the edge of your throat with maddening gentleness.

You shivered.

“You spent the entire evening provoking me,” he murmured, his voice a quiet accusation. “Running your fingers up my leg beneath the table… whispering in my ear… acting as if you could handle the consequences.”

Your breath caught, fingers curling at your sides. “I can handle them.”

He hummed, unconvinced. “Is that so?” His fingertips brushed down your throat, just barely grazing your collarbone, teasing, testing.

Your skin burned under his touch. The tension coiled tight, every nerve electrified with anticipation, but you refused to be the first to break.

Two could play this game.

You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “You’re talking an awful lot for someone who’s just as desperate as I am.”

Viktor exhaled through his nose—a sharp, amused sound—before his hand suddenly slid around the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair. The shift in control was immediate, his grip firm yet deliberate, tilting your head just enough to expose the delicate line of your throat.

“Desperate?” His voice was a low murmur, warm against your skin. “No, you are desperate.”

Your stomach clenched.

His thumb traced along the pulse at your throat, lingering just to feel it quicken under his touch. He was enjoying this, savoring every second, watching you unravel piece by piece.

And you hated—loved—that he was right.

Your patience was fraying. Your resolve was slipping.

And Viktor knew it.

So, you did the only thing you could.

You kissed him.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was a collision—fierce, urgent, reckless—months of restrained tension breaking all at once. Viktor responded immediately, a sharp inhale through his nose before his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

You barely had time to gasp before he pressed you back against the nearest surface—the wall—his cane clattering to the floor as his hands found your hips, fingers gripping just enough to make you dizzy.

Heat flooded through you. Every point of contact burned.

“I knew it,” Viktor breathed against your lips, triumphant. “I knew you would break first.”

You barely had the sense to glare at him. “Shut up.”

He grinned, teeth grazing your bottom lip. “Make me.”

You did.

Sometime later—long after the teasing had given way to something far less restrained—you found yourself tangled in the mess of sheets, your body still humming from the aftermath. Viktor lay beside you, his arm draped lazily over your waist, his fingers tracing idle patterns against your skin.

You exhaled, content but exhausted, turning to meet his gaze. His hair was tousled, his lips still slightly swollen, his golden eyes heavy-lidded but sharp with amusement.

The bastard knew he’d won.

You huffed. “You’re impossible.”

His smirk was lazy, satisfied. “And yet, here you are.”

You narrowed your eyes, rolling onto your side to face him fully. “I demand a rematch.”

His fingers trailed up your spine, featherlight. “Oh?”

“Yes,” you said firmly. “Next time, I will win.”

Viktor let out a quiet chuckle, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder. “Mm. I look forward to it.”

And judging by the smirk he gave you right before flipping onto his back—so that you could hear the distinct, irritated thump from the neighboring room’s wall—you knew that rematch would be happening very, very soon.

Let there be many hotel complaints.

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