#it's nice talking to someone that i feel aligned with politically

[pursued-by-the-squid]

iii. location drop

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

word count: 7.1k

ao3 | masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A moment ticks by uneventfully. Then another.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I… Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gi-hun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s so sad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is it? Young-il-nim?”

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

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

The paintings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t have to–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not sure,” he hums.

“Can I see?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hyung…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

René Magritte – L’Empire des lumières.

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

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

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

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

“Is everything alright?”

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

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

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

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

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

[burningcomputerpersona]

i met a new therapist today and I'm feeling pretty positive about it. i think it's gonna work out okay.

[mcondance]

come close; hobie brown

getting high and talking about anarchy with some old 90's shit playing is a crazy way to fall for someone. but it happens.

pairing hobie brown x Black!afab!fem! reader

contents lots of weed, different terms for weed (mary jane, cess), talks of killing politicians (y’all r both anarchists so.), masturbation (both you and hobie), making out, fingering, riding, missionary, mating press, creampie, unprotected sex (they're horny man dwbi), dirty talk, cervix kissing, lotsssss of praise, porn with plot (sorry i love plot 🙏🏾)

words 4.7k.. back on my longer fic shit!

warnings reader wears lipgloss, barely proofread so if you see any mistakes pls shoot me an ask!, umm i use the n word once!, i’m also,, not that great at writing his voice yet so.. hope it’s at least sorta accurate :3

extras the form i wrote this in is kinda,, unique igs but it flows rlly well i feel.

song shoutouts special thanks to lipstick lover by janelle monae, come close by common and mary j. blige, and green eyes by erykah badu!

signing off happy father’s day to hobie 🫶🏾

—

not quite plug!hobie, but hobie who always has weed, who you smoke with the first time you buy from him.

you usually don’t smoke with randoms, but you hear some old 90's rap playing from inside his car, and he invites you in when you comment on it.

"what you know bout this?" you ask with a smile.

"a lot, actually. you wanna smoke and listen?"

not quite plug!hobie who's fine as fuck as he sits opposite you in his ride, tall and darkskin with cool ass hair. wild ass accent and even wilder style, but he makes it work. his music taste adds on to his overall allure.

but his political views? god. the charm in the shape of a little 'a' surrounded by a circle hanging from his mirror lets you know that he ain't like these other niggas.

he's an anarchist. so far, you're the only anarchist you know. it's so rare to find someone who has the same values as you.

not quite plug!hobie who's car you leave with music recs clumsily typed into your notes, and someone to talk about politics with, though you're too shy to text the pretty boy with the good weed, so you're sure it'll never happen.

not quite plug!hobie who texts you when you get home to make sure you arrived safely.

"driving while high ain't safe, ya know? you at home?"

"i've done it before. i made it home."

not quite plug!hobie who's so nice to you, complimenting your outfits and hair, even noticing when you meet him the 3rd time with a new style.

not quite plug! hobie who you find out has been giving you discounts when your friends ask if you ever bought from him after their recommendation, and you run them in on the details. you think it’s just cause y’all smoked the first time you ever bought from him and you bonded over political views and music. you don’t think nothing else of it.

not quite plug!hobie who you find yourself thinking about more and more often, ever since that first time y'all smoked together.

not quite plug!hobie who finds himself in the same predicament.

not quite plug!hobie who answers the door on your 6th buy in a pair of red sweats and a tight white t-shirt that hugs his lanky frame, hair tied up with a blue shoe string. he invites you into his crib, citing reasons of having no one else to talk to about his views with. after all, it's the first time you both have time to sit and talk and listen to music instead of a quick deal since that first time.

not quite plug!hobie who you get faded as fuck with, this time sharing a joint on his janky couch, heavy hands brushing against each other with each pass. he tries to ignore the aching in his very core every time you speak your mind, your aligning politics driving him crazy.

you mirror him, shaking off the.. arousal?.. no, it can't be. you can't be getting all heated just cause a man is an anarchist. whatever. just ignore it.

not quite plug!hobie who laughs when you tell him straight up, “people aren’t killing politicians anymore. that’s our fuckin’ problem.”

"really? you're wild. but i get it."

"course you do." you nod, taking another drag of the joint. erykah badu's "green eyes" is playing quietly in the background of your convo. hobie starts laughing.

"what?" you smile.

"song's called green eyes, right? well we got red eyes." it's corny and wouldn't be funny if you two weren't high as shit, but you are high as shit, so it's fucking hilarious.

not quite plug!hobie who's eyes linger on you as he pulls laugh after laugh out of your chest with his snarky little jokes.

not quite plug!hobie who walks you to your car after your smoke session, telling you to get home safely. he passes out after his head hits the bed, that after smoke sleep being some of the best he's ever had. he tries to chase you out of his mind as he succumbs to the cess.

not quite plug!hobie who lights a joint and then pulls his dick out the next day, hard and heavy, and strokes it thinking about his pretty little client— friend? whatever — hips stuttering as he wraps his hand around his thick base. he's tried to shake you off, went all day distracting himself with this and that, but it's not working.

not quite plug!hobie who cums in white spurts splattering on his chest to the thought of making you cum in a room filled with smoke, some old r&b playin as he dicks you down the way he's been wanting to since the first time your pretty ass came to him asking for some weed. he wants you bent over on the end of his bed, eyes low and red while he fills you up and fucks you good, gives you his dick like he feels you so rightfully deserve.

not quite plug!hobie who you seriously can't stop thinking of. last night's smoke session has you on edge, so you light another joint, but weed always gets you horny, so when you slip your fingers into your panties and touch yourself to the thought of the pretty darkskin boy with the piercings and cool hair pushing his fat cock into your pretty hole, you blame it on the mary jane sitting pretty in your veins.

the fault lies in the mary jane for making you think about him laid on top of you, talking you through it as he damn near kisses your cervix, his wiry hands roaming your body. the fault lies in the mary jane for having your legs shaking, imagining your pretty plug folding you in half and ruining you, leaving you and your cunt sore and satisfied and dripping his cum.

not quite plug!hobie who cleans up while telling himself that he can't do this again, that you're not interested in him.

not quite plug!hobie who you block out of your mind as you shower. what you did wasn't right. it won't happen again.

not quite plug!hobie who you don’t buy from for a minute, cause you’re trying to stop smoking so much, for a while. you still keep in contact with him, though. daily texts, funny memes, and of course talks of anarchy. one day, you call him “bee” instead of hobie, and it sticks. he likes it.

not quite plug!hobie… who you fuck yourself to again, this time slipping three fingers inside your greedy cunt to satiate the need for him. it’s almost every night, and it’s a different fantasy every time. 

in the backseat of his car, bent over on his counter, pressed into his couch cushions. your head pressing into your pillows while visions of hobie’s lips pressed to your ear praising you endlessly for being his good girl and taking him so well torment you. you’re insatiable, but when you text you have to pretend like you don’t want his piercing scraping against your clit as he eats you like a man starved.

not quite plug!hobie who has the same dilemma as you.. he can’t even go a couple of hours without growing hard in his sweats, glimpses of you spread out on his bed with your thighs thrown over his shoulders, or you face down ass up, sobbing in pure ecstasy. it’s not made better by y’all’s constant texting, more and more of your personality being revealed to him each day.

you both share one brain, really. and that one brain finds each other attractive, of course, but it’s not just that. it’s not just pure lust. you two have more in common than anyone you’ve ever met, and that sinks ache and want so deep into you that every night and day is spent trying to rid yourselves of it.

not quite plug!hobie who you buy from again almost two weeks later, two weeks that were filled with funny conversations and deep discussions of politics through text. two weeks that solidify the growing feelings you have for each other. this time, he’s wearing a pair of blue sweats and a tight black tee, and his hair is tied up just like the first time you came to his house. this time, brandy’s playing throughout his crib.

you’ve only known each other for about two months, but it feels like longer, for the both of you. you take your seat on the couch as he grabs his stash and his papers, pulling out one paper to roll up.

not quite plug!hobie who sits a little bit closer than he did last time. he smells good. your head is swimming already. 

not quite plug!hobie who lights up and then lets you take the first hit, watching you wrap your glossy lips around the joint like he doesn’t wish they were wrapped around his dick instead. you pass the joint to him and settle onto the couch, raking your eyes over his lanky frame, and what you swear is a hard-on. no way. it has to be the weed. 

he settles back onto the couch too, extending his long arms on the back. his arm comes up behind your head, and you rest your head on it, smiling dopily when he directs his hazy gaze your way. his playlist must have ended. you're left with him and your thoughts.

“you’re funny, you know?” he says through a breath of smoke, passing the joint to you.

“yeah?” you reply, hitting it again. “everyone tells me i’m just corny.”

“you’re not corny. you’re pretty hilarious, if i’m bein’ honest.” 

and there it is again.

not quite plug!hobie whose words light that fire in you again, the fire that you’ve been dousing every night for the past two fucking weeks. fuck, not here. not now. you grab the joint from him in an attempt to push more weed into your system to flush him out, but you meet his pretty fuckin’ brown eyes and they’re low and his lips looks so good and he smells so good and suddenly you’re asking not quite plug who you’re two seconds away from fucking!hobie why he’s been charging you less than everyone else who buys from him and why he invited you into his car and into his house, twice.

and not quite plug who really wants to kiss you right now!hobie can’t even joke and twist his way out of this one. he’s tired of cumming alone to the thought of you. the worst you can do is leave. but the best? god, so many things.

“'s cause i think you’re pretty. n' i really wanna kiss you right now.”

“then do it.”

not quite plug!hobie who tastes like weed and chocolate. the hand that was resting on the back of the couch finds it’s way to the small of your back, fingers drawing nonsensical shapes into it. your hands find his knee and his neck as you press your lips into his. you slide closer to him, and then he’s using the hand resting on your back to push you into his lap, hands settling on your hips as you settle above him, your hands circling around his neck.

“how long?” you ask between kisses.

“since the day you walked up to my car.” he responds quietly, cheeks heating up with embarrassment. he’s quick to trap your lips again.

god, he is hard. and he’s big, you can feel him pressing against the inside of your thigh. you hold your tongue, figuring you could deal with that later. right now, you just need to get out what you’ve been keeping in since the day you two met and you spotted the little ‘a’ hanging from his mirror.

the kiss grows deeper and he grows a little less shy, starting to use his hands gripping your waist to grind you against him. heat floods you when you realize that he's pulling you onto his cock, pressing your cunt against him, separated by the fabric of his sweats and your shorts.

you find his rhythm, falling into the pattern of his soft pushes and presses, a gentle lull of bodies moving against each other that makes you even more comfortable than you already are. soft little groans escaping the both of you, mixing with the smoke and infatuation in the air.

he lets you move the way you want, lithe fingers tracing up your back, hovering over where your hair falls onto your neck. he keeps kissing you for a minute, seemingly frozen. but then he's pulling away to speak, "can i- can i touch your hair?"

you stop moving with a smile. you nod. "yeah. thanks for asking." you kiss him again.

"course, love." he nods, and then he kisses you again. his long fingers snake into your hair, gently and softly. he strokes his hands through your locks, in time with your kisses and the movements of your hips that have started again. hands migrating from his neck, sliding down his chest, laying flat-palmed. your fingers slide under his tee, curling and gripping to pull him ever closer to you.

not quite plug!hobie who could kiss you forever. you could too, but you want more. you need him. so you pull away just a little, murmur "can feel you against me." chills rack through him at your words.

"i know. 'm so hard, darlin'." he pushes his hips up just a little, drawing a muffled whine from you.

"been wantin' you so bad.." you trail off. hobie takes it upon himself to move his hands from your hair to the waistband of your shorts, eyes fixed on yours, watching your every move. you nod, giving him permission to snake his fingers into your shorts, fingers that are met with no resistance.

"no panties? did'ya plan this, doll?" he smiles, slim fingers exploring your wetness, doing what he can with the limited space.

"mhm." you shake your head. "'s more comfortable." he hums in agreement. he circles your clit with his middle finger, dipping towards your entrance to collect more slick. you push down against his fingers, causing him to have to crane his wrist to reach you.

"can we take these off? can't touch you the way i wanna." you blush, averting your eyes to focus on the hand that disappears into your shorts.

"yeah." you breathe shakily, standing up and letting hobie pull them down your legs, hands on his shoulders as balance. your shirt is long, and it falls down to give you some modesty. hobie throws your shorts somewhere behind you before he leans back, giving you space to sit back down.

he looks so fucking good, brown eyes staring at you like you hung the stars in the sky. he reaches out for you, pulling you back into his lap by your hips. his hand disappears under your shirt while his lips find yours again, exploring you more freely this time.

"so wet, doll." he murmurs between one kiss and another, smiling when you whine. his fingers move at different speeds, pressing in different areas and circling at different speeds until he finds a combination that makes you jolt against him, whining "bee."

"thaaaaat's it, love." this time, you don't return your lips to his, instead tucking your head into his neck as you hump shamelessly against his hand, his cock pressing hard and heavy against your thigh. "keep going, baby," he urges, "show me how it feels."

and you do. you shiver and shake and whine and groan in pleasure, pressing kisses in his brown skin as he touches you the way he touched himself thinking about.

not quite plug!hobie who presses his thumb into your clit, sliding his hand farther down to tease your drooling hole. "'s wet, love. g'na feel so good 'round me." you moan loudly at that, at the thought of your fantasies coming true. you cant your hips down, sliding down his fingers until they're seated inside you, stroking gently at your sensitive walls.

pulling them out softly, he curls his fingers, twisting his wrist as you whine and mouth at his neck. "'s okay. you can bite." he nods, catching onto what you were holding yourself back from. you still don't, resign to licking and sucking instead.

until his fingers catch the spongy spot inside you, and your teeth are sinking into the column. "fuck," you damn near shout, pushing yourself onto his hand. he groans in response, pleased to be pleasing you and indulging in the pain you inflict on him. thumb on your clit and fingers playing with that spot, he brings his other hand from your hip to your hair to soothe you, to ground you.

it's sweet, really, his hand in your hair while the other one touches you the way you've been dreaming of. coos and hums meet your ears, soft sounds of affirmation egging you on to let yourself get lost in the pleasure he delivers you. arousal steadily dripping out of your hole, hobie's fingers sliding easier and easier inside you until he can pull out and slip right back in.

"you're so pretty, dove, fuckin' dreamgirl." he murmurs, staring down at your pretty face, arched eyebrows turned down in ecstasy, lips parted. the praise takes you closer and closer to the edge, his deep voice reverberating throughout your entire being, the pangs of arousal in your clit growing harder and faster. you're close.

you're so goddamn close to cumming for a boy you just wanted to buy from. his long fingers reach deep, deeper than you could ever even dream of. “hobie- i- i’m g’na-” you stutter against his neck, hips stuttering against his fingers.

“‘s okay, love, cum. i’m right here.” the rubber band snaps, and you're tightening your thighs around his hand while you shake and shiver, eyes closed tight with soft whines of "hobie, god it feels so good" tumbling from your lips. you tighten around his fingers, too, squeeze him so tight he winces, cause he just knows you're gonna feel so good wrapped around him. he pushes that thought away, though, focused on helping you ride out your orgasm.

fingers pressing into your clit and that spot inside you, he makes sure to milk every last second of your climax, eyes fixed on your ethereal features. aftershocks still racking through you, you finally open your eyes, and he takes it as a sign to gently pull his fingers out of you and wipe them on his sweats, and you shudder at the feeling.

"that was. . so much better than i imagined. n' i imagined it being pretty good." you smile and giggle, placing a kiss on his neck. he laughs in response, raising his eyebrows at your confession.

"bet i'm a better fuck than you imagined, too." the air in the room shifts again, and suddenly you're aware of his cock pressed against your thigh through his sweats again.

"bet you are."

you raise up, kissing him again as your hands find the waistband of his sweats and invite themselves in, meeting his dick that's been hard since you first sat down on his couch. "and i'm the one who planned this? you're free-balling." you murmur against his lips, and he mirrors your words from earlier.

"'s more comfortable, 's all— fuck." he's cut off when you pull his cock out of his sweats and run your finger over his pretty brown tip, dipping into his slit. his hips thrust up, chasing your soft hand. "g'na drive me crazy." he almost whines, jerking against you when you swipe your thumb against his aching tip again.

"just returnin' the favor." you shoot back, raising up to hover over him, swiping his leaking dick through your wetness. he wraps his hand around his thick base, moving in time with your teasing strokes. "you're big." you groan, hesitating to seat yourself on him.

"i know, doll, you can take it though. we'll make you take it." he speaks into your clothed chest, muffled and horny, and you’re sure he means what he says. you drip even more at his words, sticky slick wetting his fat tip.

not quite plug!hobie whose hands are on your hips as you sink down onto his pretty dick, whining into his neck as he encourages you. “you got it, baby, you’re takin’ me so well. god, she’s so wet.”

"she— fuck that's so hot," you moan, eyes rolling back at his words.

"mhm?" he hums.

you don't respond, too busy focusing on his fat cock pushing into you, focusing on the way you both make it fit, exactly like he said you would. finally, he bottoms out, your thighs resting against his sweats.

"g' job, babe. knew you could take me." you jolt against him, his heady words sending another pang of arousal straight to where you two meet.

not quite!plug hobie who you tell to move, raising your hips up as he pulls out, meeting him in the middle as he fills you back up. his hips slot against yours again, and his big chocolate eyes are fixed on yours, gazing upon you in adoration, while your eyes are fixed on where he disappears into you.

"so big, feels s'good. ." you whisper, meeting his gaze. the look in his eyes has chills running down your spine as you raise your hips again, choosing to connect your lips with his again. hobie starts to find a rhythm, now, wrapping his long arms around your waist. you swap spit with him as his hips meet your ass, taking over.

body bouncing with each of his thrusts into your pussy, arms wrapped around his neck. his lips slipping against yours, plump and wet. you both take it slow, basking in the feeling of finally being like this with someone you've wanted since you first saw them.

he fills you up so nicely, thick cock nestled in your achy walls, leaking tip just barely kissing your cervix as he thrusts just a bit harder and you push down a little more.

"y'feel me, darlin? 'm all the way in, at the end of you, god, 'm g'na make you mine." he babbles in pleasure, pushing his hips up even harder. still soft, but firm, and deliberate.

you nod against his lips, hand resting on his cheek. "feel you, bee, feel you in my fuckin' stomach, i swear." you feed off of him and he feeds off of you, kissing and slapping your hips against the others, wild and wanting. "fuckin' me so good, bee, makin' me yours."

"makin' me yours, doll, pussy's squeezin' me like she don't w'na let go."

"don't wanna let go, wan' you so bad." you confess, bringing your ass down onto his cock again. "i— fuck," you sob. his cock curves just right, and with his tip pressing against your spot now, hobie's found new determination.

"that it?" he asks, making sure to keep hitting that spongy patch of skin with every thrust, sheathing his cock in your wet heat.

"'s it, hobie, feels so good, shit." the high has worn off by now, leaving pure emotions and desire driving you two. you get tight around him again, cunt pulsing with every slam of his hips against yours. you feel so good around him, so tight and wet.

"'m g'na—, you're gonna make me cum, bee."

he moves one hand from around your waist at that, sliding between you two to toy with your clit, thumb rubbing wild shapes against the throbbing bud.

"fuck," you cry, grinding against his thumb and down onto his dick.

"you close again, doll? wan' you to wet me up, ma'me a mess," he encourages, big brown eyes fixed on yours like they've been the whole night.

"'m so close, bee, wanna cum for you, wanna wet you up."

"then do it." he mirrors your words from earlier, and the pleasure pulsing through your veins and infatuation swirling around in your blood gets to be too much, and you cum on his cock, still slamming your hips down onto him, meeting his thrusts in the middle. "thaaaat's it, doll." you hear hobie praise through the fog in your mind, bounces turned to messy grinds as you get all tight around him, cumming hard.

"y'alright, love?" he asks, moving your hair out of your face.

"mhm. w'na go again, you haven't come yet." he chuckles at your words, wrapping both hands around your waist and kissing you again.

"lay back, love." he murmurs against your lips, flipping you onto the couch. your back meets the smooth fabric as he lays you down, pulling his tee and his sweats off. you follow suit, stripping your shirt off and throwing it somewhere behind his couch. his watchful eyes fall on your face, then your tits, then your cunt, taking your body in for the first time.

he finds his place on top of you, balancing himself on his elbows as he kisses you again. he reaches down, but you stop him. "lemme do it," you urge, replacing his hand. you line him up with your sopping entrance, nodding twice to tell him to push in.

the stretch is so fucking good, his cock bullying it's way into your tight cunt again.

"fuck, that's it," he curses, watching your face as he seats himself in your once again.

"so deep. ." you trail off, looking down at your stomach, and oh fuck, no way.

"hobie, hobes, look," you urge, and he points his gaze to where you're looking.

"oh, love, look at that. can see myself, right there," he presses down on the bulge he creates, ripping a broken moan straight from your throat.

"fuck me, please," you sob, squirming under him. he nods, understanding, and finds his rhythm easier this time, lean hips slapping against you. your body jolts up the couch with every thrust, choppy whines of nonsensical sentences leaving your mouth.

not quite plug who's absolutely pussydrunk!hobie can't get enough of your cunt, the way you squeeze him oh so tight, the wet squelches of your heat drawing him further into madness. he needs to go deeper, needs to fuck you harder, so he raises up, throwing your legs over his shoulders, leaning back down to bury his cock deep inside you.

"baby, fuck." it's a gritted groan, head rolling back onto the couch as he mouths at your neck, licking and biting at your heated skin. his thrusts are slow and firm, dick kissing your cervix, the slaps sounding out through his living room.

you're both quiet this time around, too blissed out to do anything but fuck, allowing yourselves to succumb to pleasure. every inch of his cock fills you, driving you crazy, driving him crazy too. it's intimate, his lips on your neck, your fingers palming at his back, limbs tangled together. and you can feel it building up in you again.

"'m g'na cum, hobes." he moves one of his arms, bringing his thumb down to rub at your clit, still mouthing at your neck. he lets it happen this time, doesn't urge you or change anything he's doing, and you coast into your climax so gratifyingly that you almost cry, squeezing him tight once again. now, your focus is on making him cum.

"wan' you to cum, hobes."

"gotta pull out, love. we ain' even put a rubber on." he realizes.

"no you don't. 'm clean. jus' fill me up, please." in your right mind, you wouldn't let him, but you're not in your right mind, and neither is he. so he cums with a groan, shaking as he spills pressed against your cervix.

the air's.. different now, satisfied and calm. you both lay there for a while, until hobie's picking you up and carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up.

after, he lights another joint that you two share tucked under his covers, hugged up like a couple.

not quite plug!hobie holds you as you both fall asleep.

[animehideout]

So you did the JJK guys turn ons. What about their turn offs?

JJK Men Turn-Offs

a/n: Thank you anon for this request, I hope you like it ❤️

Ps: If you don't see your request posted yet it's because I'm still working on them, thank you for your understanding my loves 🫶🏻✨

Characters: Gojo Satoru / Ryomen Sukuna/ Toji Fushiguro/ Nanami Kento/ Geto Suguru/ Choso Kamo / Ino Takuma.

Check out JJK Men Turn-ons here

Gojo Satoru: Poor Hygiene.

I see Gojo as someone who gives attention to details, to himself, his partner and in general.

He's someone that values aesthetics.

He's into self-care and likes to spend money on expensive body lotions, perfumes, nice and elegant clothes.

So poor hygiene is an immediate red flag for him, as it contradicts his preferences for cleanliness and order.

Satoru takes pride in his appearance and expects the same from people around him especially his partner.

So a partner lacking efforts in matching his level of cleanliness and appearance is a turn off for him especially with the importance he places on the way he presents himself.

Satoru believes that taking care of oneself is a form of respect for others, so for him, lack of hygiene is considered as lack consideration.

Poor hygiene disappoints him a lot and would definitely distance himself.

Ryomen Sukuna: Inability to satisfy his sexual desires.

Driven by his desires and lust, once his partner screws up, it's over.

He has a dominant and assertive nature, wanting everything to go as he wishes.

He has high expectations and puts big emphasis on his sex life.

So his partner's / love interest's inability to satisfy his desires or refuse to do some wild crazy shit that he wants, would frustrate him and make him angry.

Sukuna won't disappoint his partner, he's literally the best at sexually pleasing them, so it's crucial that he's equally pleased and satisfied.

If his partner fails to fulfill his needs then it might trigger his impatience, making him less tolerant.

He places big importance on mutual enjoyment, if he senses any imbalance, then he's end the relationship without hesitation.

Toji Fushiguro: Being A Drama Queen.

Toji is a straightforward and rational man.

He values smartness and efficiency, so making excessive drama or overreactions is a major turn-off for him.

He prefers logical thinking and conflicts solving over unnecessary emotional displays .

Toji is a prudent man and sees easily through dramatic actions or words any attempted manipulation from his partner.

He prefers a partner who can handle their emotions maturely and independently without causing a fuss.

Constant drama might make him feel bored or like he's dealing with a child and not a grown up adult.

For him exaggerated reactions, nagging are a waste of time, a headache stimulator and get on his nerves.

He prefers a chill, simple and laid back partner.

Would definitely distance himself without further engaging in the the relationship/ situationship.

Would feel second hand embarrassed if his partner makes a scene.

Nanami Kento: Arrogance.

There's a difference between being self-confident and being arrogant.

The first one is a turn-on for Nanami, the second one is an immediate turn-off.

That line that separates them "attitude" makes a huge shift in the way he perceive his partner.

He finds arrogance off-putting.

He prefers a partner who is grounded and modest; traits that align with his own reserved nature.

Being an introverted man, Nanami tends to communicate in a calm and polite manner, with an arrogant partner the balance of his communication style would be disrupted.

An arrogant partner would talk down to him, which is very demeaning.

Politeness and mutual respect are necessary for Nanami, and arrogance can come across as dismissive, he finds that unappealing.

Nanami wants a genuine connection with his partner, where both of them are sincere, caring and responsible.

And arrogance brings with it selfishness and this doesn't align with how he pictures a stable, romantic relationship with a calm and harmonious environment.

Geto Suguru: Lack Of Ambitions And Negativity.

For a man with very big dreams, lack of ambitions is pathetic.

He wants a partner to push him forward and not bring him down with their negativity.

Geto believes in constant striving for improvement and excellence, so having a partner with no dreams would definitely get into his way and waste his time.

He pities people who are too basic and too simple and sees them as weak and burden in earth.

For him only people who are willing to make an impact on society are worth living but the purposeless ones are just a waste of oxygen.

The lack of purpose means lack of personality for him, it would make him instantly disconnected and disgusted no matter how much he would be physically attracted to that person.

Geto envisions a romantic relationship as a collaboration towards achieving mutual common goals.

So lack of ambitions and negativity would hinder the formation of thus goal-oriented relationship.

If a person isn't willing to change, push boundaries and challenge themselves, then Suguru wouldn't even bother to spend another second with them.

Choso Kamo: Talking To Other Guys.

Choso is a loyal man with a protective nature.

He prefers quality over quantity, having a loyal partner would mean the whole world to him.

A partner who engages in unnecessary or flirty conversations with other man ( even at the beginning of the relationship) would definitely make him really sad and turn him off at the spot.

Choso appreciates a reserved partner who only has eyes on him, so a gf/bf who likes to be the center of attention of other guys and constantly talk with them would make him break up with them to protect his heart and peace.

Choso wants undivided attention, he is willing to give the world to his partner, cut off all unnecessary connections if his partner feels jealous or uncomfortable and he wants the same.

Trust is crucial for Choso, and once his partner breaks that trust then it's over.

Ino Takuma: Dry Replies.

Ino is a man who thrives on his partner's affection and attention.

So dry replies would definitely make him sad and question hus partner's feelings towards him.

Ino likes to engage in lively conversations that flow effortlessly, from sharing how was his day to his plans for tomorrow.

So being constantly faced with replies that lack enthusiasm or effort are huge turn-off for him.

He puts too much effort in the relationship so he expects the same from his partner.

Ino appreciates a partner who expresses themselves openly, and also good listener who is willing to comfort him and tell him thay everything is gonna be alright.

And receiving cold replies would disappoint him and push him away, making him think that his partner is careless about him.

Also when sharing memes. Humor is important to Ino, so dry and dull answers would make him feel embarrassed and awkward.

He cares too much, he deserves someone who would give him the attention and care he needs.

So distancing himself from a dry partner would save him his energy and save him from overthinking.

[luveline]

you're writing for bradley!! i am so so excited!! could i request just some domestic fluff with shy!reader and bradley? maybe her coming home from a long day and he's just the perfect boyfriend with a glass of wine and a hug ready for her? love u gorgeous 💗

thank you for requesting, babe, I absolutely adored writing this and him, let me known if you have any more!! —bradley helps you feel better after a bad, long day with wine and a multitude of hugs. fem!reader 1k

You push into your apartment, a ground floor slotting of sandblown terracotta tiles and wooden shutters weakened by termites, and pause. There's something wrong, a humming sound. 

You take a step back toward the door and slide your phone from your pocket. 

Hi Bradley, where are you? I think somebody has been in my apartment. Should I worry? you text him. You've continued a streak of politeness with him even now, too shy to dip into the familiarity you feel when he's holding you close over the phone. You follow it up quickly. Don't worry, I'm sure it's okay. Do you know what time you'll be coming over? Any time is OK.

"It's me!" Bradley calls with an easy chuckle. Couch springs creak as he jumps up, and a second later he appears in the living room doorway with a frankly breathtaking grin, shoving his cell into his pocket. "I'm coming over right now. Holy shit, would you look at you?" 

You hold your bag closer to your side, hair not nearly as neat as it started that morning, the day's chaos etched into the small wrinkles either side of your eyes. "Me?" 

When he smiles, it's all white top teeth and joy. For someone who's been through so much, and who works so hard, he's a shaken bottle of fizzy happiness whenever the moment allows —you barely have time to put your bag next to the rack of shoes (and there, his shoes you must've missed toed off and perfectly aligned with your sandy flip flops) when he's crossing the hall in quick strides and pulling you into an ecstatic embrace. 

"Hey," he says, kissing your cheek, moustache not scratchy but far from soft. It rubs a wonky trail as he kisses without goal. Kiss on your nose, your cheek, close enough to your eye to make you cringe and back away. 

"Hi, Brad," you say breathlessly. 

You need time to prepare yourself for seeing him usually, his sudden closeness catching you off guard. You struggle to make any sense of how much he likes you, but you've given up denying his attention. You want it too badly. 

He doesn't stall at your obvious (embarrassing) flustering; he doubles down. His arms like steel cords behind your shoulders, Bradley noses at the side of your face, his breath warm on your cheek as he says, "Sorry, I thought surprising you might be nice, but I didn't think about your nerves." 

"My nerves," you say. 

"Your bad nerves. You're flighty." He gives it another press, the straight line of his nose digging into your cheek before he pulls away. 

Bradley doesn't give you time to miss his arms around you. He makes for the kitchen, notices you aren't following, and grabs your hand. Tugging, he takes you into the kitchen and elbows open your refrigerator, revealing a better sight than what you'd seen this morning. 

"I had to go out again when I saw your fridge," he says, ducking down to push aside what looks like the makings of your favourite meal to unearth a pretty bottle of red. "Sweetheart, when you said you had a shitty breakfast, I was picturing, like, half a grapefruit. Did you eat anything?" 

He only knows what you'd texted him, shitty breakfast code for the found half of a cereal bar in your jacket. 

You don't like to text Bradley too much in case you put him off, but today was bad, and you know he doesn't mind. He'd told you so only a few days ago. His hand full of your stomach, hot under the collar, you can't remember what you'd been talking about initially, your memory intricately busy remembering the planes of his tightly muscled torso and the feeling of his weight atop you, but suddenly he'd been leaning down, brown eyes pleading. "You can talk to me," he'd said. "About anything. I want to hear it. You know that, right?"

So you texted him somewhere around lunch time and had been delighted to find him puttering around doing a whole lot of nothing. He's been keeping himself busy on leave, staying fit, helping your elderly upstairs neighbour put together her new chest of drawers between half marathons and surfing, regular dreamboat stuff. 

I think I'm having a bad day, you'd said. What are you up to, Brad? Can I still see you tonight? 

Why do you act like I'm not obsessed with you? he'd text back immediately. Kidding. Kind of. What's wrong? Can I bring you lunch? 

Raincheck on lunch? I don't think I'll have time. I'll explain later if that's OK. Miss you. 

Miss you too, baby. I wanna hear all about it tonight.

You blink up from his hands to find him staring at you worriedly. You're in your own head, exhausted and a little muddled after such a long day, and he clearly doesn't like it. 

"Is wine gonna make you feel worse?" he asks, tapping your thigh with his knuckles. 

"Definitely not," you say.

"Before dinner?" 

Your smile turns sheepish. You want the wine much more than the dinner, but if you get both, you won't complain. 

He leans back against the fridge, arms crossed, the neck of the wine bottle held precariously in a confident hand. "Sure you're okay?" he asks. 

"I will be." You take a brave step forward and look up into his face. It's difficult to grasp what it is he sees in you when he's like something out of a movie, all brains, brawn, and bleeding heart. You don't get it, but he wants you, and he's here. "Thanks for coming over, Bradley." 

"This shtick again?" he asks, raising his brows. 

"This shtick again," you repeat, grinning at the implication. 

He hooks your ankle with his. "Thanking me for coming over is like thanking a fish for swimming. Couldn't stop myself if I wanted to." 

Your laugh is a wheeze. Brad does you the generosity of pretending you've made a more intelligible sound and pulls you in for a one-armed hug, rubbing a rough up and down into your side. It's such a nice feeling to be tucked up under his arm that you can almost forget how badly you want a glass of wine. 

"Want the big glasses from the top shelf?" Bradley asks knowingly. 

"Yes. Please." 

[mousydentist]

February 9th T-5 Days

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize anyone else came here.” Chay looks up from his phone to the door of the music room where a boy is peeking his head in. Kim, Chay thinks his name is. They sat together on the first day of classes, and Kim asked to borrow a pen. 

“No worries, you can come in, if you want. It’s just me.”

Kim hesitates for a second before grinning. “Thanks. You’re Chay, right? We have calculus together.”

Chay groans. “Please don’t remind me of that torture disguised as education.”

Kim laughs, sitting next to him and pulling a lunch box out of his bag. “So I’m not the only one who thinks that?”

“Nope,” Chay confirms. “And I bet you’re also thinking about how it’s taught by an old geezer with a stick up his ass, which I have to agree with.”

Kim almost chokes on his food, looking at Chay with a mixture of confusion and amusement. “I’m not sure I would’ve put it that way, but you’re not wrong.”

Chay laughs. “Do you come here a lot, by the way? I come here almost every day, but we’ve never crossed paths.”

Kim nods, swallowing a bite of food before speaking. “I do too, but I usually have student council meetings during this block.”

"Student council?"

"I'm the president."

Chay whistles, impressed. He probably should've known that, but he doesn't care much about class events.

"Cool," he says, then tilts his head. “Do you play?” he asks, gesturing at the decorative little guitar pick dangling from Kim’s necklace.

“Yeah, I do, actually. You too?” Chay nods. 

“Do you have one of your own?” Chay asks, and he sees Kim’s eyes light up.

“I do. I don’t mean to brag, but,” he says, leaning in as he pulls out his phone to show Chay a picture.

After that, the flood gates open. They talk for hours. Not hours. They talk for the whole lunch break, but it feels like hours. Chay’s never had a better first impression of someone. Whenever he meets new people, even when he first met Ohm, he tends to be very polite, smiling kindly and being slightly reserved. But today? He feels like he can’t stop talking, and Kim returns his enthusiasm in kind. It’s like they’ve been good friends for years, rather than strangers until thirty minutes ago. He's surprised how nice it is to hang out with Kim, but maybe that's his own biases about The Popular Kids creeping in.

Their interests seem perfectly aligned, and they don’t run out of things to talk about the whole time. Chay wants to invite Kim over so he can show him the guitar Porsche got him for Christmas, and they can play together. It’s very weird, since Chay’s never wanted to bring anyone over, let alone someone he just met. It’s not even that he thinks Kim would decline, Kim seems just as thrilled as he is to be sharing these kinds of conversations.

To be honest, he feels a little special to see a side of the boy he doesn’t show to just anyone. Well, at least, he’s never shown it to Chay before... He feels a little less special after that thought. This is probably how Kim is with all his friends, and since Chay’s never had a proper conversation with him before, it would make sense that he’s never seen it.

They talk all the way up until the bell rings, letting them know they have five minutes to get to their next class, which, conveniently, is one they share. Chay stands and cracks his back, stiff from how he was leaning back on his arms. Kim waits for him to grab his bag before they start walking together.

“Valentine’s Day is coming up,” Kim says, holding the door open for Chay. “Have anyone special you’re gonna buy chocolates for?”

Chay chuckles a little. “Not me. I’m too busy trying to graduate.”

Kim nods his head, looking forward as they walk through the halls.

Chay bites his cheek. It’s the first awkward silence since they started talking, and he doesn’t like it at all.

“What about you?” Chay asks to get the conversation flowing again.

Kim just shrugs.

Having no idea what to do with that, Chay keeps his mouth shut. 

When they enter the classroom, Chay walks slowly, not sure if he’s supposed to sit in his usual seat or follow Kim. When Kim sits down and doesn’t acknowledge Chay, he takes it as a sign and almost starts to walk past Kim to his seat down the aisle, but he pauses, bites his lip, working up the nerve. 

Finally, he turns back to Kim and holds out his phone.

“Can I get your number?” Chay says, which immediately sounds more forward than he was hoping for. But Kim just blinks at him, then chuckles and hands over his own phone. Chay quickly types his number in, and when he gets his phone back there’s a new contact: kim :)

[honestlyvan]

TBH I am sympathetic but unconvinced by the idea that we should be more permissive of people being cunts online, and that there's actually limited utility to complaining about an artist being an asshole when we can simply ignore and unfollow them and never have to deal with their unpleasantness. Y'know, live and let live and all that good stuff.

The problem I see with that attitude is twofold though. For one, "your right to swing your fist ends where it meets my face", to paraphrase the saying. Yes, majority of online negativity is nontargeted and harmless and it's up to every one of us personally to ignore things that make us feel bad, but negativity doesn't have to be targeted to be harmful. There are a million funnyperson accounts on social media whose whole online presence revolves around finding posts to dunk on for such significant crimes as "being inarticulate" or "being overly sincere" and "not being politically aligned or convinced by the commentator's politics" and most of the time when this happens, people will turn on the OP for daring to be like "hey if you have nothing nice to say don't say anything at all", for daring to want to be left alone.

This forwards the idea that bully logic like "if you don't want to be picked on then don't have qualities that can be picked on" and there's a real risk that being permissive towards accepting asshole behaviour when we don't like the target means that it's almost impossible to call out the same behaviour when it's done at someone who doesn't deserve it. Self-justification is a hell of a drug.

And for another, rewarding people for bad coping is not a victimless action, either! I have yet to see a single person who is just fucking mean all the time not be in some kind of a state of distress. I've talked before about how people on Tumblr have a really bad habit of feeding people's anger issues, literally rewarding meltdowns and lashing out with positive attention in the name of supporting someone's "righteous" anger, but also rewarding people's cool zingers that put them at an emotional high ground of being less invested has the exact same effect, punishing sincerity and rewarding emotionless posturing and facetiousness.

There's just... a real misunderstanding about what kind of treatment actually enables people to "act badly", and a real lack of understanding about how feelings and affect work. Someone being negative all the time is making themselves miserable -- if they're constantly rewarded for their negativity with attention they're going to make themselves more miserable.

[fae-scientist]

Something I've been thinking about for a while.

So I talk about being fae quite a bit (I mean it's in the name) but something I don't talk about quite as often is my archaic human identity. For the longest time, fae has been my primary species identity with Neanderthal* being in second place

*Just as a note, I may use the term Neanderthal for conveniences sake, but that doesn't mean it can't extend to other hominids as well

The reason this is the case is because it was difficult to determine exactly how to fit these two identities together. After all, they seem so different. What could fae and Neanderthals possibly have in common with each other?

Now this is going to get into noemata and personal belief territory, and there will be a lot of speculation from this point on.

I've been thinking a lot about the uncanny valley, the reason that humans are so unsettled by it, and also why we evolved to have it. Now to be clear, I'm not claiming there's one singular reason it became a thing. It's a complicated subject, and I feel it's more likely that multiple different factors came together to create the uncanny valley, but there's one theory in particular that really resonates with me.

It also led me to a question I hadn't considered: How far back do fae go?

Picture this:

You are an archaic human living with others of your kind, and the threat of danger is present at all times. You have to be prepared to take on anything that might harm you or the group, whether that be a predator, disease, etc.

But what you may not necessarily expect is that the monster you're afraid of is hidden in your very group, disguised as one of you. It may be someone you know. Maybe you even notice signs that they're a little off but can't place why. If they have malicious intentions, then that could spell danger for the whole group. The idea that the call is coming from inside the house is a frightening one.

It's my belief that this scenario did happen at points in prehistory (though I don't imagine it was necessarily common) even if I can't prove it, but I don't belive these nonhuman beings were all malevolent. I feel that some of them had to be benevolent and helpful.

Now here's the thing. I'm deeply terrified of the uncanny valley. But at the same time, I'm also fascinated and drawn to it. On the one hand, I feel the primal urge to be on edge just in case there's something lurking in the dark, and scenarios where creatures spawn into my house plague me often. But on the flip side, I am the creature who lurks in the dark. I do have the urge to be out in the forest at night.

It may be possible that in a past life, I was one of these benevolent beings who blended into a group of Neanderthals and helped them survive. I imagine that even if they knew there was something different about me, they still accepted me as their own. I was simultaneously one of them, yet not. Because having an ally like that in a world so dangerous can be very beneficial.

People tend to be wary of fae, and I understand why that is, but I think it's also important to acknowledge that humans and fae have had very positive relationships, including platonic, romantic, and sexual. It's not true that all fae seek to harm.

I consider myself human-aligned fae. There are plenty of stories of fairies who live among and/or help humans (changelings, brownies, etc.) It's one of the reasons I feel a bit disconnected from other fae, because I can't really divorce humanity from my fae identity. In fact, my human and fae species euphoria sometimes feeds into each other.

I feel like my fae instincts are pretty telling. A lot of people associate fae with tricksters who are only out to get humans, but my fae instincts actually include being nice to them. They also include politeness/manners and promoting fairness. These instincts can absolutely be experienced by humans, too, but they feel distinctly fae to me. And yes, tricking and playing jokes on humans is included in that, but nothing harmful (unless they're a politician I guess :/ I do have more "negative" fae urges, but those are for people who piss me off, not humans in general)

It's just difficult for me to believe that archaic humans had no interaction with nonhuman entities or that none ever tried blending in with them, when even today, we have plenty of nonhumans disguised as/living among humans, whether by choice or not (I mean, hello) and some of them are even human to varying degrees.

I imagine that once Neanderthals and other hominids all died out, I moved on to their closest living relatives who survived to the modern day, and thus, here I am. Playing Minecraft and typing out a Tumblr post or whatever (😐)

And that's where I'm at in piecing my identities together. Bonus noemata I have is that other hominids definitely did magic (though again, I can't prove it.) I also find it fascinating that part of the reason the uncanny valley developed may be due to existing near other hominid species. Literally people who are Like You But Not. (Also also day people/night owls exist because some hominids would watch for predators in shifts. I've always been a night owl and I'm literally night fae. I definitely would have worked the night shift)

[morskisir]

Answer to this ask I had to post seperately because I reached the character limit or something.

OHHHH Anon you are not ready. I think about this bastard so much and too deeply.

Before I get into it:

I love how you worded this question- gives a nice atmosphere.

Just to be clear this is all about RED Sniper. I apologise to any BLU Sniper enjoyers for I don't have thoughts about that guy.

I'm not the biggest fan of the comics for many reasons so don't mind me retconning a lot of that.

In the end these are all MY opinions and views of him- if you don't like them that's no problem. It's free real estate.

And FINALLY; my thoughts, under read more:

OKAY, let's start with what even got me to interpret him the way that I do; hell yeah baby, it's Meet the Sniper time.

I've seen MANY people often assume that Sniper is one of the most normal/chill people of the 2fort nine- but the impression I got is that he wants you to think he's normal so desperately despite everything else pointing to how fucking weird he actually is. Simply noticing the stuff he's saying makes it a lot more clear. The very beginning where he goes "Boom, headshot," making light of taking another person's life so swiftly. "Cause at the end of the day; as long as there's two people left on the planet- someone is gonna want someone dead," really positive light you see the world in, Sniper.

Of course you can take this as him being "realistic", and I do agree he's more of a realist than a pessimist or optimist, but "...have a plan to kill everyone you meet," is SO fucked up. Why is his first thought when meeting someone to know how to kill them? This to me is him not being able to properly connect to other people/understand them or actually SEE them as people. Not to mention his smile after delivering that shot in the timelapse of him sniping (AND after stabbing Spy). This cunt enjoys killing. He's not the type to slowly kill someone or torture them- but he is the type to feel satisfaction after planting a bullet in someone; give himself a pat on the back for it- or perhaps find humour in the kill.

The conclusion this brought me to is that he is an unreliable narrator in "Meet the Sniper". (Also the "..be polite," line. Yeah, sure, dude. Your voice lines are very polite.)

CAN WE TALK ABOUT HIS FUCKING TEETH? The way his teeth look and how much they're shown to the viewer by exaggerating his mouth movements feels like a "this guy is NOT normal" sign. No one in the game has teeth similar to him and his canines are HUGE. Like holy shit, he's an apex predator.

A comment @cheebuss (I know you wanna get tagged) saw once has been a running joke between us- it was basically "He indicates so he's normal," which is fucking hilarious, but I can genuinely refute that point. First of all we see him fucking speeding in the beginning of the video- to be fair we don't know what the speed limit on this road is, BUT:

Cunt drives around with a broken side mirror. That's really unsafe, obviously. A good chunk of that mirror has gone to shit and he does not care to replace it (which feeds into my headcanon of him being stingy/not wanting to spend money because he lived on a farm and they did everything themselves). Speaking of his van; it gave me the impression he likes having everything he needs near him- he doesn't need a grand, expensive space to feel comfortable. (I headcanon that he's actually scared/unnerved by vast, empty spaces/buildings) ALSO I think he's messy and prefers the claustrophobia of his van. I like to believe his childhood room was much the same (to the detriment of his mother)- that's his safe space damn it!!!

And here I can transition into talking about his parents!!! : D Of course, not much was shown to us of Mr. & Mrs. Mundy, but we can still glean some stuff from the video- and partially- the comics.

His father very obviously disapproves of his job, calling him "a crazed gunman", and showing his morals do not align with Sniper's. Sniper calls for his mum during the phone call shown at the very end of the video- looking annoyed and somewhat distressed. It's clear to me that they've had this argument many times and Mrs. Mundy is the mediator in them. I think she disapproves of the job as much as her husband does, but is sick of hearing them argue to that extent. Regardless of this conflict, Sniper loves and cares for his parents- they are his world. He doesn't care for anyone else, most of the shit he does is for their sake and continuing to provide support so they can live a stable life at their farm as they get older. It's one of the nicest things about Sniper.

Although, I do think he struggled to get them to understand him properly. He is a quiet man who doesn't express a lot of his emotions. That will complicate things, especially if he doesn't talk about it- and he doesn't!!! : D

Despite this, I think they were the people he was closest to. Sniper, to me, is a guy who's never had friends and has been lonely as well as isolated his entire life. "Too weird to live, much too rare to die." And this is a VERY long time we're talking about; DECADES. Decades of minimum to no human connection. (Just to note; he is almost 50 to me. The comic writers fucked the timeline up and made him a 20 something year old. The Sin. Do not speak of it to me. It makes him less interesting/compelling I'm not kidding.) He is anxious in social settings, barely speaks up, and prefers to simply back away when he doesn't know how to deal with something. (SUPER DUPER AUTISM + SOCIAL ANXIETY!!!) Does he try to interact with his co-workers? Veeeeery little. He yearns for connection he convinces himself he doesn't need. He trusts no one. He's a mystery to them.

But hey!!! Less distractions from his job!!! (Bad transition) This man is genuinely incredible at what he does- I keep replaying the part where he reloads his rifle. He was not kidding about being efficient (he also kills the entire BLU team in that video??). The lad's got incredible patience, aim, control, and overall understanding of what he's doing. There's something fucked up about him observing the people he's targetting like prey, but let's leave that for when I mention his previous job as a tracker (if I do). I imagine the only thing he excelled at in school (he did go there!! He can write!!!) is maths, as that is very much needed when you're a sniper.

BTW I think he barely passed school; he hated being there, had no interest in school work and his teachers kept pestering him about his social life. Leave him alone, he doesn't need that (he does).

Most of his focus went to his parents' farm where I think he mostly took care of the animals....or went out to hunt them; which is how he learned to shoot out of a rifle in the first place. (His dad taught him.) He's not exactly an animal guy but he's also not not an animal guy.

It's complicated.

ANYWAYS, I've talked enough about one single video. Let's mention his in game voice lines a bit!

There's a LOT of material there but here's the stuff I want to mention:

He talks to himself a lot. He isn't out there with the others- his job is to be perched up somewhere high and shoot from a distance so he doesn't get spotted. He makes so many jokes that only HE's going to find funny, except "You've got a forehead on ya like a coffee table," which is genuinely the funniest thing he's ever said. Boy voices his thoughts and tries to entertain himself when he's alone- I don't judge him for that. He has to sit there for hours in complete focus (he helps himself via a lot of coffee). I DO judge the things he says, however.

He's violent. (WHAT!?) There's plenty of examples but I would like to mention one adressed to his teammates. One of the "Jeers" commands is "Should've saved a bullet for some of you blokes!" which, hey, what the fuck? That's scary. He got so frustrated he threatened his own team with murder. (It's kinda funny) To me this shows he's bad at controlling his outbursts or that he never learned how to deal with them. (Autism moment!!!)

He literally growls.

There's this line addressed to Spy: "What goes around comes around, you snotty little nance." If you're not aware- "nance" is derogatory Australian slang for a prissy, effeminate gay man. I headcanon Sniper as a homosexual man so it tickles me that he's so insecure about this fact. It's sad, absolutely, but I find humour in this horrible man being a homophobic homosexual. Project your insecurities onto a guy who can read people extremely well, why don't you. He won't do anything about it, I promise :) (Lie)

I was doing my best to not mention SniperSpy but CAN WE TALK ABOUT HIS LINES AIMED AT SPY AND HOW THEY'RE DIRECT RESPONSES TO THINGS SPY SAYS? (plus the highest number of revenge lines he has directed at someone is Spy)

-> = response to:

"Aww, did I get blood on your suit!?" -> "You got blood on my suit."

"I was never on your side either! Wanker!" -> "I never really was on your side."

"Ah, my God, you've been shot. Did you get a look at the handsome rogue who did it?" -> "I'll see you in hell, you handsome rogue."

BY THE WAY, THAT LAST LINE? SPY ONLY SAYS THAT TO HIS COUNTERPART. WHAT, WERE YOU LOOKING AT HIM? WERE YOU WATCHING HIM ALL DAY? WHY DO YOU REMEMBER SO MANY THINGS HE'S SAID? WHY ARE YOU SO FOCUSED ON HIM? ARE YOU OBSESSED WITH HIM? ARE YOU OBSESSED? WHY ARE YOU OBSESSED WITH A LITTLE NANCY BOY? HM?

There is so much more I could mention. I think whatever thing he has going on with Spy is super important to him, but I will hold back for your sake as I can talk about this for hours. You have no clue how many parallels there are, etc.

Anyways, he's in Expiration Date! A little bit! He doesn't say anything. <3 I'm proud of him!!! <3

He literally just stands around ominously in the shadows (and finds RED Spy being made fun of very amusing).

"Hehe."

(I just noticed he took his watch off and put it on his vest. This is an autism moment because I, too, hate having something on me that I don't usually have so I need to balance it out by removing something else; if I have it on me. Either way it's sensory suffering.) (Him being super attached to his hat and glasses is also an autism moment. He is no one without them.)

And then he has that one part in The Bread Fight(tm) where he gets confused by Pauling and Scout pushing the bomb.

"Tails gets trolled" looking ass.

I like watching him fall over.

After he falls here, he takes his kukri out which was... attached? situated? It was behind the strap of his arrow carrier. I think that's cool. I also think he wouldn't be doing that during matches because Spy is very much capable of stealing it/putting it away without Sniper noticing, even if it was literally on his back.

Also, I am a firm believer in "Sniper can only do one thing extremely well and has little to no interest in creative stuff," so I disagree with the idea of him being able to play a saxophone. You could say he was made to do that in school, but this guy is a smoker. I do not believe he can do that. You cannot convince me.

I think that's enough! This doesn't even go past the hypothetical tip of the iceberg, but it's a lot of words. This is the very basic stuff you have to know about how I see this cunt.

Thank you for letting me share some of my insanity.

[u3pxx]

hey sun! sorry to bother you, but I'm currently doing a commission for a guy who wants a portrait made in the disco elusium style and I've never drawn in that style before ^^;

any tips, especially how to color?

not a bother at all! and while i'm not an expert on the disco elysium art style since i don't think i've done enough studies on it to say that i'm confident on saying what to do, i'll try my best to list out the things i've noticed while mimicking the art style. i'll split this into two parts, the composition of a portrait and the rendering and technical stuff behind it

i'll keep it under read more bc some of these portraits i'll be talking about are spoilers! whoops!

COMPOSITION

there's like, an unbelievable amount of variety when it comes to the portraits of disco elysium! personally, when i'm trying to mimic the art style, i try and look at the portraits in the game and see which of these characters are the most similar personality-wise to the character i'm trying to draw, and then i reference

1. PERSONALITY AND GROUNDEDNESS

let's compare the portraits of these two characters, ok? we have sylvie and idiot doom spiral. right off the bat, TOTALLY DIFFERENT VIBES, and that's good because we can instantly tell what kind of people these characters are supposed to be! and that's something disco elysium is excellent at.

sylvie's portrait is very simple; a very limited palette is used and the rendering on her is rather exact even with the rough-esque rendering that disco elysium's art uses. idiot doom spiral's portrait, on the other hand, is a lot more chaotic. there's more disorder to his portrait with how the paint strokes in the background seem to mix in with his face, there's a disheveled quality to how he's rendered.

ask yourself, how grounded is this character you're drawing? on a scale of sylvie to idiot doom spiral, how normal does their portrait look?

now, i'm not done with this klavier but i think it's pretty obvious that i heavily referenced smoker on the balcony's portrait because they have very similar vibes and role: pretty boy npc who your protagonist may or may not be a little infatuated with pftt (there's just something so different about them! i can't put my finger on it...)

2. WHAT DO THEY STAND FOR/THE ABSTRACT

ok! besides personality, they also have a knack for just doing some gorgeous portraits that truly reflect just, the history of a character and their role in the story. now i'm not the best at analysis so these are just gonna be some very simple observations about kim and dolores dei's portraits pftt.

the big white circle behind kim's face, besides doing an excellent job of framing kim, is very reminiscent of a nimbus which we typically see in religious art. it makes kim look like a very important figure, someone you should listen to. it's also kind of like a nod to how kim is like the few people who's like, civil and even nice to harry after his whole mind-breaking bender.

for dolores dei, GODDD i can rave about this portrait forever, it's such a favorite of mine. first, the rendering of her skin, she's like an opal or a golden statue; it's otherworldly, which makes sense because that's what harry thinks of her. and then, the splotchier and messier rendering below her, it's like she's fading away, she's just a distant memory of the past.

i'll use this very quick doodle of apollo in the de style to explain my point about symbols better. what is it that you want to emphasize about your character? are there any motifs you'd like to show?

i definitely wanted to portray apollo as determined and even heroic-looking in this portrait. leaning into his name, added that rim-lighting as if the sun was shining on him. emphasized his badge by giving it this exaggerated shine on it and lastly, made the background like the one he has when he perceives.

3. LOCATION

for backgrounds, i feel like you can go either three ways: abstract colors, political alignment, and location.

(i'm not happy that i have to use gary as an example here but he's the most blatant example of the second type of background AKSKSKS orz)

ok! so harry's bg, pretty funky, pretty fun. gary's bg, he's a fascist, that's the fascist flag in de. moving along trant's bg looks like a very abstract version of the wall in the building he's seen gazing at, heck, the way he's head is turned to you looks like you just called out his name and he quickly turned around to look at you but he is still very much facing the building.

more examples of those three things! garte: colors. titus: that red block is present on all union members. dicemaker: facing the window in the darkness of her workshop.

RENDERING

de has fairly very realistic looking faces, so brush up on your knowledge of the anatomy of a face or collect many faces/portraits that look the character you're trying to draw and reference the SHIT out of them!

1. BRUSHSTROKES

you're gonna be needing some brushes that have a texture to them ok. you're gonna need to slap those bad boys in that digital canvas and go wild ok. you can still do lineart kind of not everything is like rendered RENDERED bc some portraits make heavy use of smoother-looking black strokes to indicate lineart. ok i love you

2. PALETTES

think back to personality and symbolism, what colors are strongly associated with your character, and how grounded are they. the more normal they are the more minimal colors are used but if there's something going on with them you can go so so so wild

and also, you can eyedrop tool the colors from any of the de portraits, makes life easier pftt

3. HOW TO RENDER? HELP?

i'll go ahead and put my drawing of butch!kim here bc i basically just did a study of kim's portrait pftt. the art style is very painterly so i'm so sorry to say that you're gonna have to paint 😔 i know... i'm so sorry...

so block your colors! block your shadows and chip away on that thang, give it dimension! don't zoom in on your canvas in the earlier stages bc you'll end up fixating on one tiny part instead of the whole painting itself, and that's gonna make the duration of your drawing so much longer lol

ok i've been writing this for way too long and i can't think anything more to add so if there's anything else you want to know that i didn't mention here, feel free to ask me again. now good luck 🫡

[stellaluna33]

Since you are so good at analyzing characters, what do you think was the point of Dean telling Rory he's engaged? What reaction did he expect? Was he trying to make her jealous? I saw people theorize that he wanted her to talk him out of it but when she tried that he got offended, so what did he want?

Well, first of all, thanks! 🥺 And that's an interesting question. I think the most charitable explanation would be that he thought it would be better if she heard it from him, rather than hearing it from someone else (and news gets around fast in Stars Hollow). I'm not a big fan of Dean, but he DOES try to be a considerate person in general... he just doesn't react well when other people don't respond the way he expects them to... This incident being a case in point. He gets very upset generally when Rory's emotions don't align perfectly with his, so in this case, since he was expressing happiness (I am refraining from saying that he WAS happy, haha. Maybe he was... At the very least, he had convinced himself he was happy and was acting accordingly), he expected Rory to just echo that back. A politely excited, "Wow! That's great!" was probably what he told himself he wanted. Rory, however, was not living in his little fantasy world, where proposing to your girlfriend of 4 months right after fighting with your ex-girlfriend's boyfriend when none of you have yet graduated from highschool seems like a reasonable idea, so she gave him a reality check instead. He did not want a reality check, he wanted blind agreement.

And I really hate to do this, but once again I'm reminded of the things Dean and Rory DO have in common, because this is exactly the way Rory responded to Lorelai after Lorelai questioned her decision to sleep with Dean. In both cases, the questioner was in the right, but the person being questioned didn't want to hear it.

Now, could Dean have also had other motives? Possibly! I've never believed that people can only ever have one reason for doing the things they do! It's usually more complicated than that. So, it's POSSIBLE that he was subconsciously hoping that Rory would be upset that he was marrying someone else. But even in that case, acting hurt and offended would serve his purpose, because it implies that Rory is UNREASONABLE for not being happy for him. So, if she ISN'T happy for him, there must be some OTHER reason, right? Maybe that would push her to think about what other reasons there might be. And even if not, there's a kind of spiteful, poisonous pleasure in feeling wronged and outraged sometimes, isn't there? I think we in the social media age have to admit that that's something a lot of people seem to find addictive. And Rory, after their breakup, had been constantly groveling, trying to "make up" for hurting him, and I think he liked that too. So compliant and eager to please and appease, but now she's CRITICIZING him?! How dare she! She's forgetting her Place, which is that she owes him her meekness and niceness FOREVER now, because this entire situation is Her Fault, and he needs to REMIND her of that. But now I'm venturing into UN-charitable territory. 😂

ANYWAY, these are some Thoughts I've had about the situation.

[nknoxe-n]

Heyo! Could I get a matchup for Blue Lock? ( ≧∀≦)ノ💙

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Zodiac Sign: Sagittarius

MBTI: ISFP

Appearance: Long wavy brown hair, fair skin, amber eyes. 1,68 m (5,6) - Average height tend to tall (Curvy).

Personality: Optimistic realist, Nightowl, Ambiviert, friendly and polite, a go with the flow person, i'm usually pretty chill, lazy bean who is a sleepyhead, i may be nice

and be good with all kinda of people but when someone gets over my boundaries/insults my family/acts disrespectful towards me I tend to get mean and say rude words, so don't mess with me :3. I'm trustworthy, keep secrets, and keep my emotions and feelings to myself. I'm very observant and read people well, so they can't manipulate me easily. Stubborn, Chaotic. Dark and sarcastic humour is my kinda humour. I'm also extremely sarcastic towards what I care about and will call them weird, adorable nickname as a sort of love language, whether it be platonic or romantic. People often call my smile pretty and call me very adorable. I'm always a happy girl, but they don't know my inside at all. Cheerful, mysterious girl. I tease the people I like and give them nicknames. I only open up easily when I vibe with someone, but if not, I'm distant and friendly.

Likes: Music, food, books, manga, anime, mythology, history, art, astronomy, my favourite animal is the red panda, stuffed animals, cats, and seafood.

Dislikes: Spiders, bugs, people that are obnoxious, dirt, coffee, math, being interrupted.

Hobbies: Dancing, Drawing, writing, Art, Gaming, watching anime, films and shows, going to the cinema, museum, shopping, Reading and collecting my favorite characters (usually husbandos from anime/ mangas) Nendoroids, acryl figure etc. I'm lying in bed at night and scrolling through Instagram reels, reading Wikipedia articles over historical stuff (always researching stuff I don't know).

I like smart, strong, witty, and funny guys who stimulate my intellect. As well teasing, somehow it's adorable and cute when you banter around together. Someone who i can be myself, be like besties who play together but also keep me stable. Someone who has a sharp tongue and doesn't hesitate to tell how he views things/his opinion.

Take your time, and thank you for doing that. Have a lovely day/night/ afternoon

( ﾟ∀ﾟ)人(ﾟ∀ﾟ )

Your Blue Lock Matchup: Michael Kaiser

Okay, hear me out here, Michael is obnoxious, and cocky, we see it all the time, but I think it would be different with his partner. If he is to love someone he would have to love them so so deeply for him to trust and get past his walls that he's put up, and you'd kinda have to teach him how to love and be kind, but he'd be listening eagerly because he wants to make you happy, only you, he values you and everything you hold dear. When considering your layered personality, Michael Kaiser stands out as your perfect-ish match. He's charismatic and sharp, which aligns seamlessly with your need for a smart, witty partner who can match your energy in playful banter and intellectual discussions.

Things would probably be very distant at the start, but as things settle, he will open up to you at the same pace you do. He loves a challenge, and your observant nature and strong boundaries would make him respect you deeply. Your ability to read people and stand firm when pushed would be very needed in your relationship with him, he tends to not always be completely truthful even to himself so to have a partner who might understand how he's feeling even when he's trying to push it all down it would absolutely make him melt.

Your teasing and sarcastic humour? It’s a language Kaiser speaks fluently. He likes to be... rude when talking to people but when it comes to his partner he tones it down, he loves to tease and pick small fun, it keeps the tone light and easy for him, comfortable. And while the more intimate moments are slightly uncomfortable for him since he doesn't completely understand love, yet he can't get enough of it from you.

Your artistic side and love for mythology, history, and astronomy would fascinate Kaiser. He’d love listening to you talk about your latest research rabbit hole or admiring your drawings, even if he doesn’t entirely get the nuances of art. He’d probably joke that your talent should be used to paint his portrait—but deep down, he’d be genuinely impressed and would see if you could sketch tattoo ideas for him.

Kaiser is the type who would absolutely spoil you. Whether it’s indulging your love of shopping, taking you to museums, he’d make sure you feel cherished. He's loaded, I mean the ace of his world-class team? He can afford to spoil you and really does like gift giving, although he prefers receiving since he's never gotten gifts for anyone before, but he's trying his best.

[taylortruther]

(im sorry sometimes i just send you long asks about my opinions, but it’s because i feel like even if you disagree or think what im saying is dumb (for the lack of a better word), you would be nice and gentle about it haha. ignore me if you want!)

maybe the way i view celebs is “wrong” but i grew up in india, and i literally learned to never rely on them. they do and say the dumbest things, but no one bats an eye because it’s like “ofc this famous person said and did this.” in the same vein, i don’t rely on her to feel that im making a difference in society by calling her out. as for everyone always talking about expecting better from her, i literally don’t expect anything from her. i obviously recognize that her outreach is so very wide so of course i would love if she did say something and addressed certain things, but i have seen that she will not speak on issues pertaining to other countries and sticks to her lane with 3-5 major things in the US, so why would i expect her to speak about anything else? having followed her for so long, based on past, how could i and why would i? (this sounds unkind i think but i actually mean it in a kind way lmao). her speaking on things would just bring me personal peace that she did her part and that i support a good person, but beyond that, if i actually want change, why would i focus on her at alllll instead of focusing on an actual political figures? that’s time spent doing something that will result in nothing instead of something else (i realize this is extremely ironic because im typing this long ask and spending time on it 💀 i love being a hypocrite i guess)

instead of focusing any of my energy wanting her to do things she probably won’t do, i spend my time actually supporting things i believe in, and constantly having uncomfortable conversations with people around me. and the impact i have is actually very little compared to all that other people do, so instead i spend time feeling guilty about it and thinking what can i do? (that’s kinda a joke but also not a joke at all alkjgdgsj)

also, like im so in terms of how she and i are different. im a poc immigrant, and im extremely privileged in general, but compared to her it’s nothing. she is the biggest star in the world. no way our approach or thinking aligns. i feel like calling her out and constantly thinking about her “wrongs” just makes me feel conflicted about her. i don’t want to align myself with her politically and not because she is a conservative or something but because there are other people who are more sensible to align myself with. and it’s not that i don’t critically think about her, but that im being selfish and affording myself this luxury.

basically, all that word-jargon to say i love her music and i love her as a person and her traits very dearly, and the way she approaches political issues is something i used to be in gripes with but have accepted and come to terms with. and maybe i have cognitive dissonance and im actually blind to how evil she is because im a “cupcake” swiftie, but oh well. i guess i just have no morals then 😭

arshia i completely agree with you and imo this describes my own mentality about it really well. she does not represent me and frankly i do not really want her to try. of course, i wish she'd come out and say some shit like "MONEY FOR WAR BUT NOT FOR CITIZENS? CALL YOUR REPS AND SIT IN IN ALL THEIR OFFICES" fjdkasl but i'm not going to hold my breath. taylor's conscience is her own, i can't control it!

and if someone cannot stomach celebrities at all because of what they represent - FAIR! i turn off that part of my brain to be on here, because this is my fun lil hobby. and i think i am making more of an impact irl than i ever could on here. although, if anyone learns anything about their own politics through my blog, i consider that a win.

[letswrites]

C.L- Never be the same

Masterlist

Sneak peak: Chapter 1- A girl with hazel eyes and a hand full of scars

Chapter 1 will be out this week. Enjoy this sneak peak by now. :)

--------------------------------------------------------

"Is it a good time?" It wasn't a good time, he hadn't stopped Super Max and he climbed the grid to get the pole. But even so, he smiled politely "Yes, sure" he wasn't convincing himself but seemed to convince the lady "Good! Charles, how do you feel?" Broken. Useless. "Not in my best mood, but... Looking forward to better days" "That's the spirit. Can we do something to up your mood?" Force Max to retire next season and leave his car as heritage to me, he thought. "Just keep supporting me, seriously, your love messages... Mean a lot to me" the interviewer opened a warm smile "You're lovely" he opened the same smile "I'm just being honest" and he was "would you like to make a retribution for a fan?" No! At least not right now. I was hoping that you all would leave me alone to hate myself for the crap I'm feeling today, he answered in his mind only "Sure" "Great! Please follow me" Nice! Now he had to relocate. "Wait here" She walked a few feet towards a tall man "Excuse me" She started. The man who was laughing with two girls turned to the lady who Charles knew as 'the interviewer' "Daniel Ric? Are you the fan of mine?" Daniel opened his big signature smile "No. I mean, I am but the surprise isn't for me but for this little one here" Daniel stepped to the side and showed a little girl, who was about 6 to 8 years old, wearing Ferrari's whole outfit. The journalist squatted and asked the girl "Do you want to meet my friend?" 'We are not friends' Charles thought. The kid nodded "Charles, would you like to join us?" "Sure!" he said shyly and the child tapped her mouth as she was meeting Santa "Oh, my God" he didn't know why but her reaction gave him the power he wanted back. He smiled and offered a hug to the little one, lifting her up with one arm only "I didn't know the fan was her. Could have warned me so I would have aligned my hair" he told Valeriana running his fingers on his hair, causing everyone to laugh "Hi, nice to meet you, princess" she was still the same way, frozen like a photograph "She's a shy lady, don't be offended" Daniel placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed lightly "Hi!" she said quickly just for him "Hi! How's your name?" he replied warmly, a smile on his face "Celeste" "That's a beautiful name. Is it French?" "Yes" "Nice to meet you, Celeste. I'm Charles" "You're amazing" "Do you think?" "Yes" "Well, thank you, Celeste. You're also amazing" she blushed, wishing to disappear "Would you like me to sign your cap?" "Please" "And take a picture?" she nodded affirmatively " Okay, let's do it. Will you take the picture, Dan?" "Sure!" Daniel grabbed Celeste's mother's cell phone and photographed them "There you go" "Does someone have a pen," Charles asked. People started to look around for a black marker and the first person who did it was a girl, one of the girls who was talking to Daniel when he first came to the scene "Here" she had a strong American accent and her hands had tones of scars. He didn't feel as hypnotized as he was at that moment in a while. She had short brown hair but long enough to be tied, hazel eyes, and light skin which he figured out was soft even with all the scars when his fingers brushed on hers at the moment he grabbed the marker "Thanks" she nodded. Charles placed Celeste on the ground and knelled to sign her cap and shirt "There you go, Celeste" she hugged him "Thank you!" he hugged "You're welcome" Then he stood up "Say goodbye to Charlie, Celeste" Daniel told her "Goodbye" he smiled, she was so cute "Bye bye" then she ran for her mother. "Thanks, Charles" "It was my pleasure" Then he walked away from the journalist and walked towards the owner of the pen "Your pen, miss" "Thanks" she grabbed it quickly "Would you like me to sign something for you?" "No, thank you" "Or a picture?" "I'm good" Wow, she was tough "Do you know I..." "You're Charles Leclerc, I'm aware" "Oh... okay"' he coughed "Goodbye, then" "Goodbye" If little Celeste didn't appear to cheer up his day, he would be fucked.

[enden-k]

Can I ask what makes Arlecchino evil? I'm v much a villain enjoyer and like some morally greyness, but I genuinely didn't pick up on a lot of bad stuff with Arlecchino. She was super helpful during Fontaine and seemed to be the only powerful person who cared about helping the common folk when the water levels were rising.

I'm not here to start an argument, just wanna expand my view 🙏

dw didnt think u want to argue! i will also use this to say i wont tolerate arguments, this goes for everyone here

i will talk about sensitive themes under the cut (mentions of when i was groomed/emotionally abused by my adoptive father/mentions of abuse/grooming in general) so if someones not good with this, be warned please and dont click for your emotional comfort.

i really love arlecchino (theres also difficult, personal reasons ig) and id rather wait for her to arrive to get more information than we have so far through other characters/side quests/main quest but well.

her goals aligned with ours in the fontaine quest which is why we have the impression shes a good/nice person, especially considering our other meetings with the harbingers we met so far (signora, childe, scara, dottore) and the situations. shes very calm and diplomatic (lets see how it changes in the next update when we fight her)

but we shouldnt forget how the travellers on their toes the entire time/everytime they come in contact with arle. its because shes a harbinger after all. shes a danger. her graceful politeness and calmness is supposed to have you on guard, make your hairs rise. shes mentioned to be manipulative and shes manipulating others to achieve what she wants by being nice and calm. she has ulterior motives. we should be careful. this is my impression based on my own gaming experience and idk if it was the same w others, but bc of us being on guard around her i was always prepared for her to turn on us until the end of the main quest.

anw, arle is supposed to be intimidating and have you wary. even tho she comes off as nice and polite, having done good and helped in the main story. its bc thats what she wanted and you happened to have the same goal. also lets not forget scaras and childes thoughts about her which already tells a lot

she has two sides. the one we saw in the quest, the graceful, calm, polite face to get what she wants. and the other, the one scara and childe talk about here, the one they call "crazy"

not to mention her codename, "the knave". what does it mean? servant. what else does it mean? "dishonest/deceitful man". basically, swindler. isnt it perfect?

shes manipulative and whatever her "true" nature is, we dont know (yet). she may have "good intentions" here or there but will achieve them no matter what it takes.

as for the thing you can consider as bad; the house of the hearth is an orphanage that raises children into fatui agents. only those who have potential join the ranks while the others are kept close (its not known whats done with them afaik). theyre basically grooming/raising child soldiers/spies.

before the sensitive stuff comes up, for the ppl who dont want to proceed, arlecchino fools/manipulates you into thinking shes a nice person/good parent. its amazing and so in character for her. its also scary how some ppl cant see the abuse/manipulation unless you went through this too or well. just actually read and realize it.

arlecchino is an emotionally manipulative parental figure. now, this is coming from someone who went through heavy abuse/was groomed by their adoptive father who was extremely manipulative and i spot so many things very well known to me. others who went through the same get this feeling. these signs you immediately recognize.

you get punished for the tiniest mistakes and when you get loved, it makes you forget all that was done to you, just for that tiny bit of affection you crave. you try to do your best, to do everything asked and expected of you, not to disappoint the only parent you have and youre dependent on, to be a good kid deserving of love and when you slip up youre in shambles. there was a time i did a tiny mistake by accident and my father said to me in the coldest voice "you broke my trust" and i remember so vividly how it broke me, how i cried until i got sick. i was physically abused before and none of it hurt me more than this. it still gets to me after all those years. emotional manipulation is cruel

what im trying to say is, she came in a time of need. taken as a savior while it just is one abuser swapped out with another. like my adoptive father having me dependent, giving me love i never received and being everything i wanted, making me believe hes everything i need, a common thing abusers do. wanting to do everything youre asked of and do it good, the fear of disappointing and being punished, believing you deserved it bc its your fault and treating your abuser like a savior, being conditioned. this is whats happening.

now, arle genuinely loves and protects her children; its very clear that the life of the children matter to her the most (look at childes line and freminet/lynette etc) - she was one of them too after all. so, its possible to love and still do these. moral greyness etcetc

anyway idk if its understandable or if i can explain it in proper words while maintaining a good distance so ill add the voicelines of the siblings heavily implying this, and also a tweet adressing this that brings it to proper words, better than i can say

tweet here bc tmblr doesnt insert the link properly

[mesaprotector]

was reading recently about the "to be lawful or good" trope (follow orders/respect rule of law, or do what's right?), and it occurred to me that western values are so idealistic on the matter that "good" is almost always chosen, and a character who believes the law is the greater good is usually painted as morally dubious and hypocritical. tvtropes points out that in the parallel "to be chaotic or good" dilemmas protagonists almost always choose chaotic. i guess that makes sense from the point of view of fiction as wish fulfillment, and the ideal world for an american is one where they can do whatever they want without consequences.

psycho-pass is a really good example of media where this does not happen. anime in general tends to be more respectful of "lawful" values, sometimes to excess from my own western point of view (too many anime i've seen, workplace abuse is "dealt" with by learning to work harder). but urobuchi at least has a nice concept of what a balance can look like. (spoilers below, of course).

akane tsunemori is the most lawful good character to ever lawful good. she has constant positive intentions, cares for everyone in her society, and does so by enforcing and interpreting the law - and would not have it any other way. there's an amazing quote from her near the end of s1 (i have not seen the later seasons):

"People have always detested evil and sought out a righteous way of living. Their feelings, the accumulation of those peoples feelings are the law. They’re neither the provisions, nor the system. They’re the fragile and irreplaceable feelings that everyone carries in their hearts."

when faced with "to be lawful or good", she never once gives up on the law, no matter what. she has at least two chances to kill a dangerous villain outright and rejects both as being against orders; when the law itself tries to ensnare someone she loves, she finds a way out by following the rules instead of just breaking them like any other hero would.

dungeons and dragons kind of threw the alignment system at players and told them "you, there, interpret this". it's difficult and a lot to ask. from the little experience i have with it, most players only care about good/neutral/evil, and as for law vs. chaos they're just treated like different flavors of ice cream. it's far more compelling to treat them as equally important - a lawful good character and a chaotic good character are as far apart, morally, as a lawful good and a lawful evil one.

psycho-pass s1 doesn't have a chaotic good character. the closest it gets is kagari, who could perhaps be called chaotic neutral (though i have trouble calling any literal cop chaotic, he was essentially forced into the role). but it does have a fantastic example of a chaotic vs. lawful conflict, just on the evil side - makishima vs. sibyl.

i think where i wanted to go with this is that part of maturity is learning that two people, or groups of people, who are fighting, may very well both be righteous, and talking it out is often not a solution. i think most modern politics is like this, but that's just my feeling. there are some fairly evil people around, to be sure, but the vast majority of people are not - and recognizing that those different from you are in some ways righteous, and that you yourself are in some ways capable of evil - is really a critical sort of humility.

i might be a little too thrilled with myself for having realized this so early - i was the only kid in my class who liked "lord of the flies", and i still do like it. tumblr used to really have a thing about hating it back when the audience on this website had an average age of 16. i hope those people who insisted "but i'd never have grown up to do anything bad" have learned better since. but looking at how many older people (including apparently most writers) haven't gotten the memo, i'm not too sure.