#just like my brain when i start thinking about them

[hope-for-the-planet]

Trans person in the US. Bust some of the doomerism for me? Tell me it's going to be okay?

Hi Anon

Usually, I have boundaries for myself about keeping this blog focused on environment-related issues, because there are limits to what I can speak knowledgeably about. But now doesn’t feel like the time for that.

Anon, I will tell you that I live in the US, I am queer, my spouse is trans, and we have two young children. I am sitting right there with you in the fear and grief and every day when I ask myself “is there still hope” I find reasons to say “yes”.

They want us—all of us, not just queer folks—to feel overwhelmed and hopeless, because despair is a tool that keeps people from realizing their power and taking action.

They want us to feel so afraid that we lose our faith in other people and withdraw from our communities, because we are easier to conquer alone.

Do not give them what they want.

Hope is most necessary in the bad times. The ability to imagine a future that is better than things are now is exactly what gives us the power to begin making things better. Our community has been through terrible things before, and they did not lose hope or give up—otherwise we would not be where we are today.

When you start to feel like all the light is being blotted out, turn off the news, put away your phone, and go get in touch with something you love. Go outside and look at the sky, talk to a friend, listen to music, do some small thing to make something better even if it’s just cleaning your kitchen or picking up some litter around the block or returning an extra stranded cart in the grocery store parking lot. Remind your brain that you have agency to make positive change in the world through your actions.

I know it is really hard to pull out of the darkness sometimes. I know there will be days that hope seems like a foolish, naive thing, that despair and distrust seem like the only rational options. But hope is what keeps us alive. Hope is what allows us to save each other.

I wish I could give you a specific article or other source to reassure you that everything is going to be ok, but things are still too in flux day by day. I can tell you that people are already fighting back, in big and little ways, all over this country and the world. These orders and bills are being pushed by a loud but small minority—this is not how the majority of the country feels about trans rights.

Make a plan for staying safe. Reach out to your community. Find music, activities, podcasts, movies, whatever helps you feel uplifted and take mental breaks from dwelling on the news. If you can, find ways to get involved in making things better in whatever big or small way feels doable for you--it may help push back on the doomerism more than you think. And my inbox is open if you need to talk.

I wish I could invite you over for dinner. I wish I could look into your eyes and tell you that things may get hard for the next few years but that does not mean that your life can't still be full of joy and beauty and fulfillment in spite of that.

I’m right there with you. Let’s make it through this together <3

[weekendviking]

Oh fuck yeah.

One time I was on a remote exploration drilling and field mapping job in the Yilgarn Craton in West Australia (Kimberlites! Diamonds! Archaen Banded Iron Formations!), and with just me, the driller, and two offsiders, so all hands on deck, all the time, both due to the work, and just the extreme environment and living difficulties in a desert camp, several hundred km from Paraburdoo, the nearest town. Not uber remote, but definitely outback, and if you fuck up, dying is extremely possible.

Anyway, in the first week, the driller suggested that we could even the workload by bringing out a friend of his who was an experienced camp cook, and at face value, this seemed like a good idea, and within the budget for the job, freeing us up from some of the camp domestic tasks to concentrate more on the drilling for them, and on the core logging for me, and my field mapping work (not required, but I did it anyway because I was suspicious the Joint Venture partners had falsified their data, which they had, but that's a different story!)

However, new drill team staffer was not doing well. Yes, she could do the work, but was clearly mentally in a bad state, and even though the Driller was trying to keep a lid on it, we could all see that she was in severe distress.

It came to a head after another week or so, when, as was my schedule, I'd go out and do the field mapping work in the mornings when it was cool, come back to camp around 11 to catch an early lunch, and then head down to the drilling site to log the core in the afternoons when it was too hot to be running around the hills.

Pull up to camp, Cook is sitting at the table under the awning, slightly slumped. I get out, walk up, and she's bleeding from the back of both wrists. The Back, mind, across the veins, not the arteries, so oozing badly but Not Actually Going To Die Soon. She was clearly embarrassed to be discovered in this state by 'The Whitecollar Guy', and produced a poor excuse of having cut herself prepping the days meals, and I didn't gainsay that, as one is clearly not going to further stress or question someone partway through a suicide attempt, just deal gently with them and help them. I pulled my field medkit from the car, and started to prep to treat the cuts, with both of us doing the 'We know You know I know this was a suicide attempt but lets just put that aside and not talk about it' dance, but she did at this point say 'Oh, I'm hepatitis positive' so at that point I Paused Bigtime and gloved up properly, (and also mentally 'Then why the fuck are you allowed to be the (admittedly tiny company) company cook' was running through my brain).

Treated the cuts, got her cleaned up and had a quiet chat, then got on the radio to the drill site and got the driller down to camp, and had a quiet chat with him, to whit 'Ok, I don't know what you were thinking but you need to get her safely off site and back to Perth and to a good facility because she's clearly going through it bad'

Turned out that she was his partner, and had been having difficulty getting clean off intravenous drug use (hence the Hepatitis positive) and he'd thought 'If I get her out in the bush where she can't get the shit maybe that will help her dry up'. So the poor lass was going through a hard cold turkey withdrawal while stuck in a tent and caravan camp in the middle of fucking nowhere while having to do a Job on a lax, but still corporate, work site. Don't do that, guys.

We had her offsite and on a plane back to Perth that evening. I hope she recovered, but I never did hear any further news.

Aspencore

[leqonsluv3r]

hiii!! May i ask for a first date with Leon with a fem reader? Thanks!

bed chem

—re!4 leon kennedy x fem!reader

—a oneshot (request)

warnings: MDNI, 18+, some swearing, readers ex being a dick, leon charming it up on the first date, sweet but passionate seggsy time bc i say so, unprotected pnv, nicknames; baby, sweet girl, honey, heavy making out on the first date (it happens), reader being a horny mess over leon (relatable honestly), and a bunch of other shit.

“she had been weighing the pros and cons of doing this for the past three days. it was the nerves of getting back out there after being in a shitty relationship, that were getting to her. she wanted to move on from that. but still…was this the best idea? she couldn’t just forget about her ex? right? she needed to but something — maybe anxiety — was clawing at her guts. she sat in the restaurant again that they were supposed to meet at, a blind date of all things. she was never this…bold. never this much of a risk taker. but she needed this, she cant remember the last time she had — “is this seat taken?” she is snapped out of her thoughts as she looks up and sees the most handsome man she’s probably ever laid eyes on. her ex boyfriend didn’t even compare by a long shot. she looked at him like a gaped fish, “uhm…no…it’s not…” she blubbers out. she was in for it.”

— or reader meets leon on a blind date and thinks maybe her ex breaking up with her wasn’t such a bad thing

masterlist taglist prompt game

an: i’m sorry this took me so long to get up. hope this is what you had in mind, anon.���🩷

she didn’t think this was a good idea.

not in the slightest, she had been single for only three months. she wasn’t waiting to long right? no, she wasn’t. she could do this.

even if her gut was screaming at her to do something differently, to run out of this restaurant and away from her blind date that was setup.

she wanted to run.

she stared at her wineglass of water, taking a small sip of it. she sighs softly, looking at her phone. he was five minutes late. did she get stood up? did he see her then turn around and leave? she swallowed and tried to not jump to conclusions. that probably wasn’t the case.

she hated that she was back to square one, if only her ex hadn’t dumped her right before christmas. she felt like she was stuck, having dated her ex for two years, she felt so out of the game with flirting. she was just going on this date to humor her friends, they said she was moping, said she needed to stop eating ice cream in her sweats on friday nights.

she had to agree, she needed to start going on dates…but blind ones? set up by her friends? not the smartest idea.

but they had told her to trust them. so she was, even though she felt like her heart was beating out of her chest.

she couldn’t do this, she was going to get up and leave, go right back to her apartment and —

“is this seat taken?” she hears a voice drawl from behind her shoulder. she swallowed, her insides melting like jello just at the four simple words this man had uttered. she tries to find words as he quickly rounds the table and sits down opposite from her. it’s like her eyes and brain are working faster then her mouth is, taking him all in. he was so beautiful, so…god, she didn’t even have a word for what he was.

she finally found some words and opened her mouth, “uhh, your…uhh…” she takes a deep breath and tries again, “your my blind date?” she finds herself saying. it came out more quiet and feeble then she would’ve liked but in this mans presence she’s lucky she wasn’t a puddle on the floor already.

he nods with a small subtle quirk of his lips, “leon kennedy.” he says as he grabs the menu, his eyes scanning over her for a quick second then averting to the specials on the sheet in front of him. she ducked her head down to look at her own menu, trying to seem focused on it when in hindsight, she wanted to ask where the cameras were. she was obviously being pranked. right?

she looks up from her menu and chances a look at leon again, she smiles softly and nervously when he catches her stare. he puts his menu down slowly against the table and looks at her. “are you going to tell me your name?” he says with a small teasing brow raise. she chuckles softly, averting her eyes and then looking back at him before saying her name softly. he hums in acknowledgment, his lips quirking up again. “cute name.”

jesus, fuck the dinner. she could just jump his bones right now.

the waiter doesn’t giver her a chance though and comes by to take their orders for drinks and appetizers. leon looks back at her, his blue eyes burning deeply into her soul as if trying to read her from across the table. “so why are you not on the dating apps?” is the first question he asks her. she blinks at him dumbly for a moment, trying to process his question. “uhm…i just got out of a relationship in december. i didn’t really feel like joining when all guys on there are all looking for the same thing.” she manages to say with a surprisingly confident tone.

he nods slowly as if understanding, “i get it.’ he says as he sips on his own glass of water. “so your not like a commitment-phobe or anything?” he says as he looks at her, folding his hands on the table. she chuckles and shakes her head, her eyes briefly darting down to his hands on the table and then back up to him. “no, i’m the opposite. me and my ex were together for two years.”

he shakes his head, “must’ve been an idiot to let someone as beautiful as you go.”

she feels her cheeks heat up a little under the dim lighting of the restaurant, “he just…wasn’t feeling it anymore.” she says with a small nervous smile, “it happens.” he scoffs and his blue eyes darken for a second. “if he was really for you, sweetheart, trust me. he wouldn’t just stop feeling it.” he says with a small grimace. almost looking in pain for her, like he hated what he was hearing.

“why are you on a blind date then?” she says softly to him, trying to desperately change the subject. he sighs and leans back in his chair a little, looking at her, “i’m sick of bouncing around.” he says as he looks at her, his tone less teasing and more serious. “going from girl to girl…its not what i want. im not happy that way.” he says with a small glance at her.

she nods slowly in understanding as he talked, acknowledging his words. the waiter came and sat their drinks down in front of them, putting a brief pause on the conversation. his drink — a whiskey on the rocks, hers — a simple dr pepper. he notices the lack of alcohol but decides to wait until the waiter is done taking their orders. once, the waiter walks away, he nods towards her soda, “a dr pepper? no alcohol?” he says with another raise of his eyebrow.

“i doin’t like drinking on the first date.” she says as she looks at him then his drink, “you obviously don’t mind that.” her tone and edge of sarcasm as she sips on her drink pepper again. he chuckles lowly and shakes his head, his ash blonde hair moving with him, “giving me shit now for my drink choice?”

“yeah, you gave me shit for mine. don’t think i didn’t notice.” she says as she sits back a little in her own seat across from him, crossing her legs beneath the table.

they continue talking for hours, eating their food and sipping on their drinks as they talk. this was going better then she had planned, learning more about leon then she intended. he didn’t seem like the talkative type but when they started discussing jobs, past pets, family, really anything. he seemed to open up and tell her pretty much whatever she wanted to know.

after they finished eating, she went to order dessert but he stopped her. “i have dessert at my place.’” which made her stop, the rush of butterflies and nerves at his words was enough to make her nod, close the dessert menu and request the check.

which he paid, in full, with…a platinum credit card.

she knew he was working for the government but jesus, he just whipped out the platinum to pay for their meal. she felt measly with her silly little plastic card in her purse, letting him escort her out the restaurant. they walked down the sidewalk until they get to a sleek black escalade. “did you drive here?” he says as he digs his keys out of his jacket pocket. she looks at him and then the car, “yeah, i did.”

“how about…at the risk of sounding too forward, you come home with me? stay the night, you can take the bed if you want and…i’ll drop out back off at your car in the morning?” he says with a small tilt of his head, his blondish hair flopping by his ear as she looks at him. a small smile graced his features, she let out a small breath, turning the thoughts of potentially doing this in her head.

she nodded with a small smile on her face, “i would love too.”

he nods towards the escalade, “cmon,” he unlocks the escalade and opens the passenger door for her. she hesitantly moves forward and slides into the passenger seat, looking around the interior of the car. she was in awe, shed never been in a car this…big before. also, it made her wonder.

leon wasn’t flaunting his wealth, he didn’t even seem to mind that he was somewhat wealthy. it made her have even more questions about him. they didn’t seem to end the more she spent time with him. was he not aware of how fortunate he was?

she was torn away from her thoughts when leon got into the drivers side of the car. looking over at her with a small smirk, “what?”

“you drive an escalade.” she states with a small blink, he shrugs and chuckles a little, almost finding it humorous. “so?”

he doesn’t realize this does he? good god, he’s a humble guy. why is that such a fucking turn on?

“it’s just…the escalade, the platinum card…?” she says with a small blubber as she looks at him, “your rich.” she states with little to no care for how it sounded. he chuckles and shakes his head, “yeah? im not too bad, i’ve got money.” he says with a small flush of his cheeks as he puts the keys in the ignition. she rolls her eyes, of course he’s not going to admit it.

he starts the car, carefully pulling out of the parking spot. she swallows as she watches his hands from the passenger seat, the way his large hands encompass the steering wheel and turn it. she’s watching, almost drooling at how his veins in his hands. she sees him look over at her and she quickly darts her eyes away from basically eye-fucking his hands.

they were just…fuck, the things she would let those hands do to her.

he smirks in her peripheral vision, sliding one of his hands over the console and to the exposed knee of her dress, slowly squeezing it. she swallows, the touch was somewhat innocent but causing a herd of butterflies to swarm her stomach. she felt her underwear get uncomfortable already. she lets out a small shaky exhale, trying to act nonchalant.

she was so fucked.

she surprisingly made it back to his apartment in one piece. he was acting like a gentleman, even with his hand on her knee, keeping a steady hold on it as he drove. he didn’t raise his hand higher, a part of her wished he would’ve.

but he kept it on her knee, his whole hand practically engulfed that skin on her leg. she watched him drive out of the corner of her eye, studying him like a painting.

he was so gorgeous, even in the dim light of the streetlights. she was fully focused on him, his eyelashes, the way his eyes carefully and precisely watched the road.

the way he kept his lips — pink and full — pressed together as he studied every other car around them. he wasn’t afraid, he was focused. she wondered if he always focused on things like this, or if he was just like this when he drove.

but his attention seemed divided, one hand on her leg, his thumb even moving in small circles on her knee. she didn’t know how he did it all at once, all with ease. it was like he was handcrafted by some god, some amazing grace. she just couldn’t figure him out.

but it intrigued her.

even when he made it to his apartment, parking outside the building and pulling the keys out of the escalades ignition.

he moved with such precision and confidence, like he knew his next move before he made it. like he had a plan for every step he took. she wishes that she had that grace about her, she was clumsy and not put together at all.

but when they get out of the car, making their way to the doors of the lobby, he was holding onto her hand tightly. his hand engulfing hers as they walked. she liked the way his hand fit into hers, like it belonged that way. like it was meant to hold hers. she tries to fight the butterflies and the very obvious tension as they make their way to the elevator in the lobby.

once the elevator dings and they make their way into the elevator, she feels hotter, like the sexual tension of what’s to come is taking up all the air. she squeezes his hand a little, she feels his blue irises travel to her and stay there. he must’ve lived on the top floor, because they stood there for a moment. his free hand traveling up to her hair, pushing it away from her face.

“there’s those beautiful eyes.” he whispers, it sounded like he was saying it more to himself rather then her. her cheeks flushed all the same, connecting her own with his, a small smile sliding onto her lips. “i have beautiful eyes?” she whispers to him, almost afraid to break the spell, the tension that was slowly building as they got closer to his apartment.

he smirks slowly to himself, saying a little louder, “your eyes aren’t the only beautiful thing about you.” he says as he pushes more hair away from her face with his free hand, sliding his hand into her hair and holding it there. a small breath leaving her lips, letting them part as she looked up at him from under her eyelashes. this man was something else, making her act out on the first date. which she never did.

“look at you,” he whispers, “such a good girl, you look so pretty.” he praises lowly, still holding her hair at the base of her skull in a tight fist. he was forcing her to look up at him, she didn’t even hate how her underwear flooded with need for him — for his hands. she just accepts the praise with a small embarrassed smile. she didn’t know how else to react, no guy had ever praised her so openly, called her beautiful.

her ex, he took her out on dates and the sex wasn’t too bad. but he never showed her off, loved her openly, made her feel special. that was the ultimate lead up to him leaving her for some girl he didn’t even know.

and it broke her, she never thought she’d feel that way again.

but here, with leon, she felt that familiar want. that need to be his and his only.

and god, was it terrifying. he was such a good guy, so attractive. she was so afraid that she’d screw it up in some way.

but it’s better to say she tried and failed rather then give up altogether.

the elevator dinger for his floor, pulling her out of her thoughts and snapping her eyes back up to his. she felt his h=free hand slowly leave her hair and his hand with hers, pulling on it towards the hallway outside the elevator. her stomach was a mess of knots and nerves as she followed him. her eyes taking in the surroundings around her, letting him practically drag her to his apartment.

and as soon as she was inside of his apartment, his lips were on hers and she was getting pushed up against a door. the first thing she registers is how amazing his lips are and how they feel against hers. she feels like her legs are going to give out under her, her lips meld with his. everything is happening so fast and her brain doesn’t have time to catch up to all of it.

before she knows it, he’s carrying her into his apartment, kissing every inch of her neck and jaw with his tongue and teeth. she lets out small sounds as he kisses her in spots that haven’t been touched in months. he puts her down onto the bed, hovering over her as his blue eyes meet hers. he looks so haunting in the moonlight. his sharp jawline and features, the way his cheekbones reflect in the moonlight thats streaming through the window.

“i normally don’t do this on the first date but your just…” he runs his fingers over the side of her thigh, making her dress pool up to her hips, “so fucking beautiful.” he whispers between them, like its a secret. she feels her cheeks flush nonetheless. she feels his hand slide up her thigh to the edge of her underwear, lace that she put on and didn’t even anticipate this happening. she feels her breath quicken and her spine straighten under his touch.

he’s so methodical with his movements and it makes her think, the contrast difference between her ex and him. he’s so gentle, like she’s made of glass beneath his fingertips. her ex never had that, rough and demanding movements. she draws the difference as leon’s fingers slowly pull the lacy fabric down her thighs. she keeps wondering why his fingers and hands seem so calloused, she should have asked earlier at dinner, not when he’s exposing her to the cool air of his bedroom.

she exhales as her lacy underwear are tossed to the floor, suddenly his jacket is coming off and he’s rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. she can only let her eyes trace the way his biceps are practically straining underneath the confines of his dress shirt, the way they flex when he grabs her ankles and drags her to the end of his bed. she feels her heart beat almost entirely out of her chest.

she can’t help it, she’s a soaking mess by now and the fact he can see that by looking in between her thighs is enough to make her cheeks heat up. she closes her thighs, pressing them together. he chuckles low in his throat as he looks down at her, “don’t hide from me. cmon.” he says as his blue eyes seem to darken under the harsh moonlight coming into his bedroom.

he gently opens her thighs, letting himself glance at her glistening arousal. “so wet already?” he says it as if its more of a statement, rather than a question. she nods under his gaze as if he has all the power over her right now and in a way, he does. and he knows it. “this all for me?” he says with an almost haunting smirk on his features that it causes her to sharply inhale. she nods again and feels her chest rise and fall beneath her dress.

“your boosting my ego too much, baby.” he says as he crawls over her, his hands bracing on either side of her head, he leans down so he’s nose to nose with her. his blue eyes almost blown out with lust for her, she recalls never being looked at this way by her ex. even when they had sex, he refused the intimate side and made her go face down in the pillows. but leon, he’s devouring her with his eyes right now and it almost makes her cry, but she doesn’t.

“what’s wrong? did i do something wrong?” he asks when he sees her eyes become glassy, surely he knows. he has a feeling that he maybe rushed it. should’ve let you go home after the date but…you looked sad. he cups her chin, looking down into her eyes. that action seems to make it harder for her to speak but she forces words out of her mouth. “my ex…he never…” she swallows more tears down her throat.

he watches her expression so closely — so methodically — that he’s afraid if he blinks, he’ll miss something. but he lets her speak, his hand slowly cupping her cheek, rubbing his thumb over cheek in a soothing gesture. even though he’s hard as steel right now and her pussy is out in the open, he is solely focused on how she feels right now. she notes in her brain that this is another reason why she likes leon so much already.

but she forces herself to finish her thoughts, “my ex never…he never…” she chokes on the words again. she realizes that it sounds stupid coming out of her mouth now, she almost wants to push it to the side and jump leon’s bones. but he’s not going to let it go until he knows she’s okay. “he never looked me in the eye, never…he wasn’t gentle.” she whispers as she looks up at him. she feels choked up and she hates how silly she sounds. like a hurt little girl who skinned her knee.

he sighs softly against her lips and brushes some tears from the crevice of her eye. he understands what she’s saying, her ex wasn’t intimate. didn’t take his time with her, didn’t put her needs first and that just doesn’t sit right with him one bit. in fact, it bothers him beyond recognition. how could someone just abandon their partners needs, the need to be validated and be intimate? he couldn’t change that for her but he could show her that he wasn’t like her exes.

“im not like that, princess. you know that by now don’t you?” he whispers against her lips as he gently brushes some hair out of her face. she nods almost immediately, “i know.” she says against his lips, solidifying that she knows. he could not even be compared to her ex, not even close. leon was far better than him and she’s only known leon for like five hours.

“good. now, im going to fuck you now. but listen,” he gently grabs her chin, a firm but soft hold as he angles her eyes to his. “i am going to take my time with you because you deserve that. you deserve to be loved and cherished.” he says softly with a small hint of compassion in his blue irises as he strokes his hand up and down her dress clad side. “and i am not going to let you look away, your going to look at me the entire time.” he says with a firm but rugged gentleness that suited him down to his very core.

she just nods slowly in his grip, that being the only thing she can do with his grip on her chin. he smiles — a little twitch of his lips — making him seem ten times more softer then he actually is. he leans back on the bed on his knees, looking down at her. “off.” he gestures to the dress thats still covering her. she swallows and sits up on his bed, slowly and methodically shimming the dress off of her frame.

once it’s gone and on the floor with her discarded lace underwear, she plays with the strap on her matching bra. he puts his large and calloused hand over hers, stopping her. “let me.” he mutters as he moved on his bed behind her, his fingers slowly tracing along her shoulder and going to the bra strap. he hovers his mouth over neck, his other hand brushing her hair away from her back, pressing his lips to her neck with such delicacy. she feels like she would miss it if she couldn’t feel his fingers slide down to the clasp of her lacy bra.

and once it’s discarded, he finds himself hoisting her backwards onto the mattress again. his lips finding hers in a sweet but delicate kiss that says — i have you, trust me. and she does, she finds herself trusting him as his hands hold her gently but firmly, a strong hold that weighs on her heart and mind.

she looks up at him through lustful eyes two moments later, her gaze locking on his as he strips off his pants and shirt, discarding them all on the floor. the body of a greek god, yet littered with small scars that catch in the moonlight. she thinks that maybe he has his own demons, the ones that haunt him when he goes to bed at night.

but she doesn’t have time to wonder, his cock, if not perfect like the rest of him. is now out, his hand slowly stroking the hard shaft for some semblance of relief. she gnaws on her bottom lip as she watches him, she was completely and utterly soaked now.

she didn’t know how much longer she could last. she needed him.

he didn’t wait long to lean over her body, his elbows on either side of her head, much like before. his nose brushing against hers and she was bare as him. it should’ve made her nervous, made her scared beyond anything. but she didn’t have it in her to be scared, not when he was eyeing her like she was the holy grail.

he pressed another kiss to her lips, a little more rough this time, his tongue prodding at her mouth. begging for him to be let in. and how could she not oblige him? she let him in and he swirled his tongue with hers, her brain on autopilot and the conversation about her ex was long gone. the furthest thing from her mind at this point.

it was just him. his mouth and hers, the way his cock barely brushed against her soaked folds. she parted her knees more for him, accommodating his wide frame as he let a hand drift down to her hip, squeezing it as they sloppy made out.

a small moan slipped past her lips and onto his, his large hand kneading the extra fat of her hip and thigh and slowly he moved his hand in between them, brushing over her clit slowly. her breath caught a little and she couldn’t find words, she was wrecked already.

he chuckled lowly against her lips, words not exchanged as he guided his bulbous tip though her folds. soaking his tip in her release and making her tremble, small squeaks of arousal leaving her parted lips.

he found it amusing, if the expression on his face was any indication.

he silenced her again with a smooth press of hiss lips against her’s, soothing her worries and the small amount of anticipation she felt. he slipped just the tip inside of her, breaching her entrance. she gasped against his lips, he was big. it was just the tip and she was keening. practically clawing at his bare back. he pressed his lips more firmly against hers, sliding in another inch, his thumb rubbing circles at her hip.

as he eased in inch by inch, she tried to focus on his kisses rather then how much he was stuffing her full inch by torturous inch. it felt like her body was buzzing, it was too much and not enough at the same time. she moaned softly when he slid in the rest of the way, she opened her mouth against his. she couldn’t handle it anymore. she lets out a shaky breath.

her hands held tighter to his back as he slowly moved his hips against hers. his hand squeezing hard at her hip enough to bruise but she couldn’t find it in herself to care as he slowly moved his hips, moving in and out of her. she bit on her bottom lip, almost drawing blood as his head dipped into her neck. she choked on moan after moan as he groaned and grunted against her neck, matching her noises in his own ways.

she let her nails sink into his back as he pumped his hips a little faster. her head fell back against his sheets, her lips parted, eyes shutting in ecstasy as he started hitting that spot within her repeatedly. she wasn’t going to last long if he kept it up, his harsh groans and breaths echoing along her neck and up into her ear. his lips pressing harshly to the skin. every time her nails dug into his bare back, he bit a little at her skin.

the pleasure and pain was intoxicating as he kept moving his hips, making her whimper and whine. she tried to speak but her words were caught and mumbles of pleasure were the only things to leave her parted lips. her expression wiped and dazed with lust as she took everything he gave her. never in her life had she felt this way with sex. she felt like she was floating and grounded at the same time.

she felt her stomach coil, knowing she was close to climax. she wordlessly moved one of her hands from his back into his dirty blonde locks, pulling his head out of her neck and pressing her lips to his. he just smirked against her lips and moved his hips a little faster, seeming to understand what she meant without words. she moaned louder against his lips as he pumped faster and faster, her head felt dizzy. her head dropped back against his sheets again, not enough energy to keep her lips locked with his.

“thats it baby, come for me. c’mon.” he growls as he nips at her neck, his hand sliding from her hip to her clit. rubbing it with small brushes of his thumb, she squeaked as she looked up at the ceiling. her eyes glazed over as the coil in her belly finally snapped. “fuck, your…squeezing me like a vice.” he muttered in a groan. he felt her spasm around him, his hips slowing as he fucked her through it.

he fucked her through it until she was squirming, he moved his hand off her clit. determined to chase his own release as he moved his hips again. he pressed his chest against hers and gripped her hip again. she let out a shaky gasp as he started moving again. her eyes watering at the overstimulation she was feeling in the moment. “shh, its…i’m close, baby. just hang on.” he grunts against her collarbones as he keeps moving his hips. she squeezed him a little again and he hissed.

she nods with a small whine as he pumps a little faster, practically shaking his bed. she was wondering if it was going to break but it didn’t seem like it would. his hips stuttering as he bit into her collarbone, she gasped in pleasure as she felt his spend fill her up and fill her belly. she blinked at the ceiling as he sighed against her collarbone. letting himself be vulnerable for a moment in the aftermath of their bliss. he just kept her filled with his cock, rubbing a hand up and down her side. his mouth gently pressing a kiss to one of her breasts. “your amazing.” he whispers as his eyes shut and he breathes some air into his lungs.

she felt his words deep down to her very soul as he pulled out of her, a small noise of loss as he removed himself from her snug walls. he laid down on his side next to her, sliding a hand down her stomach and to her entrance again. his spend mixed with hers was leaking out of her abused hole, his finger scooped up the fluid and pushed it back inside of her.

his eyes flaring with that possessive nature. he drifts his blue eyes to her blissed out face. he removes his finger from her entrance and traces it up to her jaw. he gently cups her chin and smoothes his thumb over her bottom lip. “good?” he whispers gruffly as he scans her expression. she smiles dazedly and nods as she looks up at him. it wasn’t how she imagined the night going but getting to here, it was good. leon unintentionally was making her move on from the slump her ex put her in. she couldn’t be more grateful.

he smiles crookedly, almost shyly, as if he didn’t just fuck her raw into his mattress.

“stay the night. i make good breakfast.” he says softly with a small chuckle, the boyish charm peeking out from his hard facade he had up. she nods with a small giddy smile, “only if you make me pancakes.” she whispers as her eyes stay locked on his blue ones. he was truly a sight to behold. every part of him was and she didn’t know how he could be single. she had to wonder if maybe he chose that for himself, for what reason? she didn’t know. he was a great guy.

an amazing kisser. funny, great in bed. the list kept going.

but he was nothing like her ex, that was the best thing about him. he wasn’t selfish, conceded and rude. maybe leon was the perfect one for her. maybe he wasn’t but she was trusting her gut this time. and her gut was telling her to stay, to let herself be coddled and be held like something precious. she was letting herself be happy for once and only time would tell if they were meant to be.

even if it was the first date, she was in love. silly, but true as she gently cupped his cheek and pulled his lips to hers again. she felt connected to him in more ways then one. she was diving headfirst into him and she didn’t even care. she was happy.

and thats all that truly mattered.

screw it only being the first date, she was his now. and that was a comforting thought as she slipped her arms around him again and breathed him in. this is what love was, or close to it, she was sure. his arms already felt like home, no matter how dangerous that was, it was hers.

and his, as it should be. forevermore. wrapped in each other, no matter what.

exes be damned.

taglist: @elihii @heartsforvin @adollrable @leonkennedygvrl @squazmine @spfoah @jmivenus @rcttendolly @yakamozhoez (if you would like to join my taglist, visit the link at the beginning or the one linked on my blog!)

[enzosbabyangel]

ᥫ᭡ Day 2 . . . party sex with Theo

cw: 18+!, mdni, porn with very very minimal plot, public-ish sex, i honestly didn’t know what to do for this, mean!Theo, protected sex, degradation, suddenly obsessive/possessive Theo afterwards, Theo lowk getting an obsession on reader, light dark!Theo and content? If toxic and obsessive behaviour bothers you DON’T READ !! I don’t know how this of changed to a super mini story with the premise of party sex but uh yeah.

You scratched at the back of the man who had you held up and pinned to the dirty stall door of the club you were at.

How you got here was simple. You and your friends came to the club for valentines figuring none of you had dates. Spotted a cute guy who seemed to be here with his own friends. The man looked like he’d be such a softdom ‘n gentle fuck, but one of your friends didn’t agree, thought he’d be controlling and demanding. So what better thing then make a bet? you get a fuck and possibly money.

So you flirted the best way you could. Writing ‘Be my valentine’ on a condom and giving it to him with fuck me eyes. And now that you’re here it’s easy to say neither you nor your friend will be getting that cash.

You let out a choked moan as Theo’s hand made way up to your neck and roughly banged your head on the stall door. His thrusts fast and seemingly effortless as they managed to reach that special spot in you without fail each thrust.

“Is this what you do? give any half decent guy you see a condom and fuck me eyes then let them take you in the bathroom like some cock desperate slut?” He degraded. The occasional grunts from his own pleasure just making his words even hotter. It was confusing, he seemed so disgusted in you with one sentence but then the complete opposite the next. “But i doubt it, pussy to good ‘n tight for someone who whores around. Already addicted to your pretty ass pussy.”

He was being so mean and rough. Not even controlling, it was like you were a doll to him. He didn’t care about what you did, like it had no effect on him. Even when your legs around his waist kicked at his back from overstimulation or simply being too much. Or your nails scratching at the fabric of his sweater ‘n pulling some of the threads loose. Your hips banged into the door with each one of thrusts, hard enough to leave bruises.

Theo’s thumb made its way up to your mouth, pushing past the barrier of your lips. “Like this? Practically being used like a doll.”

You could only desperately nod. Your senses completely overwhelmed in such a delicious way.

Your simple and desperate obedience got Theo completely coming undone. Groans leaving his lips while his thrusts grew sloppy. He forced his thumb deeper into your mouth, pressing it against the back of your tongue as a rather sadistic grin formed on his unfairly handsome face.

“God.. you’re fucking mine now alright? Already so obsessed with you..” He’d say through pants before hiding his face into your neck. Sucking hickeys onto the soft skin where anyone would be able to see it before biting roughly into your neck to stifle his groans ‘n moans as he came, his hips stilling in you. Thank lord for a condom.

Your poor little fucked out brain didn’t really process his words, thinking they were said out of nothing but lust so you just babbled agreements. But after all was all said and done and he practically forced you to introduce him to your friends and immediately started acting like you two were officially together, not even allowing you to go home by yourself.

At first you found it hot, most likely due to the alcohol in both yours and his system. But when it continued even after that night it got worrisome, his behaviour getting more and more possessive, even more so after you confronted him about it. And got you hated how your panties got absolutely soaked at the clear red flags.

“No no. I don’t think you get it. I practically own you now, you agreed to that remember? Trust me, no guy would care about you like i do.”

₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . written by enzosbabyangel, 2025 on tumblr! © do not repost on any third party website or repost as yours. Doing so will result in me blocking you and reporting.

tags: @mattheoriddles-sluttt @weirdogirl888 @jennieonline @bella-713 @txzii @couch-potato69 @chalametlover444

[kpopscruggles]

My baby

Mingi x Chubby reader

warnings- obv smut, mature language, unprotected sex, FWB into small confession.

word count- 2k

more about the smut here, I got a request that someone liked my other old mingi fic and a lot of ppl liked my yunho so why not make more. I am a chubby reader enthusiast so don't be shy..

I've never seen you around here before, is there a reason for that?" such a simple question yet such a response you could not produce. The male in front of you, holding a smirk on his face as he then took down half his drink. Never were you the type to go home with someone after the clubs or in this case a house party but this time was different. The way he came up to you, immediately praising you was almost sickening, but you liked it. Little did you know it led you to a whole other situation. You two would become friends with benefits. 

Now you were sitting on your bed watching Mingi get dressed after what was supposed to be good sex, but if failed. Was he good? Yes, he was, so it wasn't him, it was the situation. For the fourth time he willingly kissed you but for the first time, he willingly bred you as soon as you asked. Normally it wouldn’t happen, in fact it wouldn’t ever happen. Mingi was a simple friend with benefits, these were his rules he asked you never to break but what was strange is he broke them first.  

Again, seeing him put his clothes on in stress made you raise a brow, this led him also quite simple waving and leaving your apartment. It bothered you; it bothered you extremely. There was something that just seemed off. Again, it was all strange that he started it but what was even worse was that you wanted it again. It haunted you. Never were you supposed to kiss, never was he supposed to cum inside. There were strict rules he had, and he was breaking them. 

Surely it wasn’t going to be easy, but you had to bring it up to him eventually, right? Especially after the left with the most stressful body language you've ever seen anyone have. The next time he comes by you'd bring it up. You had too at this point. When Friday had hit and you walked past his car you could feel his eyes on you, giving him a sweet smile you watched him blink out of reality. It was cute... 

I'll be at yours around 7? Be ready.  

That message sent a spark through you. Getting home you did your usual routine before getting into a decent set like usual. Looking in the mirror you admired how the set hugged you differently than others, something about you and the chubby frame felt way more sexual than usual. Meanwhile Mingi was already parked outside your apartment, his heart racing as he realized how deeply he wanted you, craved you. How he craved to watch that juicy cunt takes his cock so effortlessly, your tummy giving small jiggles as he railed you senseless, your pretty stomach, being covered in his cum... Or your pretty cunt leaking of him. No, he couldn't think like that.  

Getting inside he had the condoms in his pocket but that brain telling him you both wanted that creampie, his brain telling him how he wanted you to moan against his lips as buried his cock in that sloppy pussy, Jesus Christ! He was a goner if he kept letting his brain fuel him. He couldn't help it, he never wanted to love something so bad, to cherish yet ruin something that was growing so special to him. Taking a deep breath, he then knocked on your door like usual. 

Sometimes he wished you had a dorm with a roommate then maybe he wouldn’t be so comfortable with ruining you...Who was he kidding, if anything a roommate could watch how much he adored that plump body of yours. He jumped slightly seeing you open the door in your comfy clothing, usually you had a set on, so this was new, wait, there's the lingerie print through the clothes. Fuck. 

The usual simple introduction went by, but you watched as mingi relaxed on your sofa and not straight to the bedroom, this was the time to bring up the situation you had been wondering about, but then what if it gets awkward and he leaves? Your kind of, no you really want that dick first. Walking over you watched his stare at your thighs, knowing he watched them jiggle as you walked. “Is this what you've been doing all day is waiting for me to get here?” 

Smirking at his cock yet genuine question I sat on his lap, leaving space to pull his cock out without delay if you wanted. A sigh leaving him as your weight got comfortable on him, got he was gonna cum like this even he didn't speak to make a distraction for himself “I'm just curious princess~” He coos playfully, his large hands gripping your thigh, the flesh against his fingers sending a jolt up his spine.  

Looking up at you through his lashes he then leaned his head back onto the sofa, your gorgeous smile, pretty face, this stunning body. His hands running up before slipping under your shirt “I missed you today, you know that?” He watched you nod but he also seen the confusion of him saying such affectionate things. “I thought about you so much, how I was ready to come over and see that pretty body you have.” He felt you shiver making him smile. Your shirt slipped off before you realized and he tossed it “You want it?’ he whispered against your lips, his hot breath lingering slightly till he gave you a kiss “I know I do; I love coming over, I’ll be doing it more often too...” 

You just nod before feeling him pool you into a kiss, you could tell by the kiss he was already salivating at the thought of you, which he was. He had been mind fogged all day and all he wanted was to come to you, a comfort and pleasure he had to have forever. He had to have it. He needed you; he needed his baby...HIS baby. Tonight, he was going to have you the way he had been craving too.  

Pulling from the kiss, he watched your lips glisten with saliva before he licked it slightly. Taking a breath laid you down on the sofa, reaching your bottoms and pulling them off revealing the lingerie, the lace hugging your curves, high waisted just enough to peak out a bit more of your chubby flesh. Your pretty breasts and hardening nipples peeking through the lace, or the pretty fat cunt waiting to be filled. God he was begging for anything even though it was right in from of him. 

Gripping your thighs you watched him take a deep breath before slowly resting his small his between you, his cock noticeable as he slowly begun to grind his hips. his mouth leaving open warm kisses on your neck “mm~ gonna fuck you're so sweet baby I swear” he coos before giving you another kiss. His hips grinding deeper “G-gonna make sure you feel every bit of my cock, every drop of my cum.” You couldn’t respond, just sinful moans leaving you before nodding, you agree with anything Mingi said. You watched him smile proudly, the tension in the room filthy, but it felt different. Watching him strip his top a small moan leaving him as you sat up leaving kisses on his chest.  

His hands reaching to comb your hair back “Thank you baby...” was all he whispered. His hands moving to run his hands over your bralette straps, running the lace between his fingers. ‘Pretty girl. Pretty girl...” he whispers again before pulling you into another kiss. Your whimpers loud enough for him to hear no matter how muffled you both were. You felt the bra unclasp and he gently pulled it off your body before laying you back down. 

A sweet smile on his lips as he lays on you, his mouth grazing against your nipple as he looks up at you, your eyes begging for him to put your nipple in his mouth and he did. His warm saliva making your nipple harden even more, if possible, his eyes on you as he moans softly, his large hand gripping both your tits admiring them slightly. One in his mouth, one between his fingers.  

Pulling away he made his way to the other nipple; you watched his thumb flick at the saliva-soaked bud. “M-Mingi please...” He knew those pleas; you couldn’t wait any longer. Removing his nipple his hand reached down, making sure to rub your tummy before slipping into your panties. Your slit ached as his fingers slowly teased by them. His mouth coming up to give you another kiss, his tongue swirling with yours. 

His hand hugged between the lace and your warm pussy sending his head in spins. His forehead against yours before pinching your cushiony hood playfully, your small gasp making him smile. Smiling even wider as he watched your eyes roll back, two fingers grazing against your cozy walls as he pushed them inside. “Gotta makes sure princess is comfy before she takes my cock. My sweet thing~” he coos before giving you another kiss. You looked so precious. 

Looking down he watched your chub tremble as he pushes his fingers deeper “I love that pussy so much~ I can't wait to be buried inside, watch that pretty, fat, warm pussy hug my dick!” he groaned biting at your neck. Hearing your reappeared gasps and pleas he knew you were close, but fuck he was greedy. You were so achingly close, your cunt pulsing around him, the small moans coming from you. 

He couldn’t he wanted all your cum on his cock, slipping his fingers away he watched your whine uncontrollably, so sensitive he knew if he put his fingers back in you'd cum. Lifting he slipped his fingers into his mouth before his free hand reached down to take off his jeans, the buttons giving a faint click as he undid them. Soon using both his hands he gently removed his jeans and boxers at once. His veiny cock reddened at the slit, pale pink at the head, it was pretty to be honest, you knew that. Tossing the clothes on the floor he soon reached for your panties peeling them off as well watching your wetness glisten on your hood, your swollen clit peeking out slightly between your chubby folds. 

Taking a deep breath, he hooked your legs with his arms, pulling you against him, your gooey cunt pressed against his straining cock. Your feet hooked to his neck as he placed soft kisses on your ankles. His hands growing a tight grip on your hips before lifting you slightly, his enough to use his thumb, pushing slightly, hearing your creamy folds separate as he slowly slipped in. 

That perfect view of your fat cunt hugging his cock so tenderly, a small whimper even left him at the sight. A pant growing in the room as you felt his cock slowly inch inside, bottoming out your whimper made a groan from him follow behind. Leaning forward slightly he watch your chub squish together making his cock twitch already. Taking one last final breath, he started his thrust, a decent pace, enough to hear the small yet rushed skin contact. 

His eyes looking down at you, his hair slightly swaying before he combed it back. “Fuck I missed this pussy baby~ did you miss me? Hmm?” he smirked deeper, his language rough but tone so soft. Shakey sounds leaving him as he watched you nod, eyes screwed shut as you pulsed around him. There wasn’t much that had to be said, you both knew the pleasure was immaculate, you both knew it would only take a small minute before he’d paint your walls with his creamy cum.  

Your moans growing louder by the second, your body bouncing slightly to his thrusts, you were so fucking gorgeous. He felt himself at a loss for breath, this edge taking him over, you had the deepest hold on him. His tip begging to spill the cum, his base twitching, his balls growing heavy. You were gonna make him cum so fucking fast it was almost making his sick. 

Gripping your hair, he made you look at him, your eyes glossed by pleasure as you left the creamy precum on his cock. “So fucking pretty~ My sweet baby~ mine.” he could feel himself growing close, His body shivering against your as he laid on top of you going harder. The passionate glint in his eyes as he rested his forehead against yours. Sticky sweat connecting you both close, your legs wrapping around him, the thick thighs giving him a comfy cushion, your breasts pressed against his chest. 

“I-I'm gonna cum baby~, I'm gonna cum for you!” he coos, a smile forming on your face. The small response of “For me...,” the tone of assurance made him lose it as he let out a moan of submission.  

“For you baby! Just for you! Oh shit!”  

That sounds sending a ringing through your ears, his eyes squeezing shut before burring his head in your neck “Gonna cum for my baby~” he coos one last time, his breath hitched. Your body trembling as you felt your stomach coil, your cunt pulsating extremely at this point. The pit in your stomach deepening harshly as you felt a wave of release, painting his cock with your cum only made him let one last thrust before feeling you to the brim. A loud cry leaving him as his fingertips dig into your hips, reaching just enough to grip a love handle to steady himself.  

Both of you, panting, sweating, a small chuckle leaving his lips. “Fuck this...” he added before looking at you “Your mine, I hope you know that” he whispers, it was confident, yet it had a question like tone making you giggle. A small smile forming as he seen your pretty smile and a nod. That was all he needed; he was content and ready for another round.  

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hello!! I hope you're doing well! Do you have any recs for books about twisted/problematic relationships but with woc? Obviously there's our queen octavia butler but unfortunately for me i've finished reading all her books so i'm desperately craving for books that scratch this itch. Thank you for this blog btw i really love reading all your thoughts & reviews ♥️

goddd okay this list is not going to be nearly as long as I wish it was but it is extreeeeemely varied, so at least we have that going for us lmao. and hopefully you find something interesting in here:

right out of the gate if you're chasing that Octavia high, Rivers Solomon's novel Sorrowland feels very very in that vein. it starts with a teenage girl escaping from a Black separatist fundie cult while heavily pregnant with the cult leader's twins, deciding to give birth to the babies in the woods and raise them there. and boy, does it get crazier from there! there are some eventual transformative body horror sci-fi elements that I shan't spoil, but it's a time. the relationships are pretty secondary and genuinely not the most fucked up thing here, but our main girlie Vern is very much into girls and trying to figure that out on top of all the other horrors.

The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms is the first book in a fantasy trilogy by specfic queen NK Jemisin, and the first book in particular is really like. problematic relationship city. the protagonist is called to be an heir to a dying emperor and IMMEDIATELY gets embroiled in a love triangle with two of the gods that her family enslaves for power??? crazy shit.

I just kicked off this year reading a book called Darknesses by Lachelle Seville, which ALSO features a young Black woman fresh out of a cult (this one loves self harm and anorexia). and then she meets another Black girl who casually drops that she's Dracula, and oh boy do things get weirder from there. this book is like kind of Not Good but it is very entertaining; at a certain point you just have to turn off your brain and go with the vibes. it's sweeter than a lot of examples but listen, obsession and bloodlust are obsession and bloodust no matter how much your gf Dracula respects consent. there's a lot of murder!

this one doesn't have any supernatural bullshit afoot and is instead just regular degular #problematic, but Raven Leilani's Luster was one of my favorite books last year and follows an absolute shitshow of a young Black woman's extremely loaded and weird relationship with her older white boyfriend and his insane wife, as well as their adopted Black daughter.

anther no magic entry: I really love Oyinkan Braithwaite's My Sister, The Serial Killer, which is about exactly what you think it's about! the narrator is a put-upon Nigerian woman whose beautiful, beloved sister has murdered her last several boyfriends and has come crying to her dutiful sister to help her clean it up each time; the plot kicks in when the murdery sister sets her sights on the narrator's boss, a doctor to whom the narrator is also attracted. I know it's a sibling relationship instead of a romantic one but you didn't specify so! I am counting it!

this one is like very very very niceys compared to everything else I'm going to put on this list but it's also pretty hot so I have to mention it: Little Rabbit by Alyssa Songsiridej is about a young, bisexual Asian-American woman struggling to get a writing career off the ground falling in love with a Notably Older and wealthier white man and figuring out how to navigate the subsequent problems both within their own interpersonal dynamic and in how their relationship is received by others.

honorary mentions: books about fucked up white women that are written by women of color who Know!!

Under the Pendulum Sun by Jeannette Ng is a Victorian alternate history in which the English discovered the fairy realm and promptly did what the English did, ie, sending missionaries to teach the fairies about Jesus. the novel follows a woman traveling to the fairy kingdom to look for her missing missionary brother and promptly going insane as fairies gaslight gatekeep girlboss from all sides, complete with a side of everyone's favorite gothic horror trope: repressed sibling incest!

My Nemesis by Charmaine Craig is another very lowkey and grounded example, comparatively, but I thought it was neat and worth a mention! it's told from the POV of truly insufferable white woman writer whose emotional affair with a philosopher gets thrown for a fucking loop by the philosopher's wife, an enigmatic Chinese woman whose motivation the MC cannot guess literally at all. it's not the most exciting read in the world but the reveals hit hard and the reveals at the end made me YELL.

also for short story collections by WOC that can bring the #yikes factor in big ways I heartily endorse Roxane Gay's Difficult Women and Carmen Maria Machado's Her Body and Other Parties.

I wish I had more to throw you here; please if anyone has something to add to this list I am LISTENING

[paetalks]

the first time sukuna ryomen hears 212 by azealia banks it’s through the walls of his room that he shares directly with your bathroom. your voice sounds muffled over the loud bass base that is pounding a hole in his head while he’s trying to focus on his pc. he’s trying to write a paper for college and it’s almost impossible with all the noise you have been making. you weren’t a bad neighbor overall - i mean, he has never seen you in person - but the music you would blast while showering was absolutely insufferable to him. you always kept quiet, day and night, never run around or moved furniture. sukuna has been living there for well over a month and everything was going well, apart from the fact that you loved singing in the shower. it was okay the first times, really, but lately the songs kept getting louder and louder. and it was all annoying, girly club music. the one he couldn’t really stomach.

so when he hears the first notes of yet another kim petras’ song he gets up from his chair and bolts out the apartment, ringing at your doorbell. it takes a while for the volume to be turned down, and ever more for you to reach the door. when you crack it slightly open, you see a tall, tattooed, attractive, muscular man looking down at you with pure hatred in his eyes. your brain goes blank and you let the door slip from your hands, opening fully only to reveal your towel-covered body and damp hair. his eyes widen, but never leave your frame or seem to be less angry. “hi?” you say, confused.

“hi.” his voice is deep, his sentences short and cutting “would you mind turning the damn music down?”

“oh” you frown, looking at him from head to toe. you notice how he’s wearing grey sweat pants and a black sabbath’s t-shirt that looks like it has seen better days. his hair is all over the place. a smirk makes its way to your face. “yeah, i would actually mind. i was kinda in the middle of something…” you gesture back to the direction in which the music is still coming from and your towel falls slightly lower.

the stranger’s eyes follow your hands as you pull it up again, rolling them afterwards. “i’m trying to work here.” he gestures (mocking you) at his front door, right next to yours.

“okay?” you purse your lips. “i don’t think that’s any of my business really. i’m just playing some good music.”

“good?” his eyebrows furrow. “you don’t even know what good music is.”

you roll your eyes. “okay, stranger. go ahead and insult me right in my house.” you chuckle ironically, meanwhile ayesha erotica starts playing in the background. “oooh, i love this song!” you squeal, and his eyes dart quickly between the direction in which the music is coming from and your body. your frame hugged by that towel is making him rethink being mad at you.

before he can say anything else, you smile forcefully. “gotta go back in there. byeeee!” and you close the door right in front of his face.

he stands there for a while, eyes widened and twitching. how can you be so hot and yet so annoying? he starts asking himself while walking back to his room. he sits back in his chair and as soon as he decides to surrender for the day and give up on his work, the music finally stops. sighting in relief, he opens his laptop again, still thinking about you and how that little towel wasn’t even covering all that much.

you definitely will be a problem, he thinks, taking a deep breath finally in silence.

or so he thinks, because not even a second later the first notes of paranoid from black sabbath start playing at full volume on your speaker. he laughs with himself. “she’s funny” he mumbles, shaking his head, secretly hoping to bump in you again soon.

sorry guys just had a shower and thought aboyt this. also i love music bye <3 hope you get all my songs references i’m sorry

[modernquackfare]

Hello, how are you? If you're taking requests could you please write this one. Its been cooking in my brain since christmas.

Its a bit funny, angsty with lots of misunderstanding. So basically, Ghost has a civilian wife he never told the taskforce because he's overprotective. Now they are in deployment and simon is downright a pain in the ass with a permanent chub in his paints.

Soap or Gaz thinks he's like that due to being sexually frustrated and enlist a not so new recruit who have been with them for like six months, to get rid of simon's problem and it doesn't hurt that the recruit has a crush on Ghost.

The last day of deployment and they make the operation seduce ghost on when its so happens to be bring your family to base day and the taskforce finds out about wife!reader.

Could you please write this, i know its a bit long and complicated. Thank you❤️❤️

A/N: This was an awesome idea to write and think about! Thank you for the request :) i kinda did a little bit of head hopping here, sorry, and i hope it doesnt take away from the enjoyment of reading TT

Ghost x Wife!reader

•◌•◌•★•◌•◌•

This really isn't Ghost's scene anymore. A dim and dusty dive bar, considered upscale in comparison to The Foxhole back on base. Every surface slick with polished wood, torn cushions under his thighs, and the smell of a deep laugh lingering in every corner. At the very least, they serve drink that isn't watery beer or tequila that tastes like paint.

It's not the bar itself, per se, that he's lost his taste for—but rather the hand that shakes his shoulder away from his glass, leading to an arm that leads to the Scottish pain in his ass.

"Her over there," Soap nudges, blithely unaware of his own pointing finger. "Thas' gotta be yer type, aye? C'mon, throw us a bone here, or we’ll need to start huntin' for the perfect lad for you instead."

"Don't start, Johnny," Ghost grunts, his unoccupied hand dusting the air in dismissal.

Gaz leans in, warm gaze turned to the very woman sitting at the bar just feet away. None of them can quite recall her name, but hers is a bit of a familiar face. A smile in the hall, or accidental eye contact in the briefing room. One of a hundred others, Ghost bitterly notes, adjusting the fit of his trousers under the table.

Is it too much to hope for a quiet night out, with nothing but a bourbon to nurse and a silent curse at Ghost's own decision to persist in this line of work? It's been on his mind lately, that decision of his. He could have settled, found himself some kind of security gig or the deed to a run down warehouse he can turn into a gym. Found himself his very own Rocky Balboa to lead to victory—or something.

"If you won't do it, I will," Gaz quips, pushing himself out of the booth and striding on over to Miss Solitude at the bar. The woman turns, gaze flicking from Gaz, to their table, and then back to Gaz.

Soap shakes his head. "Right in there, like a bloody rat up a drainpipe. You’ve gotta be quicker than that, LT. No need to be shy, you just buy her a bevvy and get to talkin'."

"Was never a chance to begin with."

"Like hell there wasn't."

The conversation is finalized with a scoff and flicking hand, as if Ghost meant to shoo away a buzzing fly. Might as well be.

***

If it wasn't the long showers, it was how distracted he was behaving lately. If not that, then it definitely came down to the absolute wallop Ghost landed on Soap a week or more later during their hand-to-hand combat training. Something has the lieutenant in the trenches of his own mind—and if only to preserve the unbruised quality of his own skin, Soap recruits Gaz in his efforts to get Ghost laid.

Gaz snickers behind his hand when Soap first suggests the idea. "You sure that's the problem here? It's not like—"

"Just think about it, Gaz," Soap insists, gesturing as if presenting to a row of investors. "He's never spent a night anywhere but in his own bloody room. Like he's some kind of old man who needs to be in bed before nine. I mean, look at him."

The two turn to watch Ghost in his spot by the wall, gazing into a gooey custard bun he's torn in half. He squeezes it, shoves one half back into its wrapper, and stuffs it into his pocket.

Gaz whistles softly. "It's like watching a big cat pace in a cage."

"Aye, I know. And I have a plan to fix it." Soap then gestures across the firing range, to a certain figure clutching a pistol in two hands. Liora, her name is? Something like that.

Raising an eyebrow, Gaz tilts his head. "What, with her? Girl from the bar? She was nice when I talked with her, but she's already got her eyes on someone else already. Not sure who, but she's practically taken, mate."

"Never say never," Soap winks nonetheless, gesturing lightly as Liora lays down her gun. He then shrugs suggestively, beginning his trek towards her. "Lt's a silver tuna, being all masked up and sour as he is. Given the chance, well—"

"I'm sure," Gaz sighs, tinged with light amusement. "Go on, then. Go ask her."

***

As it turns out, Soap and Gaz have half their job done for them. Liora, as quiet as she is, and largely suspicious about her two superiors' intentions, eventually reveals that her affinity for this mystery man does, in fact, lead back to Ghost. Akin to a schoolgirl, she's got a crush. A fierce one.

In between missions, while Ghost is tapping away at a laptop and twitching in his seat, Gaz nudges Liora into delivering him some coffee. If not that, Soap pushes her into volunteering during training to spar with him. All the while, she tries to hold his gaze a little longer, let her hand linger just a little more. This time in particular, Soap and Gaz giggle across the room like children with a toy car, watching as Liora gathers up her courage to tell Ghost a joke.

"Soap said you liked jokes," she shrugs. "So...why did the soldier bring a ladder to the training ground?"

"Mmh, why?" Ghost mumbles, half attentive to her words.

Liora cluelessly sits beside him, half a giggle in her voice. "To join the high ranks." It coaxes an amused huff out of him—and nothing more.

***

How could Ghost find anything funny these days? The tension is up to his ears, racing through every vein. And his wife, God, his poor wife back home has no idea what's in store for her once this damned deployment is over. You sent him a lovely little video from the shower this morning to try to ease the pain of being away for so long. A sweet gesture in intention, but all it's done is exacerbate the ache in his loins and tongue for a familiar feel and taste, to hold you in his arms and sink steadily into you or press you to the wall as he takes what he needs from your soft, pliable body.

Ghost grunts. Damn his mind. He's the very farthest thing from a professional when it comes to you. Liora—or so the others call that girl—is gone by the time he's come to his senses, replaced by Soap, who pounds a closed fist against his back in greeting. "Hopeless, brother. You're hopeless."

"Piss off, Johnny."

"You keep squirmin' like your gear's riding up," He sighs, hands on his hips. "Still cannae wrap ma head 'round why you won't just give her a shot."

Ghost glares up at him, attention diverted from his work. "You been puttin' her up to this?"

"She's nae faking, Ghost. C'mon. Give the poor lass a chance. C'mon, ma pride's hingin' on this, mate." Soap grabs hold of his shoulder and shakes it around, moving him like a damn joystick. "Go on, you wee bawbag, at least give her the time o' day."

"14:32, you muppet."

Soap leaves it at that with a laugh, swaggering off elsewhere as Ghost counts down the hours until he can retreat to the privacy of his room and fist his cock to your little videos until it hurts.

***

The end of his deployment. Never a sweeter day there's been—aside from your wedding, perhaps. Ghost is shedding layers in his room, yanking off his fatigues in exchange for civvies, just as the creaking sound of his unlocked bedroom door sounds out. You're here. Normally, Ghost saves you any kind of journey and just heads home alone—but the impatience is getting to his fevered brain. Besides, you could do with a little break from the house.

He turns to face you. "Oh, I've been on the brink of murdering—"

Ghost's words come to an abrupt halt at the sight of Liora, rather than you, standing in the doorway of his room. This is a dangerous situation for her, invading on a superior's privacy without a clear go-head. Not to mention rude in it of itself. He drops his shirt, suddenly aware of his own half-dress. No one but his wife sees him like this, tattooed sleeve bared, boots off and nothing but a face mask to hide his identity.

He doesn't speak, thinking his cold stare would do the job for him, as it tends to, but clueless Liora steps forward in a rush of misplaced confidence. "Just wanted to say goodbye," she whispers, her hand reaching out to stroke his arm. It makes his skin tingle in all the worst ways. "Guess I'll have to find a new sparring partner for now, sir. Hope they can take hits as well as you."

Does she not see it, he wonders. How he dodges her touch and exhales a sigh of indifference. Poor girl. She's got a lot to learn.

His indifference, nonetheless, does not deter her. Liora trails her hand up his shoulders, far too intimate for a girl who is little more than an acquaintance. But curse his speed, failing him at the most crucial of times—the door opens again, and of course, you walk in as Ghost has a hand on Liora's wrist. Unclear to you whether he meant to push it away or pull it closer. Ghost releases his grip and mutters a sharp, "leave us," to the girl, before facing his beloved wife.

There you stand, as pretty as the day he met you, gaze flitting from a mortified Liora—now leaving the room—to your husband. Ghost stalks closer, brown eyes softening at the sight of you. "Was waiting for you, love."

"You needed company to wait for me?" You ask, arms crossing before your chest. That sting of instinctual fear and possessiveness, the tight curling ache in your gut that clenches at the thought of being deceived and abandoned by the once you love most—you can't ignore it. Logic attempts to unfurl its spindly talons, telling you that it would make no sense for Ghost to have called some girl into his room just as his wife makes her way up to see him. But what was she doing in his room? Pawing at him, as if it were her place to do so?

Ghost's gaze falls fondly upon you, warm and uncharacteristically tired. "Didn't ask for her to come in. She helped herself."

"Really?" you huff, treading forward to stop before him. "Didn't look like it, Si."

"Doesn't have to," He grunts back. "You trust me."

It's true. You know the kind of man he is, and it isn't a cheating fool that takes what he has for granted. God knows he wouldn't risk losing more after everything he's already lost. Especially not you, the light of his shadowy life. Your arms fall to your sides, and you sigh. "She must have had real guts, then. Coming into your room, trying to...what was it she wanted, anyway?" Feeling the tension siphon from the room, Ghost returns to packing, laying haphazardly folded shirts into his last duffel and grunting a noncommittal sound. "Fuck if I know. 'M pretty sure it's Soap and Gaz's doing, though. They've been insisting on me giving her a chance. Poor tossers got another thing comin'." You laugh as you take a seat beside his bag, glancing around the room. Impersonal decor, as always. Ghost has always been a private person, even within the confines of privacy. Hell, his closest friends don't even know you exist. It used to make you suspicious, being his secret girlfriend back in the day. Now, though, the secrecy is natural, comforting even.

"I don't suppose you'd be up to ending that streak, would you?" You suggest, leaning over his bag.

Ghost can only sigh, the deepest gust of breath he's ever held. May God smite him where he stands if he ever says no to you.

***

Gaz, mouth agape, glances over at the Scot beside him. "A wife?"

Ghost, inevitably, agreed to let the two of them meet you. That makes three other people out of the entire base that knows of your existence—the third being Price. You wave, albeit a little shyly, and smile in greeting the numpties that Ghost has spoken so much about. Good guys, if a bit foolish. "That's me."

"Creepin' Jesus," Soap grimaces, in all of his discomfort and mild embarrassment, "Didnae ken you had a wife, Lt. Couldnae have told me that before I started nudging that other poor lass into trying to get a ride outta you?"

Flicking his head up in satisfaction, Ghost chuckles. "Teach you a lesson, you children. I think you owe my missus an apology." "Ach, sorry ma'am," Gaz concedes, while Soap follows with a similarly apologetic smile.

"You've got a bonnie one, Lt. Save some for the rest of us, eh?" "Not happening. What the hell made you think that was a good idea?"

Soap glances over at him, eyebrows raised. "What, setting you up? You needed a ride, man, you were fair uptight and tense all the time. Almost put a window in my face wi' that fist o' yours."

It evokes another breathy laugh from you, drawing your husband's loving gaze before it trails back to Soap and Gaz. "Right. But that's my business, isn't it?"

"Thanks for trying to help him out anyway," You cut in, nodding your head politely to their happy smirks. "I'm sure he needed it, even if he does do his best not to show it."

Your words earn you a stern gaze—but nothing you couldn't handle. Let Ghost direct that energy into something else. Something fun that you have a few ideas for.

Soap and Gaz bid their goodbyes to Ghost before walking off, audibly muttering, "how the hell did that sour old bastard get such a sweet wife?" Or something along those lines. Regardless, you turn your attention to your dear, suffering husband with a tricky smirk. "So. You've been having some difficulties lately? Anything I could help with? If you're not expected to be somewhere else within the next hour or so, that is."

It coaxes a deep chuckle out of your husband, who's already sliding his hand 'round your waist down to the curve of your ass, gently squeezing. Nobody's around to see, anyhow. Ghost whispers into your reddening ear. "I think we'll be needing more than an hour, sweet thing." •◌•◌•★•◌•◌•

Request Archive

[antianakin]

As much as I dislike TBB, I don't actually mind discussing my issues with it much, but this forced me to go back and rewatch the scene since I only watched it once and that was obviously years ago, so you can apologize for that instead haha.

What I discovered is that I had in fact misremembered the scene and you're actually correct about it. I'd PRIMARILY remembered that Wrecker seems to hone in on Omega above everyone else and while that's definitely true, he does explicitly state why he's targeting her and he does attack the others for having violated Order 66 prior to going after Omega.

Wrecker claims that he's going after Omega because her decision to try to protect Hunter, who is considered a traitor, has now also made HER a traitor. Theoretically Wrecker would've left Omega entirely alone if she hadn't tried to shoot him to protect Hunter based on this comment, but it's obviously left somewhat unclear. He also could've chosen to attack her anyway simply because she associates with them and is now doomed as a result.

There's actually very little issue with Wrecker attacking the clones because they let a Jedi go, this falls in line with what was established in TCW for Rex after he joins up with Ahsoka and the other clones seem just as inclined to shoot him as they are to shoot Ahsoka. It makes sense that the chip programming might include a clause about getting rid of anyone trying to help or protect a Jedi in addition to the Jedi themselves, kind-of like a "get the Jedi at all costs" and "eliminate anyone and anything in your way" thing.

So this doesn't actually change or muddy anything to my knowledge, and Crosshair does something similar earlier in the season anyway, so Wrecker wouldn't even be the first character to react that way in this show alone for this exact reason.

So there's actually much less issue with this than I remembered there being. I DO think it's a little odd that he hones in on Omega the way he does. He completely abandons Hunter, who is literally IN HIS HANDS at the moment, in order to chase after Omega. Omega obviously does currently have a weapon whereas Hunter has been mostly disarmed, but he spends a weirdly disproportionate amount of time trying to hunt her down after she's already run away, ignoring the greater threat of people like Hunter, Rex, and Tech (Echo's been stunned).

You COULD make an argument that the chip does this, that it takes away some of the clones' ability to think something through, forcing them to sort-of focus in on a perceived threat to the exclusion of all else, I suppose. Where this ends up also being weird is in CONTRAST with the others. As mentioned, we see characters like Cody later who obviously very much canonically had a chip activated and he seems pretty normal. We see Howzer who theoretically SHOULD'VE had the chip activated and he's entirely normal. Wrecker gets a complete personality change when his chip activates, though. He ends up feeling more like Tup in terms of how it's impacting him. Wrecker's chip has begun to impact him as a result of a head injury earlier, but it had theoretically ALREADY BEEN ACTIVATED, so the head injury doesn't actually activate it on its own, it just... somehow makes the activated chip start to WORK on Wrecker despite his mutations that used to protect him. So his chip presumably hasn't been deformed the way Tup's was, and as soon as the chip is removed, Wrecker is completely fine, so it's not actually impacting Wrecker's brain long-term.

So it just begs the question of WHY Wrecker reacts so aggressively once the chip finally hits a critical point in its impact on him. Why would Howzer have such an easy time pushing back against his loyalty to the Empire (something that theoretically was given to him via the chip's influence) and doesn't seem to have much of a personality change at all, even after the Syndullas start fighting against the Empire, but Wrecker basically has his personality entirely erased and immediately turns super aggressive towards people he sees as traitors.

And there's almost zero hesitation from him. Even Jesse hesitates at one point, when Rex tries to logic him out of trying to kill Ahsoka, we SEE him consider the new information, and none of the clones immediately start firing as Rex walks out with Ahsoka into the hangar. Wrecker doesn't act like that.

So.... it's not... TERRIBLE on its own, but it's a little confusing mostly just in comparison to the other examples we have of clones who had their chip activated, either through a virus like Tup or just through the regular activation like Jesse and Howzer.

There was an entire major plot element in the Order 66 arc of TCW season 7 about how the chip didn't care that Ahsoka wasn't technically a Jedi anymore and was forcing the clones to want to kill her anyway.

Like.

It's a pretty important part of that whole story that Ahsoka not being in the Jedi Order anymore DOESN'T exempt her from Order 66. It would've been a pretty boring story if that technicality had WORKED.

But somehow the clones guarding Barriss at the prison are totally fine applying that technicality to her.

I guess they just like her better than Rex and the 332nd liked Ahsoka in the end or something. Ironic.

[quarterlifekitty]

wifey here again with stepdad!Nik, so I think SD would insist on finishing college since she only has like a year left anyway and because she feels like she'll be able to get a job easier with a degree, she doesn't wanna be a burden. Nikolai ofc lets her finish college, it keeps her busy while at home, settling in nicely to their house. He takes care of her every need, and slowly starts to convince her that she doesn't owe him anything, she's his wife now, or soon to be at the very least. All she needs to do is stay home and worry about their little one. Anytime she has doubts about how much he wants her and wants to provide for her she gets reminded thoroughly. It's when SD's bump is getting noticeable that Nik really steps it up. "What if we both miss the important moments?" and SD eventually is like "yeah, okay, but if it ever becomes a burden I'll get a job" and Nik is real proud of himself. SD also becomes very needy, in just the way Nik loves, she wants to be with him as much as possible and needs help a lot because hormones are fucking with her. And she definitely thanks him plenty for his help whenever she can. Bonus NikPrice x SD reader John decides to visit Nik and his new bird since on their last mission Nikolai wouldn't shut up about her and he immediately gets why when he sees SD, she's so sweet and nurturing and she looks gorgeous all round with Nik's kid, stays a few nights and gets drunk one night and jokingly (sorta) tells Nik he'd love to put the next one in her and Nikolai just hums with a smile "why not?" and reader is suddenly being flirted with by her fiance/husband's friend. Is real worried about it cause she likes it and guility goes to Nik who is 1. Very pleased by her honesty and 2. reassures her and tells her that he's okay with it if she is. (Totally wasn't his plan to get his two favorite people together so he could have them both, nope, that's totally not why he raved about her to John and not one other soul. Mmhm)

Also im really sorry if once again this doesn't make sense, stress has got me by a chokehold lately and its making my brain bad lol

Ooooooh wifey you are killing me. Isn’t that the perfect solution, though? You’re so worried about being a burden, let’s bring in another source of income!!

You know. Maybe it’s kinda degrading. But I totally imagine Nik comes up with little tasks for her. Let’s be real, it’s so easy— he saw what her mother was like, he can see how starved she is for approval, it practically blinds her. Things like “I want us to get a new car with some more space before the baby comes— can you research what models are best for family? You have a better mind for things like that than me,” he says with an almost sheepish smile. You’re practically wagging your tail with excitement— and you just look so happy when you present all of your work and he seems so pleased with you.

Also, in a bit of darker move, I can imagine if you’re not as into John as all that— they come up with a story. They say that John wants to have a baby of his own, but he’s not married, and he wants to have a kid before he’s too old and his career gets in the way of romance. So he would love for you to be like a surrogate for him. You’ve done so well with this first pregnancy, and you’re still so young— plus! John would be willing to pay, so it’d be like you’ve got your own income to help out!

The only thing is that John believes in natural conception. And he wants to live with you both during the pregnancy to help out. And he doesn’t actually plan on leaving once you have his kid. And Nik knows how sensitive and caring you are— when you confess to him your doubts about giving the baby up for good once it’s born, he comforts you. Of course he’ll talk to John about it, milaya, he’s sure they can come to an agreement.

[cod-indulgences]

How do you think Simon or Kyle would react to user having like a really puffy petticoat/ puff skirt?

They're extremely soft and it's amazing wearing them + you don't have to worry about like, accidentally showing anything since there are so many ruffles? (They're also adorable with movement?? Twirling makes them puff up kinda and it's all fluffy cloud and cloth, jumping too)

(I asked this to someone else but just decided to bite the bullet here-)

Simon Riley x female!reader, exhibitionism, dubcon, fucking in public, but they're the only ones who know- right?, slight humiliation/degradation

It's not a costume, it's cosplay, you insist, but Simon isn't really listening. Simon would be playing with the ruffles even as he insists he's not. Flipping the edges and running the lace edges between his fingers. No he's not messing with your skirt, he's just getting some dirt off. There was a bug. He's just checking it's sitting right, you put so much effort into your outfit love, just try'na help.

It's only when he lifts you up to get a kiss and realizes how deep the skirt goes that his brain turns over. Both hands on your ass and he's in ruffles up to his elbows, you can't see a goddamn thing through it, and it hits him that he could split you open on his cock and no one would know.

He hauls you into his lap, nuzzling your throat as you giggle and scold him about PDA, and sneaks a hand up to your pussy beneath the skirt. You can't get up off him easily, and he's got those strong fingers rubbing over your clit through your panties, fuck why did you decide to go all in with your outfit and pick the lacey lingerie?? Now it's dragging and scratching your clit, plumping you up, and Simon grins because he knows he's got you. Poor sweet thing, getting all stupid even before his cock is in you.

You try and balk when he pulls his dick out and rubs the wet head against your hole. Panties pulled to the side, your legs open over his lap, Simon, someone will see!

See you crying on my cock, he says in your ear, and tugs your face down into his shoulder to muffle your shout as he lifts you up and all the way down. Just a sweet thing on her man's lap, nothing happening here, and he hitches his hips up in little grinding thrusts that make you moan and whimper. He can feel you drooling on his balls, and whispers how cute you are dressed like this, how easy you made it for him to just get his cock in you, right here where all the people are milling around, taking photos, maybe looking over to see what's going on with that couple in the corner, the big man holding his girl in his lap. How sweet, how innocent.

Would they still call you innocent if they knew how hard you're coming just from warming my cock?

Simon holds you and rubs your back through the shuddering and clenching, letting your cunt squeeze and fuck down onto him, the thick pile of skirts around your hips and thighs rustling only a little. Amazing, and he reminds you to keep your voice down as he starts bouncing you up and down, sneaking a hand up to grope your tits though your top, tugging a nipple out so he can pinch it.

You're so blissed out you barely manage a protest, but he pins you under his arm like he's embracing you. Shush lovie, let me use this little pussy and I'll get you back on your feet. I'm so close already, you feel so good, hot and tight, and your pussy clamps down as Simon shoves his cock so deep it aches, biting on your shoulder to muffle himself.

When he pulls out you whimper at the slick mess over your thighs, sticking the inner layer of your skirts to your skin, panties twisted up and soaked through. Simon just laughs and tucks his cock away, setting you on your feet with a kiss. Next time you wear this, don't bother with the panties, he says, and tugs your top back into place as a camera shutter flashes.

[jeonscatalyst]

https://www.tumblr.com/dearweirdme/774212277059682304/httpswwwtumblrcomdearweirdme7742039285407416

“Serves them right for being idiots” then proceeds to make the most idiotic write up of all time. The fact that anyone can have a smart phone and internet these days to spew nonsense online is beyond me.

Hi anon,

There was a time when I used to think this was the most sensible Taekook blogger on Tumblr, but over time, my opinion began to shift. I haven’t seen a single insightful post from this blogger since AYS was announced. I used to frequent Taekook blogs because it was fun to read other people’s perspectives, but eventually, I stopped visiting their spaces because I felt like I was losing brain cells after every visit.

This particular blogger frustrates me because it’s evident they truly believe they are wise or introspective, when, in reality, they are just as misguided as any other Taekooker. I won’t go into detail about the differences between Taekook and Jikook, nor the clear evidence of who is closer, as I’ve already done that in a lengthy post in the past. You can read it here…

Instead, today I want to address a few things that Taekookers, and some Jikookers as well, still fail to understand, not only about the bond between Jikook and Taekook, but also about human relationships in general.

Let’s begin with the fact that this blogger claims the Jikook ship was created by BigHit. Not only is this the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever read, but it’s also a pathetic excuse for why another pairing gained recognition. Let’s not even mention that this blogger has only been in the fandom for a short time and probably caught up on content through YouTube edits, (you can tell they’re the type to fall for YouTube edits because they cite them as references), TikTok, and various conspiracy theories from bitter Taekookers trying to explain away the connection they see between Jimin and Jungkook. This person hasn’t been around long enough to form such strong opinions about the past, yet they act as though they lived through it all personally. Not saying one couldn’t be informed about a past they didn’t experience but we all know living through something is different from getting information about it second hand.

How exactly did BigHit create the Jikook ship when the primary reason for its popularity is the GCF Jungkook posted in November 2017? That video, which Jungkook made after a trip with Jimin to Japan, was not related to work. In fact, Jungkook explicitly stated that the trip and by extension, the GCF, was not work-related in any way. How could BigHit have created the ship when nearly every major Jikook moment came from Jungkook himself? If you were to ask any Jikooker on the street why they started shipping Jikook, you’d hear about things like the GCF, MMA 2018, the Rose Bowl, Hickeygate, etc. Not a single one would mention anything related to the company, and notice how all of these key moments were initiated by Jungkook?

This blogger also goes on to say that Jimin leans into fanservice more because he wants to please the company and the fans. I find it hard to understand how this isn’t anti behavior, especially since this blog claims it doesn’t harbor any ill feelings toward Jimin. Implying that Jimin lives his entire life to cater to fans and a corporation while disregarding the feelings of his friends is such an anti move especially because Jungkook himself describes Jimin as thoughtful and selfless. I doubt he would see Jimin this way if Jimin constantly disregarded his feelings and focused more on pleading fans and a money hungry coorperation.

The reason I mentioned that Jungkook initiates most of the interactions that Jikookers find significant is because Taekookers often argue that Jimin leans more into “fanservice” than Jungkook does and that Jungkook sometimes seems hesitant to engage due to his consideration for Taehyung. However, it doesn’t seem to me that Jungkook was particularly concerned about Taehyung when he singlehandedly kickstarted the ship with his GCF. He certainly didn’t seem worried about Taehyung during MMA 2018, or when he openly shared that his “bro” Jimin had bitten him on the neck while tipsy after a late-night drink knowing exactly how shippers would react. It doesn’t appear that he had Taehyung in mind when he revealed that he showers and sings with Jimin in the military fully aware of how fans might react to that information. By now, we have to assume that all the members are aware of what fans do, and Jungkook must know about both Jikookers and Taekookers. If he were truly concerned about Taehyung’s feelings regarding his “fanservice” with Jimin, I highly doubt he would have invited himself to shower at Jimin’s during a live, fully aware of how fans would interpret that.

This blogger seems to forget that it was thanks to Jimin that Jikookers didn’t have more moments to celebrate in chapter two of their bond. It was Jungkook who kept the ship alive during that time. If it had been up to Jungkook, we would have had many more moments to highlight. He was the one going live multiple times, talking about Jimin, watching and singing his songs. If Jimin had accepted when Jungkook invited him over for chicken and beer, we would have had a Jikook moment. If Jimin had shown up when Jungkook extended an open invite to any member to join him, we would have had a Jikook moment. If Jimin had agreed when Jungkook asked to come over, do a live, and shower at his place, we would have had countless moments to talk about for years. But alas, none of these things happened because of Jimin. Yet, somehow, he’s the one being accused of leaning more into “fanservice”?

These newer fans are incredibly fortunate to have encountered a quieter version of Jimin. If they had been around pre-2020, and witnessed how unapologetically vocal Jimin was about Jungkook, they would have disliked him (well, they dislike him now, but they wouldn’t have been able to hide it as they do now). They are lucky that they came in during a time when Jimin has become more reserved. If Jimin really wanted to cater to shippers he wouldn’t have said “no” when asked if he had eaten Jungkook’s ramen yet. He would have gone to Inkigayo just to give shippers something to talk about. He could have easily gone to Jungkook’s house anytime and taken photos, posted them, or even shared a video from when he spent the night with him before Jeju. He never lacked invitations from Jungkook; in fact, Jungkook asked him over multiple times. The only reason we didn’t see those moments was because of Jimin.

They claim Jungkook holds back because he’s concerned about Taehyung, but I didn’t see him thinking about Taehyung when he cuddled into Jimin’s lap and slapped his butt in AYS. The funniest part is, in AYS, Jungkook initiated more physical contact with Jimin than Jimin did. Nearly every time Jimin initiated anything, it was usually playful, but it was Jungkook who woke up and cuddled into Jimin, touched Jimin to look for mosquito bites, who “caressed Jimin’s smooth legs on the yacht”, who leaned on Jimin’s shoulder during the train ride. It was Jungkook who constantly talked about how much he loved the trip, describing it as the best trips of his life. Most of the significant Jikook moments from AYS were once again initiated by Jungkook, but Taekookers ignore these and magnify moments when Jungkook playfully pushes or shoves Jimin away when he’s being mischievous, claiming that it’s him setting boundaries. If he were really setting boundaries, he wouldn’t have cuddled into Jimin’s lap and slapped his ass. If he were setting boundaries, he wouldn’t have leaned on Jimin’s shoulder during the train ride. If he were really worried about Taehyung, he wouldn’t have told us that the trips with Jimin were the best trips of his life, especially after taking “private” trip with Taehyung. That’s insulting. So, I fail to see how Jimin is the one who leans more into “fanservice” when many Jikookers are still here today thanks to Jungkook.

This blogger’s concept of closeness is truly amusing and highlights their ignorance. According to them, Jimin seems closer to Taehyung simply because he called him a few times in chapter two. Wouldn’t it be nice if life were that simple and linear? Wouldn’t it be easier and less complicated if relationships were so black and white? This blogger claims that the things they’ve said themselves prove who is closer among the three, but I fail to see how Taehyung and Jungkook talking about not having deep conversations or feeling awkward with each other proves how close they are. I don’t understand how Taehyung saying that he only learned about Jikook’s trip through the group chat shows how close they are. How does Taehyung not knowing Jungkook was filming a show with Jimin demonstrate their closeness? And how does Taehyung not knowing Jimin spent the night at Jungkook’s before Jeju prove that they’re close? Mind you taekookers believe that everytime Jk was on his phone in AYS he was talking with Tae and they also believe that Taekook FaceTime a lot but my question is, what do they talk about on this numerous calls if Tae keeps finding out about Jungkook’s schedules from a group chat and not from Jungkook himself? If anything, these examples illustrate exactly how Taekook’s friendship and bond truly are.

Human relationships are fluid, multifaceted, and complex. Closeness and distance are influenced by factors like mental state, career shifts, personal growth, emotional needs, stress, and misunderstandings. It’s important to remember that a single period of time doesn’t define the entirety of a relationship, but it can reflect specific phases, changes, or circumstances that affect how people interact.

The fact that Jimin might have kept in touch more with Taehyung than with Jungkook during a particular period doesn’t necessarily mean that he feels closer to Taehyung. Let me illustrate this with an example, though this is not meant to reflect what happened in Jikook’s situation. If you have a friend and a lover, you would likely communicate more with your lover, depending on the circumstances. However, if you experience a misunderstanding, disagreement, breakup, or a period of distance with your lover, you might reduce or stop contact with them during that time but still maintain communication with your friend. Does this mean you’re closer to the friend you’re still in touch with? Of course not. It’s simply a matter of circumstances. This specific period doesn’t define your bond or who you feel closer to. This is the basic concept I’ve been trying to explain to for so long and I am honestly baffled people don’t understand this. I don’t know how everyone else does it but sometimes, when I don’t understand certain things, I put myself, my relationship and that of friends, family and acquaintances in that position to see it from a more realistic point of view because it is often so easy to view these people through a tunnel that blocks every logic out. Because these aren’t people we know personally it is very easy to watch them thinking we are watching movies or something.

Relationships and their depth are not defined by one single moment in time but by history, patterns, and consistency. And that’s something Taekook lacks. They don’t have a history that demonstrates they are or have ever been closer than Jikook at least not emotionally. There’s no consistency either. You’ll notice that Taekookers often cling to the solo era, referencing it as proof of their ship, because without that period in the 13+ years BTS has been together, they have almost nothing. There’s no evidence of Taekook knowing or hanging out with each other’s friends, little or no proof of them prioritizing time together outside of work, no evidence of them being each other’s biggest supporters, and no evidence of them seeking comfort or companionship from each other, except during fun moments. They literally have nothing else, and they know this, which is why they hold onto the solo era……it’s all they have. Taekook could come out of the military and never be seen together outside of work again, but Taekookers would still cling to that era. If you carve out that solo era period from the ship and ask taekookers to make arguments for their ship, they go back to slowed down edits, narratives about two lovers being separated and oppressed or counting moles on each others faces. Most of the arguments they have today they didn’t have before the solo era and they don’t find that straight. One of the funniest thing I ever read a taekooker on here write was that Taekook is real because they kept hanging out with each other when there was no contractual obligation. These are the same people who claim every time Jk mentioned Jimin on Lives he did it because of his contract or that he couldn’t say no to the travel show because of contracts. If Hybe could make Jungkook obey the contractual obligations to do fanservice with Jimin, couldn’t they stop takeook from hanging out? Yet they themselves send off takeook to premiers with body guards, send them off to concerts, post bangtan bombs of them on Valentine’s Day which they same tkkrs gosh about mind you. As if any of these boys ever had a contractual obligation to spend time with each other outside of work. I wonder what was said in the contract to make Jikook hang out all the times we know they did consistently for years.

This blogger claims that Jikook don’t need each other on a daily, weekly, or monthly basis, and suggests that Taekook does because they hung out during the solo era. First of all, there’s a big difference between two friends hanging out out of convenience and two people actually prioritizing each other’s company over everyone else’s. Taekookers believe Taekook prioritized each other, but that’s simply not true. Prioritization happens when circumstances don’t make it easy or you have other options but you still make the effort or choose each other. Other members were busy with their solo projects so who else was there for Jungkook to do those thrilling things with except Taehyung? Also notice how Jk was almost always tagging along with Tae and his friends and not just him and Tae together doing stuff which mean even Tae’s friends were always still more of a priority for him and Jungkook was an add on to the fun. For years, we rarely saw Taekook hang out outside of work, and we even confirmed that they didn’t spend time together during breaks, birthdays, or other significant days. We also confirmed that they grew a bit distant. So, now you think they prioritized each other just because they started hanging out when both of them had free time and mind you at a time when other didn’t? That’s not how it works. And it’s clear that wasn’t the case because as soon as they got busy with their albums, the hangouts stopped. They both still made time to frequently hang out with others, just not with each other as much. This is the simplest proof that if their schedules hadn’t aligned, we definitely wouldn’t have seen them together as much. They always talk about Jimin hanging out with Yoongi and Hobi but ofcourse. That was a given because 1: they are his close friends and 2: their schedules aligned way more than they did with other people. They were all working on their albums and were probably operating on the same wavelength as opposed to Jungkook who was on a rest and no work mode so it make sense that they kept more communication because they saw each other more so it was easier to do more stuff together. Also notice how Jimin wasn’t seen going to concerts or premieres and stuff like that with Hobi and Yoongi but occasionally had drinks with them, played games with them and talked with them on the phone. It’s really not the same things to compare.

What Taekookers have never understood about Taekook is that their dynamic is a fun and lighthearted one, primarily centered around shared activities. They click well when it comes to doing fun things they both enjoy. They have many common interests, particularly when it comes to engaging in entertaining activities. Their bond is more situational and activity-based rather than deeply emotionally intertwined. While they clearly enjoy spending time together, their interactions suggest a relationship built on fun, shared interests, and a natural ease in each other’s presence, rather than one rooted in deep personal connection or emotional dependence.

If you pay close attention, you’ll notice that Taehyung and Jungkook’s hangouts are almost always centered around specific activities or events, rather than deep emotional closeness or meaningful conversations or time spent together. This is evident from the fact that, almost every time we saw or heard about them being together in Chapter Two, they were engaged in some activity or having fun, only to part ways afterward and return to their respective homes. Even the one time we learned Jungkook was at Taehyung’s place, it wasn’t for intimate, one-on-one time, it was with some of Taehyung’s other friends, and Taehyung mentioned they were just playing games. On multiple occasions, we saw Jungkook hang out with Taehyung and then return home to start a live stream, which shows that he still craved a level of companionship that his previous outings hadn’t fully satisfied. You never just hear that they choose to be together just because….

Taehyung and Jungkook don’t have the continuous need to be together that one would expect from people who truly need each other on a daily basis, as this blogger claims. They meet, have fun, and once the purpose of the hangout is served, they go their separate ways. For instance, Taehyung didn’t feel the need to stay with Jungkook at the ski resort after enjoying the fun; he chose to leave with friends, leaving Jungkook behind. He didn’t feel any obligation to remain with him, as one would expect from a lover or a friend with a deep emotional connection.

Similarly, Jungkook didn’t feel the need to stay by Taehyung’s side after the musical and premiere, even though Taehyung apparently got drunk and fell asleep. A lover wouldn’t leave you alone in such a state, but a friend who was there just for the fun and company would leave without feeling any obligation to stay. Notice how every time you see or hear about them hanging out, it’s always centered around some fun activity and never simply because they wanted to spend time together. They don’t feel the need to stick together unless there’s something they both find fun to do.

This dynamic is very different from that of Jimin and Jungkook. I don’t need to list all the ways they differ, as I’m sure it’s already clear. Jungkook going to Jimin when lonely and bored just to sit there for hours with him doing nothing speaks volumes. Jungkook going to Jimin after a 3 day tiring concert to spend time with him, cook for him and seemingly spending the night with him just to be seen with him again the next day at a restaurant with friends shows the difference. We all know that these guys lived very busy, tedious and fast paced lives where they barely got a chance to spend any alone time together except at night as they were usually together as a group. So in cases like this, one would expect that the two people who are closest and possibly in a romantic relationship will prioritize those alone times together since they always had dozens of staff and cameras shoved in their faces all day with little to no privacy and we saw that the two people who actually did this were Jimin and Jungkook not Taehyung and Jungkook. Jungkook himself coined “all nighter friends” name with Jimin which spoke a lot about how much they spent their nights and quieter moments together.

Taekook share a laid-back, fun, and comfortable dynamic, which often gives Taekookers the impression that they are much closer than they actually are. A prime example would be Taekook at the Harry Styles concert. Anyone watching them together that night would assume they were the best of friends, which in a way they are. However, what people wouldn’t know is that at that very moment, Taehyung didn’t even know Jungkook’s hotel room number. What’s more telling is that, behind the scenes, whenever Jungkook felt the need for company, he repeatedly sought out Jimin, not the one he was seen comfortably hanging out with at the concert.

These moments reveal the complexity of human relationships and how different people fulfill different needs for us. The person you turn to for fun, thrill, and adventure isn’t necessarily the one you seek when your emotional needs arise. And if we go by what Jungkook has said over the years, it’s clear who he shares a deeper emotional connection with and who he has a more laid-back, fun, but less emotionally deep connection with.

I also find it frustrating the way Taekookers have elevated the Hawaii trip into something it wasn’t. That wasn’t Jungkook traveling to fulfill some emotional need for Taehyung. It was Jungkook traveling after receiving an invite to have fun with his friend…the one he clicks with perfectly when it comes to things like this. They were on the same wavelength at the time, enjoying each other’s company in their free time. Emphasis on FREE TIME. They always have fun together, and they share common interests. I’m sure Taekook would turn to each other for fun, thrill, and adventure, but I can bet my bottom dollar that they wouldn’t turn to each other for the deeper emotional stuff. They really never have, and history has proven this.

They didn’t prioritize spending time with each other over anyone else in the solo era. It was simply convenient for them to do so, and so they did. They both had the time to hang out, and they took it. But when we talk about true prioritization, we’re talking about Jimin flying all the way from Paris to spend one day with Jungkook, then heading back to Hawaii the next day. We’re talking about Jungkook choosing to use his limited break to take Jimin to Japan…something Jimin has always wanted. We’re talking about Jungkook, knowing full well that other members were available, yet choosing to spend his quiet peaceful time with Jimin every day, prioritizing him over anyone else. That’s prioritization…not Jungkook flying to Hawaii when he had time and money to have fun with Taehyung. This is something he could have done with any other friend if he had the time or money. Do you think if Mingyu or Eunwoo call Jungkook to join them somewhere fun in ant part of the world Jungkook has access to while he has the time and money he wouldn’t go? He will definitely go. Tae didn’t call Jungkook because he missed him in the way taekookers think. He might have missed his company and known that that is something they both would really enjoy doing since they relate like that and called him but it was definitely not because he missed his boyfriend. If that was the case, his “boyfriend” wouldn’t only have found out at the moment that be was in Hawaii.

Prioritization again comes in when Taehyung gets on planes to support his wooga, or his wooga putting everything else aside to spend time with him before his enlistment, or when he ensures he doesn’t miss important days for them. He never really prioritizes seeing Jungkook on his birthdays, and vice versa. He didn’t care to see Jungkook even for a single day during their 2019 break, choosing to travel with his friends instead even when Jungkook had a birthday yet we had Jimin flying all the way from Paris to see Jungkook for a few hours and head back yet, Taekookers claim they prioritize each other in that way? They don’t.

Two friends meeting up and hanging out when they have the time doesn’t equate to prioritizing each other, nor does it signify deep emotional connection or bond. Yes, they must like and care about each other to hang out multiple times, which we know Taekook do, but if their schedules had been less aligned, they wouldn’t have cared as much, and it wouldn’t have bothered them.

Unlike Taekook, Jimin and Jungkook have a long history of prioritizing each other, keeping constant communication, and staying fully aware of what the other is doing. A few months in a 13+ year friendship doesn’t change that. Real closeness isn’t about how many hangouts or fun activities two people can have, or how many cute pictures they take together, or where they sit during meals. True closeness and a deep emotional bond are about who you want to be with even when there’s nothing to do, who you turn to when you’re going through emotional moments, and who you think of watching when you can’t sleep at 4 a.m. These are subtle things, but they speak volumes.

Closeness is relative, and we can be close to people in different ways. There are ways Jungkook is closer to Taehyung than Jimin, and vice versa, but based on everything Jungkook has said over the years, and how we’ve seen them interact, it’s clear that his emotional connection with Jimin is and has always been much deeper. I guess it’s up for debate who you think he’s closer to. If you think a dynamic based on fun activities, camaraderie and ease is closer than one built on emotional depth and closeness, then I suppose you’d think Taekook are closer.

PS: AYS is still a very sore topic for taekookers. They claim AYS proved enough but if AYS really confirmed that Taekook is real and Jikook isn’t, why do they detest the show so much?

[pursued-by-the-squid]

vii. stage fright

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

word count: 12.5k

ao3 | masterlist

“You should eat.”

Rolling over onto your side reveals Gi-hun, standing over your bed with a frown. “I’m not hungry,” you mumble before returning to your original position.

“You need to keep up your strength.” The mattress dips down by your feet and the bed creaks softly as it adjusts to Gi-hun’s weight. He seems to start a sentence a few times, his inhalations quiet yet sudden, but whatever it is he wants to say seems impossible to speak aloud. In the end, he relinquishes himself to an awkward pat on your foot.

How many times have the two of you been here? Each of you lost to your own grievances, trying so hard to push through the fog and failing every time. How many times has he texted you a reminder to get to bed early, to be careful when you go out the next morning, to eat something filling before class? How many times have you tried to do the same in return?

“I’ve lost my appetite,” you tell him, even as you’re moving to sit up and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. “The thought of eating anything makes me feel sick.”

Gi-hun nods once in comprehension, his eyes suddenly softer as he watches you. “I understand,” he murmurs. You try not to think about how much it makes your heart flutter knowing that he cares.

It’s that very understanding, you think, that leads you both to the meal line. Neither of you wants to eat, but neither of you wants the other to go hungry. Eating will keep his mind sharp, it’ll make him faster and stronger, and it will do the same for you of course, it’s just that you can’t stop thinking about all those people… All that blood…

Try not to think about it, you tell yourself, but it’s so much easier to say than it is to do. Everywhere you look is a reminder of just how dire your circumstances are. The ominous piggy bank hanging overhead, the player count, the blood still on Gi-hun’s face, each of them a ghost intent on haunting you. How can you possibly–?

“[___]?”

One moment you’re lost to the horror of it all, and the next you find yourself blinking up at the face of the last person you would have ever expected. “Young-il-nim?”

Your first thought is that you’re imagining things, so traumatized by the first game that you’ve fully lost it, but then – oh, then he’s smiling and he laughs, and it’s him, it’s really him.

“Oh my God,” you cry, throwing your arms around him in a desperate embrace. “What are, what are you doing here? How did you-? Why did you-? Shit, are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”

Young-il chuckles to himself as your trembling hands go scrambling over his shoulders and chest to check for injuries. “I’m alright,” he assures you, as if he hasn’t a care in the world. But then his expressions shifts and he ducks his head to try and catch your eyes. “But what are you doing here? You don’t belong in a place like this.”

A brief image of the masked man invading your home comes to mind before you banish it. You shake your head. “It’s a long story,” you sigh, “and difficult to explain. I…” Words are lost to you. You have so many thoughts buzzing inside your brain that it’s difficult to think clearly, to conjure up the shapes and sounds you need to explain yourself.

“It alright,” he says after a moment. You catch him glancing to the side, meeting Gi-hun’s eyes over your shoulder, before looking back to you. “Eat first. I’ll find you after and we can talk then.”

He nods his head respectfully to both of you before walking off, food in hand and the numbers ‘001’ sewn to the back of his jacket. Something twists painfully in your gut, probably the knife he’s just lodged between your ribs.

“Who was that?” Is it your imagination or does Gi-hun’s voice sound deeper than before?

“A friend.” But now the words are sour on your tongue. Because Young-il was the one to break the tie. Young-il was the one to trap you here for another game. Young-il was the one who stood up against everything Gi-hun has been fighting against, and your face is awash with shame because of it.

“Young-il-nim.”

From his spot on the steps, he’s forced to tip his head back to meet your eyes and for a moment, you almost forget the reason you’ve sought him out. His hair is different, you suddenly realize. It swoops over his temples, soft and boyish, and it changes his face just so. All those harsh edges you’ve grown accustomed to are rounded out, less garish despite the fluorescent lighting and the terrible circumstances. And still, the blue patch on his chest marks him as a traitor. It may as well be soaked in your own blood and Gi-hun’s for what it’s worth.

He smiles and gestures to the empty space on his left with his elbow. “Come and sit.”

How can he be like this? How can he sit there and look at you with such blatant fondness, how can he still have an appetite after the things you’ve both just witnessed?

Your voice comes out much harder than usual once you finally find it. “What are you doing?”

Confusion flickers in his eyes. “Eating?”

“No. Here. What are you doing here? Why did you vote to stay?”

Young-il glances down at the X on your jacket, nodding, and the light-hearted tint to his smile finally fades. “I’m sorry.”

Your legs kick into gear before your mouth does, bringing you to the step just below his. You can’t quite bring yourself to sit beside him, to allow yourself that familiarity or closeness when his betrayal still sits heavy in your stomach, but this is not a public conversation either. You’re not here to embarrass him.

“You’re angry.”

“Can you blame me? People died, I almost–”

“I know,” he sighs as he hangs his head. “I know.”

“So why?”

Young-il’s expression turns distant, serious. “It’s complicated.”

Yeah, there seems to be a lot of that around here. But there’s something more, something he’s not telling you. He’s usually decent enough at keeping his more intense feelings close to his chest, but for once you find that you can see the intricacies of his heart quite easily. Regret and uncertainty are the most obvious to you, yet there are others lingering in the creases of his eyes and his mouth, things you don’t know how to put into words but that strike you as profound all the same.

“Your business, is it… Did something happen?”

A shadow passes over him, then, that flicker of something cold and distant that you’ve seen only once or twice before. He nods thoughtfully. “You could say that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

His mouth curls into a frown. You might almost consider it a gesture of concern. “And make you worry needlessly? There’s nothing you could’ve done even if I had.” He looks over your shoulder again, surveying the room, his throat bobbing near your eye level. “I could ask the same of you, but I’d wager I already know the answer.”

You huff, irritated and frustrated and a million other things, turning so he’s behind you as you open your dinner. “It’s not what you think. I didn’t come here for the money.”

The toe of his shoe nudges into your back, drawing your attention. “You let that recruiter talk you into it?” Young-il tsks. “What have I told you about talking to strangers?”

He’s only teasing, of course. You know that. But even as a joke, the words hit too close to home. You’ve never told him about your encounter with the ddakji recruiter. You’ve never told him about how you met Gi-hun. You’ve never told him that since coming to Korea, every problem you’ve faced has arisen in part because you were stupid enough to engage with a stranger. Before now, you never had any intention of telling him any of it.

You eye the dinner tin in your hands. It smells good enough, but you still feel a bit queasy. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to keep it down or not.

“It wasn’t the recruiter that got me here.” It’s easier to tell him when you can’t see his face, for some reason, when you’re pretending that it doesn’t rip you apart just to admit the truth. Poking your utensil at the rubbery looking egg in your tin, you let out a sigh. “Someone took me.”

The muscles in his calf go tight against your back. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I was kidnapped. One of them.” You nod in the direction of the dinner line. “The men with the masks.”

His voice is softer when he replies. “You didn’t call the number like the rest of us?”

“No. I promised Gi-hun that I wouldn’t, but I guess… I guess it didn’t matter, in the end.”

Glancing down at your food is a challenge, actually eating it is even harder. It tastes like sawdust in your mouth and the instant it hits the back of your throat, you gag, very nearly spitting everything out on the floor. You don’t, thankfully, but it takes a long swig of water to ensure that the food stays down.

“Why would the soldiers want to kidnap you?” he asks once several long minutes have passed. You can hear the low clinking of his dinner tin behind you as he presses the lid shut.

Your first instinct is to claim ignorance, and it wouldn’t even be a lie if you did. You have no connection to these games, no desire to play, and no reason to stay. Gi-hun provides you with everything you need. But that’s just the problem, isn’t it? Gi-hun is the sole connection you have – you shredded the ddakji woman’s business card ages ago, the night you swore to never play the game again, and you shredded the last one too.

Your attention narrows in on a single grain of rice, as if it holds all the answers you seek. “I can’t help thinking it’s because of who I know,” you admit, reluctantly.

You glance up and over your shoulder in time to see Young-il fixing his eyes on something across the room – Gi-hun. “Player 456?”

You nod quietly in agreement.

“Isn’t he the one who’s played before?”

Another nod.

“So, he’s a friend of yours, then.”

The distant recollection of a night long since passed floats across your mind’s eye. That night seems so long ago now. Sure, it’s been a couple years, but it feels like even longer now that you’re here, as if the businesswoman and the ddakji are memories of another life.

“He warned me about this place, told me he didn’t want me dragged into all of this. That’s why I called you, you know – that one time, a few months back? I thought someone from this place had killed him and you were the only person I could think of to go to when I thought he was gone. And then last night, before the soldier, he came to say goodbye and I thought…”

You’d thought a lot of things. But you hadn’t thought of something like this ever happening.

“I guess it doesn’t matter what I thought. I’m stuck here now.”

It isn’t something that you mean to imply, but there’s an unspoken ‘no thanks to you’ that haunts the space between you. It’s not entirely his fault. Young-il has his own problems that he has to work through, that much is clear, and he has no way of knowing all the chaos going on in your personal life. If you have blame to place, it can’t rest solely on his shoulders, but that doesn’t make the reality of his vote any less painful or disappointing.

The stairs behind you groan as Young-il stands, the long shadow cast by the overhead lights falling lengthwise across your body. “You know,” he begins, steadily easing himself to the ground level on step at a time, “if your friend has played before, maybe we stand a better chance at winning the next round.”

Huh. That hadn’t even occurred to you. You were so busy being scared out of your mind that you hadn’t stopped to think there might actually be some hope. It’s slight, of course, and mostly obscured in your mind by the splatters of blood and lifeless bodies you saw on the field today, but the hope is there nonetheless. If you can survive the next round, then…

“Do you think there’ll be another vote?”

“Yes,” he nods, “after each game.”

Your shoulders suddenly feel a little lighter. “Then we could make it long enough to get out of here, vote a second time and go home.”

Young-il purses his lips in consideration. “Maybe.”

Before he can elaborate any further, a shout echoes across the room. It starts somewhere over his shoulder, near the middle or front of the room where a group of three younger men have gathered. You and Young-il both turn toward the sound just in time to see one of the men fall to the ground while the other two loom over him, slamming their feet into his body over and over again, and every time he tries to stand, they smack him down. They’re hitting him hard. The man on the ground isn’t fully screaming, but he’s clearly in pain.

You’re on your feet before you even realize it. There’s nothing you feel you can do, not without risking one of the attackers turning their vengeance onto you, but it flips your stomach to see someone being beat so mercilessly. You cast a quick glance around the room – none of the other players nor any of the soldiers stationed near the doors look inclined to intervene.

“God, they’re gonna kill him,” you mutter, more in disbelief than anything else. Isn’t someone going to stop them?

Someone, apparently, means Young-il. When he first moves, you think he’s trying to get a closer look. Because of course he’s intrigued by the violence, you think with a slight roll of your eyes. God forbid he, or anyone else here, do something actually useful, but he surprises you. Instead of observing, he acts.

“Boys, what are you doing in the middle of dinner?” His voice cuts through the cursing and the flurry of fists and feet against skin. One of the men left standing, the one with the purple hair, glowers at him as he approaches. “No fights during mealtime. There are elders present. Mind your manners. And two against one? Aren't you embarrassed?”

You’ve… never heard him speak like that before. With you, he’s often quite easygoing, soft when he needs to be and rarely ever stern unless he’s concerned about something. But with these men, he does speak sternly. His body moves with the ease of a man who has no doubts about his own strength or perception.

The man with the purple hair – Thanos, you think you’d heard – curls his mouth into a sneer. “You're lecturing me when you ended up in this shithole too?” As he advances on Young-il, you’re immediately taken aback by the amount of disrespect – he’s gesturing rudely, swaggering into Young-il’s personal space, quirking his eyebrows as if to suggest that there’s nothing about Young-il that he takes seriously. “Dude, stop running your mouth and take care of your own damn kids.”

You’re so stunned, you almost forget to breathe.

Young-il is equally surprised. Even from far behind him, you can see the way his body stills. “What did you say to me?” You can’t see his face, but honestly, you don’t need to. You can hear it all in his voice, can read it in the line of his shoulders.

“I said save the lecture for your own damn kid–”

The speed with which his arm shoots out is startling. You don’t even see it, really. One moment, Thanos is yapping his face off, and the next, Young-il has his fingers digging into the tendons of his throat. He twists his arm just so and the other man bends unnaturally at the waist to accommodate him. Then the other player – 124 – surges forward with a swear and you feel your heart leap into your throat, terrified your friend has just gotten himself into a fight that he cannot possibly win, but then Young-il kicks him in the shin and 124 goes sprawling on his back.

When you’d asked yourself if someone would do something to stop those two, this isn’t what you’d had in mind. Young-il isn’t ancient or decrepit by any means and he clearly thinks he can handle himself, but these men are younger than he is. What if he gets–?

His fist smacks right into Thanos’ chest, doubling him over as Young-il takes the opportunity to loom over him instead. This will be it, you think, a surprisingly swift punch to the sternum and it’ll all be over. He’s already proven himself, already made a fool of both these players.

Thanos raises a hand quietly, begging for him to stop. Only he doesn’t. Your feet are already carrying you to the floor, your dinner abandoned as you watch Young-il grab his hand, twist, and use the momentum to slam the other man into the ground. For a moment, they’re both frozen like that, Young-il lowered onto one knee with his fist raised while the other chokes and squirms helplessly beneath him.

You’re no longer worried about the poor player that had started this whole fight, you’re worried about the man who had attacked him. He’s choking and Young-il won’t let go. You can see his entire body shaking, his face flushing as his mouth twitches, his fist rising higher. He’s gonna kill him instead.

“Young-il!”

There’s no way he can’t hear you, but you’re terrified that he’ll ignore you anyway. He wouldn’t kill this guy, would he? He doesn’t seem the type. But the grip he has on Thanos’ throat is too strong, too intentional, and you’re just about to rush in and pry him off the man when he finally lets up. The other player takes a deep gasp, hands clawing at his neck as he recovers the breath Young-il had squeezed out of him, and then the entire room is bursting with applause. For the life of you, you cannot fathom why.

How long have you known him now, a couple years? Never, not once, in all that time has he ever said or done a single thing to make you look at him as anything other than what he is – your friend, a lover of coffee and fine art, a dedicated businessman with a tragic past and a penchant for terrible jokes. He was and always has been Oh Young-il, nothing less and nothing more. But as he clambers to his feet, his head bowed bashfully as he accepts the praise offered to him, you find yourself wondering if there isn’t just a bit more to him than he’s let on.

And though you’d never admit it, you’re also a bit… flushed. Seeing him react so effortlessly, witnessing the strength you never knew he had – it’s stirred up a bit of warmth in the pit of your stomach. You don’t really want to consider what that says about you.

He returns to you some moments later with his eyes averted. There’s something lingering on his tongue, perhaps an explanation, but he seems hesitant to give it and you’re equally hesitant to ask for it. Still, you’d be a fool to overlook how deeply Thanos’ words had affected him.

“Are you alright?”

Young-il nods as he passes, taking your attention with him. “I’m not hurt,” he assures you. He’s moved to pick up your dinner tray, as well as his own, stacking them on top of each other in his hands.

You reach for your water bottle before trailing after him, following his path to the front of the room where the trash cans are. “That’s not what I mean.” He’d told you to lecture your own kids, you think, and you snapped. He became someone else entirely, someone you don’t recognize, and that worries you. It also eerily reminds you of someone.

If he intends to respond, he shows no sign of it. He makes light work of your trays, emptying them of any leftover food before handing them and the utensils over to the nearest guard, a Circle Mask manning what remains of the dinner station.

“Young-il-nim.” You try to catch his eye when he turns to you once more, but he’s remarkably evasive, which only serves to further unsettle you. “Are you going to ignore me, or…?”

And that, at last, is enough to grab his attention. His shoulders drop with the weight of his sigh. “What do you mean, [___]?” If you didn’t know any better, you’d actually think he was upset with you.

“I mean, you…” There’s a flash of fists in the back of your mind, of Thanos choking. “I’ve just never seen you do that before.”

He lifts an eyebrow, then, as his expressions shifts from irritation to derision. “Does it bother you?” he asks.

Is that what he thinks? That you’re bothered? “No. But I didn’t think you were going to stop and that worried me.” It’s more honest than you had intended to be and you feel stripped bare because of it, like Young-il can see right through you because of your vulnerability.

You wish you knew what he was thinking. While you’re at it, you wish understood your own thoughts just as much as you wish you could fathom his. This – beating a younger man to a pulp simply because you’d expressed concern over an unfair fight – feels like something you should’ve known about, though you can’t help feeling like that’s a pretty ridiculous expectation to have. When would it have been relevant to reveal his secret self-defense moves? And why? Is it even fair of you to feel wary of him when it was your instigation that had prompted him to act in the first place?

Something dark flickers in the very depths of his eyes, something you don’t understand, but it’s gone before you can linger on it. His attention settles just past your shoulder, in the direction you’d seen Gi-hun and Jung-bae go to pick at their meals, and then he looks to you once more. Whatever darkness you thought you’d seen is long gone.

“Why don’t you introduce me to your friend?”

Gi-hun and Jung-bae have settled in the far corner. You’d noticed earlier that some of the other players had gathered around them at one point, likely asking any number of questions now that they knew a previous winner had returned. They’ve even made a new friend, from what you can tell – a very expressive younger man with long hair, number 388 – though Gi-hun seems less enthused about the younger man’s presence than his friend does.

You have no reason to hesitate when it comes to introductions. Gi-hun is your friend as much as Young-il is, yet you still feel the pull of uncertainty in your gut at the idea. They’ve been separate for as long as you’ve known them. Young-il is more of a school friend than anything; the coffee dates (not that they’re dates because they’re not), your initial meeting, all of it had happened on campus. Gi-hun is your strangely wealthy friend who keeps to himself and lets you fire weapons in the depths of his abandoned motel. One of them is clearly more normal than the other. And only one of them has kissed you thus far, so there’s also that.

You try not to think about it. Every step you take brings you closer to Gi-hun, who has not pulled his eyes from you for more than a second, not since Young-il suggested the introduction. Every step brings both halves of your life closer and closer together, and you feel a bit nauseous because of it.

It’ll be fine. You don’t even have anything to worry about. It’s not like Young-il’s betrayed everything that Gi-hun stands for with a single vote. It’s not like Gi-hun still hasn’t addressed the fact that he kissed you last night and he’s about to meet the only other person in the world that you could possibly consider kissing after him. Not that you would.

Ah, shit. Here goes nothing.

If it’s shame that begs you not to lift your eyes in Gi-hun’s presence, then that’s something you’ll be keeping to yourself. “Young-il-nim, this is Jung-bae-nim and–”

“You said you've played these games before, sir.”

Your mouth is still hanging open, Gi-hun’s name still caught between your lips as Young-il quite literally talks over you. He’s never talked over you before, not ever. And neither does he stop. He waits only for Gi-hun’s acknowledgement – a hesitant inclination of his head – before finally continuing, and he doesn’t even spare you a second glance when he does.

“I pressed the O button because of you. Honestly, I was scared. I wanted to quit and leave. But you made me think maybe I could play just one more game.”

And you’re not offended in the least by his startling new rudeness. Not at all. Certainly not enough to snap your jaw shut with an audible click.

Jung-bae’s eyes suddenly alight with excitement. “Some of the other players said that!” He turns eagerly to his new friend with a grin, then nudges his elbow into Gi-hun’s ribs. “You see?”

Gi-hun is not amused and for once, you feel comforted by that. You don’t shrink when his gaze lingers on you, you return it confidently, if only because you’re less irritated with him than you are with Young-il. He braces his forearms atop his knees, his arms stretching out as he looks back and forth between you.

“If you had pressed the X,” he finally says, “everyone here would've made it out alive.”

Young-il hums lightly in response. “That's right. I was the last to press the O button,” and it’s remarkable, really, how unashamed he is to admit it. “But there were 182 more people who wanted to stay.”

“And there were also 182 people who wanted to leave. [___] included.”

Three sets of eyes settle upon you. Oh. You don’t like that. You don’t want to be brought into this discussion and you certainly don’t want Young-il to be looking at you like that, like he’s only just noticed you exist. You don’t like that everything you thought you knew has suddenly been flipped on its head, without rhyme or reason, and you don’t like that you’re left trying to fit the pieces back together entirely blind.

Gi-hun raises a brow. “You are friends, aren’t you?”

“We are.” He smiles and for the briefest moment, you feel like you’re watching a stranger rather than your coffee companion of two years. “But you’re a previous winner, Gi-hun-ssi. Why would you allow a friend to come here if it’s so dangerous?”

You don’t think much of him using Gi-hun’s name – why should you? But for Gi-hun, it seems to startle him. His eyes sharpen as they flicker across Young-il’s face, studying, searching, and then, “How did you know my name?”

You blink, pausing to look between the pair as you suddenly realize that you’re not sure you’ve ever explicitly used Gi-hun’s name before, not with him.

Young-il, to his credit, takes the inquiry in his stride. His smile falters for a moment as he tries to explain himself. “Oh, I… I heard [___] using it earlier, in line for dinner, and I thought I might try it.”

Did you? You can’t remember, though you aren’t sure that it really matters. You’ve loudly proclaimed Gi-hun’s name a handful of times since your reunion earlier today, so even if you hadn’t said it in line, it’s likely that Young-il noticed and made the connection himself. He’s always been perceptive like that.

Young-il leans in, his voice lowered and his face softened with an unspoken apology. “Does it bother you?” Just like he’d asked you only minutes prior.

A chill starts at the base of your spine. The air is thick with tension, both men gravitating toward one another as if there’s some grand competition going on that you’re entirely unaware of. You don’t like that either.

But before the tension can rise any higher, Jung-bae jumps in and attempts to diffuse the situation. His hands go fluttering about in the empty space between them, using some clever turn of phrase to smoothe out all the surface level ripples that have already transformed into waves rocking against your boat. A truce is formed, superficial at best, but it clears the air enough for you to breathe and for that, you’re grateful.

He keeps thinking about tomorrow. He keeps thinking about the sugary sweetness of dalgona on his tongue and the possibility of a pistol lodged against the base of his skull.

Gi-hun closes his eyes and takes a breath. It doesn’t change anything. The light from the pig lingers behind his eyelids as much as the thought of watching you bleed out and die does. The cool chill of a late night still clings to his bones, even among so many bodies. Or perhaps it’s Gi-hun who is cold. Perhaps he’s already dead and this is merely a delusion brought on by a half-sane mind in its final throes.

That would certainly be easier than the truth, wouldn’t it?

The stairs that lead to his bed creak beneath the weight of a foot, then another, and Gi-hun opens his eyes to see you standing close enough to touch. From this angle, the light doesn’t catch your face; you’re simply haloed, some bright and shining thing that he’s dragged with him into the pit of damnation.

“Hello.”

He hates that you sound so timid. You sound like the fragile student he once met in a snowy alley, not the passionate and bright-eyed person he knows you to be. But then, he supposes that it’s hard for you to find that spark he’s grown so accustomed to when you’re trying desperately to claw yourself out of a grave that is constantly demanding to swallow you whole. Unfortunately, he knows the feeling.

“Hello,” he replies. It feels forbidden to smile when he’s blockaded by memories and ghosts, but for you, Gi-hun finds that he can do all kinds of things. Even attempt a smile.

“Can I sit with you?”

Eyes darting first to the timer behind your head and then to the small stretch of open mattress by his feet, he nods haltingly, drawing his legs in so they’re folded atop on another. “Of course.”

There are no butterflies fluttering in his stomach when you sit on his bed. There’s no distant tremor in his hands or the drifting of his mind to far off places, imagining the sort of things he’d allowed himself only two nights ago. This isn’t the Pink Motel. He doesn’t know why he expects to feel the same stirrings in his gut that he usually does when he shares his space with you.

Then he remembers kissing you and he ducks his head in shame.

You take the far end of the mattress as expected, but it rather feels like you’ve placed yourself on the far end of a canyon. “I don’t want to talk,” you tell him, voice soft and uncertain. “I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just… don’t want to be alone right now.” Your feet dangle listlessly over the edge of the bedframe. “I can’t sleep.”

Gi-hun recalls feeling the same way on his first night. So much of this is painfully familiar. He almost wonders if Sang-woo’s spirit is watching him now, studying him from somewhere among the beds or lurking in the Squid Game field. He keeps expecting to see him every time he turns a corner. What would he think of the man that he’s become? The mattress squeaks when you adjust your posture and Gi-hun suddenly finds it hard to breathe. What would Sang-woo think of you?

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself, so why does he care?

“I’m sorry.” Your apology draws him blinking from the recesses of his mind. “For everything. I know this isn’t what you wanted.”

Of course it isn’t, but why on Earth are you apologizing? “It isn’t your fault,” he starts.

“Maybe. But I still feel bad.”

Following the path of your attention leads him to a bed several paces away, closer to the main floor than his own bed. Your friend Young-il is settling in for the night, one of his legs drawn atop the mattress with the other hanging off as he contemplates something far beyond Gi-hun’s reach. And for the first time in months, probably since the night he followed your friend out of the university parking lot and all the way to his hotel, Gi-hun feels angry.

It’s a different kind of anger than the one he’d directed at you just today. That was an anger born of fear and helplessness and the realization that he’d put you in danger, born of his own guilt and his own affection for you. This? This is not that.

He’s not entirely sure what it is, but he knows that he feels it whenever you look at Young-il or Young-il looks at you. You have nothing to feel guilty for. You haven’t done anything wrong. It isn’t your fault that Young-il voted O and it isn’t your fault that you’re here, and he hates that you feel otherwise.

“You aren’t the one who should be apologizing.”

There’s more he could say, more that weighs on him, but he isn’t sure how to express it. He isn’t even sure if he should. What if he loses you tomorrow? And what if he doesn’t? What if the game isn’t dalgona? What if he’s the one who dies and you’re left alone with only Jung-bae and Young-il to protect you? A bitter piece of his heart flares up at the thought and he pretends not to think about what might happen if Young-il were to die instead because that’s not the kind of man he wants to be.

Instead, Gi-hun shifts around on the mattress until he’s mirroring your posture, his legs dangling over the side as he moves the pillow and blankets around. “Stay here tonight,” he says in response to your voiceless question.

Your eyes flash wide for a second. “With you?” And if he thinks that you sound either horrified or intrigued by the prospect, Gi-hun tells himself that it doesn’t matter either way.

“I’m not sleeping.” He’s going to be watching over you for as long as he can manage. It’ll be a good distraction and it will keep you safe, and he needs both right now more than he needs anything else. “It isn’t good for you to sleep alone here. And someone should keep watch.”

What little light is reflected in your eyes shimmers like water in a glass. “Watch for what?”

For the murderous bastards who like to take out their competition while they sleep, what else? But he doesn’t say that. He doesn’t want to scare you and he knows already that detailing the horrific possibilities of the Games right before you go to bed is a recipe for disaster.

“Sleep,” he insists. The bedding is nicely arranged now, as nice as he can make it for you, even though he wishes he could do more. What if you get cold in the middle of the night? What if you overheat in your jacket? Or you get thirsty? He can’t fix any of those problems. He can only give you his protection and pray that it’s enough.

Your protest is already half spoken by the time he’s drawing himself out of bed and prompting you into the space he’s just vacated. It takes some maneuvering and no small amount of whispered requests, far gentler than Gi-hun actually feels under the weight of his memories pressing in against his skull, but finally he manages to convince you to lay down. He tucks himself into the farthest corner of the bed, hoping that your legs have enough room, that you won’t mind him being so close for so long, and he watches the minutes on the display steadily count down.

There are less than ten minutes until lights out when Young-il decides to approach him. “Gi-hun-ssi,” he nods respectfully, his hands already pressing against his thighs as he takes the steps one at a time. His eyes wander over your sleeping figure and Gi-hun has to fight himself not to snap and make a fool out of himself simply because another man happened to look at you.

“Asleep,” he says, if only to fill the empty space with something other than his animosity.

Young-il nods in understanding. “I’ll be quiet, then.” A beat. “Could we talk?”

No. “Sure.”

The narrow space between rows of beds is taken up entirely by Young-il’s body. Perched upon the highest step, it places him at about eye level. Gi-hun’s not entirely sure he likes that. “I think I was out of line before,” Young-il finally sighs. “I'd like to apologize. I'm sorry.”

What he wants to do is tell your friend that he doesn’t care for, nor does he accept, his apology. What he wants to say is that he doesn’t like the way Young-il looks at you, all appraising eyes and quiet confidence, and he doesn’t like how Young-il has stolen almost all of your attention since the moment he appeared. He wants to say it all, but he doesn’t because his mother raised him better than that and Gi-hun has never been one to be purposefully rude except on very rare occasions.

This isn’t the time or place. So, he’s gracious. He bows respectfully to Young-il and allows the apology to settle in the space between them, even if the peace it offers is fraught. “No, I laid all the blame on you.” Even if I was right to do so. “I was out of line.”

And that, he hopes, will be the full extent of it – whatever it is. He’s not interested in having a full conversation with anyone right now, but even if he was, Young-il would be at the bottom of the list. He’s strange in a very off-putting way; quiet, observant, he makes you laugh sometimes, from what he can remember, and he’s able to fight off two younger men and make it look easy. That’s not normal. And then there’s the way that you had followed him during dinner like an alley cat chasing after scraps. You don’t do things like that.

“May I ask you something?”

It takes a minute, but Gi-hun eventually relents, inclining his head just slightly.

“Why did you come back to this place? You said you won and made it out.”

He swallows heavily. “I did.”

“Then why return? You got all the money, didn’t you? Did you spend it all?”

He spent some of it. He wanted so badly to let that money rot in the bank and to never touch a single won, but then Il-nam had happened. Then you had happened. Then so many things kept happening and he thinks that somewhere along the way, he lost sight of what he had set out to do. To remember, to protect.

“That money doesn't belong to me,” he mutters, and it’s like he’s back on the Squid Game field, watching the rain mix with the mud mix with the coppery tang of metal and blood. “It's blood money for the people who died here. The same goes for the money up there.”

“You don't have to think of it that way,” and where he expected to find judgement, he instead finds some gentle, understanding thing tucked behind the corners of Young-il’s words. “It's not like you killed those people and saving that money won't bring them back to life.”

Maybe it’s just the ghosts lingering in his head and his heart. Maybe he’s just a sentimental old fool, but there’s something about the way Young-il says it that reminds him of Sang-woo. He closes his eyes and wishes, probably for the millionth time, that he had been the one to die here three years ago, not Sang-woo. Not Ssangmun-dong’s golden child.

Young-il exhales through his nose, drawing Gi-hun’s attention and prompting him to open his eyes again. Where there had once been a glint of determination, now Gi-hun sees something far more vulnerable. It’s suspiciously disarming. “Not all of us have the luxury of mixing our morals with our money, Gi-hun-ssi. Some of us,” he says, and his voice begins to waver, “are forced to play the hand we’re dealt, blood money or not.”

Curiosity gets the better of him. “And what sort of hand were you dealt?” It isn’t asked unkindly. Gi-hun recognizes regret when he sees it and there’s no need for him to be cruel, but he does want to know.

Silence expands between them, permeating every atom of space until it’s so overwhelming Gi-hun thinks he might collapse beneath its weight.

Finally, Young-il speaks. “My wife.” And Gi-hun suddenly feels like he’s going to vomit. All this time, he’s been seething over a married man who happened to have befriended you. What kind of asshole is he?

“My wife was very sick. Acute cirrhosis, the doctors said, and she needed a liver transplant.” The slight waver in his voice becomes stronger, fluctuating as Young-il finds the strength to continue his explanation. The explanation Gi-hun demanded of him. Now he suddenly wishes he’d never opened his mouth to begin with. “When she was going through the tests, we found out she was pregnant. The doctor suggested a termination, but she wouldn’t listen. Said she'd give birth even if it killed her.”

Gi-hun realizes with a start what Young-il’s clenched jaw and sudden stillness means. He knows because he’s been there before, forced to pour his grief out to whichever person demands a little too forcefully to know what haunts him in the late hours of the night. God, he’s such a prick.

“I couldn’t save them,” he says, and his voice finally gives way. Unshed tears catch in the glow of the money pig and Gi-hun feels like he’s just had his throat torn out. “I need that money to pay off the debts. The hospital bills, the funerals – it costs something, Gi-hun-ssi. Perhaps it is blood money, but it’s still money.”

He can’t imagine. In some ways, he doesn’t have to. Ga-yeong is still alive and he stopped loving his wife a long time ago, but they’re no longer a part of his life. They may as well be dead to him – he knows he’s dead in their eyes anyway. Just another corpse slipping through the cracks of a broken world.

I’m so sorry. He doesn’t have to like Young-il to say it and mean it, but even still, the words stick in his throat. Just moments ago, he had imagined this man dead on his back, unable to touch you or taint you. He’d let his personal feelings get in the way of what really mattered. Young-il could pull a knife on him this very moment and it still wouldn’t justify anything that Gi-hun’s thinking or feeling about him, and he needs to remember that. He needs to remember what he’s here for.

He glances over at you, watching your face as you snore lightly. It’s a poor imitation of a similar situation that feels so far away now, it can only be a dream. The motel. His bed. You, safe and secure. His. That had never been the plan. But then again, he’d never had a plan when it came to you. For all the good it did you both.

He shouldn’t have kissed you. He wanted to, but he shouldn’t have done it in the first place. It should have stayed a secret desire known only to the depths of his shattered soul and the bullet he still deserves to bite. All it’s done is complicate matters. It’s made him twitchy and on-edge, made him grind his teeth down to the bone and search for enemies where there are none. It’s made him turn on a man who could very easily have been a friend if he weren’t so busy being blinded by his own desires.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he’s relieved that the words finally come.

Young-il merely shakes his head. He’s probably heard the same turn of phrase too many times to count by now. “It’s forgiven.”

The timer overhead flashes a one minute reminder and just like that, the spell is broken. Reality comes crashing down upon shoulders. There’s an awkward exchange of glances and half-hearted smiles, murmured farewells, and then Gi-hun is left with his legs dangling off the side of his own bed and the sound of your steady breaths.

The lights click out.

Slowly, so as not to wake you, he leans his weight back against the bedframe and positions himself so he’s facing the wide-open stretch of floor in the center of the room. The X and O carved there are the only lights that still remain, casting his surroundings in faint shades of blue and red, so faint that he can hardly make anything out.

He sighs. It’s going to be a very long night.

In-ho watches the soldiers as they work. It’s strange to be here once more, to be a part of the Games after so long. When he had made the decision to enter, it had mostly been on a whim, an impulsive choice driven from the frantic desire to control, to break, to bend you, Gi-hun, and the Games to his will. He hadn’t stopped to consider all the additional benefits he might reap from this harvest.

Already, a ridge has formed between you and Gi-hun. Something changed in him last night, In-ho had seen the shift, though he still doesn’t know what to make of it. Gi-hun had allowed you to sleep in his bed – and how common a recurrence is that, exactly? – but has hardly spoken a word to you since. Every time you try to meet his eyes, he smiles faintly, nods, and withdraws into himself, and the pain of that dismissal is written all over your face.

That hadn’t been entirely intentional. It is beneficial, no matter how confounding, and he plans to utilize it as best he can because Thanos rattled him last night. That bratty remark about his children had sent him over the edge and it had only been the sound of your voice that was clear enough to cut through the maelstrom of his fury, to bring him back to himself. That had rattled him too and, much like the gallery, In-ho had handled it poorly. He was too short with you, too fixated on a philosophical spar at Gi-hun’s expense, and had unintentionally pushed you away as a result.

He needs to fix that. Curious how the opportunity presents itself almost immediately.

The arena is presented, the instructions are given, and the timer is set. Gi-hun is entirely unprepared.

“Aren't we playing the dalgona game?” demands another player – number 100, who In-ho is sure he saw lurking about and asking questions of Gi-hun over dinner yesterday. But what truly catches his attention is the mention of dalgona.

It takes everything he has within himself not to laugh. Had Gi-hun really expected all the games to be the same as before? While In-ho hadn’t anticipated that Gi-hun would be so keen to rejoin the Games, he and every other Front Man in the world prides himself on his ingenuity. It’s a part of the job description. VIPs aren’t interested in the same old tricks each year. It would be foolish – no, truly stupid – to assume that the Front Man would not alter the Games to discredit or disadvantage Gi-hun in his mission for vengeance.

“No,” Gi-hun finally says as he hangs his head, “it doesn't look like it.”

“What's the game then?”

Yes, Gi-hun, tell us what game should come next. Show us all how carefully thought through your plans are.

Dark eyes trembling with uncertainty flicker aimlessly across the stretch of dirt beneath their feet. “I'm not sure.”

So when Player 100 turns on Gi-hun and demands, “What? You said you’d done this before! Was that all bullshit?”, In-ho is not surprised. Players turning on one another is an inevitability that Gi-hun should have accounted for.

Still, his obvious discomfort and shame is another victory mark on the scoreboard In-ho hides at the back of his mind.

“I'm sorry,” he says, pleading for compassion from a man who has clearly never said a kind word to anyone in his life.

“Sorry won't cut it!”

Gi-hun is trembling now, his entire body flinching with every cruel word flung his way. He folds in on himself like a child folds under the weight of a parent’s belt, and In-ho watches. Will he not stand up for himself? Is he content enough in his self-loathing to take abuse from a man who would kill him in an instant if the opportunity arose?

“You talked like you knew everything! All these people believed your bullshit! What are you going to do, huh? Will you take responsibility?”

He thinks to insert himself into the fight, to diffuse the tension and endear himself further to Gi-hun and his cause, and perhaps even regain your trust in the process by defending the man you so clearly love. But for once in his life (or rather, for the second time), In-ho is too late.

“Excuse me, sir.” There is no feigned politeness in your voice, no deference to your elders in your words or tone. If anything, the tacked on ‘sir’ sounds more like a slap in the face than a term of respect. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?”

Player 100 blinks back his shock, tripping all over the practiced insults he is so eager to distribute. His face goes red and his mouth falls open, gaping like a fish, until he finally manages to compose himself a few moments later. “This has nothing to do with you.” He closes in on you then, and In-ho sees it before you do, all the rage that’s beginning to boil over, the quivering fists and bared teeth, and he feels the shock of it in his stomach.

“Then it has nothing to do with you either,” you retort, and you go so far as to take a step closer to the man. Are you insane? “You don’t get to talk to him like that.”

It isn’t instinct that drives him to press his chest into your back. It isn’t instinct that pushes him to glare a pseudo-bullet hole into 100’s head. It is simply the movement of a chess piece across the board. “That's enough,” he utters, and the word is final.

And he expects to be rewarded for it. It was a calculated move, intentional and deliberate down to the weight of his body against yours and the timbre of his voice. That’s why he feels so unmoored when, rather than turning to thank him, you immediately rush to Gi-hun’s side. That’s why he’s left blinking at the empty space you’ve left behind and wondering what crucial part of his plan he’d missed. There is no other reason for the taste of bile in his throat or the slamming of his heart against his ribcage. None.

He takes no pleasure in your rejection, either. That’s what he chooses to believe. When Gi-hun accepts your comfort for a few treasured moments only to then pull away when he’s had his fill, to not allow you to dote on him, your reaction is so immediate and so blatant that the entire group can see it. Jung-bae and Dae-ho at least have the courtesy to look away and offer you a second of privacy; In-ho does not.

You chose this and he wants you to know that he knows. He does not look away when your eyes land on him. He does not soften his gaze. Rather, he tilts his head as if to say, I stood up for you. What has Gi-hun done?

The next ten minutes are unbearably awkward. The five of you already constitute a team, so no need to search for any further additions. Dae-ho officially introduces himself, only to immediately stick his foot in his mouth by inquiring exactly how everyone knows each other. Your eyes land on In-ho, then slide over to Gi-hun, and none of them answers. If he were watching this from the observation deck, it might almost be humorous, but he’s not and it isn’t. In truth, it’s painful.

Jung-bae is in the middle of a remarkably boring re-enactment of the time he and Gi-hun had gone out for soju as teens when another player approaches. In-ho has never been so relieved by a distraction in all his life.

“Excuse me,” she says sweetly, “can I join you?”

Jung-bae already seems displeased by having his story interrupted, but he softens his frustration for the girl’s sake. “Sorry, we’ve already got five people.”

“Please.” She takes a step closer, pushing herself slightly into the loose arc the five of them have formed, and takes a turn looking at each person. There’s something about her that gives In-ho pause, something he can’t put his finger on. “Help me. I’m pregnant.”

The girl rests her hand on her stomach, just over the little swell of life below her ribcage, and for a moment In-ho is very far away. He sees the hospital bed, the IVs and faded scars of needle pricks along Min-jung’s arm, he sees her sallow face, and he feels the same blinding needing to protect, defend, defy. To save. It passes quickly enough, but leaves him off-centered and irritable. Vulnerable.

He casts his eyes to Gi-hun first, curious to see just how the mighty hero of the Games plans to handle the situation. He flounders, of course, and In-ho isn’t surprised. Jung-bae is the one to break the news, apologetic and kind, but with the weight of the world on his shoulders because they all know they’ve created a decent team. They all know what it means to turn her away. That’s why it surprises him when yours is the voice that rises in response.

“I can… I can find another team.”

He and Gi-hun both share the same exclamation. “What?”

Your face practically folds in on itself with the force of your emotions. You don’t hide your compassion very well, but neither do you hide your fear – you’re uneasy about leaving the security your team offers you, however false it may be, but you’re equally uneasy about putting a pregnant woman at risk. And while he would never admit it aloud, In-ho finds himself sympathetic to your predicament.

Gi-hun’s mouth is pressed into a thin line, his frustration written into every crease and dimple in his skin. “It’s safest for you to be with us,” he asserts, reluctantly.

“But Gi-hun-a, she’s pregnant!” As if Jung-bae hadn’t already elected to turn the girl away.

He looks to Gi-hun once more, studying, noting every twitching tendon and flicker of regret that cuts across his face. What will you choose, Seong Gi-hun? Which horse is most likely to win the race?

“It’s alright,” says the girl with her soft doe eyes and pregnant belly. In-ho does not see his wife in her. He doesn’t. “I’m sure I can find another group.”

“No!” you exclaim, scrambling forward to take her hand in both of yours. Then your voice drops, it softens and shakes with the certainty of your sacrifice. “No, you should stay with them. They’ll keep you safe.”

You guide her to stand in the perfectly sized space between himself and Gi-hun, your brows now furrowed as you seem to be searching inside yourself for something. Then your chin tilts up and your gaze lands on Gi-hun. Several seconds tick by as you survey his face, so raw and exposed in a way In-ho isn’t sure he’s ever seen on you before.

The cold slice of bitterness cuts across his lungs at the sight. What can Gi-hun do to save you beyond sacrificing someone from his own carefully constructed team? You should be looking at him like that. He is the only one here with the power to save your life, the only one who might possibly be swayed by your fear and desperation.

“Gi-hun-a.”

And something deep within In-ho’s stomach twists in delight. He knows better than to raise his expectations after the countless hundreds he has seen fight and die in this very room, but logic cannot always outweigh intrigue, not for him.

Jung-bae leans forward, casting his old friend a smile. Sweat is already beading along his hairline. “Let them both stay, Gi-hun-a. I’ll go find another team.”

That something in his stomach lifts higher until it’s crackling like a firework behind his ribcage. Another gamble. The stakes are higher, but so is the reward. The question is whether or not Gi-hun still feels inclined to betting on horses the way he once did. In-ho already knows the answer, but it’s Gi-hun’s self-realization he wants to see, the inward understanding and acceptance that In-ho found for himself years ago. Which of your pawns will you sacrifice first, and which of them will come back when the clock runs out? Who deserves to live, Gi-hun? And who deserves to die?

It is Jung-bae who makes the decision in the end, and the loss of Gi-hun’s conflict is admittedly disappointing, but the Game hasn’t started yet. There is still victory to be found and In-ho will find it. The Front Man always does.

Ddakji. Biseokchigi. Gonggi. Spinning top. Jegi.

You’ve never played a single one. There are games that are similar enough in your home country, but the rules or the materials are slightly different. Different enough that you don’t have nearly as much confidence in your ability to successfully play any of these games as you wish you did.

Ddakji is a blatant no. Even though you’d managed well enough against that businesswoman all that time ago, it still feels wrong to play. You promised Gi-hun you never would again and that suits you just fine. The pregnant girl, Jun-hee, takes it, much to your relief.

Gonggi goes to the boisterous gentleman, Dae-ho. He says he grew up playing it with his sisters and seems confident in his skills, which is more experience than the rest of you have put together.

“That leaves biseokchigi, spinning top, and jegi.” Gi-hun looks to you. “Which do you think you’d be better at?”

You try very hard not to look as deeply panicked as you feel. “Which one’s the easiest?” It’s not a question that inspires very much confidence, you know that, but in truth you’re not sure you’d be very good at any of them.

Young-il and Gi-hun share a rather pointed look, which doesn’t help your confidence in the slightest. Defeat already feels imminent. You should’ve picked another team, at least that way your friends would be more likely to survive. Jun-hee and her baby, too.

“Don’t say that,” Young-il chides when you find yourself admitting as much. He rests a gentle hand upon your shoulder. “We’re a team, [___]. We’ll work together.”

“That’s right,” Gi-hun nods. “Why don’t you watch the first round and see how they’re played? You can decide which one is best for you.”

And it would have been such a brilliant idea if the first team to go hadn’t been brutally slaughtered. And the second team too. How are you meant to have any faith in yourself when the Korean-born players ahead of you keep getting themselves shot because they can’t throw a damn rock? You haven’t even had a chance to see jegi played yet because no one has made it that far.

“Don’t panic.” But no amount of kind and quiet compassion from Gi-hun, or even Young-il, is enough to calm your nerves. “[___]. [___], look at me. Look.”

You hesitantly lift your eyes to meet his. For a moment, all you can see are the bodies dropping to the floor behind him, the blood, you can hear the screaming and the gunfire. But then he reaches for your hands and holds them tightly.

“Think back to when you were a child. What kinds of games did you play? What were you good at?”

You try very hard to do as he asks. At the very least, it’s a distraction from the death that looms all around you. Searching your memories doesn’t offer as much hope as you would’ve liked – nights spent playing board games or reading, or the few activities you were decent at when you would go to recess. There’s not much that transfers over. Until, quite suddenly, you remember something.

“I used to skip rocks,” you tell him, a smile finally winning over the despair that’s been clinging to you like a second skin. “At the lake. I was good at it, too. That’s close enough to biseokchigi, isn’t it?” Just by watching the other players, the actions look comparable enough. It takes a certain amount of precision to make a rock skip smoothly over the water, as it takes a certain amount of precision to hit a target.

Gi-hun nods amicably. “Good. That’s good.” He squeezes your hands one last time before finally releasing them and you miss his touch immediately. He keeps you grounded whenever he’s near. “Young-il-ssi. Which one are you better at – jegi or spinning top?”

“I’ll take whichever you pick for me, Gi-hun-ssi.” There’s a softness to his voice, something that you wouldn’t have expected to hear in the midst of all this bloodshed. But Young-il continues to surprise you, as he has since you met him.

Gi-hun seems as surprised by Young-il’s deferment as you are, though he doesn’t speak on it. You can see him trying to work it out in his head before finally giving up. “Then… I’ll take jegi.”

The decisions are made just in time for the next round of teams to start playing. You can’t make out the team on the opposite end of the room, but you recognize one of the players on your side – Hyun-ju. She’s teamed up with several others you haven’t spoken to yet, but the mother player and her son are with her. That’s good. They all seem to have a good head on their shoulders and while you aren’t happy that Hyun-ju voted O, you don’t want her to die either. You end up rooting for her louder than any of the others on her team.

It's a close call. The woman playing spinning top makes several mistakes when it’s her turn and it very nearly costs the entire team their lives. There are several stretches of awful, agonizing seconds where you forget to breathe. So many people have already died today. You don’t want Hyun-ju to die, you don’t want her team to die. You want to believe there’s even the slightest glimmer of hope for the rest of you.

They make it to jegi. Everyone turns around. There are only seconds left on the clock. You can’t look. You can’t bear to watch their bodies get riddled with bullets. Everyone around you is shouting and jumping, and then the clock runs out and there’s no gunfire, no bullets, no blood sprayed across the rainbow track.

You open your eyes to see one of the soldiers unlocking the restraints on Hyun-ju’s ankle. And then you feel Dae-ho jerking you by the shoulder and spinning you around so he can hug you. They’re alive. Jun-hee looks up at you with the truest smile you’ve seen on her yet. You don’t realize until your eyes start to sting that you’re crying.

They’re alive. There’s hope!

Things don’t seem so bleak after that. More players die, yes, but more players survive too. You have to keep your chin up so you don’t fall back into your despair. Despair won’t keep you alive. You and Dae-ho huddle together at one point so he can practice his gonggi skills. Jun-hee sits quietly beside you both with a hand on her stomach, content to watch you both. You try to strike up a casual conversation with them, something to draw your minds away from the dwindling player numbers, but your heart isn’t really in it. Neither is theirs. You’re all too preoccupied to care that much.

When he takes a moment to think on it, In-ho is genuinely surprised to realize that he’s enjoying himself. When another team wins, the celebration is contagious. More than once has he found himself grasping at Gi-hun’s shoulder, his mouth cracked open to laugh and shout, his heart pounding with the joy of community and the relief of hope.

Hope.

He sees it on your face as clear as day. As often as he has found himself cheering and clinging to Gi-hun, he has felt you do the same to him. Both of them, in fact. Your smile has seared itself into his brain, your hands have clutched at his jacket and Gi-hun’s shoulder, and In-ho has found himself truly lost to the rush of it all.

The Games hadn’t been like this when he had been the victor. There was no camaraderie in the arenas he’d spilled blood in. Hope was a fleeting thing for him even then. He’s amazed at just how much can change in the span of a few years, aided by the illusion of friendship.

Jung-bae’s voice calls across the courtyard, then, drawing the entire team’s attention. “Hey!” He lifts his arm high in the air as one of the soldiers latches his ankle in place. “We'll see you again at the finish line!”

In-ho very highly doubts that.

“Yes!” cries Dae-ho, a bit too loudly for his tastes. It makes his ear ring. “We'll see each other again!”

“Gi-hun-a!”

In-ho can feel Gi-hun’s body go tense against his, his shoulders suddenly rigid as he smiles bittersweetly at his friend. In-ho already knows what he’s thinking; likely, it’s the very thought he’d had when faced with the possibility of being separated from you – that he can’t control the outcome of the game if you’re out of his reach.

For the sake of the game, though, he pretends to care. “I believe in our team,” he says as Dae-ho loops one arm in his and Gi-hun does the same with the other. He smiles. “Both our teams. Plus, we have the previous winner with us.”

Suddenly, you lean forward and gesture frantically to get his and Gi-hun’s attention. “Let’s not rush ourselves, okay? If we try walking too fast, we’ll trip and fall and that’ll waste time. Yeah?”

In-ho finds himself nodding. He finds that his smile is a touch more genuine. “Good plan,” he nods, and Gi-hun is quick to agree.

One of the soldiers raises their pistol in the air. In-ho’s heart gets caught somewhere between his stomach and his shoes.

Bang!

Ddakji comes first. The girl gets it on her first try and he’s elated. He swallows up the rush of adrenaline that her success brings and goes blindly chasing for more, his vision tunneling around  the stone you’re meant to throw.

“Take your time.” He doesn’t mean to say it, doesn’t plan or rehearse it, it just comes out of him as naturally as anything else might.

Dae-ho nods eagerly beside you. He’s wringing his hands as he tilts out of your way, pressing his shoulder against In-ho’s. (Strangely, he finds he doesn’t mind it.) “Yes! Deep breaths, [___]! You’ve got this!”

But you’re already waving your free hand in his direction. “Ah, quiet, quiet! Let me think!”

The arena falls quiet save for the thundering of In-ho’s pulse and the steady, measured pace of your exhalations. You lower yourself into a partial crouch, feet wide, elbow out, and your lips parted. One second ticks by. Then another. Your shoulders rise and fall with another deep breath and then–

The intercom blazes to life. “Fail.”

Shit.

“It’s okay, it’s okay! We still have time!” Gi-hun exclaims. He’s pointing wildly at the clock and In-ho is grateful for it because it reminds him of where he is, who he is. Not even a full minute has passed yet. Everything’s going to be fine.

It takes about fifteen seconds to retrieve the stone and march back to the starting point. One minute gone, four minutes to go. He might be a bit nervous, but he isn’t truly worried. A lot can happen in four minutes. And besides, he gets a rare chance to study you now. Watching you calculate your next move, cataloging the distance between yourself and the target stone, hefting the weight of the other rock in your hand as you think – it’s exhilarating.

You’re about to throw again when his eyes drop and he practically lurches forward, almost pulling everyone off balance so he can swing his arm out in front of you. “[___], your feet!”

You were standing directly on the line. It would have disqualified your throw and wasted even more time. Self-preservation. Survival instinct. That’s all it is. So why does he get such a buzz from wondering what might have happened if he hadn’t said anything at all? How your face might have contorted when you suddenly realized you’d doomed your entire team?

He loses the opportunity to know for sure when both stones go tumbling top over bottom and the soldier for this station raises their arms overhead. “Pass.” Even so, he cheers just as emphatically as everyone else.

They march steadily on. The entire team drops into a crouch. You and the pregnant girl lean into one another and In-ho does the same on Dae-ho’s other side. His knee knocks against Gi-hun’s and rather than pull away, he embraces it. Camaraderie. Fellowship. Hope. It’s as thrilling to embrace them once more as it is to level a semiautomatic at a traitor’s head and squeeze the trigger.

Dae-ho rubs his hands together. His fingers are deft, his body light, and in seconds – seconds – he’s flawlessly performed each round of gonggi and elevated them to the next part of the challenge. In-ho cheers for that too, and it’s the truest thrill he’s felt in years.

Spirits are high as they round the track. He can hear you and Gi-hun chanting in time, can hear Dae-ho’s excitable mutterings. He can even feel himself smiling again. Apart from your initial slip-up, things are going perfectly and there’s still almost three minutes left on the clock. It’s just such a shame that the VIPs crave a bit of excitement, isn’t it?

The twine is slick with blood and sweat when he picks it up. The top itself is slightly dented along the edge and its lower point dulled after too many landings, but it’s still useable. He had ensured as much himself just last night, but the others don’t know that. As far as any of them know, Young-il could be horrific at spinning top. Young-il could be the one to get them all killed.

He transfers the top into his non-dominant hand and with a flick of his wrist, the top goes sprawling onto its side.

Gi-hun squeezes his arm amicably. “It’s alright. We still have time, Young-il-ssi. Everyone! One, two, one, two, one–”

He restrings the top, stopping only to spare the timer a glance. Nearing the two minute mark, which means he has enough time for one more delay, maybe two if he’s fast enough. He pushes Gi-hun out of the way – rather nicely, actually, all things considered – and positions himself accordingly. He doesn’t even mean to toss it backwards like that.

“Shit, I’m sorry–”

“Ah, it’s okay,” Gi-hun mutters, even though it’s not, even though his voice is wracked with tremors.

He smiles when he hears your voice, how you’re trying to offer him a bit of encouragement but it falls flat because you don’t think he can do it. Because you’re afraid. Because you believe more in Gi-hun than you do in him.

That’s alright, he thinks. Assuming he doesn’t get you killed in the next two minutes – and he knows he won’t because he’s planned for that too – he’ll be able to teach you a decent lesson in patience and faith.

A minute thirty. He has time enough.

In-ho blinks dejectedly at the top in his hands. His heart is caught in his throat. Even when he screams, even when he slaps himself so hard that it makes his ears ring, it sits there like a lump of food that refuses to go down. And he chases that feeling too, allows the dread to settle in his stomach and run cold through his veins.

“You goddamn idiot! You fucking idiot! What’s wrong with you, huh?”

Voices are clamoring over one another. Hands are scrambling and bodies are leaning away. The timer ticks down another few seconds and In-ho fights the urge to smile because there you are. Eyes wider than ever before, your mouth and brows puckered with concern as you reach across Dae-ho’s body and try to soothe him. Gi-hun beats you to it, of course, but he gets what he wants in the end.

“Pass.”

He’s never found jegi nearly as interesting before as he does now. He doesn’t know where to look. He wants to capture it all, every fleeting micro expression and frantic breath, every tense muscle and colorful swing of the jegi. The last non-adrenalined, partially composed piece of his brain that still functions notes the idea of rewatching the game footage once he returns to his apartment. And then he’s not really thinking of anything logical or composed at all because he’s shooting his foot out to save the day, to save his own life (he doesn’t need to), your life (he doesn’t need to), to save Gi-hun, Dae-ho, and the pregnant girl’s lives (he doesn’t need to, but he does it anyway).

“Pass.”

The finish line comes into sight, a pink band that breaks across his chest. How strange to think that such an insignificant thing can make the difference between life and death. How strange to find himself crying out in the embrace of a friend and finally, finally, feeling alive.

And then he sees that flash of pink in the distance. Guns raised, legs stanced. He meets Park Jung-bae’s eyes for a fleeting moment before the gunfire starts, and then the only thing he can hear is Gi-hun’s throat ripped raw from the force of his own grief.

[catcherwrites]

The first batch of my Arc 3 concept designs are finally done! It felt fitting to begin with the three who started it all: Rayla, Callum, and Ezran

Check out the more in-depth story and design choices below

Rayla

In the wake of S7’s Finale, Azymondias wasn’t just a 2-year-old King of the Dragons, but the only surviving Archdragon. That means he’s a very important figure across Xadia and the Human Kingdoms – and needs to be protected. Shortly after the events of S7, Rayla reclaims her title as ‘The Last Dragonguard’ and resurrects the order to act as Zym’s attendants, advisors, and protectors. She’s spent the last few years travelling between the Storm Spire, the Silvergrove, and Evrkynd, helping where she can and leading her fellow guards (who may be revealed in a later post). Rayla’s relationship with Callum has grown stronger than ever. Even though they’re holding off on marriage until Aaravos is dealt with for good, Callum gives her the Xadian equivalent of a promise ring he handcrafted (Ethari helped). With them both feeling secure with each other, they are more comfortable with being separated…but that won’t stop them from being attached at the hip whenever they’re near each other.

Going into these Arc 3 designs, I had a much clearer image in my head of Rayla compared to the other characters in my lineup. Using reference images of Tiadrin and Lain made creating Rayla’s Dragonguard uniform feel very bittersweet. Unfortunately, from a creative standpoint, uniforms run the chance of limiting the personality in a character’s design. I tried offsetting this by making Rayla’s undershirt and embedded gemstones in her armour more Silvergrove-y than Dragonguard-y. I also kept Rayla’s iconic belt, Arc 2 colour scheme, and added some of Ethari’s swirls where possible. Beyond the uniform, I kept going back and forth about her hairstyle. Keep the Arc 2 bun? Return to Arc 1’s style? Braided? A simple ponytail? Eventually, I settled on a half-up braid that let my sleep-deprived brain think I was getting the best of both worlds.

Callum

Ezran was disappointed when Callum turned down being his High Mage again, fearing that he’d lose his brother’s support in the council room. In reality, stepping down as High Mage meant that Callum could step up as Crown Prince. In the years following S7, Callum splits his time between assisting Ezran and studying magic on expeditions across Xadia. One of those expeditions leads him to Aaravos’ book in Elarion, which helps him delve deeper into the other primal sources. He’s fully mastered Sky and Ocean magic and has grown incredibly proficient at Earth magic. To Callum’s dismay, even with the help of Lujanne, Ethari, and Aaravos’ book, he still isn’t clicking with the Moon arcanum. He also hasn’t fully unlocked the Sun arcanum, but he’s getting very close and is a strong fire mage when wielding the Staff of Ziard. By Arc 3, Callum has gained the title of Archmage – and people far and wide seek him out for magical assistance, leaving him overworked and exhausted.

I was very excited to come up with Callum’s Arc 3 design for one reason: the parallels. His Arc 2 outfit is meant to resemble Viren, as Callum had taken his place as the High Mage of Katolis. But because he is no longer ‘High Mage,’ and instead ‘Archmage’, Callum’s Arc 3 outfit is intended to reflect Aaravos. I tried to do this with his uncovered arms, the open coat, and the vaguely celestial elements on his tunic. The geometric pattern on Callum’s coat is meant to look like a feather (symbolising his first primal source) while in the style of his Arc 2 coat. Rayla gifted Callum a matching belt buckle to hers (though with a moon opal for emergencies), which he wears alongside his uneven towers buckle from Ezran. His hair is mostly the same, except slightly longer, because I don’t see overworked-mage Callum caring about his hairstyle.

Ezran

S7 was a massive tipping point for Ezran: losing his brother, his true heart, and almost losing himself to the cycle of violence. While he stopped before he could go too far, Ezran was unequivocally changed by what happened. After Aaravos’ defeat, Ezran has been overseeing Evrkynd’s construction, ensuring it’s a safe home for humans and Sunfire elves who lost their home. However, it is also open to anyone, regardless of their origin. While he and Queens Janai and Amaya decided the people would rule the city of Evrkynd, Ezran continues to rule wider Katolis alongside his council. He does spend most of his time in Evrkynd for his royal duties, but Ezran is learning to take breaks – occasionally joining Callum, Rayla, and Zym on small getaways. As is tradition for anyone in the royal family, Ezran began combat training in his mid-teens with Soren as his teacher. He’s grown quite good and can hold his own in a battle (long enough for his Crownguard come to his aid, at least).

Ezran’s design in TDP has always been one of the simplest ones, probably symbolising his humble personality despite his status. I tried to maintain that effect in his Arc 3 outfit but with one major alteration. Going into this design, I wanted Ezran’s struggle in S7 to have had a visible impact on him by including armour in his design. His outer tunic is now gambeson, and his shoulder pads are scuffed-up leather. If he decides to wear it, the gold studs on Ezran’s shoulders are where his cloak will latch on. As should be expected from an age jump this severe, the biggest change to Ezran was his build. He’s finally overtaken his brother in height, much to the dismay of both Callum and Rayla, and is expected to be as tall as Harrow when he’s finished growing.

[czytling]

The one where Tim Drake has his first sex scandal.... with himself.

Everyone knows how Red Robin and Tim Drake -Wayne hate each other, right? They have a very loud and public beef via Twitter. Also, there is a ton of fan edits and thrist trips with Tim Drake x Red Robin.

The public finds THE evidence. It was well hidden, but some good hacker managed to leak it. A real Tim/Red Robin sex tape, reel of Red Robin and Tim arguing and the thing getting heated, and them angling closer and closer together, until the kiss, and the camera dies just before it could show more than a single moment of them kissing and a hand moving lower, but it was *suggestive*.

----

Meanwhile, Tim (current Red Robin) and Red Robin (who is also Tim, just from a future or alternate universe) are like "bleh. This was weird. It was weird for you too, right? I don't have a narcissus complex or something? No? Great. Let's never do that again. Or mention it. But thanks for giving me a hand there, I started getting too much heat on my secret persona, this will throw them off."

Tbh, both Tims find the concept hilarious, even if the sacrifice needed to execute it was far too great. Chaos has always been their thing.

----

Meanwhile, a look at Batfamily.

Dick saw a clickbait and clicked at the video to laugh at shoddy fan edit of Tim kissing his vigilante persona, because he wanted some blackmail material to tease him about. He got a full performance of Tim kissing another Tim, and yes they were both real Tim, Dick can tell his brother in mask or not. His brain is melting. He is also desperately trying to bleach the image of his brother having sex with himself and also trying to put into thoughts what should he do now and how to give Tim a slight intervention about self-cest without mentioning anything that he just saw or un-bleaching his brain.

Bruce is near equally as disgusted. But some part of him also considers if he could do the same thing with his next time travelling/alternate self, you know, to confirm the fact that butts match while proving they are separate people and also because giving more fodder for Brucie/Batman ship is even better than Tim's enemies to lovers, considering it's public knowledge that Brucie funds Justice League and Batman.

Damian is disgusted. Cass is confused befuddled and baffled more than anything, she saw a passionate scene with no passion for each other but clear passion for optics and it just doesn't make sense.

(Note here that if you give a camera to *Two* photography nutjobs, their fak-ish sex tape will be the most artistically overdone thing you have ever seen. The lightning, and the angles, and the shots are all artisitically perfect despite seemingly being non-scripted and caught on camera by accident.)

Jason just doesn't know what to think. But it's disguisting and he is furious at his Replacement for sullying the Robin title like that. ("First off, I'm Red Robin and not Robin. Second, working girls should be respected too and that is your own rule. I don't see how this is any different, so stick to your own code, Hood")

Barbara was not the hacker who leaked it. In fact, she was desperately trying to un-leak it, but she had been on vacation with her dad when the tape premiered and by the time she heard of it, it breached containment and it was too late.

Young just us finds the whole thing hilarious. A bit too many members try not to think at all about whose place they would rather be in. No blushing here, none at all.

[beloveds-embrace]

Sometimes I wish my brain would shut the fuck up and then it comes up with things like this and I apologise if this doesn't make sense or isnt the best bevause Im at work bit need to get the thought down ; You and rhe boys are together, have been for years. You're another SAS soldier, one of the very best specialising in stealth and sniper shots, but you come from a dodgy background your family having ties to the mafia but you ran away when you were 14 to get away from them and that life, joining the military the minute you turned 18. The boys adore you and would do anything for you and they know all about your family, taking every precaution they can to keep you safe and away from them. Until you're sent on a mission to take down a cartel, one your family has started working with in recent years but you obviously dont know that until you see your brother while doing recon and he sees you and recognises you right away. When taking down rhe cartel, you get seperated from the boys and your brother grabs you determined to take you home and make you pay for leaving your family behind. When the boys finish the mission, their distraught thinking the worst has happened to you until John finds a note you slipped into his pocket before starting the mission the only words on it are 'they found me' and suddenly they have a new, unsanctioned, mission, get you back by any means necessary

The mission had been planned down to the last detail- covert infiltration, silent takedowns, precise shots. You had done this a hundred times before, slipped into the dark and pulled the trigger before anyone even knew you were there. It was what made you one of the best. It was why they trusted you to take point on the most delicate operations. But no amount of training could have prepared you for the moment you turned the corner and saw him.

(Even if you’d had a bad feeling about this mission from the start. Something in your gut twisted and turned, a slow-boiling alarm).

Your brother stood among the cartel men, older, harder, but unmistakable. The years had sharpened him, carved cruelty into his features like a sculptor’s chisel, but the recognition in his eyes was instant. You had once been a ghost to your past, slipping from its grip the moment you turned fourteen, but now it had found you again. His lips curled into something between a sneer and a smirk as he took a slow step forward.

“Well,” he murmured, his voice familiar in a way that made your stomach churn. You need to leave (bitch). “Look what we have here.”

Your body reacted before your mind caught up, gun raising to fire, but you had hesitated. Just a second, barely even a breath- but it was enough. Rough hands grabbed you from behind, yanking your arms back, disarming you in one swift movement. You struggled, twisting violently, but there were too many. You knew, even before the butt of a rifle cracked against your temple and sent your vision spinning, that this wasn’t going to be a simple hostage situation. You knew how your family worked, how your brother worked-

They weren’t going to kill you outright.

No, your brother wanted to make you pay.

The operation had gone exactly as planned- until it hadn’t. The cartel was eliminated, network dismantled, compound set ablaze. But when the dust settled and the smoke rose into the sky, you were nowhere to be found. The moment they realized you were missing, panic set in. Ghost and Soap combed through the wreckage, calling your name through gritted teeth. Gaz scoured the perimeter again and again, checking every fallen body, every possible hiding spot, every scrap of evidence that might tell them where the hell you had gone.

And Price stood still, breath steady, forcing himself to think through the roaring storm in his head. His hand dipped into his pocket on instinct, searching for his lighter, and instead, his fingers brushed against something small and unfamiliar.

He pulled it out, unfolding the scrap of paper, and the world narrowed to the words scrawled in your handwriting.

“They found me.”

His hands clenched around the note so tightly the edges crumpled beneath his fingers. The area fell into silence as the others turned to him, faces drawn tight with anger.

Gaz swore under his breath, throwing his cap aside. “No way in hell this is a coincidence. It’s them, isn’t it? Her family.”

Price exhaled slowly, his grip on the note unwavering. He had been waiting for this day, dreading it from the moment you first told them about the people you had left behind. You had always known they would come looking. That they would never truly let you go. And now, after all these years, they had finally caught up.

The mission was over. The orders were clear- they were to extract, regroup, and report back.

But fuck orders.

This had just become personal.

They weren’t going back without you. Even if they had to tear through every criminal syndicate between here and hell to get you back, they would.

No matter the cost.