#the walls covered in the posters and graffiti

[deltastorm101]

some more recent shots i collected from twitter because i will forever love behind the scenes stuff *~*

credit to: james iles, andy robinson, vida starčević, thomas puha, sam lake, danny peña, ilkka villi

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

List of Random Things For Your Dark Academia Settings | For Writers

The Library 📚

Towering mahogany bookshelves filled with ancient leather-bound tomes

Antique globes and faded maps mounted on the walls

Heavy velvet drapes blocking out the sunlight

Ornate brass reading lamps casting a warm glow

The musty smell of old books permeating the air

The Study 🪶

A large oak desk strewn with papers, quills, and ink bottles

Walls lined with pinned insect specimens and anatomical drawings

An antique typewriter, its keys clacking softly

Stacks of well-worn leather journals and notebooks

A cabinet of curiosities filled with skulls, fossils, and scientific oddities

The Classroom 🎓

Rows of old wooden desks, surfaces scratched with generations of graffiti

A blackboard covered in elaborate chalk diagrams and Latin phrases

Dusty shelves holding jars of formaldehyde-preserved specimens

Antique microscopes and brass telescopes waiting to be used

The tick-tock of a grandfather clock counting down the minutes

The Dormitory 🕯️

A four-poster bed heaped with tattered quilts and faded velvet pillows

Parquet wood floors layered with antique persian rugs

Flickering candles in tarnished silver holders casting dancing shadows

A steamer trunk overflowing with vintage tweeds and wool knits

Tea-stained pages of love letters and poetry scattered on the nightstand

The Secret Society Meeting Room 🗝️

An imposing stone fireplace with Latin phrases carved into the mantel

Worn leather armchairs circled around a low table set with tarnished silver

The air thick with pipe smoke and burning incense

Shelves lined with ancient masks, ceremonial daggers, and dusty alchemical tomes

Shadows dancing on the tapestry-covered walls in the candlelight

[keisobe]

── ౨ৎ ‧˚ 𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭 (𝐡𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧)

・⸝⸝ some hobie brown headcanons where you’re the complete opposite of him + not completely proofread

notes. this was inspired by the anon who requested for “polar opposites” (i’m still working on that request TT). i’m a sucker for couples with different aesthetics because it reminds me of hachi and nana hshshddh ♡

you guys share an apartment together, and the contrast between your guy’s decor can be laughable. hobie has crumbled newspaper cutouts and band posters sprawled all over his walls— graffiti to roughen it up even more. while you had a dainty wallpaper with printed flowers, topped with assortments of neatly lined photos of you and hobie taken during your dates.

that’s why the living room in your apartment is completely bare. except for some framed photos of more cute memories and the dried flowers that hobie (stole) bought you on your first date. mostly, the trinkets you both own are scattered around the apartment.

hobie would be pouring cereal into a pink, bunny ceramic bowl. while you drink raspberry tea in a ridged mauve mug with the words ‘fuck capitalism’ written in hobie’s scratchy handwriting. and yes, you did take hobie to a pottery class as a cool date idea (he thought it was a cute idea too).

hobie always wears a copious amount of studded leather belts but also, your plush keychain(s) securely clipped onto his belt loops. hobie loves to show them off whenever he’s out with his bandmates— “ain’t it a lil’ cute? ‘s even got a lil’ blush on ‘s cheeks.” and that doesn’t limit him during his nightly patrols, he would get a few insults about having a ‘stupid toy’ on his belt, to which he would punch the daylights out of them and trap them in a thick layer of web.

you also proudly accessorize your bags with hobie’s handmade keychains. your favorite was a little replica of his guitar and a pink star that “represents you”. but because they are personally made, he would leave song lyrics and flirty comments written in the back of each keychain— marking the date when he gifted it to you.

going shopping with hobie was also lots of fun. there was a nearby boutique that you always shop at; selling exclusively skirts and dresses adorned with frills and bows, and hair accessories that are covered in pearls and ribbon (he honestly sticks out like a sore thumb but he couldn’t care less). hobie helps you pick out stuff, taking clothes off the rack and asking you to try it on. he compliments you every time you show off, giving you a little twirl and whispering a suggestive comment that makes you slap his chest. if you decide that you weren’t particularly fond of the outfit, hobie would go out of his way to put away said clothes back into its rack whilst having a good chat with the shop owners (they love him to bits).

one time, you decided it would be fun to wear some of his stuff. putting on a studded leather choker he left on his bedside table, you walked out with your chin held high and a grin so big. immediately, hobie felt like he combusted five times and went over to graze a hand over your leathered neck— “you’re an absolute looka’ babe.”

whenever you guys are out, he would always keep an eye out for your skirt. not in a weird way, but to make sure it doesn’t show private bits that would entertain creeps that would pass by. that’s why he would subconsciously linger his hand on your hips and he would always let you sit in the subway train, amusingly eyeing down at you drawing whilst he holds onto the upper railing— guarding you with his solid frame.

you’re a real sucker for british dating shows. it wasn’t like you believed in them, but found them heavily entertaining. hobie had always been fond of the things you like, even though they completely contrasted his personal aesthetic and interest. but he cannot, for the life of him, agree with dating shows. as you snuggled into him and share a fluffy blanket— watching the latest season of said dating show, he would cackle as he gives snarky comments at every moment and heavily criticize the whole concept of “making yourself look li’ a knob on the telly” (you sent him to his room afterwards, he apologized the morning after).

MOCHIFILM © 2023. please do not copy, translate, or modify any of my work. all of my works are not permitted to be posted on any other sites.

[miiukkaa]

mokey's subway room

yippee, the artistic and sensitive kiddo of the family, mikey! ended up keeping the room veeeery much similar to the one he had in the sewers.

i split the space into two separate areas: a bedroom and an "art studio". these two spaces are separated by a simple cloth that mikey can pull to the side fully when he wants to. i imagine he'd pull the cloth to cover the other more roomy area of the subway car when he goes to sleep. it is after all very easy to mistake your own large paintings and random clothing for a scary figure in the night (at least that's my personal experience lol). so to avoid seeing scary, ominous shapes, mikey would limit his field of vision for sleepy times.

the art studio side has most of mikey's art supplies. there's a huge paint spill from when he was dragging all his stuff into the car during the move. i believe he would find the spill cool and artsy. for when mikey would want to spray paint, he could easily grab any and all supplies he needs and go outside the subway car (for ventilation's sake). so he would have another specified art corner somewhere in the subway tunnels - further away from the actual space in which everyone hangs out at.

mikey, instead of hanging up a lot of posters, prettied up the subway car's walls by doing his own graffiti. though he would have the same "mad dogs" flag that everyone else has, too.

mikey doesn't strike to me as the kinda person who stays in their own room a lot but instead prefers to hang out in the common areas where other family members are more likely to pop out, too. for this reason, i imagine he has a lot of his own belongings scattered about the entire lair! so, a really messy art kid who keeps forgetting where he put his things.

leo's room

raph's room

[the-labyrinth-of-me]

I don't know if that has been discussed in the past, but I wanna talk about a few things that stand out in the apartment of the Wakes, at least for me. First off, it's absolutely weird that the apartment looks nothing like the one from the first game, neither interior nor floor plan wise. Before Alan was trapped in the Dark Place, the apartment looked drastically different. Photos for comparison:

Seems like a regular home of a best-selling crime novelist, right?

The apartment in Alan Wake 2 has, as already mentioned, a different floor plan and weird structure. Like you leave the elevator and there aren't even any further doors, let alone a hallway. As if the Wake apartment was the only one on the whole floor. Then there's the entrance area with the cameras from Alice that set off once Alan leaves the elevator, with a few paintings on the wall (like graffiti) that seem to have replaced the skyline posters.

Then you enter the actual apartment. It holds a layout that doesn't make much sense. There's also no bathroom / toilet and Alice's studio seems to be missing. Some other paintings of graffiti on the wall mix with really old, outdated, simple furniture. Nothing that displays wealth for the cozy feeling of a real home, it's rather minimalist.

If only the furniture would be outdated, though...

A collection of old files, devices (seriously, who has a telephone like that in the 2010 and upwards years?), and old toys. Since the Wakes don't have children and there wasn't any mention that they, at any point, planned to start a family, one can assume these toys weren't bought for children to be born and they seem to be well-used as well. Maybe Alan's toys from his childhood?

The books all seem to be really old as well.

All that old stuff and the composition, how things are placed and displayed, rather give me the feeling I'm walking through a museum rather than an apartment.

(wtf why is there even an accordion??)

And if we take a closer look at the kitchen...

... we see a weird oven and coffee machine. Stuff we'd expect to find in restaurant, maybe. Or a diner. A very specific diner.

Moving on, what catches the attention in the living room isn't only the lack of a television (although the Wakes had one in the first game), despite the TVs can be found practically everywhere in the Dark Place in the most odd spaces. But not in an actual apartment, of all things? Hmmmm. As if someone deliberately choose not to have one. Maybe the one who is imagining that whole stuff?

Which would be my conclusion to the weirdness of the apartment: dream logic mixed with whatever is left of the apartment in Alan's memory mixed with what is necessary for him to move on. TVs is what he might be kind of scared of, since often he sees another version of himself speaking insane rants. Nothing he could use that close to escape. The old furniture and books and toys could really stem from his longterm memory, his childhood home blended in with his actual one, from his subconscious. His mother seems to have a key role because she was the one who gave him the Clicker. And he never got to know his father. There definitely is some pain in his childhood years. Maybe he has a box somewhere in which he keeps some of his toys?

In dreams our brain processes what we experience throughout the day, sometimes memories mix in, or things we suppress / are in denial about bc we're too afraid to confront them. That could be one explanation of the interior of the apartment. His childhood even gets a small section in the musical since we walk through his old bedroom. So, early memories are covered. Brings us the next subject - striking what isn't necessary to move to. Alice's studio apparently isn't necessary (and something he doesn't have a connection to. Makes even more sense considering her work didn't contribute much to their income, as she says in the video. So her office might be kind of invisible to him. His work being the "more important" one.) Bathroom? Not necessary. Interior replaced with old stuff bc its more important to him, maybe? But what about the industrial oven and coffee machine? That really seems to be a nod to the Oh Deer diner, where his journey (and demise) practically started. Where he got the keys for the Bird Leg Cabin and met the Dark Presence for the first time. It seemed to have left a mark. Rose, the superfan waitress who helps him from the real world. Rusty, the first major Taken he had to fight (iirc Stucky came after Rusty). The Old Gods and their stupid jukebox. I'm not gonna link Coconut here don't worry. There's also a pack of the Bright Falls Blend coffee on a shelf.

Summarized, we can say that dream logic blends all kinds of things together whenever Alan visits the apartment in the Dark Place. Not to mention that it even looks different each time he goes there, during each draft. If I find the time I'll try to draw floor plans of each version. I think it's very interesting.

If you made it this far, thanks for coming to my Ted talk.

Edit for additions / stuff from tags (holy shit is this a long post now)

- @taniushka12 yes you're right of course, the bathroom appears later however and not during the first draft. It seems Alan readjusts the apartment due to what he needs to go further, or Alice had a say about this. Idk. The bathroom appears in the next draft I think, with the expedition. He remembers they have a bathrooms yay! But it still looks completely different.

- @omena-perkele thanks for elaborating on that. I was planning to go into more detail about Alan progressively forgetting how his home looks like but only put it in half a sentence lol. It's my interpretation of how empty the apartment actually is, like not much personal belongings, if any. Bedroom is almost empty. There are pieces of furniture he remembers or remembers there should be some at certain walls in the rooms, but many empty spots. The rest is mixed with old stuff and dream logic / dark place fill-ins.

Thanks for each comment on this!

[ju1cyfru1t]

rottmnt headcanons (pt.1?)

this is short I was just bored 🤞

(I have hella more than just these)

Raph

- he has one of those stuffed animal net things above his bed because he doesn’t have room for all of them ON his bed

- ^ apologizes and feels bad if he knocks one off accidentally + makes his brothers apologize if they so much as move one to make room or if they knock one off (Leo throws them across the room)

- Implemented a swear jar; to no surprise, Donnie has paid the most

- has a scar on his bottom lip from his snaggle tooth and accidentally biting himself

- sobbed while watching the Barbie movie because he realized they don’t rlly have a mom 😭 (he still smothered Splinter after)

- there are just random holes and dents in the walls in the lair (especially his room) from his spikes

Leo

- said it once, and I’ll say it over and over again. He is a Taylor Swift stan, and ONLY refers to her as ‘TayTay,’ ‘T Swizzle,’ or ‘T Sweezy’

- ^favorite album is 1989

- Blasts ‘tolerate it’ when he’s “mad” at Donnie or Raph (or when they hurt his feelings)

- messiest room out of his brother, EXCEPT he keeps his shelves with his figures, comics, and stuff super neat

- ^walls are almost fully covered in posters

- makes A LOT of audible turtle noises like hissing, churring, etc.

- his knuckles and joints crack so fucking loud (he does it just to annoy Raph bc he hates the sound)

- ASTONISHING intuition. he’s one of those people who just KNOW when you’re hiding something or just like when bad things are about to happen.

-

Donnie

- HATES carbonation

- Doesn’t usually show it, but it genuinely hurts his feelings when his family doesn’t listen to him about his science and inventions and interests

- He had a thin eyebrow phase only for like 3 days and it was NOT good 😭 he got absolutely flamed for it

- Velvet, felt fabric, and being sticky are big sensory no-no’s

- calls inanimate objects that he bumps into (and Leo) a whore

- I don’t think he likes coffee so much but if he does drink it it’s black

- his mask covers them but he has hella eyebags and dark circles

- prefers to watch a show/movie or youtube while he eats (iPad kid)

- Queen (the band) stan

Mikey

- graffiti artist. not in like an illegal way, but like on alleyways, on the walls of the sewer, rooftops, abandoned buildings, etc.

- Copies Leo and also blasts ‘tolerate it’ by Taylor Swift in his room at full volume when he’s mad at Donnie or Raph /if they hurts his feelings, but he screams the lyrics (specifically the bridge)

- there’s still a family portrait he drew when he was like 6 hanging on the fridge

- ADHD

- his nails are always painted; yes orange, but also tries like every color you could think of it

- ^ spent a lot of time perfecting nail art (like smiley faces, flowers, patterns, etc.)

- has THE fastest fucking metabolism you have ever seen. the teenage boy hunger is STRONG

- Melanie Martinez stan

- ^ his favorite album is Crybaby

- has his own little game where he tries to see how many stickers he can put on his brothers shells without being caught

- 20+ hours of screen time on YouTube every week

- rarely ever sleeps in his own room and rotates sleeping in Leo, Donnie, or Raph’s room

- Conan Gray stan

- dreams of having his own talk show like Wendy Williams 😭

[openworldadventurer]

I lived in Malmö for six years, so when I heard Eurovision was coming to my old neighborhood, I planned a visit to see friends and watch the festivities in my old park, which was being turned into the “Eurovillage”. Of course, that was before the Oct 7th attacks, Israel’s brutal escalation, and Eurovision’s refusal to hold them to the same standards as Russia.

So while I’ve been in town, I’ve been spending at least as much time checking in with friends and covering the protests as I’ve spent walking around the festivities. And hooboy, the changes to this sleepy little town have been pretty intense.

While the actual arena and filming is being done at Malmö Arena in the commercial suburb of Hyllie, the center of events in the city itself is Folketspark, a lovely old park and event center in the heart of the Möllan neighborhood. And right along one side of the park is a long graffiti wall that runs along a rondel, a cherished centerpiece of public art and protest in the city.

It’s been one of the centerpieces of protest all week, but far from the only one:

Despite the neighborhood being hit hard by gentrification over the last decade, Möllan is still predominantly foreign-born Swedes and immigrants (like me, when I was here). It’s predominantly middle-eastern folks, both immigrants and refugees, including one of the largest Palestinian populations in Europe. It’s also one of the most progressive cities in Sweden, home to the leftist Vänsterpartiet and fairly active queer and antifascist groups. And all of these groups have been uniting for the protests

So as you can expect, the protests around the park and the city have been pretty constant. Entirely peaceful, to everyone’s credit, but absolutely constant. And you can’t go anywhere near the event without seeing Palestinian flags flown from windows and shopfronts in solidarity, or protest graffiti on Eurovision posters.

Meanwhile, the security presence around the Eurovillage has been absolutely wild. In a city where police rarely even carried pistols, there are now approximately ten times as many police, many bearing automatic rifles. When protests threaten to get too close to the park, they shut off entrances and surround protesters with police vans. Helicopters and drones buzz in the skies above, to the annoyance of locals. And local Swedes look at the armored police vehicle like an unwelcome alien from another planet (or worse, like an unwelcome trend from America).

Thankfully, I haven’t seen any particular abuse out here in Malmö, although I know there have been lots of arrests at protests around the arena proper. I’m hoping it stays that way for the finals tonight.

But just know that for every picture you see of the Eurovision events, there’s countless scenes of protest from the local residents, often just on the other side of the camera.

[megamindsecretlair]

Cold on Me, Part 1

Pairing: David Kane x Atlantean!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Plot with smut, cursing, fingering (female receiving) , orgasm denial, dirty talk, Atlantean reader. Established relationship.

Summary: On a mission to recover an artifact sacred to your people, you journey through Rome to meet up with your contact. When he tries to take more than what's offered, none other than David Kane comes to your rescue. The man you hate. The man you would have done anything for. The man you can never trust again.

Word Count: 4,120k

Part 2

A/N: WHEW! If ya'll only knew the heart palpitations it took to get a proper David Kane fic going! I like the final product. Please let me know if you would like to opt out of David Kane fics! Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Taglist: @planetblaque @blackerthings @browngirldominion @we-outsiiiide @thecookiebratz @iv0rysoap @notapradagurl7 @sevikasblackgf @miyuhpapayuh @xo-goldengirl @kindofaintrovert @flydotty @judymfmoody @slippinninque @soufcakmistress @henneseyhoe @westside-rot @melaninpov @twocentuar @blackpinup22 @babybratzmaraj @theyscreamsannii @kiabialia @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @nworbaij @hopefulromantic1 @lesbiantreehugger @longpause-awkwardsmile @badassdoll @kholdkill @cardi-bre91 @blowmymbackout @jay-mach @sageispunk @yourofficialgal @harmshake @ciaqui @liyaah02 @monaeesstuff @papichulojustice

This was your last chance. 

The contact said to meet him at some rundown bar on the edge of town, just off the coast of Rome. You walked down the dimly lit, cobblestone street with your boots making soft sounds. The weather was frightfully cold, a bitter wind kissing your cheeks where the oversized jacket didn’t cover you.

Rome was a pretty city, if a little rundown. Like you could picture its former glory in the streets, the buildings, and the gargoyles casting down their eyes from the rooftops. At any moment, a sculptor could chip away at the history, grime, and graffiti and then a legionary would walk down the street once more in their scarlet guard uniforms.

It had been a long time since you visited Rome last. Too bad you didn’t have time to explore like you wanted. You finally got a lead on an ancient artifact belonging to your people. You bared your teeth, already getting worked up at the thought of these senseless humans playing with things they knew nothing about.

You had to remind yourself that they were still such children. With finite lives. Most were trying. Most were decent. But they made you so fucking weary every time you traveled to the surfact world. 

You looked up at the street name on the side of the building and turned down an even darker alleyway. You hoped that these people got the sense to install more lights in the alleys. This couldn’t be safe for anyone walking alone at night, holy city or no.

Rumbling laughter echoed down the alleyway as you approached the bar. You took off your gloves and headed inside, pushing past sneering looks and stale beer breath. You knew that you would stand out, but desperate times were pressing on you now. 

The contact, Dom, stated that he would be sitting in a booth. You walked further into the place, boots crunching on discarded cigarettes and…something you didn’t want to think about. The walls were covered in posters that looked baked into the deep red paint, peeling vinyl seats, scratched bartop, and neon signs behind the burly bartender who stood leaning a hip against the countertop talking to a patron. 

This was the type of place that no one looked too closely at one another. No one looked anyone in the eye too long unless they wanted to be punched in the throat. This was a bar where deals went down in whispered confidences, beer spilled over the rim of mugs, and whiskey shot back among rivals. It was a neutral bar. No fighting. Allegedly.

You bypassed rough looking men with leather jackets, tattoos, and bald heads. You passed rougher looking women with short hair, short sleeves, and even shorter attitudes. You pulled out your phone, glancing at the time.

You were on time, but where was Dom? You texted him, taking off your sling bag, and sliding into an available booth. The seat cracked under you, vinyl digging past your cargo pants. But you ignored it and slid in further. 

Dom stated that he would be there in five minutes, so you relaxed and took in your surroundings. You were drawing a lot of stares. From the complexion of your skin, to the audacity of your hair, you knew that you did not fit in with the olive-toned people native to this country. That was okay. 

Once you had the artifact, you could return it to its rightful place. That was all you wanted. All you longed for. 

A young waitress walked by with black lipstick and a half-shaved head. She popped gum in her mouth and asked what you wanted. You told her your favorite drink and she disappeared, leaving you to your own devices.

You were on edge. You knew you were because this was an important exchange but you couldn’t help feeling a sense of foreboding. That tonight, everything was going to change. You didn’t know how but you’d always had a sense about these things. 

You felt every tick of the clock on the far wall. Right when the waitress returned with your drink, a short white man with short dark hair slid into the booth in front of you. He huffed, settling into the seat as if he had been walking or jogging and now he finally had a chance to rest. 

“You have the time?” The man asked. 

“No one carries watches anymore,” you said, confirming that this guy was who he said he was. He smiled, getting more comfortable. 

“Do you have it?” You asked.

“Depends. Got my money?” He asked.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. You were offended that you even had to go through all of this. But the goddess requested that this was an undercover mission. That you limit your exposure as much as possible. You ran your tongue over your teeth and smiled.

“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” you said. You didn’t want to seem too eager. Or too interested in the knife in his possession. He thought it was some stupid tribal knife, made of some “funny metal”. You downplayed its importance by emphasizing the metal, letting him know that it was valuable but not as valuable as he was thinking. You were a collector of ancient weaponry, nothing more. 

He could try to melt the thing or sell it somewhere else, but no one else had access to the priceless gems in your pocket. You’d make him richer than the sun itself if it meant that you got your hands on it before anyone else did. 

You drew a pouch out of your pocket, grabbing a diamond from within and placing it on the table. He snatched it up, cupping it in his hands and looking at it. He would need an actual piece of glass to determine the clarity, but he didn’t need it. The diamond was pure, uncut, and best of all, conflict free. 

Dom nodded, but you saw how big his eyes got looking at the diamond. His only language was greed. He fished around in his pocket before pulling the knife out, wrapped in a dark cloth. He untied it, revealing the weapon hilt first.

You fought like hell to school your expression. So that the hunger in his eyes didn’t reflect back in yours. It looked ordinary, carved with ancient symbols that didn’t mean anything to him but everything to you. It depicted a death ritual, once believed to be lost over time. As more and more humans encroached on the ocean, traveling further and deeper than ever before, they constantly ran across things that did not belong to them. Recovering those artifacts was your life’s mission. 

You reached out a hand to grab it, but his hand slammed on top of yours. “I want payment first,” he said. 

“How do I know this is the real thing?” You asked. It could be a replica. It could be sand that would crumble in your fingers. You’d be the laughing stock of all of Atlantis if you dared bring back a fake. 

Dom grinned, showing yellow, crooked teeth and you bit your tongue to keep from grimacing. “I wouldn’t do that to such a pretty girl such as yourself,” he said. His hand began to stroke yours and you snatched it back.

Dom laughed, grabbing your drink and downing it in one go. Let him have it. If this was the genuine article, you could return to the water where you belonged. 

“Once I confirm its authenticity, you’ll get the rest of your payment like we agreed. Not a shiny gem before it,” you said.

He clicked his teeth, eyeing you. But finally relented and moved his hand. You reached out and ran your hand over the knife, feeling the rhythm of the metal singing to you. It was real. It was true. 

You nodded, tossing him the packet of diamonds. He snatched it from the air like he couldn’t bear a second that it wasn’t in his possession. You stood up, ready to be done with the place. You tucked the knife into your backpack, zipped it up and threw it around your head, securing it to your body.

Dom grabbed you by the wrist. “What’s the rush, huh? We just made a deal. We should celebrate!” He yelled, loud enough to be heard over the booming rock music. You glanced around, nervous that he was drawing too much attention. 

He had glassy eyes and a too easy grin. He would be decent looking if he lost some of the puffiness, brushed his teeth, and took a shower or twelve. But you had absolutely no interest. You yanked your arm back, but he held on.

“I said sit. And tell me why this knife is so important. You outbid some very powerful people,” he said. He was no longer smiling. No longer joking. 

You balled your first, jerking your hand back. But he held on with a strength he shouldn’t possess. You were stronger than humans, capable of breaking their necks with a flick of a wrist. The goddess demanded that you work quietly however. So you were left to play human. 

“Remove your hand, now,” you said. 

“If people come after me over this, I will point them right to you,” he said.

“Is that a threat?” You asked. 

“Friendly heads up,” he said.

“Let the lady go,” a deep, soothing voice said behind you. You closed your eyes and cursed under your breath. He was the last person you expected to be here. But you should have known. If there was an artifact out there to steal, David Kane was the first on the scene to see how much he could sell it for. 

“I don’t need your help,” you tossed over your shoulder. You were always blown away by how tall he was. How he didn’t have to do anything to be intimidating. One scowl, one flex of his jaw, one roll of his shoulders and it was obvious that he was a man that no one wanted to fuck with.

Skin like bruised bronze, wide shoulders, and a chiseled face, David Kane was a walking red flag. He stepped closer to your back, bringing with him a wall of heat that brought up too many memories and none of them good. 

“You look like you’re doing real well without me,” he said. 

“I am, thanks for noticing,” you whispered. You turned back to the contact and looked down at his slimy hand on yours. Why the hell was it wet? Did you even want to know at this point? Maybe if he perspired enough, you’d be able to slip your hand out from his grasp.

“Who the hell is this? Your muscle?” The man snorted. “Your boyfriend?” 

“The lady told you to let her go. So do it,” David said. His voice made your thighs tingle. You took a deep breath. Years. It had been years and he still made you have a visceral reaction to him. Like you were back in Greece, back in his arms. 

You shook the thought from your head and stepped closer to Dom. He smiled, like you were choosing him over David. As if. You flipped your wrist, breaking his hold. You grabbed onto his middle finger, breaking it. Dom screamed and David pushed forward, holding his hand to the man’s mouth.

“Next time a woman tells you not to touch her, listen.” You walked away, throwing your hood back up on your head. You needed to get out of there, fast. You pushed through the entrance before anyone could mention that you broke the rules. You harmed someone while inside the bar. Never mind that Dom started it. You were the outlier. The outsider. You were the one that did not belong. 

They let you pass, faces twisted like they smelled something funky or stepped in gum. You ignored them. Quiet. Quiet. You were going for quiet. 

Out into the crisp night, you headed off down the cobblestone street, dipping down alleyway after alleyway hoping to fend off any type of pursuit. Your steps were the only sound in the quiet night. Like the city was sleeping despite the bars and eateries behind every bend, filled to the brim with locals and tourists trying the latest cuisine. 

The streets were so narrow here and though your bike could have made it through, you did not want to draw that much attention to yourself. You took the long way around, checking over your shoulder every so often. There was no way to track you in this place, no way to leave behind any mark that you existed. 

Still, you cast your eyes behind you, clouds of breath escaping you. Your lungs burned from the cold. Your cheeks stung from the bite. These shoes were killing you. You longed for the safety of the water. 

You stepped around a building, the same pinkish hue that all the buildings seemed to share. Sunbaked and centuries old. You caught your breath. You couldn’t live like this. You weren’t used to looking over your shoulder like this. 

You had to keep moving. You had to make sure that you made it to the nearest open body of water before David caught up with you. Why was he even here? What the hell did he want? 

Fuck him. Fuck him for still looking as good as he did. Sounding as good as he did. Whatever he did now was of no consequence to you. You took deep breaths in, letting the cold awaken your senses. Your mission was not yet over and you needed to keep moving.

Goddess protect me. 

You rounded the corner, back to civilization with its street lamps and passing cars. You were approaching the mouth of the alley when a hand pulled you back, deep within the shadows. You kicked out your leg. Despite his height and size, David was incredibly agile. 

He chuckled, pulling you close to his body. His warm, tall body. He wrapped his arms around you, but before he could lock you in, you broke his hold. You turned and punched and kicked at him, he laughed and dodged like this was a sparring game and not you fighting for your life.

You managed to land a solid punch, feeling great satisfaction from watching his head snap back. Your moment of triumph was short lived as he took the fight more seriously. But he was more focused on subduing you than fighting you.

“I deserved that, but you only get one,” he growled. 

He blocked your next two punches, grabbing both of your wrists and spinning you to face the building. He pushed you against it, yanking your arms behind you. You growled and wriggled, but there was no way to break out of this. Not when he pressed his chest into your back, pinning your further against the building. You were trapped. With your worst enemy. 

Wait till your team back home hears about this one. In fact…they didn’t need to know this part. You’d never told anyone about David, too afraid that your sisters would tease and mock you. The fish who fell in love with a bird. It was a joke. A cautionary tale. A tragedy. 

You stopped fighting. Your gasps created tiny clouds in the air. David huffed and heaved behind you, pressing his chest into your back with every inhale. “You gonna punch me again if I let you go?” He asked.

“Depends. Let me go and we’ll see,” you said.

He laughed, dropping his head to your ear. You hated that you shivered. You hoped he thought it was because of the cold and not because of his proximity. Bastard. Fuck him.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he said. 

“I was counting on that, actually.” Out of the seven seas and the seven continents, you did not think you’d bump into David Kane again. What were the odds? What sick, cruel fate brought you back into David’s war path? 

Didn’t matter. You needed to escape before he found the knife in your bag. 

“You didn’t miss me? Not even a little?” He nuzzled your ear and you bit your lip. What game was he playing? 

“Not even a little,” you said. Your voice was even. Your stomach was doing backflips. Fuck him. Fuck him. You repeated it like a mantra in your head, trying to hold on to the burning hatred in your veins. Your body betrayed you. Remembering every glide of his fingers. The shape of his lips. 

“Shame. I missed you,” he said. His lips tickled your ear and you moved your head away. Since his body covered every inch of you, there was no room for you to move. He dipped his head again, lightly brushing his lips along your neck.

“Fuck do you want from me, Kane?” You asked.

“Oh, it’s Kane again?” He asked. 

You rolled your neck. Getting angry only made him act more childish. He got off on seeing you squirm. You used to think it was charming. Now it was just annoying.

“What are you doing in Rome?” He asked.

“I could ask the same question,” you said.

“Following up on a lead. Heard there were some coins from Ancient Egypt on the market. Wanted to see if I could make a direct offer,” he said.

“By stealing it.” 

“If it came to that,” he said and huffed out a laugh. At least he was more open about his thievery. He was a man without honor and you had no patience for him. Not anymore. 

“What do you want?” You asked. 

David moved his hands, lower, searching your body. “What are you doing?” You asked.

“Trying to see if you got any weapons on you. I just wanna talk without the fear of you shooting me,” he said. His search was anything but friendly. He groped. He kneaded. He gripped your thighs with his massive hands and squeezed. A small moan escaped you before you could call it back. 

“Do you remember Miami?” He asked. 

You pressed your lips together while he finished his search. When you stopped giving him the response he wanted, he moved his fingers below your shirt. His fingers grazed your tummy, dancing over the edge of your pants. You shivered. 

Your pussy ached. It was freezing cold outside, but he was doing a damn good job blocking out the chill and warming you up. You melted into him as he unbuttoned your pants. “I remember how you looked when we first woke up. Sun hitting your back. The way your hair sparkled like embers of a fire.” 

You sighed. You shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t be entertaining this. “David…”

“You were the last thing I expected to find here tonight. But as soon as I recognized you, I couldn’t let you get away. I shouldn’t have let you go then and I can’t let you go now,” he said.

“You can’t hold onto me anymore,” you said. He once compared your relationship to holding water in the cup of his hand. He could hold it, for a second, believing that it would last. Then it would slip through his fingers. Water could not be contained, he told you. He told you a lot of things. A lot of useless shit. 

“Let me try, please,” he said. He unzipped your pants, pushing it lower off of your hips. You ground your ass into his crotch. His dick strained against his pants. He hissed, pulling back for a moment. 

“Say you don’t miss me and I’ll let you go,” he said.

“I don’t miss you,” you said. Your voice cracked. David’s long fingers played with the curls at the core of you. He bit your ear, dipping a finger into your wet heat and groaning as he made contact. 

“This pussy say otherwise,” he whispered in your ear. 

You were burning up inside your coat. Your head fell back against his chest, giving him better access to nibble and kiss on your neck. You opened your heavy eyelids and looked at him, bracketed by the stars above.

This would be hot at any other moment. You would have lived for stolen moments like this when you couldn’t keep your hands off of each other like a couple of young adults, fumbling and following after each other. Like you couldn’t quit each other. 

“You didn’t ask my pussy, you asked me.” 

“How long has it been? Have you been able to replace me yet?” He asked.

You huffed, refusing to allow him a full laugh. Fuck him. He knew fuck well that no one compared to him. No one compared to how he made you feel. You dropped your head forward. You couldn’t look at him and let him play with your body like no time had passed. If you didn’t look at him, you could pretend. 

“Yup. Sure did,” you said. The answer was sarcastic as hell. You didn’t care if his ego was inflated at the moment. It had been forever. And you needed the sweet fucking relief that didn’t come from your fingers for once. 

He swirled his fingers lazily through your essence, taking his time to make you tremble with need. 

“A lot has changed. I’ve changed. And I know you don’t forgive easily. But I need you to hear me,” he said. He pushed a finger inside and you groaned, not caring if he heard you now. You weren’t going to fall onto the sword of Pride like some martyr. You never denied yourself anything, least of all his deft fingers as he pumped them inside of you. 

Your thighs shook as you began to squirm. He moved his other hand up your shirt to cup your breast in his hand. He squeezed it, quickly finding your nipple and rubbing it between his fingers. You hissed, squeezing your legs against his hand to trap him there. 

You braced yourself against the building, the pads of your fingers seeking any kind of fissures to hold on to. Your nails scraped. 

“Oh fuck,” you moaned. His pace was steady but strong, driving you to the height of pleasure. 

David groaned behind you. He grinded into you, pushing your hips forward. Making you ride his fingers instead of sitting back and letting him do all the work. He mimicked stroking and moved against your hips with enough force that you could imagine it was his dick fucking you and not his fingers.

Fuck, you were so close. You began to whine, needing him to go faster. Go deeper. Do something.

“Fuckin’ missed this,” he groaned in your ear. 

You did too. 

You leaned up on your tip toes, tensing up and getting ready to cum. David slowed his fingers, pulling them out altogether. At the same moment, your sling bag was unbuckled from around your chest and the heat of David’s body was gone. 

“Motherfucker!” You screamed into the dark alleyway. There was no point following him. He was quicker to move around than you were. More adept at the surface world. He held maps in his head that you still needed help with. You relied too heavily on those stupid phones than your own sense of direction.

You punched the building and leaned your forehead against it. Of course he hadn’t changed. Of course he was after the knife. Of course he would confuse you with talks of memories and Miami. Giving you flowery poetry. Of course he left you unfulfilled like he always did. 

Greedy bastard. You got played. You jumped up, pulling your pants over your thick hips and zipping it back up. You could only laugh as you walked, uncomfortably wet, towards your bike. 

You weren’t going to panic. You had patience…sometimes. You hid a tracker in the lining of the bag, turned off for the time being. If you were David, the first thing you would do would be to search for bugs. You’d replace the bag as soon as you could, but that would have to come later. When you weren’t focused on getting away, not leaving a trail.

One thing about David was that he always had an exit plan. Always an escape. Two could play that game this time around. 

You made it to your motorcycle and unhooked the helmet that you secured to the front. You placed it over your head, throwing your leg over and straddling it. You started it up, letting the engine rumble between your legs. At least something got to rumble there tonight.

Game on David Kane, game on.

There shall be more! The Secret David Kane Files | Part 2

[whimsimille]

THICKER THAN BLOOD

Chapter 3: Cherry Blossoms

Jeong Jin-Man x Reader!

Ensuring the cold steel pin snapped back into the slide with a click? Check. Carefully inspecting the barrel, the recoil spring, and guide? Check. Examining the magazine, the safety mechanism, and the trigger, testing each one to guarantee they were functioning at their optimal level? Check.

“Yeah... I still got that," you murmur to yourself, the words barely audible over the soft crackling of the vintage radio playing a forgotten tune from the 60s in the background: Cherry Blossom Ending. Mom’s favorite. 

Taking another long drag of your cigarette, you savor the rich taste of a blend of Turkish tobacco that Pasin introduced you to.

Exhaling a cloud of smoke, you watch it drift upwards lazily before dissipating into the stale air of the room. The sight brings back memories of foggy winter mornings back home, when the world seemed shrouded in a blanket of mist. But, unlike those mornings, there's no fragrance of dew-kissed roses or the sweet scent of mom's freshly baked apple pie to erase your nose scrunching—not when this place smells like a battlefield. The distinct aroma of gunpowder and the sharp tang of sweat mix in the air like a witch's potion, creating an unsettling olfactory cocktail.

Your eyes fall on the poster of an old concessionary you once visited, featuring a sexualized pit girl with improbably large breasts for her leather crop top. You sigh. No amount of decoration, no matter how weird or random, can erase the sensation that men in tactical gear might spring up through the gun stock’s door any minute. In your mind’s eye, they empty all the shelves as they run, their gazes wild with bloodlust, chins coated with saliva as the drugs they took to make them more alert take hold of their minds.

Yet, amidst the chaos, your eyes notice the old wooden table, scarred with years of use and abuse. Its familiar creaking sound, especially from the third leg, the one that always needed fixing. Despite its oddities, this place has a certain charm.

As a woman, you know that there are environments that society still judges as masculine. But whether you want it or not, whether you identify as a feminist or not, these judgments don't matter to you. 

Whilst memories flood back—your father patiently teaching you how to shoot, your mother cheering you on at the shooting competition—you can't help but listen to the echoes of your parents amidst the gunpowder. The rusty corner nearby the Glocks shelves reminds you too much of your old house, of mom and dad dancing across it the way they used to on Saturday nights, their laughter filling the room. Even the leftover smell of Gun's piss on the floor brings back how Honda brought home that forsaken cat that you've learned to love. 

These memories remind you that this has nothing to do with being feminine or masculine. This is about being you.

Suddenly, your phone vibrated, breaking your shitty reverie. It was a muffled sound by the work table, buried somewhere beneath the scattered assortment of guns—pistols, rifles, and shotguns—in your twin's meticulously disordered workplace.

Discarding your half-smoked baby into the overflowing ashtray, you slowly rise from the creaky stool, stretching your stiff muscles. A dull ache radiates from your lower back—the result of countless hours spent hunched over the workbench. 

Ignoring the discomfort, you navigate through the maze of scattered tools and disassembled machinery, your boots echoing against the concrete floor, until you reach for the incessantly vibrating device under a pile of blueprints.

You lean against the graffiti and poster-covered wall, its coldness seeping through your top. Your gaze drifts to the multiple monitors displaying the gradually emptying streets of Seoul, illuminated by the neon glow of streetlights.

Honda always had an obsession with surveillance, with keeping an eye on every single movement outside. 

To the uninitiated, it might come off as paranoia. But in your line of work, it was a necessity. The last thing you both needed was someone sniffing around your... less-than-legal activities.

You swipe the screen, bringing the encrypted chat to life.

Younger brother by 6 minutes:

Hey, sis! Just checking in.

I trust Sukku's client came to pick up his custom order—the modified Glock 19? Did he give any trouble? Notice anything out of the ordinary? Are there any signs of suspicion that we might need to worry about?

Considering the late hour and the fact that you've been alone in this place all evening, do you want me to swing by? Gunpowder is already fast asleep. I took her to the vet earlier. They think it might be chlamydia. Apparently, it's a thing in cats.

Big sister by 6 minutes:

Chlamydia? In a cat? That's news to me. Is she going to be okay? Will she need any special treatment?

As for the client, there are no issues whatsoever. He seemed satisfied with the custom Glock. Even complimented the grip modifications.

And don't worry about me. I'm used to the workshop without you by now. Besides, I’ve been productive. Uploaded a few of our modified guns and encryption codes on our site for our initial clients to browse.

I also completed a thorough maintenance check on the old Sig Sauer P226. Replaced the recoil spring, cleaned the firing pin and even polished the slide rails. It's as good as new now. You know, just in case we need some extra firepower.

But yeah, if you're free and not too worn out, do swing by. We can grab a late-night snack from the 24-hour joint down the street. Their kimchi jjigae has been on my mind.

But for now, don't rush. I'm fine on my own. I will keep the place locked down and secure until you get back. It's not like we have a shortage of security systems.

And tell Gunpowder her noona got her back. And ask her to keep her paws off my toolbox.

Watching the gray bubble with your message pop up on the screen, you hit send.

Just as you were about to pull up the Murthehelp site on your phone—the one you had coded from scratch after many long, caffeine-fueled nights—a sudden flicker on one of the large monitors caught your attention. You squinted, setting your phone down on the table.

There, in the grainy black-and-white footage, you could make out a figure. It was vague and blurry, moving in the shadows, but their height and gait unmistakably suggested a man.

He was coming towards the workshop, his path unwavering and purposeful. You quickly glanced at his attire—a dark jacket and a baseball hat pulled low over his face. Not exactly the outfit of someone who was just strolling by, especially not at this late hour when even the nocturnal creatures had retreated to their burrows.

Keeping your nerve, you reached for the console, fingers nimbly dancing over the buttons to turn off the monitors. You didn't want the soft blue glow of the screens to betray your presence in the otherwise dark room. 

Leaving the gun stock downstairs, you entered the quiet workshop, the smell of oil and metal heavy in the air.

After tiptoeing towards the reinforced steel door, you hid behind a towering metal shelf cluttered with an assortment of spare parts, rusted tools, and half-assembled machinery, their metallic sheen glinting dimly in the ambient light.

The silence hung heavy, broken only by the steady tick-tock of an old clock on the wall. Your heart pounded in your chest as you braced yourself for a loud bang, anticipating a forceful break-in. But instead, the soft rustle of someone kneeling near the entrance reached your ears. The muffled clicks of a lock being picked followed and then the door was gently pushed up, its usual creak betraying its motion conspicuously absent.

The moment the man stepped in, you sprang into action and the workshop transformed into a battleground.

You dove under a swing. A wrench grazed your arm—a missed punch. You retaliated with a swift kick, watching as he stumbled back, barely keeping his balance. But despite your best efforts, your back soon hit the cold metal of an old car under repair.

Cornered, with no way out.

A thin ray of light from a partially opened window cut through the darkness, casting long, distorted shadows. As your eyes adjusted, you saw him—Jinman. His face was as cold as the winter wind, revealing nothing of his intent. He held a knife in his hand, the cold steel pressing ominously against your stomach.

"Complacency could get you killed," he admonished as he tossed his baseball cap somewhere in this place. "In Babylon, I trained you to be sharper, faster, but you've let yourself grow soft. One inch to the side, and this blade could have nicked an artery. It would've been a messy end."

“Damn you, Jinman! What the hell were you thinking, barging in here like some low life thug?" Your hand instinctively went to your side, where your trusty Smith & Wesson lay as you watched through hooded eyes as he leaned against you, his nose scrunching in what might be the unique signal of pain from your attacks. “I mistook you for some gangster trying to get a hand on our stash! I could've shot you, you reckless idiot!" You pushed his hand away, stepping out of the claustrophobic corner.

“Do you remember our lesson on critical injuries?”

"The intestine, when damaged, can lead to sepsis," you replied, his voice flat, your eyes never leaving his as he begrudgingly sheathed his knife. You quirked up an eyebrow as you saw blood under his nails, but you didn’t dare say a thing, you knew he wouldn't talk about it anyway. Jeong was stubborn like that.

"And if left untreated, the mortality rate is high, even with immediate medical attention.”

Ignoring his continued lecturing, you moved past him, heading towards the narrow staircase that led back to the lower level where the gun stock was kept. He trailed behind, his usually light steps now heavy and labored.

"So, care to explain your sudden, unannounced break-in, Jinman?" You questioned, the cool air from the underground level hitting your face like a welcome reprieve. Without waiting for his response, you kept talking, "And why the sudden interest in giving me a lecture on gut wounds? Planning on stabbing my twin next?

"Because you..." he began, but his voice trailed off, replaced by a pained grunt.

Alarmed, you turned around just in time to see him stumble, clutching his side. He landed heavily on the last few steps, letting out a string of curses.

"Jinman?" you called out, rushing over to him. "What's wrong?"

His response was a mere groan, his face a sickly pale hue contrasted by the cold sweat forming on his forehead. The hole in his shirt as he shed his coat could be a smudge of dirt from his shoveling chore, and the blood that has soaked his shirt is almost invisible in the dim light. He's now making a strange whistling noise each time he inhales. He'd been shot. Near his intestines.

"Oh, God, Jinman! This... this is serious," you stammered, your hand shaking as you reached out to check his wound.

You have seen injuries before. Gunshot wounds, stabbings, broken bones are occupational hazards that come with your line of work. But seeing Jinman, your former partner and mentor from Babylon, bleeding and weakening struck a nerve. A sudden adrenaline rush surged through you, coupled with a rising protective instinct. You had to act quickly, keep your wits about you. Panic wouldn't help either of you now.

"Alright, Ahjussi," you said, forcing a steady tone into your voice. "We need to get you lying down. Now."

He lets go, or maybe just loses the strength to hold on, as you maneuver him onto a makeshift bed—a heap of old, worn-out blankets and tarps that you usually use when working on cars. You pull back a little—not far. His eyes regard you from their deep and blackening sockets. They are as brilliant as ever, but you see, they are also full of terror and (this is what frightens you most) some wretched, inexplicable amusement. 

Still speaking low—perhaps so only you can hear, maybe because it's the best he can manage—Jeong says, "Listen, little woman. I can handle myself.."

 "No—you have to stop."

He pays no attention. He draws in another of those screaming breaths, purses his wet red lips in a tight O, and makes a low, incredibly nasty chuffing noise. It drives a fine spray of blood up his clenched throat and into the sweltering air.

He turns his head to the side, spits a wad of half-congealed blood onto the hot tar, then turns back to you. "I guess it's karma.”

You understand that he means it, and for a moment (surely it is the power of his eyes), you believe it's true. He will make the sound again, only a little louder, and in some other world, Bale, that lord of sleepless nights, will turn its unspeakable, hungry head. A moment later, if you don’t just move and fucking think, in this world, Jeong Jin-Man will simply shiver in this old place and die. The death certificate will say something sane, but you’ll know: his dark past finally saw him, came for him and ate him alive.

“I guess I’m getting old, huh?”

Leaning even closer. Into the shivering sweat and blood of him. Leaning in until you can smell the last palest ghost of the Prell he shampooed with that morning and the Foamy he shaved with. Leaning in until your lips touch his ear. You whisper, "Be quiet, Jin-Man. For once in your life, just be quiet. Don’t you dare make this pussy sound again.”

Looking around, you knew no bandage in your medicine cabinet would be enough, so you ended up tearing long strips from a sheet. The sheet is old, but you mourn its passing just the same—on a waitress's salary (supplemented by niggardly tips and only slightly better ones from the faculty members who lunch at Pat's), you can ill afford to raid your linen closet. But when you think of  stuffing it into his mouth to muffle his screams and grunts, you don't hesitate.

You caught sight of an old bottle of Korean whisky, a forgotten souvenir from a past mission to Jeju Island. Honda had won it in a high-stakes game of poker but never got around to finishing it. Now, it seemed like a fitting antiseptic.

Raising the bottle to your lips, you took a swig, the liquid burning its way down your throat—a twisted semblance of courage. Then, with a grimace, you drenched the wound with the help of a cloth, the sharp smell of alcohol mingling with the raw scent of blood. Jinman’s body tensed, a deep groan escaping his clenched teeth.

“I’m hot.”

"Shit, Ahjusshi." Emboldened, you rubbed your freezing, leaking hand along his right cheek, his left cheek, and then across his forehead, where drops of whisky-colored water dripped into his eyebrows and then ran down the sides of his nose. He hums in satisfaction. "You should have been more careful."

The room was filled with a heavy silence, the only sounds being the occasional drip of water from a leaky pipe somewhere overhead and Jinman’s labored breathing.

You remembered a mission in Gwangju, back when you two were still new to the field. It was a stormy night, the air was so heavy with rain that it felt like you were walking through a cloud. The neon lights of the city were blurred, painting everything in an ethereal glow. There was a sense of surrealism to that night, a feeling of being detached from reality. That was the first time you had seen Jinman truly vulnerable, his usually stoic demeanor giving way to panic as a bullet grazed his shoulder.

“It’s just a scratch,” he had grumbled, his hand tightly gripping yours as you tried to clean the wound. He licked at his lips. You saw the blood on his tongue and it turned your stomach, but you didn’t pull away from him.

Now, years later, history is repeating itself. But this time, the stakes were much higher.

"Listen to me, old man," you began, your voice breaking the overwhelming silence. "We've been through worse, haven't we? Remember that time in Busan when that crazy bastard tried to stab you with a switchblade?"

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips, his eyes half-closed, the sheets between his teeth stained with blood and saliva. "Yeah, and you broke his nose."

"You're damn right, I did," you chuckled, your fingers gently tracing the outline of the wound, assessing the damage, before rising up again in search of your purple lighter somewhere in this place. "And we made it through that night, didn't we? So, we're going to make it through this shit too. But you need to stay with me, alright? Don't you fucking dare drift off on me!"

Found it!

As you kneeled again and prepared the needles and threads, sterilizing them over a small flame, your throat felt as dry as the barren lands of the Mojave Desert. Words stuck in your mouth like cotton, but you forced them out. 

"Do you remember that pawnshop in Itaewon? The one with the old, rusted sign hanging crookedly and the fat, ginger cat named Tofu who would lazily sprawl across the counter? The owner—what was his name? Sungmin, right? He had this weird obsession with Elvis Presley. Used to play vintage vinyl records on that old gramophone he had all day long. You hated it; you said it was too 'old-fashioned' for your taste. But I caught you humming 'Love Me Tender' once."

His eyes met yours, a faint glimmer of amusement in them. You could see his chest rise and fall, each breath a little more labored than the last. But he was listening, a hint of a smile tugging at his bloodstained lips.

"And then there was that time in Hongdae," you continued, your fingers gently manipulating the sterilized pliers inside his abdomen. He hissed and jerked, the sudden movement causing the tools in your hand to clatter loudly. But a stern glance in his direction had him stilling, his jaw clenched tightly to suppress any further sounds. "We stumbled upon this cute little bakery at three in the morning. The owner was this old lady, who claimed her red bean buns were the best in all of Seoul. You were skeptical and said nothing could beat your grandma's recipe. But, after the first bite...”

You paused, recalling the look of sheer surprise on his face. "You devoured five of those buns in a matter of minutes. You even tried to flirt with the old lady, hoping to score the recipe."

A soft chuckle escaped his lips, his grip tightening around your free hand. "And she said... she said she had a... strict policy. No sharing recipes with… playboys."

"Exactly!" You exclaimed, a genuine smile spreading across your face as you noticed the mischievous light returning to his eyes. "She definitely put you in your place, didn't she?"

“Shut…up.”

“I like you too. Please don’t die on me. I don't want to hear Honda crying in my ears at your funeral.”

As you finally found the bullet, the harsh reality of the situation loomed over you, a grim reminder of the danger he was in. But for now, for just a few moments, it felt like old times. Just you and Jinman, bleeding wounds, guns on your feet and hips. You and him.

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

The short walk from the taxi to Jin-Man’s porch had been enough to thoroughly drench you, with your clothes clinging uncomfortably to your skin. Raindrops dripped from the brim of your hat, splashing onto the porch's wooden planks, causing the aged wood to glisten under the feeble light from an old lamp hanging precariously above the door.

A sudden gust of wind made you shiver, and you quickly pulled your coat tighter around yourself, silently cursing the weather. You couldn't help but take a moment to observe the changes Jin-Man had made to the entrance—the broken lilies and the shattered pot had been replaced by beautiful blue hyacinths. You admired them briefly before bending down to retrieve the spare keys hidden beneath the ugly cat statue.

"Hey, ugly one! Been taking care of them for me?"

As you straightened up, key in hand, the door suddenly swung open.

Jin-Man stood in the doorway, his eyes softening as they took in your soaked floral skirt, the one he had always nagged you about, and the top that clung damply to your torso. He looked spent, with dark circles under his eyes and the distinct smell of ink and gunpowder clinging to him. The stubble on his face stood out more prominently against his tired features.

"I didn't think you'd come home.” Unusually, he started to balance on one foot while his hair was too long in the back—he needed it cut badly. You know he looks in the mirror and sees a Kpop star but you look at him and see a vagrant out of a Woody Guthrie song—dust in the wind.

What Jeong didn't say was, "Why didn’t you come in earlier?" Or, "Why do you look so hurt?"

As Honda had pointed out on more than one occasion, Jin-Man had what was surely among the rarest of human talents: he was a business minder who did not mind too much if you didn't mind yours. As long as you weren't making explosives to throw at someone, that was, and in your case, explosives were always a possibility. 

You shrugged off his remark; the tension between you two is still palpable. "I'm not here for you, Jin-Man," you replied, your gaze hardening. "I'm here for Ji-An."

Stepping past him, you entered the house, your gaze scanning the familiar surroundings—a mix of vintage and modern decor. Everything was just as you remembered it; the mahogany coffee table with its assortment of vintage car magazines, the worn-out, leather Chesterfield couch that bore the imprints of countless lazy afternoons, and the rustic brick fireplace that still smelled faintly of burnt cedar—the same furniture, the same arrangement, the same scents.

As you moved further into the house, a familiar sound reached your ears: the quiet jingling of a collar. Turning around, you saw Gunpowder padding towards you, her amber eyes glowing.

"G-Pow," you called, crouching down to her level, your hand reaching out to her.

The moment stretched uneasily as she mulled over your extended hand and her new master, standing a distance away. “Betrayal alert: Hostile territory,” seemed to be the message running through her kitty brain.

Just when you were about to etch another loss, Gunpowder decided otherwise; tail held in festive high, she padded towards you, meowing a soft welcome.

A chuckle rippled through you as your fingers slid behind her ears, playing briefly, "Missed all this mess, didn't you darling?”

Gunpowder meowed in response, her tail flicking playfully.

“My good girl.” You kissed her fur before she ran away to the couch.

Standing back up, you turned to face Jin-Man, your gaze hard but determined. "Is Ji-An asleep?"

He nodded, running a hand through his hair—a nervous habit you remembered well. "She's had a long day. But she'll be excited to see you in the morning."

"That's good," Bidding your drenched jacket and your hat goodbye onto the nearby coat rack, your eyes danced around the familiar kitchen layout till it landed on the kitchen counter, noticing the half-eaten sandwich and the glass of milk. "Eating habits are still the same, I see."

Jin-Man shrugged, his gaze avoiding yours. "Habit is a hard thing to break."

"You should try sometimes. It wouldn't kill you to have a proper meal."

His gaze finally met yours, a spark of defiance in his eyes. "I can take care of myself, Y/N."

You sighed, shaking your head slightly. "I know you can, Jin-Man. But taking care of yourself doesn't mean you have to do everything alone."

He didn't reply, his gaze dropping to the floor. You could almost see the wheels turning in his head; his mind was probably grappling with the fact that you were back in the house after months of absence.

Deciding to break the silence, you moved towards the kitchen, opening the fridge and scanning the contents. "I'll make dinner. It's about time we had a decent meal. And while I do that, could you fetch me some dry clothes? I'd prefer the black shirt with the Nirvana logo if it's still around.”

He sighed, closing the fridge door abruptly. “Stop it,” he demanded, his voice carrying that note that you hated so much. The note of a boss talking with his partner. “Stop thinking about me and go take a shower. You’re freezing, and no shirt, Nirvana or not, is going to help with that.”

"Okay, okay, bossy much?" You rolled your eyes as you moved past him, heading towards the doorway. "By the way, I'm not freezing. I'm just a little wet."

With a sense of nostalgia, you began to tread softly down the hallway, the familiar creak of the wooden floorboards echoing in your ears.

Gliding past Ji-An's room, you lightly pressed the door ajar. Bathed in the subdued glow of her nightlight was a picture-perfect scene—a tiny human swaddled in warmth, clutching onto her fluffy bunny with all the ferocity her little fists could offer. 

With feather-light steps, you ventured further in, pressing a gentle kiss on her forehead as whispers of "Goodnight, Noona" danced around your heartstrings.

Clutching your top hem, your mind began to drift back to the past as you continued down the hallway. The memories of nights you spent in this house were like a movie playing in your mind: the arguments filled with passion, the shared meals around the worn-out dining table, and the shared silence that spoke more than words ever could.

After Honda’s death, you hadn't wanted the slice of cheesecake he would bring home from the restaurant for dessert, and you certainly hadn't wanted to go to any Hollywood movie... but you had wanted all those things with Jin-Man. Yes. Because over the last couple of months, and especially over the last months, you’ve come to depend on him in a funny way. Maybe it's corny— probably—but there's a feeling of safety when he puts his arms around you that wasn't there with any of her other guys; what you felt with and for most of them was either impatience or wariness. (Sometimes fleeting lust.) 

But there is kindness in Jeong (hidden between the rusty corners and dark basement of his heart, but, yes, there was), and from the first you felt interest coming from him— interest in you—that you could hardly believe, because he's so much smarter and so talented. And he speaks a language you grasped greedily from the beginning. Not the signing language, but one you know very well, just the same—it's as if you were speaking it in dreams.

But what good is talk and a special language if there's no one to talk to? Someone to cry to, even? That's what you needed tonight. You’d never told him about your crazy fucked-up family or your past before him—oh, pardon me, that's crazy smucked-up talk in Honda's speech—but you meant to tonight. Felt you had to or explode from pure misery. 

Walking into the bathroom, its altered landscape consumed your attention. Pristine countertop occupied by practical necessities: a single toothbrush, tube of toothpaste, and straight razor aesthetically laying on top screamed 'functional' compared to it once being decorated chaotically with personal effects nestled among skincare bottles alongside makeup and a carelessly thrown hairbrush—an exquisite mosaic of a life once lived.

Stepping into the shower, the hot water cascaded down your body, washing away the grit and grime of the day. Still, no water could stop you from remembering the last time you were in this shower—the last time you were in this bathroom.

"Can I join you?" Jin-Man's voice had echoed off the bathroom tiles, the door creaking open slightly.

Looking back, you found him leaning against the door frame, sleep-ruffled hair visible over the frosted shower barrier—a low-hung towel only embellishing his irresistible nonchalance.

“If you promise not to fuck me against the tiles again, sure, why not?”

“Alright, alright,” he had chuckled, opening the shower door and stepping in. The water immediately started soaking his hair, the droplets trickling down his face and chest. “I promise, no fooling around.”

You had laughed then, tilting your head back to rinse the shampoo from your hair. “Good. Because I need to get ready, and I don’t have time for your… shenanigans.”

Jin-Man simply smiled at that, his hands reaching out to help rinse your hair. His fingers were gentle as they massaged your scalp, working through the tangles. “I’ll behave. Scout's honor.”

“You were never a scout,” you pointed out, rolling your eyes at his antics but not being able to suppress the smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth.

"But I could have been. Imagine how good I would have looked in the uniform."

You laughed at that, the sound echoing off the bathroom walls. "Yeah, right. You would have been the rebel scout. I can just see you now, trying to start a fire with a pocket knife and a piece of flint, and ‘accidentally’ burning down the entire camp because some weird boy thought it was funny to pull on my pigtails."

"Probably," he agreed. His hands moved to your shoulders, kneading the tense muscles there. "But I bet I would have been the best at telling ghost stories around the campfire."

"That's true. You do have a knack for dramatic storytelling. You could have scared all the other scouts half to death."

His hands stilled on your shoulders, and he pulled you closer, his chest pressing against your back. "I only scare people because I care," he murmured in your ear, his breath warming against your skin.

"Is that so?" You turned to face him, a soft smile on your lips, and you reached up to trace the line of his jaw. "Well, in that case, I guess I should be grateful."

"You should be. Now, let's get you rinsed off. We wouldn't want you to be late, now, would we?"

"No, we wouldn't.”

As you stepped out of the shower, you reached for the towel hanging on the rack.

Dressed in the Nirvana shirt and a pair of his boxers, you padded back into the kitchen, finding Jin-Man leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee in his hands. He looked up as you entered, his eyes automatically dropping to take in your attire. He said nothing, but you could see the flicker of something in his gaze—the ghost of a memory, perhaps.

His other friends saw his talent and were dazzled by it at first. You saw how he sometimes struggled to meet the eyes of strangers. You understood that, underneath all his smart (and sometimes brilliant) talk, in spite of his stern expressions, you could hurt him badly if you wanted to. He was, in your dad's words, cruising for a bruising. Had been his whole charmed smucking—no, check that—his whole charmed fucking life. Tonight, the charm could break. And who could break it? You could.

Any tension laying dormant was pushed aside as you reached into the refrigerator, selecting ingredients for tonight's culinary endeavor: crisp bok choy leaves, thick udon strands slightly sticky to touch, and leftover samgyeopsal marinated with sesame oil, which filled the air with a slightly charred meaty smell while cooking yesterday. The symphony of chopped vegetables thudding on a wooden cutting board, accompanied by a sizzling pan flanked by the soft purring of the refrigerator, announced another evening feast showtime.

Finally, you couldn't take it anymore.

“Stop staring and say something, Jin-Man.”

He blinked, his gaze lifting from the coffee mug in his hands to meet yours. “You look…”

“Don’t say it.”

“Okay.”

You let out a sigh of relief, turning back to the stove.

“I wasn’t going to say you look good.”

“No?”

"Nope," he said, maintaining eye contact while parking his well-loved first edition Penguin mug with a soft thud. "You've got this 'This is my kitchen' glow about you—no make-up, tousled midnight hair against your cheeks, and my shirt on your body... You look like you belong at home, in this kitchen, with me."

“Oh, shut up, Jinman. Are you sure that coffee isn't spiked? That cheap bag of Dong Suh you've been hoarding since you bought it from that old market in Gyeongju?"

He laughed then, a deep, rich sound that echoed warmly around the room, bouncing off the peeling sunflower-yellow wallpaper and the worn-out, wooden cabinets. "I promise, it's just regular coffee. But if you're not careful, I might start spouting poetry next.”

"I'd like to see you try," you challenged as you moved to add the noodles to the boiling pot.

At the same time, however, a soft melody began to fill the room. Turning, you saw Jinman’s back turned towards you. He was hunched over an old radio placed precariously on the window ledge over the sink—an old Philco with a cracked case. It had been his mother’s; he kept it out in the barn and listened to it while he was choring. It's the only thing of hers that he still has, and you keep it in the window because it's the only place where it will pick up local stations. It was secondhand even then, when Jin-Man gifted it to her after earning his first paycheck, but when it was unwrapped and she saw what it was, she grinned until it seemed her face would crack and how she thanked him! Over and over!

The tinny sound of the old device was playing a song that you recognized immediately—it was your mother's favorite song. A smile tugged at your lips as you watched him, his fingers delicately turning the knobs to get the best reception.

At the end, he cocked a thumb at the radio and said, stupidly proud of his useless knowledge, "That's Busker Busker. The original indie version."

"Jeong…I—”

You had no idea where to go from there, and it seemed there was no need. The man raised the forefinger of his left hand like a teacher who meant to make a particularly important point, and the smile actually resurfaced on his lips. Some sort of smile, anyway.

"Wait," he said.

"Wait?"

He looked pleased, as if you had grasped a difficult concept. "Wait."

And before you could say anything else, he simply walked off behind you, turning off the stove before his hands found your waist. His warm body pressed against your back, his head burying itself in the crook of your neck.

The aroma of your cooking, mixed with the familiar scent of Jin-Man and the sound of the old song playing on the radio, transported you back to simpler times. Times when life was not about surviving, not about fighting, but about living. About enjoying moments like these.

He began to sway, his movements leading you in a slow dance around the kitchen. His touch was gentle yet firm and you allowed him to lead, your body moving in rhythm with his as you danced barefoot on the cold ceramic tile floor.

Beyond the rustic kitchen windows, Mother Nature cooed her own ballad—soft chirps cushioned in cool country air under the moon's watchful eyes, dressing everything in stretched-out shadows—that played on repeat. Gunpowder was outside too busy bullying a moth under a moon-bathed silhouette, while Ji-An’s gentle snores added a comforting motif to your nighttime symphony.

It felt like you were in some sort of dream, the reality of your world forgotten for a moment. You were not a killer, not a fighter. You were just a woman, dancing in the kitchen with the man she secretly might like.

Turning you around, he looked down at you, his gaze soft and filled with emotions you could not decipher. Your heart pounded in your chest as you looked up at him through your eyelashes, your fingers idly playing with the hem of his worn-out puma shirt.

The world outside did not matter at this moment. The only thing that mattered was Jin-Man and the way he held you, the way he looked at you. You could see a mirror of your own emotions in his eyes—longing, fear, and a hint of sadness.

As the last note of the song played, you rose to your tiptoes, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. It was filled with promise, with hope—a kiss that said more than words ever could.

As you pulled away, you rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as the two of you stood in the middle of the kitchen, the smell of your cooking still lingering in the air.

"Welcome home, Y/N," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the soft hum of the radio.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you belonged.

[hungriestofbears]

A year ago, I met up with my university's reform rabbi and a group of friends to go out to Brooklyn for a multi-congregational Simchat Torah event. I was excited. But then we received the news about the attack.

I was sitting in the shuel numb, eating food somehow, watching orthodox students dancing and laughing because they didn't know. When we arrived in Brooklyn, it was a somber service with no dancing. I was wondering if my friends and family in Israel weren't responding because of the chag, or something worse I couldn't let myself think about. As October progressed, my Jewish friends and I experienced more blatant antisemitism in Manhattan. Slurs, spitting at us, throwing coins. Every day, I waited for the bus by a huge wall covered in hostage posters that were torn down every day, and replaced every morning without fail. I stared at the graffitied facts of elderly Holocaust survivors, girls my age, children.

As many Holocaust survivors are still alive, so are the Nazis that tried to genocide us, and all the goyim who stood by and watched and let it happen. Their ideology is not dead and it feeds the propoganda of the Pro Palestine movement. The world has grown comfortable using anti Zionism as a cover for antisemitism when 90% of Jews are Zionist, and their hate only proves to us more why we need Israel as a safe haven. They can choose to ignore the news they want, to call the news that they disagree with all lies and the news they want to believe as all 100% true - but that will never change the truth. That Jews predate their Christianity and Islam, and many have tried to wipe us off the face of the earth and they won't succeed now. We have survived and we are survivors and we will continue to survive however much they don't want us to. Am yisrael chai and bring the hostages home at any cost necessary.

[clowningaroundmars]

punkflower hcs bc i need to see more of them being cute teen boys together.... like, playful and creative and stuff

looong long wall of text under the cut (no nsfw)

♡ miles and hobie definitely exchange art often, even collabing on some punk zines and graffiti pieces occasionally. hobie also makes mixtapes on cassettes and slaps a million stickers on them just for his bf. miles appreciates the kind gesture but reminds hobie that he doesnt have a cassette player. "yet," hobie tells him with a wink :)

♡ miles draws a million little doodles for hobie on scrap paper, post it notes, hobie's gear, hobie himself. ofc hobie loves them all, esp when he gets to go home with his arms and chest covered in stars, cartoons, graffiti, and hearts

♡ miles is a lot more shy about dancing in public than hobie is, but whenever they manage to have any downtime at all hobie will wrap his arms around miles and sway them around. if music is playing anywhere, hobie will bop to it and get miles to join in

♡ hobie's love language? touch. any kind, anytime, anywhere, for any reason. words of affirmation come next

♡ miles' love language? quality time, and he's big on kissing. hobie isnt much of a kisser but loves his sunflower just the same, and does not complain at all when miles places little kisses on his hands, ears or his back

♡ sometimes hobie will be a lil mean to miles just as a flirty thing. just usual teenage boy stuff like kicking miles' sneakers, manspreading to get into his space if they're sitting anywhere together, using his height to bully miles into a corner away from everyone so they can flirt some more, crashing into miles on purpose just to be annoying

♡ anytime they get to go on multiverse missions together they somehow manage to get into the craziest shenanigans. breaking into a zoo to stop a villain from mutating the animals, saving a group of schoolkids on a field trip from a killer robot (?), one time hobie even drove a runaway car to stop it from crashing right into jamaica bay and miles was scarred for life

hobie tries to control the car as he haphazardly swerves it around pedestrians and barely manages to miss a group of elderly people.

miles clings onto his seat for dear life. "HOBIE!! you're gonna kill us man, where'd you get your license from!?" he yells.

hobie scoffs. "license?! i said i could drive, mate, i aint mention nuthin' 'bout no license!"

♡ hobie's universe is set in the 1970's and living in a dystopian police-state means it's too risky to bring back a phone with him, so he's often left out of spiderkid groupchats. miles still tries to keep him up to date on the latest memes and inside jokes though. they also have their own inside jokes too

♡ hobie wouldn't bring a smartphone with him anyways since he's so mistrusting of tech in general. video games, laptops, and "smart" tech mystify him, and smart watches? forget about it. when miles gets one for christmas one time, hobie clowned on his bf so hard the watch was never seen again

♡ that being said, they love exchanging music often so the only piece of technology hobie ever brings back to his dimension is an ancient half-busted ipod (it was probably rio's at one point) filled with music miles managed to download for him that week. spiderman-ing and living as a homeless teen means hobie doesn't get much time to explore genres outside of the UK punk scene and listening to brand new genres is often a trip! hobie finds out he loves drum n bass, grindcore, industrial techno, UK drill, deep house and 90's hip hop

♡ hobie gets miles to make him cool posters for whatever venue he plans on (or doesnt plan lbr) playing at every now and then

♡ rio LOVES hobie. hobie is the perfect gentleman (gentlespider?) around her and often tries to help her around the house when he can. miles... does not enjoy how much his mom favors his partner. jeff is also not so crazy about this smart-mouthed punk

♡ miles and hobie absolutely swap clothing as often as possible, with hobie "borrowing" miles' clothes more often. miles' parents keep commenting on how much of a rockero he looks with all the punk stuff and hobie never returns clothes without having altered them in some way (pins n bits everywhere, a mysterious rip or two here n there, pinned-up sleeves, etc)

♡ miles is absolutely horrible at cooking and feels left out when he sees hobie helping his mom in the kitchen. he desperately tries to learn, but it's a wonder how he hasnt sliced his fingers off yet trying to peel and cut platanos so they can make tostones

♡ for a person who's built like a lamppost, hobie is shockingly graceful with his movements. he always slips around a room like a cat and miles is so jealous of that. long gangly limbs should be a deterrent from moving like That and yet here he is, practically pirouetting around miles for fun

♡ which is a total TRIP when they go out swinging around a city. once the mask is on, every movement hobie makes is chaotic, frantic and unpredictable. spiderpunk and hobie are very different people sometimes

♡ rio often points out hobie's thinness as a typical hispanic mom does ("jóven, pero tu 'ta tan flaco, hobie honey come eat! i have leftovers here!") and miles also agrees that hobie could eat a lil more too. he is always sneaking bits of food into hobie's pockets or bags, saving fries and last slices for his partner. sometimes hobie brings home armfuls of tupperware filled with caribbean food back to his boat

♡ in return, hobie is like a magpie and brings back shiny gifts for them, some handmade stuff too. miles' drawers and nightstand are filled with jewelry, bottles, knickknacks, and other handmade accessories. his walls are filled with collages and zines hobie makes for him and rio bought frames for some of the pieces he makes her

♡ the first person to say "i love you" was miles, but by accident. after realizing it, he was nervous as hell worrying that hobie would clown him to death since he didnt seem like a big romantic. instead, hobie went nuts about it in his own hobie way, writing lyrics about miles' face when he said it, doodling them together more often, teasing miles about it often but lightheartedly. he flaunts miles' love whenever he can

♡ miles has a lethal puppydog face and he KNOWS it! one 🥺 look and hobie immediately folds and gives miles whatever he wants. but not before hemming and hawing about it first, playing up his hesitation just to make miles laugh

♡ speaking of laughter, hobie does Thee Most just to see his bf laugh or smile. he will always goof off in the bg, crack jokes every 2 secs and pretend to get hurt sometimes. hobie is naturally sarcastic and goofs off in general anyways but around miles he dials it up to 200

♡ hobie tries to get miles in on the whole anarchism thing but 1. the texts and manifestos from his dimension are different than miles' and 2. miles is a teen boy. he doesn't know anything about the theory of alienation or effective mutual aid and won't really care at the moment. "mm, you'll learn all 'bout it soon enough, though... eventually," hobie muses

♡ miles is not as big on pet names as hobie is. hobie has like 24984 nicknames for miles but miles mostly sticks to just calling his partner by his name. one day during history class tho a lightbulb moment happens, and when they meet up again miles is excited

"hobie!! guess what, i really got it this time. i have a nickname that i know you're gonna love!"

"spill," hobie says as he throws an arm over miles' shoulders.

"so you always call me sunflower all the time, right? and your name is ho... bee. get it? so i was thinkin' i'm gonna call you 'honey bee' now. y'know, you're not the only one who's got corny ass nicknames! it's good, right?"

hobie has to fight not to grin like a jackass

♡ hobie's sleep schedule is atrocious so whenever miles can manage it, he tries to wrestle his partner into any bed and tucks him in. hobie is touched that his sunflower cares so much about him ♡

♡ miles almost never gets permission to sleep over other friends' houses but on the rare occasions he does, he leaps into portals and goes to visit hobie in his dimension. his fave part of New London is hobie's boat, bc they set up a big hammock for them to lay in, feeling the sway of the boat and letting it lull them to sleep. not to mention that the boat itself is totally badass, and hobie more often than not encourages miles to cover it in graffiti

♡ hobie lowkey (but highkey) loves when miles gets a little bossy, forceful or stern. he loves ribbing miles about it (the "ill do it, but not cuz you told me to" line in mumbattan was a total joke from hobie btw LOL) and saying corny shit in response to a demand, but he loves seeing miles being confident and calling the shots every once in a while. it makes him proud

♡ if they can, miles and hobie try to gather up as much food as they can and take it over to the F.E.A.S.T. that's in hobie's dimension. miles meets hobie's "family" there and gets to know the community, which feels so much more tight-knit and welcoming than Visions. once miles gets over the major jarring differences between his world and hobie's, he finds he LOVES New London

♡ miles and hobie teach each other slang from their countries and time periods, you can't change my mind. miles walks around saying shit like "bloody 'ell" and "septic" all the time. the one time hobie said "deadass" completely unironically, all of the spiderkids DIED laughing

♡ miles learns that EVERY spider is a total dweeb in some way shape or form. even hobie! hobie's awkwardness comes out when theyre in big groups of people. hobie is oddly comfy with performing in front of crowds but when he's invited to parties and tries mingling, it's so... sooo awkward. miles secretly rejoices when he finds out hobie's weakness

♡ i'm an adhd hobie truther and i hc that miles buys hobie the weirdest fidget toys he can get his hands on. along with his switchblade, jewelry, and whatever he stole that day, hobie carries various different fidget toys in his vest to keep boredom at bay

♡ hobie definitely writes songs for miles but takes a very very very long time to actually admit it. miles finally finds out when one of hobie's songwriting notebooks falls open when hanging out in his boat, and hobie comes clean about it. with miles' encouragement tho, hobie makes the decision to add some of those songs into the usual setlist his band performs

♡ if miles ever has time, he tries to attend whatever gig hobie and his band has going on. he loves to see hobie perform on stage, his energy and stage presence is always electrifying

[yxlnst]

Ghost City: SEVENTEEN's Urban Adventure

🎀 Summary 🎀 : Seventeen explores an abandoned city, facing eerie whispers and locked gates. The group navigates danger to find their way out.

🧸 Word count 🧸 : 1,270

Crack/Random

🧸 - - - - - - - - - - - - - 🎀 - - - - - - - - - - - 🧸

The sky was just beginning to darken as you stood with Seventeen at the edge of the abandoned city. Everyone had heard the rumors about this place—the old factories, the empty amusement park, the countless stories of hauntings and strange occurrences. It was a ghost town, but for you and the boys, it was an adventure waiting to happen.

"Alright, who's ready to explore?" S.Coups asked, his voice full of excitement. He held up his flashlight like a leader brandishing a torch.

"I'm always ready!" Hoshi exclaimed, practically bouncing with energy. You weren't surprised; he was usually the most enthusiastic in the group.

"Do we really need to do this at night?" Seungkwan asked, pretending to shiver from the wind. "I mean, isn't that how all horror stories start?"

"It's supposed to be spookier at night," you replied, giving him a reassuring pat on the back. "Besides, what's the fun without a little fear?"

Jeonghan chuckled. "Right, and if anyone gets scared, they can just hold hands with Seungkwan."

"Hey, I'm not scared!" Seungkwan retorted, crossing his arms. "I'm just... cautious."

The city loomed ahead, a mass of decaying buildings and overgrown streets. Broken streetlights flickered weakly, casting long shadows on the asphalt. Woozi, ever the pragmatic one, adjusted his bag and sighed. "Just remember, guys, we stick together. No wandering off."

"Yeah, especially you, Hoshi," Joshua added, his tone playful but with a hint of caution.

"Me? Why me?" Hoshi asked, feigning innocence.

"Because you have a habit of running off when you're excited," you said, pointing at him with your flashlight. "Last time, we almost lost you in the mall."

Mingyu, the tallest in the group, leaned against a rusted fence. "Alright, let's get moving. I want to see if we can find that amusement park. I heard there's a Ferris wheel that's still standing."

"You heard right," Vernon replied, pointing toward the distance. "It's that way. Let's go."

The group set off into the city, flashlights casting narrow beams of light across the deserted streets. The sound of their footsteps echoed, creating an eerie rhythm. Every now and then, you could hear distant sounds—perhaps animals or the wind—but it was hard to tell in a place like this.

As you walked, you couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement. The city had been abandoned for years, but there was something about its decaying beauty that drew you in. You noticed Wonwoo taking pictures, his camera's flash lighting up the darkness.

"This place has character," he said, capturing a shot of a graffiti-covered wall. "I bet there's some cool stuff deeper in."

The8, with his artistic eye, nodded in agreement. "It's like a canvas that's been left to nature. The decay has its own beauty."

Dino, the youngest in the group, was clearly excited to be out exploring with everyone. "Hey, let's check out that alley," he suggested, pointing to a narrow path between two buildings.

"Sure, but let's stick together," you said, leading the way.

The alley was filled with debris, and the walls were covered in faded posters and graffiti. As you walked through, you noticed that the alley led to a larger street, where the faint outline of the amusement park became visible.

"There it is!" Hoshi exclaimed, picking up the pace. "Come on, let's check it out!"

The amusement park was a surreal sight. The rides were rusted and broken, the ticket booths abandoned, and the Ferris wheel loomed over the entire area, creaking in the wind. It was as if time had stopped, leaving the park frozen in a state of decay.

"Wow," Mingyu said, looking around in awe. "This is amazing."

"Yeah, amazing," DK replied, though his voice was laced with apprehension. "But does anyone else feel like we're being watched?"

"Relax," Jeonghan said, putting an arm around him. "It's just your imagination."

You led the group deeper into the park, exploring the various rides and attractions. The bumper cars were covered in rust, the carousel had lost most of its horses, and the roller coaster was overgrown with vines. Despite the decay, there was a strange beauty to it all.

"Hey, look at this," Joshua said, pointing to an old arcade. "Let's see if anything still works."

The group entered the arcade, where the smell of dust and mold filled the air. The machines were in varying states of disrepair, but The8 found one that still had power. He pressed a button, and the screen flickered to life, displaying a classic racing game.

"Who wants to race?" he asked, a playful smile on his lips.

Dino immediately stepped forward. "I'm in! Let's do this!"

As Dino and The8 played, the rest of the group explored the arcade. You noticed that Seungkwan was a bit uneasy, his gaze darting around the room.

"What's up, Seungkwan?" you asked, noticing his nervousness.

"I keep hearing things," he replied in a whisper. "Like whispers or something."

"It's probably just the wind," you said, trying to reassure him. "This place is old, and sound travels weirdly in places like this."

But as you continued exploring, you heard it too—a faint whispering, like distant voices carried by the wind. It was hard to tell where it was coming from, but it was enough to send a chill down your spine.

The group eventually left the arcade and headed toward the roller coaster. Hoshi and Mingyu were already at the top, waving down at everyone else.

"Come on up!" Hoshi shouted. "The view is amazing!"

S.Coups led the way, helping the others climb to the top of the roller coaster. From there, you could see the entire amusement park, and beyond it, the sprawling city. The sun had fully set by now, and the city was enveloped in darkness.

As you admired the view, you heard a loud crash from somewhere in the city. It was followed by a series of distant echoes, like something—or someone—was moving through the streets.

"What was that?" Woozi asked, his eyes narrowing as he listened.

"Probably just something falling," you replied, though you weren't entirely sure.

The group quickly descended from the roller coaster, heading toward the source of the noise. The shadows seemed to grow darker as you moved through the park, and the whispering grew louder.

"Guys, this is starting to get creepy," DK said, sticking close to you.

"I agree," Seungkwan replied, looking around nervously. "Maybe we should head back."

S.Coups turned to the group, his flashlight illuminating their anxious faces. "Okay, let's not take any chances. Let's head back the way we came."

As you made your way through the amusement park, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were being watched. The whispering continued, growing louder with each step. It was like the city itself was coming to life, its abandoned buildings and empty streets filled with unseen presences.

Just as you reached the entrance to the park, the gate slammed shut with a loud bang. Everyone jumped, and DK let out a small scream.

"What the—?" Vernon said, trying to push the gate open. It wouldn't budge.

"Why is it locked?" Joshua asked, his voice laced with concern.

"It's like someone's playing a prank on us," Jeonghan said, trying to lighten the mood. "Who's got the keys?"

"This isn't funny," you said, feeling a surge of anxiety. "We need to find another way out."

The group quickly headed back into the park, looking for another exit. The whispers seemed to be coming from all directions, and the darkness felt heavier. It was clear that something was not right.

As you moved through the park, you stumbled upon an old maintenance shed. The door was slightly ajar, and you could see a dim light coming from inside.

"Maybe there's a way out through here," Wonwoo suggested, pointing to the shed.

The group cautiously entered, their flashlights cutting through the darkness. Inside, the shed was filled with old tools and machinery. But what caught your attention was a map pinned to the wall, showing the layout of the amusement park.

"Look," you said, pointing to the map. "There's a service tunnel that leads out of the park. It's right behind this shed."

"Great, let's go!" Hoshi exclaimed, eager to get out of the park.

As you followed the map, you heard a loud bang from behind you. It was like something—or someone—had slammed a door shut. Everyone jumped, and Dino let out a small yelp.

"We need to get out of here," Woozi said, his voice tense. "This place is getting weird."

The group followed the map to the service tunnel, which was hidden behind a stack of old crates. It was narrow and dark, but it seemed to lead to an exit. You took the lead, flashlight in hand, guiding the group through the tunnel.

The whispers seemed to follow you, growing louder as you moved through the darkness. It was as if the city itself was alive, its unseen inhabitants watching your every move.

Finally, you reached the end of the tunnel, where a rusty door led to the street. You pushed it open, and a gust of fresh air greeted you. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

[jewish-vents]

There was a poster near my home advertising a discord for local queer jews that advertised itself as a safe space to just hang and talk without worry of being singled out for either identity and to feel less alone if you feel rejected by either group due to the other identity. It got torn down recently. It was on a pole covered in other posters for other various things. No other one has been torn down. This one is newer than all others. Also a nearby wall used to be spray painted with "sige hile" before it got painted over. And then. Almost immediately re-graffitied with simply the word "JEW". Which is so dumb i could hardly even be offended because. Lol ok. Yes. And your point? (I know the point I'm just saying lol) At least before. Now it stings. And I feel so dumb letting it get to me. The other posters were adverts or statements of other queer things too. So. The person clearly had a problem with the jew part in their motivation for ripping it down and are cool with queer stuff. And there is no proof the person is a queer person who did it but it just feels like they probably were if they paid attention to new stuff going up on the queer pole. And then the graffiti was likely made by nazi types so probably hate queer folk too. So. Just a reminder how universally hated we are. Just feels like shit, my literal home being surrounded on all sides by it.

.

[asfodelle]

Hello, hello, here's the first scene of the one-shot I've been writing the last few months. It's about a 'He Tian is involved in the mob and returns occasionally tho feelings never leave' situationship neither can walk out of, Mo is a boxer, there's a touch of religious themes, made myself cry writing it, it's a blast.

1. May 5th 7:12 p.m. - Bell

Before leaving the car, He Tian lets out a long sigh, blowing smoke. He should probably get to praying.

The door snaps shut, echoing in the small street he parked in. Past the intersection he hears kids chatting, going home for dinner maybe. He Tian takes a second to watch himself in the reflection of his tinted windows. He readjusts the collar of his shirt, brushes his pants wrinkled from the long hours of driving, throws his hair backwards and the damp air soon gets him to fold his sleeves up. He doesn’t look so bad, he thinks. Tired. He rubs his face with both hands to bring back some color to his cheeks, then under his eyes as if he could dim the blue tint that’s been settling there, but it doesn’t have very conclusive results. He starts walking.

The entrance of the old warehouse is slightly different from the last time he’s seen it. It looks more welcoming, but it might just be a trick of the light. The peach clouds of the spring evening just paint a nicer ambiance than the grey winter sky did, last January. The gates have been adorned by new tags that have been sprayed on top of the old faded ones and there are flyers encouraging people to join the Sunday mass down the street glued all over, though they don’t reach very high. He Tian imagines a troop of old women roaming the streets, spreading the holy word but his little game of guesswork doesn’t help him relax one bit. 

He gets in front of the door, a smaller entrance within the large sealed gate that used to let trucks in and out of the warehouse. He grips the handle for a second, takes a long inhale and gets in. His eyes slowly adjust to the dimmer lighting but he quickly notes that, contrary to its facade, the inside of the place hasn’t changed much since the last time he saw it. Between high walls of concrete and sheets of metal lie mismatched sets of equipment. Barbells, slick black punching bags, discolored benches of various sorts, a couple old bikes in the back, punch mitts forgotten over a pile of cardboards. A few training boxing rings give shape to the room, the space between them gives the illusion of corridors. The walls are covered in overlapping posters, the grey disrupted by layers on layers of paint and graffitis that even cover the high windows. They let small rays of tinted light in like the stained glass of a church, though the candles are replaced by tens of flickering LEDs lights. There are a few people here and there, busy with dumbbells or talking in their little spot but the room is so wide they can’t be heard. Stairs crawl by the walls leading to more rooms and places He Tian had never been to. Music resonates, low and muffled from a speaker somewhere in a corner.

In the middle of the room stands another ring, a bright red one standing higher than the rest, with white thick cords. When He Tian sees him, he’s sat there, on the side of the wooden platform the red ring rests on. He's listening attentively to a trio of teenagers, leaning backwards on his hands. 

Guan Shan had taken a liking to boxing in high school. A good outlet, he said, one that taught him to measure his emotions. It stuck through the years and he’s been great at it. Then he started giving advice to newcomers, to give some of spare time to help young blood he saw himself in and slowly it transformed into actual lessons and training sessions he holds after work. These kids have been coming here for a couple years now, He Tian remembers them. They are reenacting punches and kicks, arguing and giggling over different combinations and they turn to their coach for approval whenever they get a new idea. He nods along and fixes their posture a couple times, something soft in his eyes. He looks beautiful. Toned and pale as ever, the bare skin of his chest clashes with the black shorts and the tattoos that spangle his body. He Tian stands close to the entrance, leaning cross-armed, his shoulder against a pillar and keeps on watching over him though he struggles to truly appreciate the contrast of colors due to the fifth character in the scene.

A guy he doesn’t know is sitting close to Guan Shan, too close. His hair is an ugly shade of bleached blond and he keeps looking at Guan Shan whenever he speaks with big dumb eyes, mouth agape and enamored. He looks young, but maybe He Tian only feels so much older than his age. He looks stupid.

He Tian hasn’t moved but Guan Shan suddenly lifts his head and catches him right away, as if he’d known all along where he was hiding. The way his eyes widen for a second betray his surprise however but he quickly regains control over his face. It seems like he excuses himself from his little group, the blonde argues something, he wants to follow but he’s brushed away by a dismissing hand.

Guan Shan glances back to He Tian’s shadowy corner and starts moving towards the closed rooms in the back of the building, grabbing a few boxes on the way. He Tian traces behind him with a confident walk and ignores how all of his body stiffens with apprehension, every single muscle a little too tight. Guan Shan enters the room first and He Tian follows a few seconds after. He closes the door behind them. The handle creaks and his hands are sweaty.

It’s not quite messy in here, but the little office room is packed. The desk is covered with stacks of papers, cardboard boxes are neatly piled up in the back of the room; some are already opened and uncover the gloves, the tapes and bandages they hold. The window is open too, letting in the noise of the city. Guan Shan sets the boxes he carried over on top of one of the piles and gets to fumbling in his bag, almost turning his back to the door where He Tian stands.

« Hi. » he tries, and braces himself for what’s coming. 

« You know it’s fucking weird creeping in corners like this? »

He Tian pinches his lips in a thin line.

« Why are you here? » Guan Shan asks then, still busying himself in his bag. He doesn’t sound angry, just a little cold, maybe annoyed at the disturbance.

« I’ve got some business to handle in town. »

« I thought you were abroad until September. » Guan Shan muses, finding the shirt he seemed to be looking after, a large black one. He Tian follows his hands and notices he has splatters of white and red paint over his forearms, his short nails are stained too.

« The schedule is never really steady. » 

Guan Shan scoffs. He Tian know that’s a first warning but he can’t help but focus on the way his muscles jolt, on the way they flex as he flips the shirt over. He tries to not lose his eyes on the curve of his biceps. It’s a struggle. 

« I negotiated a little. » He adds « Took over Cheng’s spot. »

Little negotiations that involved a precarious alliance, three weeks of tailing for intel and a couple of threats. It was worth it.

Carefully, He Tian moves away from the door, closer to Guan Shan. He probably shouldn’t, definitely shouldn’t yet he lifts a hand and reaches out to touch his bare back. Guan Shan freezes.

« I wanted to see you. » he explains, voice low as his knuckles trace the bumps of Guan Shan’s spine. It’s daring. It might earn him a hook but the pull is magnetic.

As their routine dictates, they hadn’t parted in very good terms the last time and for that, coming back to him is always a gamble. A game of Russian roulette even and quite a dangerous version of it; one where he never even knew how many bullets were hidden in the cylinder, each of them taking a different shape. At times He Tian had handled days of scowling looks and a soft kiss that had left him bleeding out, he had received sharp words from petty fights without wincing but just the weight of Guan Shan’s rehearsed indifference could pierce his lungs and leave him breathless. He will take the hits, he does not care. It’s a game they’ve played for years now and as long as the other still accepts to pull the trigger on him, he’d take anything. After all, He Tian is the one who bound the gun to his hand in the first place.

A punch never lands this time. Guan Shan sighs, his shoulders drop then he turns around and throws his arms around He Tian’s neck, knocking the air out of him all the same. He Tian holds back tightly, and finally breathes out, his fingertips digging into hot freckled skin.

« I missed you. » He Tian whispers. What a fucking understatement. 

The arms around his neck tighten in response, only for a brief second before they hear loud noise by the door. Their embrace ends as quick as it started, Guan Shan stepping back and turning to put on the shirt he had discarded a second ago. He glares at the door, expecting it to open at any moment but thankfully, the people outside only pass by. 

« I’m training the kids all evening, and there’s a party at eleven, but I don’t think it’ll stay long. » Guan Shan says when the room has quieted down enough. 

« I’ll pick you up then. »

Guan Shan nods. That should be He Tian’s cue to leave, he has a couple things to settle tonight anyway but the other looks as if he’s pondering over something. He Tian catches how amber eyes roam over his face, for a brief moment they even settle on his mouth, but then return to the door. 

« Get lost. » he tells He Tian, tilting his head towards the door but there’s no bite into it.

When He Tian gets back to the car, his cheeks hurt. In the tinted window, his smile might look shy but it’s wider than it’s been in the last four months.

[goodoldfashionedengineer]

Bruce and Jasoncs first meeting- Transcribed!

Hello, I transcribed part of Batman #408, aka. Bruce and Jason’s first meeting! I did it so I would have an easier time writing my fic, like copy and paste certain dialogue, and thought that it may be useful for some others too. Each paragraph is describing one panel.

The Batmobile is parked in an alley. Three tires are missing.

Batman: I don't believe it!

Narrator: And Batman does something he has never done before, in Crime Alley

Batman: *laughs*

Batman: *kneels on the passenger's seat’s side to inspect the tires* I have to hand it to ‘em - it takes stones to rip of the Batman’s buggy

Jason is seen going to the Batmobile while looking over his right shoulder. He wears a red long-sleeved shirt, red jeans and a black vest.

Narrator: And as Batman kneels to appraise the situation, a criminal returns to the scene of the crime

Batman is still kneeling, but now Jason has walked around the car, standing in front of Batman.

Batman: Well- Come to finish the job, boy?

Jason: Whoops.

Batman stands up, Jason quickly hides the tire iron behind his left thigh.

Batman: *scowls* You’re going to give me back my tires

Jason: Who says I took ‘em?

Batman stems his hands into his hips. Jason has the tire iron perfectly behind his back. His right hand indicates that he’s nervous.

Batman: What else is the tire iron for?

Jason swings the tire iron right into Batman's right side, onto the ribs.

Jason: This!

Batman clutches his left side with his right arm. Jason is running away.

Batman: You little son of a gun

Jason: Come and catch me, you big boob!

Jason runs into an alley across from the Batmobile.

Batman looks around the corner of said alley.

Batman: I could stop him easily enough, but maybe I should let him lead me to my whitewalls.

Jason is seen climbing the fire escape of a condemned building.

He closes the door behind him. He is now in the hallway of said condemned building. There is a bottle and trash on the floor, graffiti and other writings on the walls, the ceiling has a hole in it. At the end of the hallway is a window. It seems to have been barricaded with wood planks once, but only the top ones remain, the ones on the bottom have been destroyed.

Jason walks into a room across from the door he just closed. The green paint is missing here and there, leaving patches that reveal the wall material. There is a thin, rugged, yellow carpet on the floor. In the corner across from the door is a mattress on the floor. Two pillows are at the head of it that is touching the wall and a blanket is covering neatly the rest of the mattress. Next to the head of the mattress where the pillows lie is a pile of comics, the top one being “Ape-man”. A few feet in front of the mattress on the left side is also a passageway to the next room. When you enter the room, there are two tires leaning against the left wall. When you enter and look to the right, there are two tires stacked on top of each other with a third leaning against them.

Jason is now sitting on the mattress, about to light a cigarette. Batman is standing right behind him in the other room, a corner of his cape goes around the passageway. On the wall to the left of the mattress is a poster with a skull, the words “Poison Idea” written on it. On that side is also a stereo on a shelf, which also hosts other things, probably cassettes (as CD’s only became popular in the mid 90’s and this comic was published in 1987), maybe some comics and books too. On the wall behind the mattress is a poster of a man with the words “Eric Peters”.

Batman steps into the room Jason is occupying, standing in front of the mattress.

Batman: That’ll stunt your growth, kid.

Jason is standing up and pointing at the two tires leaned against the wall. His right hand is balled into a fist.

Jason: Take your lousy tires, already, and go- just lemme alone!

Batman spreads out his arms

Batman: Son… do you… live here?

Jason: Yeah! What of it? It’s mine and I like it.

We get a wider shot of the room. The mattress is at the left back corner. In the right back corner is an armchair propped against the right wall. Right next to it’s left is a small carton or shelf and next to it are stacked multiple cans on top of each other. On the right side of the armchair is a barricaded window, beneath it is a heating. There is not just one side board shelf on the back wall where the mattress is, but multiple. All filled very neatly. Next to the last shelf are again multiple cans which are stacked very neatly together.

Jason is scowling, having his arms crossed. Behind him on one of the shelves is a frame, in it the portrait of a woman.

Batman: And your mother?

Jason: She’s dead. She got sick. Okay? Now get outa here!

Jason turns towards Batman and swings his right fist at him. Batman has his left arm outstretched and put it on Jason's head in order to keep him away from him.

Jason: Or do I have to make you leave?

Batman picks up Jason by Jason’s left wrist, lifting him into the air.

Batman: You’re a scrappy one, I’ll say that much for you.

Batman is standing at the ground, at the bottom of the fire escape. Jason is letting a tire down from above, the tire being tied on a rope.

Batman: I’m afraid it isn't enough to just give me back my property

Jason and Batman are walking side by side, Batman having clutched one tire under his arms, Jason rolling a tire in front of him.

Jason: You’re gonna fink to the cops, huh? Figures.

Batman: Not the cops. I think we do have to tell the juvenile authorities about you…

Jason is still looking forward, while Batman is looking at Jason.

Jason: I can fend for myself just fine! I know how to make it on the streets - and I like it there!

Jason is looking up, pointing with his right thumb at himself. He seems determined.

Jason: I don’t want to wind up in some crummy orphanage. Or some foster home where I’m somebody's pet charity case. I’m my own man! Me, Jason Todd!

Jason is kneeling down and mounts a tire onto the Batmobile, Batman standing next to him.

Batman: Jason Todd, huh? Pretty fancy handle for a street kid. How long was your mother sick?

Jason: Over a year. I found her food and stuff - kepr her warm - and alive… long as I could

Batman is standing behind Jason now and puts his left hand on Jason's shoulder.

Batman: What about school, son?

Jason: I graduates a long time ago - from the streets of Crime Alley.

There is one more page which I didn't transcribe because it’s about Batman bringing Jason to Ma Gunn’s School, something which I won’t include in my fic. Feel free to check out the comic tho, I highly recommend it. Especially the next one too, because Jason helps Batman take down the headmaster in her crime scheme!

[untitled-tmnt-blog]

Did I get all the references?????

Swanatello, Adagio, Aftermath, MNMC, True Colors, Firefight, Wanderer, Marble Sky, Replica, Sep Leo AU, Villain PB&J, Tiz Sep AU, Spitfire, EW, Neon Void, + the other graffiti acronyms (dunno what many of them are) and the books I think are fics

Close -- you got a lot of them!

It's been a few months since that animatic, so you're testing my memory a bit... but I think these are all of the references:

Swanatello is on the cover of the book Splinter is reading Leo & Donnie

"Little Jacob's Ladder" is an actual Lou Jitsu movie mentioned in the show, but Tapa's bunny sona is added as a reference to the Jacob's Ladder comic

Adagio in Green Tea is obviously referencing Adagio in Green

The "Return of Goo Jitsu" poster includes the goop guy from 2 Arms Left

"Lou Jitsu and the Mystery of Picacho Peak" is a reference to I May Be Invisible, But I Still Look Good

"The Aftermath" is a reference to both Happyfoxx's comic, and starrcrossrose's fic

"Mortal Ninja Midlife Crisis" is referencing Mutant Ninja Midlife Crisis

"True Colors" references v-albion's AU of the same name

There is a drawing of baby Dee, from the Snapper Lou AU

The water bottles labeled "emotional support" are a reference to the Emotional Support Water Bottles series

The "Firefight" poster is referencing the fic of the same name

The "Wanderer" poster is referencing the comic of the same name

There are a couple drawings of characters from the Marble Sky comic (non-tmnt)

Schematics of Omega and the probe are a reference to Replica

A book on Donnie's desk is titled "Idiot's Guide to Blindfolded Chess," after the fic of the same name

The schematic of Lloyd the Android is a reference to The Future and a Robot (non-tmnt)

The Leo with eyebrows is a reference to Our Other Halves

The drawing of Donnie's goggles is the version from the Phantom Pains comic

A book on Mikey's nightstand is titled "Times Five," after the fic of the same name

A drawing of One from the Sep Leo AU comic is on the wall

Jester Leo belongs to liketheletter-l

A drawing of the Villain PB&J Duo is on the wall

Books on the bookshelf are titled after some fics that I have bookmarked on AO3: Tapping Out, The Care of a Carapace, Who're You Hiding, Panic Buttons, The Shadows May Go, Trinkets, and Every Night the Longest Day

"Two Shades of Lou" is a reference to the comic Two Shades of Blue

"The Sun is Still Red" is a reference to The Sky Is Still Red

Magazines on the ground include the phrases "Grown Apart" and "Here There Be Turtles," referring to those comics

"Tiz September Auction" is a reference to Tiz Sep AU

The turtle named Cissy is a reference to Siblingquest 202X

KTech refers to the comic of the same name

Spitfire refers to the AU of the same name

EW refers to Empyrean Weeping

SAINWB refers to Same As It Never Will Be

WMBID refers to Wake Me Before I Dream

AMW refers to At My Worst

Lost Star refers to the AU of the same name

TNV refers to The Neon Void

... And obviously, the animatic itself is for the fic Hide and Seek!