#to find any good references pictures of his tattoos

[sunny-and-the-flowers]

Hi friends!✨️👋🏻

I need your help, please. I'm currently working on this fanart, but unfortunately, I don't have all of Boomer's tattoos. SO, I wanted to ask to all Captain Boomerang's fans: Do any of you have a more detailed pic of his arms tattoos from "Kill the Justice League"?

Here's the progression I'm making on this fanart. Thanks to everyone for the kind support!

[k-hotchoisan]

Yunho smut with his hands? 🥴

Oh god I love his hands I want them around my neck so bad. My choking kink is off the fucking charts whenever Yunho’s hands are present. Here’s something for you, pretty. Enjoy Yunho and his pretty little hands.

Synopsis: what are the odds of getting a tattoo and getting fucked by your tattoo artist because you cannot stop staring at his fuckin hands

Warnings/genres: tattoo au!, mention of needles, slight size kink, choke kink, unprotected sex, hands kink, cream pies, fingering

A/n: I am so sorry for the amount of typos. I fucking swear this isn’t what usually happens omg

You stood before the apartment door, double checking that you got the right address—yeah you definitely did. He did mention that it was a home-based studio. Your first tattoo appointment and you were so nervous because you don’t know what to expect. Hongjoong had assured you to just go with an open mind. You didn’t know much about your tattoo artist, only knowing that his name was Yunho, nonetheless, you did really like his art style, and you soon settled on him with Hongjoong’s advice.

Back to present, you pushed the doorbell, and it echoes through the apartment. There is a silence before the doorknob clicks. The door pulls back, and before you, stood a really tall male. His sharp eyes make him look very intimidating and for a moment your heart races, and you wonder if you stopped into the wrong house.

“You are?” He asks, and rumbles you even more because his voice is so fucking deep for no reason.

You manage to find the voice stuck in your throat, as you reply, “y/n, here for a 7pm tattoo appointment with Yunho?”

His face softens immediately as his eyes brighten up. “Ah right! Yunho’s client! Come in. I’ll get Yunho in a bit”. He ushers you in as you remove your shoes.

You step inside, soaking in the interior of the apartment. It was definitely a shared space—the common areas were spacious, maybe just spacious enough to serve for two people. It was a pretty clean looking, monochromatic layout.

“Oh right, my name’s Mingi. Song Mingi, but you can call me Mingi”, he introduces himself brightly, his smile contagious. “I’m his room mate.” You smile back.

“Please excuse the mess by the way”, he laughs as he leads you through the corridor, and the both of you are standing in front of a wooden door. Mingi knocks the door before saying “Hyung, I’m coming in” with a raised voice. He pushes the door handle down and the door opens. The subtle hint of lavender hits you from the humidifier and it instantly relaxes you.

On the cushioned rolling stool sat your tattoo artist, his frame is as tall as Mingi’s, messy brunette locks tussled on his head. He’s in simple black shirt but he still looks so fucking good. He’s absorbed on his iPad, still sketching out the little details of what seems to be your tattoo.

You feel your heart beat a little too quickly the moment your eyes land on him because you did not expect him to be that attractive.

And you are gonna be stuck with him for at least a couple of hours together.

Mingi raps the door again, and that’s when Yunho looks up, and you take a good look at his face. He doesn’t look like whatever you expected him to look like, well, not that you had any pictures to reference him from to begin with. But definitely, he is pretty fucking good looking. You stay rooted at the entrance of the door, mooning over your tattoo artist in a tight black shirt while he eyes you up and down with a soft smile.

“Oh right! My apologies”, Yunho finally speaks and he sounds like honey, and it suddenly makes you slightly thirsty. “Hey. I’m Yunho. We finally meet”, he greets with a hand up.

His fucking hands. Oh my fucking gods. He has a silver ring cuffing his index finger. Then he beckons you to go over to him. Mingi tilts his head to Yunho’s direction before saying that he needs to leave, giving you a small nod before shutting the door.

You have no choice but to inch closer to Yunho, who’s smiling at you like a fucking golden retriever, and you wonder to yourself ‘this dude is a fucking tattoo artist?’ Yunho beckons you to take seat on an empty stool across him as he mentions to give him a couple more minutes to finish up the design draft. You nod, even if he doesn’t see it since his attention is back on his iPad. You quietly stare at the way he makes his strokes with his Apple Pencil.

And you get a closer look at this long, slender fingers. You’ve never met anyone with such pretty hands before, yet the way he holds the pencil is so gentle, and almost attractive for some reason. It’s especially the way his fingers are veiny and long—his joints are angled in such a way it frames his fingers so fucking prettily. Yunho looks up and catches your gaze, and you flinch slightly, thinking you are caught in the act.

“Eager to see your design?” He asks playfully, a small smile tugging the corner of his lips. Oh thank fucking god.

“Yeah of course. I wonder what you came up with”, you quickly say, pretending to peek over at the iPad.

He brings up the iPad higher to his eye level and it’s the way his fingers curls around the tablet. He flips it over to you and you soak in the design he drew out for you. It’s what you wanted. You also don’t miss out how clean and neatly trimmed his fingernails are.

“Is it to your taste? Got any last minute changes you want before I print it out?” He asks, as he stands up and walks over to the printer. You shake your head slowly, trying not to swoon at how deliciously tall he is.

He beams. “Great! Then I’ll print a couple of sizes out. Take your pick okay? I’ll go grab some water for you.” You nod as he disappears out of the room through the door. The printer starts up and it begins to print out the stencil.

You look around the room. Despite it looking small, it was pretty cozy looking. The room has comfortable lighting, with lamps, which you assume are for the tattoo work. There’s a small space just behind the empty stool you’re seated on, with smaller studio lights pointing towards the wall, which you deduce is probably where he takes photos of his finished products. His tattoo machine sat near to the tattoo bed, which was cling wrapped for sanitary purposes, including the pillows. Finally, a small desktop computer set up was against the wall, perpendicular to the small studio lights, with a printer at the side. The door knocks, a short pause before it pushes open, and it’s Yunho with a drink in hand.

He walks over to you and hands it to you, his fingers brushing against yours and it takes you so much nerves to have any wild thoughts. You take a sip to distract yourself as you hear scissors cutting through the tracing paper. As you open your eyes, Yunho is so fucking near your face that it makes your heart jump.

“Oh gosh! Did I scare you?” Yunho laughs as he takes the cup from your hand. “My apologies.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine. You just move so quietly”, you joke. Yunho smiles in reply as he places the cup on his desk.

“I need you to lift your shirt up for me”, Yunho instructs, staring at your abdomen.

Fuck, for a moment your mind plunges into some unknown territory. You forgot that your tattoo placement was above your hip. You roll the fabric up high enough, and you fucking jump when you feel Yunho’s fingertips brush against your skin, on your waist. “It’s here right? The placement that you wanted?” He confirms, his touch not leaving your skin. “Yeah”, you manage out.

He cuts a piece of tape to adhere the stencil onto your skin before bringing you over to the full length mirror right by the bed to let you confirm your placement. After a few adjustments (and hell of of him touching your waist with his bare hands which was definitely giving you insane haywire thoughts), you came to a placement which you are satisfied with. He sticks the stencil to your skin, much like a temporary tattoo, pulling out the tracing paper and letting it dry, before having you lie down in the bed as he prepared his inks.

“First tattoo?” He asks as he checks his gun.

“Yeah”, you reply, playing with your fingers from the nervousness.

Yunho chuckles. “That placement might hurt a little though. You’re a brave one.”

You only release a nervous laugh—wondering if it is for the tattoo or because of Yunho. He turns to you, tugging against his ring to remove it before snapping black latex gloves on before pushing your shirt higher. You bite you lip.

How the fuck does his hands look even better gloved? The black latex only enhances the length and shape of his hands, which curls around his tattoo gun.

“I’m gonna start now. Let me know if you need a break, yeah?” Yunho assures. You know it’s probably a customer service thing but god, why did he have to be so attentive?

He switches on the gun and it buzzes. He begins tattooing and sure enough, the placement you picked definitely hurt quite like a bitch, but you force yourself to pull through it.

“Is this okay? Does it hurt?” He asks before continuing.

“It does, but I think I’ll be fine”, you reply, thinking of something else to distract yourself from the pain. Throughout the session, Yunho makes conversations with you, making you laugh when you probably shouldn’t because he was stabbing needles at your waist but still. He was amazing at breaking the ice, especially in such a seemingly intimate space. You feel yourself unwind a little, and although it still hurt, you don’t feel so tense anymore. Nonetheless, you could not shake the thought about his hands running down your body every time you glance at Yunho doing your tattoo.

“Yeah, I don’t know why I even wanted to get a tattoo when I have a shit pain threshold”, you say in between soft giggles to cover up the pain and soreness that was starting to sink in.

“But you’re doing so well for me”, Yunho replies absentmindedly with a smile. Your head spins the moment he says that, butterflies were invading your stomach. What the fuck was that even? Now your stomach in twisting into knots when he’s praising you like that.

“We’re almost done. Hold on a little longer for me yeah?” He assures again, as you bear through the pain. It’s over quickly as he smoothes over your tattoo with a final swipe of the paper towel. He moves back a little to admire his work. He looks satisfied. He pulls his gloves off and sits you up gently, your stomach still fluttering as his fingers brush against your skin. He brings you to the full length mirror, and there you admire how gorgeous the tattoo looks.

“It looks amazing” you gasp, turning your side to have a better view of it. Yunho looks proud. He has his phone in his hand now and requests a few photos, which you obliged to of course. He adjusts your shirt before snapping a few pics.

“I really like how this turned out,” you gush. “Thank you Yunho.”

Yunho shakes his head. “Thank you for entrusting me to it, especially as your first tattoo.”

You laugh in response, and you don’t realise that he’s kneeled down at your waist, preparing to stick on the second skin. He sticks it on and instructs you on proper tattoo care before making another appointment for a touch up. You thank him and left the apartment, heart still beating in your ears.

You’ve developed a way too big of a crush on your tattoo artist now.

The touch up appointment came way too quickly than you thought. To be fair, you were still not over it, and as much as the tattoo scabbing and itch , it couldn’t compare to way Yunho’s hands kept brushing against your waist, as he checks on your tattoo. But in the past month, all you think about was Yunho and his fucking hands. Even now, when he’s only taking a look at your healed tattoo, your mind in swimming in the most dirtiest places you wanted him to touch.

You shut your eyes and bite your lip so no weird sound comes out from your mouth. You feel Yunho’s breath right at your waist as it tickles your skin, a soft sigh escapes your lips as your tattoo artist continues to rub against the tattoo.

And it doesn’t go unnoticed by Yunho.

He could very easily just tug your pants down and you would let him because fuck, he’s all you can think about now. Yunho stands up, and definitely notices how flushed your skin is looking, and he decides to test waters. He traps you at the tattoo bed, and you hear your heart in your ears as he inches closer. Now he’s pretty much towering over you as his fingers are tracing against your waist, sending goosebumps down your skin. “Your tattoo healed so nicely”, he says, hooking his index finger and thumb to your chin so you’d meet his gaze. Your gaze travels down to his pretty lips and he takes it as a sign to cup your neck and pull you in for a starved kiss, sending your mind into a fucking frenzy, and fireworks to go off in your eyelids. He tastes even better than you thought. Your eyes flutter open as he pulls back, catching your breath.

“Won’t Mingi hear?” You ask. He shakes his head. “Not anytime soon, doll.” His little pet name making you flush even harder, and it all goes down to your pussy, which is getting wet enough already, no thanks to your little fantasies and the fucking kiss.

“Now, stop thinking about him when I’m here.”

His hands touch your waist again, as he lifts you onto the tattoo bed, the plastic crinkling beneath you. You watch him breathlessly as he tugs against your bottoms, and your clothing articles drop to your ankles. Yunho doesn’t let them touch the ground, instead, he folds it hastily onto the other side of the bed, before turning his attention back to you, or your wet and sopping pussy.

Yunho licks his lips, before stroking your thighs to coax you to spread your legs open, and you do, your eyes following the way his fingers are stroking your thigh, alongside the ticklish feeling it was sending straight to your cunt.

“Such a pretty pussy, doll”, he compliments, his fingers trailing down your slicked cunt, before stopping right at your hole. He hears your little whimpers and cries, and it goes right to his hardened cock that’s pushing against his pants. But he knows being patient reaps the best rewards. He can be patient for you. Yunho’s fingers slowly plunge into your cunt, and your back arches in pleasure, because oh my fucking god, his fingers are long enough to hit a spongy area and it was sending fucking stars beneath your eyelids. Shivers tickle your spine as Yunho’s lips land soft kisses against your skin on your neck. His finger fucking was sending you into the heavens.

A kiss on your cheeks makes your eyes flutter open, and you meet Yunho’s gaze.

“I’ve noticed”, he sighs, slowing down his finger fucking in you. “That you seem really entranced by my hands since our first session.” Then he plunges his fingers in again, another cry leaving your lips as your eyes roll back.

Fuck. He found out.

“You have such pretty hands”, you admit, hiding your face with your arms, wondering what was more embarrassing—the fact that he found out about your fixation with his hands, or that he’s fucking your cunt with said fingers.

“So I should make really good use of it, right?” Yunho chuckles, adoring the way you’re squirming under his touch. He pulls your hands off your face and holds them down, and oh god, he was truly trying to drive you insane. He picks up the pace and every time his fingers press against your g-spot, your moans only grew louder and more desperate, and Yunho is progressively losing his rationale. He wants to fuck you so bad right now, and the thought of him railing you on his workspace only heightened his arousal, because he has never done that before.

Your orgasm only builds up even more quickly when he thumbs your clit after releasing your hands. Your hands are clawing his arms.

“Yunho, please. Oh god. That feels so fucking good. Gonna cum.”, you cry, lifting your legs higher, and that only encourages Yunho to pick up the pace, and the words that leave his lips-“cum on my fingers baby. You know you want to”- and a whimper escapes his lips the moment he feels your walls clench against his fingers, as moans pours out of you when your orgasm floods your senses. Yunho lets you ride your orgasm out, slowly pushing his fingers in and out again, enjoying your cunt squeezing his fingers. He pulls out slowly and you barely catch your breath, as your gaze meet his. His fingers are full of your slick and cream, and plasters it on his lips, giving them a lick before sucking this pretty fingers, covered in your arousal, fucking clean. That does nothing but throw your head into a frenzy, and your cunt clenches at nothing, as you struggle to keep your composure.

But now Yunho is the one starting to lose it, as he haphazardly wipes his fingers on his slacks before hastily pulling his pants down, his cock springing out, glimmering with precum already, very evident thanks to the studio lights. God fuck, as if his hands weren’t pretty enough, his dick is too. Yunho bites his lip, staring at how fucked out you looked, especially since he hasn’t even fucked you good yet. He pushes your knees to bend even more, before lining his cockhead to your hole before sinking his cock right into you. You couldn’t even keep your eyes open at this point. Your cunt feels slightly sore, and your walls are hugging his cock so well that Yunho is fighting not to just fuck you senseless. Yunho groans at the sensation, but he leans in for another hungry kiss with you, before his hand snakes around your neck.

He pulls back. “I’m sorry. I really need to fuck you so bad right now. Fuck.” You can’t help but find that so endearing that he’s holding back. Your fingers tug your folds open more, letting him sink his cock further deeper into your heat, which makes him squeeze your throat. It feels so fucking amazing to have Yunho choke you out like this, and you make it even more evident by clenching around his cock.

He doesn’t hesitate this time, and starts fucking you so deep and good, that you fucking swear you see a bulge below your belly button every time his cock hits your cervix. The sensation of Yunho’s cock stuffing you full every time he thrusts into you paired with his hands around your neck—softly squeezing and letting go—is only pushing your second orgasm to hit you.

“I would have never guessed that you’d get off my hands this much”, Yunho hums, looking at the way your eyes are rolled back as his balls slap your ass every time he fucks into you, your hands grabbing onto his arm, clawing again from the bliss he’s fucking you into. “Do you like them that much?”

You fight every nerve to focus on answering him, eyebrows scrunched. “Y-yeah. Fuck, I fantasise you choking me out like this since that day. I dream about letting you do whatever you want to me with your han-“ getting cut off from a sob as his cock fills you up again—or did he just grow even bigger in you? Ah, fuck, it doesn’t matter.

“Naughty girl”, Yunho mutters with a smirk, his free hand slapping against your ass, the sound rippling through the room, making you arch your back even more.

“Yunho, p-please’, you stutter, the knot in your stomach so taut. “I think I’m gonna cum again”. Now you’re sobbing. This only encourages Yunho to tighten his grip around your neck as his strokes become harder, and you snap—broken sobs leaving your throat as your cunt fucking squeezes Yunho’s cock, the sensation of his hands around your neck only amplifies your orgasm as stars burst in your eyelids, and you cream so fucking much, that it gets onto the cling wrapped bed below you. Yunho immediately loses it, his thrusts becoming straight up ruts. He releases his grip from your neck, and the oxygen returns immediately, leaving your heaving. Yunho is leaning into your ear, as his both hands are now on your waist as he fucks desperately into your overstimulated cunt.

“You’re so fucking adorable, y/n. I’m cumming too”, he grunts, as he ruts a final time before a soft moan hits your ears, then a flood of his warm cum right into your spent pussy, and oh god, did that feel amazing. Yunho stays by your side for a moment, before straightening his back, and pulling out, not missing a beat at the way his cum just trickles down your inner thigh, out of your hole.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry. This is your work space and all”, you panic, taking a handful of tissues that Yunho had offered to clean yourself up. Evidently, that doesn’t get to him because Yunho immediately rushes over the moment he notices the red marks around your neck.

“Shit, did I choke you too hard?” He asks rather frantically, lifting your chin up, rubbing against your neck gently. You shake your head, suddenly wanting to just kiss him again, but you hold yourself back. “Also, don’t worry about this. My next appointment isn’t until 4pm. I have time to clean up. You alright though?”

Fuck, why did he have to be hot and gentle? It was genuinely driving you nuts. “Is it okay if I use the toilet?” You ask, fitting your clothes on. Yunho immediately nods, rushing to the door to leave it open for you, as you gingerly head to the washroom.

You sigh as you leave the washroom, wondering if it was about to simply be a one time thing, because you were falling for your tattoo artist, hard and fast. Your gaze meets Yunho’s the moment you shut the door behind you, and Yunho has cleaning supplies in his hands. Suddenly your face flushes again, thinking at the mess the both you made.

Yunho’s smile doesn’t falter though, and you see a tint of red colouring the tips of his ears, which you could have definitely missed if you hadn’t noticed closely. There’s a strange air of silence between the both of you, that is, until Yunho speaks.

“My 4pm client is my last one for the day. I’ll text you when I’m done, if you’re down for dinner?” He asks, rubbing the nape of his neck shyly. Oh my fucking god. You laugh softly, because, holy shit, you never expected this outcome, and then you nod. “I’ll be waiting, Yunho”, you reply.

Yunho steps forward to you and strokes your head. “I’ll see you to the door then. And then I’ll see you tonight.”

[skyahri]

Tattoo |JJK Men X Reader| HC

Characters: Kento Nanami, Ryomen Sukuna, Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto

Summary: They get a tattoo for you :)

Warnings: Tattooing. Maybe implied lead up to smut? Mostly fluff tbh.

Masterlist Ko-fi

- - - - -

Kento Nanami

Never in his life had he ever considered getting a tattoo.

Even now, reclined on a bench in the parlor, he couldn't tell you what possessed him to actually go through with it.

Maybe it was all the pictures you liked on Instagram or the countless mood boards you had saved on Pinterest. Maybe it was how much he loved seeing the trail of lipstick you left on his chest after a long day of work. Maybe it was because he loved you enough to permanently alter his body just to be reminded of you.

He sat anxiously, waiting for the artist to touch up the reference he was given and print out a stencil.

He'd taken a picture of a particularly good kiss mark you'd left on his cheek a few weeks back and stolen your favorite lipstick as a color reference just for the occasion.

You had no idea this was taking place. Nanami had shot you a text mid-day saying he had to run an errand on the way home and would be an hour or so late, but never specified what he was up to.

Color you surprised when he gets home and you see the odd looking bandage poking out the top of his button up.

He laughs nervously, unbuttoning his shirt and letting it fall to rest on the creases of his elbows.

You don't say anything at first, just staring at the kiss mark- your kiss mark- on his chest. The skin is red and irritated, but you instantly recognize the familiar color of the lipstick you couldn't find this morning.

He gets hit with the reality of what he's done. You're not even his wife, and yet he's essentially branded himself with your lips forever.

Sensing his panic, you reach up and touch the fresh tattoo with one hand and cup his face with the other, pulling him on for a kiss.

He relaxes into your touch, his confidence slowly returning. He picks you up and drags you into the bedroom, hoping you'll leave a few more temporary kisses to match his new permanent one.

Ryomen Sukuna

Sukuna has never been one for love and romance, that is, until you came along. Your pretty face and soft body called to him in a way no one ever has before.

He's an intense man with intense feelings. He's head over heels for you, which is why he didn't think twice about tattooing your name along his pelvic bone.

You never thought you'd be into something like that. It seemed silly to you in the past- getting your girlfriend's name tattooed on your body? What if things don't work out or something happens or-

And then you saw it. Your name in black ink so far down that he has to dip the hem of his shorts to fully show it.

It's easily visible any time he has his shirt off, which is way more often than you had ever realized before.

You like that it's so close to his dick. It feels like a stamp of ownership; like he belongs to you and you only.

Maybe it's crazy. You've only been together a year, and haven't discussed the future or marriage hardly at all, and here he was altering his body for you.

And yet you loved it more than anything else in the world.

Satoru Gojo

He's known you for so long. You've been his classmate, his friend, his partner, his girlfriend, and now after more than a decade of being by his side, you're his wife.

He can't always wear his ring. Being out in the field, it's bound to get lost or damaged. He thinks of getting a chain to link it on, but a necklace isn't the best idea for someone always getting into fights.

He had been scrolling through Facebook when he saw a series of line work tattoos by a local artist. People, pets, flowers, etc, but the one that caught his eye was a hand.

It stuck with him for weeks, always in the back of his mind no matter what else was going on. Which is why he's doing a quick consultation with said artist just before his appointment, giving him a picture of your hand in your signature curse technique pose for him to work with.

It doesn't take long, just under an hour, before he's paid and left to go home and show you his surprise.

He's rushing through the front door of your shared home, eagerly pulling up his sleeve to show you the fresh ink on his wrist.

"For when I can't wear my ring. Besides, this way they'll know I'm not just taken, but I'm taken by you."

Suguro Geto

He'd been bouncing tattoo ideas off of you for quite some time now. He wasn't sure what he wanted or where he wanted it, just that he wanted something.

You'd suggested countless meaningful ideas. His life had lots of meaning. He had wonderful relationships with the people around him and honorable work. He was a good man with a good heart, so there had to be something right?

He brushed off most of your recommendations, but little did you know you'd inspired something more grand.

He knows how much you love plants. Your apartment looks like a forest, covered floor to ceiling in a vast assortment of greenery. You take care of them as if they were your children; having specific watering and pruning schedules and going as far as to hire people to take care of them in your absence.

So when he saw a reel of someone getting a Sakura branch tattoo down the entirety of their leg, he knew that's what he'd get.

He'd consulted with the artist a week prior, giving them several inspiration pics and telling them your favorite flower. Now he's relaxed in the chair, halfway through his estimated ten hour appointment, eager to show you what he decided on.

You knew he was getting the tattoo today, but he refused to give you anymore information than that.

Your surprised when he gets home and immediately pulls you into the bedroom, tugging down his pants and revealing a massive piece stretching from below his knee to the small of his waist.

You instantly recognize the flowers he chose, noting he'd even had them made with your favorite color.

You could cry at the sight, nothing bad, just knowing how much he loves you was enough to bring you to tears.

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

i am desperately looking for Dad!Hanma hcs but cant find good ones.. so i thought u could do something because I really do love ur posts and hcs about literally any character and anything lol

Ok these are the ones I came up with!

He keeps telling the baby secrets, you'll hear him having a full one sided conversation with the baby but when you walk into the room he suddenly stops. (He's doing it on purpose to see your reaction)

Had to learn the hard way to be quiet around a sleeping baby

When they grow up a bit more, his kid is practically glued to his shoulders, baby Hanma likes peering down at everyone while his dad talks to people.

Tells his kid to call Kisaki as "uncle Kisaki" (Kisaki never agreed to this)

Before the baby is born he will refer to it as being "Shuji jr"

Was banned from teaching the baby the alphabet after he kept replacing words "K is for knuckleduster" 

Likes to play a lot of games with his kids, it's common to find him chasing after them pretending to be a monster or something.

Tries to teach his kids about the dangers of smoking and to not be like him but does it in the worst way possible "if you touch daddy's cigarettes then the monster under the bed will get you" this results in Hanma sheepishly grinning at you as the kids cling to you and ask to sleep in your bed instead.

Likes doing skin to skin contact with his baby a lot, especially if they fall asleep on him.

Takes lots of pictures 

Tickles his kids a lot

Sometimes he carries his kids when they're small in the weirdest ways possible. You once found him holding one tucked under his arm and holding the other upside down by their ankle. The kids love it though and were giggling the whole time.

Will use his kids to team up on you to pull pranks. (Sometimes nice ones too though)

Once you found him carefully drawing on his kids hands with one of those tattoo felt tip pens after they asked for tattoos like his, it was very cute 

Has accidentally taught the kids a few swear words over the years (he always tries to make it up to you after)

[fairlyang]

Meant to be 🕷️

⋆˙⟡♡✧˖° love island au x miguel o’hara ⋆˙⟡♡✧˖°

★‧°𖦹｡⋆ miguel o’hara x mexicana!bombshell!reader ⋆｡𖦹°‧★

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ W/C: 9.1K

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ CONTENT: meeting the islanders, interesting reactions, learning about the islanders, more interesting reactions, spilling some tea x2, maybe turning multiple heads, girl talk, miguel being honest, grand tour

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ SUMMARY: you finally get to meet the other islanders, will there be tension in the air? will any heads be turned? keep reading to find out!

NOTES: there are two peters! the second I imagine to be a mix of andrew’s and insomniacs peter parker bc I love them both!! hopefully it won’t be too confusing 🫢 I’ll always try to refer to Peter B w the B!! (and I’m picturing the liuk s5 villa!)

previous part — series masterlist

Chapter 2. Sparks

You let go of Miguel’s arm and all the guys walked over to you both with wide smiles, “Guys this is Y/n.” He introduces you to them and you first hug Peter B, who was grinning his face off and the first to come up to you.

“So nice to meet you.” You say and he pulls away, checking you out for a second before grabbing your hand and giving you a quick spin.

“Nice to meet you too, wow you are stunning.” He says making you laugh then smile.

“Thank you! You’re so sweet.” You respond and go in to hug another islander who you recognized to be Daniel.

“Hi nice to meet you!” He says in your ear and you pull away saying the same.

You remember him being from Colombia which definitely also had him on the top spot of your list because you loved your fellow Latinos.

Up next was the second Peter and his hug was a little awkward but he seemed like the most introverted of the group so you understood. “Ooo I love your tattoo!” You compliment and point to his spider tattoo on his forearm.

“Oh thanks! It’s one of my favorite ones.” He says with a small smile making you aww.

After him was David, who was the literal definition of tall, dark, and handsome. He was for sure above 6’0, had a body sculpted by gods, and had some neat braids.

He was checking you out as Peter showed you another tattoo to which he just joked to stop hogging you.

You laughed and Peter just mumbled an apology to which you just replied saying you’d love to see them tomorrow so he wouldn’t feel bad.

You hugged David, having to reach up more than the others, and he hugged you back before realizing you were still wet and quickly pulled away from you. “What are you scared of a little water?” You tease and he scoffs.

“No… I just didn’t expect it.” He sassily says which almost had you gagging because huh?

“We just came back from the hot tub? Why wouldn’t we be wet…?” You challenge and he’s left speechless.

All brawn no brain, how sad.

And somewhat of an immediate ick, not a good sign.

The last two were the newest bombshells, Raul and Jordan. They both pulled you in for a hug at the same time making you smile. “Welcome to the villa!” Jordan said with a wide grin as they pulled away from you.

“Aww thank you!” You say excitedly, feeling at ease with other people that have been in your shoes.

“What an entrance I gotta say!” Raul compliments making you laugh.

“I wasn’t sure how exactly to go about it I can’t lie.” You laugh and they both give you smiles.

Raul is from Puerto Rico, has brown curly hair, and pretty hazel eyes. He was just gorgeous and from what you’ve seen, such a sweetheart. He was the one always making coffees for anyone who wanted one and even breakfast.

Jordan has brown skin, some locs, and from what you could remember he said his nationality was Nigerian but has been living in the states since he was a teenager.

At this point all of them caught your eye and you’ll be so busy tomorrow.

All the guys were behind you as the two new guys started a conversation with you, well mostly giving advice on toe stepping and to not be afraid to do it since you were in here for you.

You heard some murmurs behind you and you turned around to find two of the girls came into the kitchen.

“Oh my god you look so hot.” MJ says with wide eyes before pulling you in for a hug.

You laugh and pulled away checking her out too, “you’re pretty hot yourself girl.”

“Stop it.” She waves you off then gives you a kind smile.

“Now that is how you bombshell.” Gwen says, playfully pointing a finger at you and you giggle before hugging her.

“Yeah y’know someone had to do it.” You joked making them both chuckle.

“You guys are so gorgeous.” You say and admire how pretty MJ looked in red as well as how Gwen was rocking a black suit.

“Literally so hot.” You compliment making them both go on to compliment you.

You went on to say how you loved specific things about their outfits meanwhile you could somewhat hear Peter B yell behind you. “Girls come say hi!”

You tried to not make a face, given three of the girls didn’t come up to say anything since you got here. You weren’t going to say it was rude but you sure were thinking it.

It didn’t help that you heard groans as they stood up from the daybeds and at that point they shouldn’t have even bothered.

The guys in front of you were giving them slight glares and just confused on why they were acting like this because not even the guys were this petty when the guy bombshells came in.

You looked at Miguel and he was shaking his head, he then locked eyes with you and gave you a sympathetic smile. You gave him a shrug and gave him wide eyes then looked to your left and right.

He chuckled and finally you heard the clicks of heels getting closer. You looked over and there were the rest of the girls with annoyed looks on their faces.

“Geez if it’s that much trouble they shouldn’t even come.” You mutter and MJ sighs.

“I don’t know why they’re like this, it’s just unnecessary and rude.” She says and grabs your hand, giving it a squeeze.

“The guys don’t look too happy about it either.” Gwen whispers to you and you look at them.

Sure enough they were all shaking their heads in disapproval. Especially Miguel and the Peter’s.

“What is wrong with you guys?” Peter mumbles under his breath and Jazmin just rolls her eyes.

“We weren’t like this when Raul and Jordan came in and they took four of you on dates..” Daniel mutters, making Dana scoff.

“Well they didn’t take-“ she said but then cuts herself off because her point wasn’t even going to make sense considering Jordan snatched Jazmin from Daniel last night.

“Have some hospitality, come on you girls are better than this.” Miguel mumbles and shakes his head.

“It’s not like we’re gonna be the bestest of friends. She’s gonna steal one of you from us.” Valeria complains and pouts.

“Ah so now you don’t like that the shoe is on the other foot huh?” David chimes in and she folds her arms against her chest realizing he had a point.

At this point Gwen, MJ, Raul, and Jordan were all trying to distract you by letting you ask questions about them which let you know that MJ was an aspiring actress, Gwen had a biochem degree (which had you questioning why Miguel wished there were science nerds in here), Raul was a chef, and Jordan was a model which didn’t surprise you in the slightest.

The girls sighed then looked at each other and just shrugged, now walking over to you. Valeria was the first to introduce herself, the fake facade going away and actually giving you a genuine smile. “Hi I’m Valeria but you can call me Val. Nice to meet you girl.” She says and going in for a hug.

You hug her back then pull away, your eyes gravitating to her cute planet necklace. “Your necklace is so cute! Where did you get it?” You ask and she squeals.

“It’s from Vivienne Westwood! They had a small line of jewelry with these pendants. This was gifted by a family friend.” She says enthusiastically making you aw.

“That’s such a sweet gift, it’s so pretty.” You compliment once again and she grins.

It seemed like she was easily swayed to act one way because this Val seemed nice once she wasn’t just with the other two.

She was on the shorter side, had long navy blue hair, and fair skin. She was really gorgeous.

“It’s nice to meet you Val, hope we can befriend each other this summer.” You say and she nods.

“I’d like that.” She replies and steps aside so the next one can go.

Up next was Jazmin, who gave you a wave, then went in for a hug. It was short but sweet and you were just astounded they had the mindset of not even greeting you because you went on one date.

On the first week too, which makes it like ten times scarier.

She then quickly introduces herself then stands by Val, not at all bothered to hear your response.

She was tall, had brown skin, with cornrows in a high ponytail, and wearing a black bodycon dress. She was also a stunner.

Lastly was Dana, who couldn’t wipe that look off her face as hard as she tried. And how could she?

You had just gone on a date with her so called soulmate and yet he was beaming as soon as he got back. She quickly noticed the way he and Peter B began whispering in each others faces after Peter spun you.

She couldn’t even be bothered to act nice because she needed to know Miguel’s thoughts on the date but knowing damn well he’s going to tell the guys first.

“Welcome to the villa.” She says dryly and the energy with everyone there just felt so off.

That was until Peter B yelled that everyone should go to the firepit.

“Let’s go!” He yells and everyone scrambled out of the kitchen.

Dana and Jazmin zoomed to the firepit and were whispering to each other while Daniel and Raul both offered you their arm so you linked arms with both of them as you headed down.

The rest all walked down together and your nerves grew once again. You were going to be the center of attention and it was really hitting you of what it was you had to do here.

You were going to step on so many toes and half the girls were already giving you the stank eye. All the guys were fine and you’d probably have to make you mind up after 48 hours and that’s just your anxiety thinking far ahead.

Raul must’ve somehow sensed it and just whispered some calming words, saying he felt the same way and everything turned out fine, for the most part.

You just nodded and took a deep breath as they led you to the middle of the firepit. You sat down and unlinked your arms but they still sat next to you.

You felt a shiver go down your spine and because the sun was setting, it was already getting darker which meant it’s slightly getting colder and you’re in a bikini while the girls are fully clothed.

At least Miguel was also in the same boat as you, but maybe he was good with the cold considering he was from New York.

You looked for him, quickly finding him to be next to Raul, who was on your right. He was fine. Not even shivering a tiny bit. And he was still looking as fine as ever.

As everyone sat down they all turned to look at you and you quickly remembered what you had prepared in your head nearly all day. “Hi I’m Y/n, I’m twenty four, I live in Houston, just graduated from nursing school, and I’m looking for the love of my life!”

Peter B was the first to yell, “FUCK YEAH!!” Everyone else followed suit and you quickly realized that Peter would instantly be an amazing hype man.

“What’s your type?” Jordan asks and you hummed.

“Physical type all I ask for is someone taller than me. I’ve gone out with all kinds of people and personality is a big thing as well. Also need someone I can laugh with over the dumbest things.” You reply and he nods while some of the other guys hum.

“How about last relationship?” Peter asks and you quickly respond.

“Two years ago! He was very childish by the end of the relationship and it made me realize I didn’t want to date a boy.” You explain while looking around to not have just eye contact with one person.

“Ah so you’re looking for a man?” David asks and you nod.

“Exactly. I don’t want to play any more games and hopefully I won’t have to.” You say and chuckle.

“Who do you have your eye on?” MJ asks making you laugh.

“On to the bigger questions huh?” You joke and she nods.

“Hmm… Well I think I gotta keep my cards close to my chest but all the guys are fine so I’m in for a wild ride.” you say and a few of the guys cheer but you laughed at Peter B giving Miguel a fist bump.

“Honestly I think I’m just going to get to know everyone and see where it goes!” You add and some murmur in agreement.

“Well welcome to the villa!” Raul says and wraps his arm around you, giving you a little side hug as some of the other guys cheer.

“Hey Y/n do you wanna have a little girl’s chat?” MJ asks and you nod.

“Let’s do itttt.” You say and stand up along with the other girls.

“Where do you wanna go?” Gwen asks and you look around as you all walk away from the fire pit.

“How about the swing set?” You suggest and you all start making your way there.

As soon as you were out of ear shot the guys all immediately gather together and are silent but with sly hand motions and reactions, they all get their point across that they find you attractive.

Then once they saw you were all sat, they all started talking at the same time.

“Dude-“

“I know-“

“We’re so in trouble.”

“That bikini..”

“She’s stunning.”

“Wait so how’d the date go?!?” Peter B impatiently asked and wrapped his around around Miguel’s shoulder.

They all remembered and quickly turned to look at him, wanting to know the details.

“It went… very well.” He says slowly, trying to carefully think of what he wants to say.

He knows the guys won’t entirely snitch on him but if any of the girls press hard enough one of them might crack so he’ll be safer than sorry with carefully selected phrasing than careless ones that could potentially hurt Dana.

“Come on Mig, give us more than that!” Second Peter nagged making Miguel chuckle.

“Alright, it went really good. Honestly such a nice first date, better than I could’ve imagined.” He says and tries to stop a smile from taking over his face but the guys called it out quick, and loudly.

“OH MY GOD I KNEW IT!”

“So happy for you bro.”

“It’s what you needed.”

“Mans is cheesin’!!”

After Peter B’s loud outburst, he shushed them so their reactions wouldn’t give him away just yet. He still had to have that conversation with Dana before they went to bed.

“I didn’t think an instant spark would happen for me, let alone a bit of love at first sight-“ he starts but gets brutally interrupted with the guys patting him on the back and struggling to not yell in excitement for him.

“Explain!” Daniel mutters under his breath and the rest nod their heads meanwhile Peter B next to him was nearly shaking in anticipation.

“I don’t know when I walked in and saw her I was just kind of speechless. I thought I was just going to be up there nearly drooling and not able to snap out of it but we got to talking as soon as she said hey and I can’t believe how effortless our conversations were.” He admits, feeling his face grow hot which prompted the guys to laugh and Peter B to poke his cheeks.

But he could tell they were happy for him, their wide grins were a dead giveaway.

“She was just so energetic and we had so much in common. It really felt like I could talk to her about absolutely anything.” He says and the guys nod.

“Bro I’m so happy for you.” David says and daps him up.

“Clearly the public knew what needed to be done.” Jordan snickers, making the guys burst out laughing.

“Stop-“ Daniel mutters and covers his mouth in shock.

After a few more seconds of them just laughing Miguel remembered something he wanted to tell them.

“Oh and she’s a latina. Fluent in Spanish and the conversation was flowing I forgot to ask from where.” He says and Raul gasps.

“Nah really?” Raul says sarcastically, making Miguel roll his eyes.

“To be fair Val is Mexican and isn’t fluent.” Daniel chimes in and Raul hums.

“Have a point there. Pero Y/n esta hermosa y habla el lenguaje.” He says and has both Miguel and Daniel murmuring in agreement. (But Y/n is gorgeous and speaks the language)

“Is she turning your head already then?” Peter jokes and he just shrugs.

“It’s just a plus when a girl speaks the mother language.” He admits and then gives a sheepish grin.

“Fair enough.”

“I get that.”

“Y saben es un poco coqueta..” Miguel says making Raul and Daniel both widen their eyes a little. (And y’know she’s a little flirty..)

“Nomas un poco..?” Raul asks with a raised eyebrow, curiosity getting the best of him and Miguel shrugs. (Only a little..?)

“Tal ves lo tienes que confírmalo tu mismo.” Miguel suggests and Raul just nods. (Maybe you need to confirm it yourself)

“Tal ves si lo haré.” He responds and look over at the girls on the swing but more specifically looking at you. (Maybe I will)

Miguel chuckled and looked at how confused the rest of them were before quickly translating the first thing he said, “I said that she’s a bit flirty.”

“Oh is she?” Jordan asks and Miguel had to do the same thing he did to Raul.

“Maybe you should find out for yourself.” He says earning himself a laugh from Jordan.

“Maybe I will.” He responds back and Miguel, Raul and Daniel all burst out laughing.

“Oh my god you guys do share a braincell-“ Daniel jokes and Jordan just groans.

“We said the same thing again?” He asks and just shakes his head when the guys answered.

“Best bromance love island’s ever seen.” David teases and Jordan flips him off.

“Wait Miguel what rating would you give the date then?” Peter asks and Miguel calms himself down then hums.

“Thirteen out of ten.” He replies and the guys scream and cheer, completely forgetting about being quiet.

“You’re gonna pursue her right? Like come on you have to.” Peter B says with a cheeky grin.

He takes a few seconds for a dramatic pause just so Peter B can get annoyed at him making him wait. “I’d be the dumbest man alive if I don’t.” He admits, looking at them giving him the cheesiest of grins imaginable.

“Good man.”

“Absolutely.”

“Wait Miguel did you kiss her?” David asks and he shakes his head.

“No, it would’ve been too soon and I really need to pull Dana before we go to sleep.” He says and Peter B lets out some coughs.

“Should’ve just done it.” He mutters between coughs making Miguel roll his eyes.

“I wouldn’t wanna hurt Dana like that, it’s not fair to her.” He mumbled and they nodded.

“It’s going to be tough.” Raul says, giving him a sympathetic smile.

“Knowing Dana, she is not going to believe you and will just assume Y/n turned your head, which she might have… but that’s besides the point.” Peter B rambles and continues, “she might just assume you’re only having these feelings because a new girl came in.”

“That’s why I’d like to talk to her before it’s too late.” Miguel says making the guys hum.

Luckily all the girls were preoccupied listening to your side of the story to go off on the guys for how disrespectful they were being. Luck was on your side boys!

As soon as you had sat down on the swing all the girls bombarded you with questions and you really should’ve seen it coming.

“How was the date?”

“So who do you have your eye on?”

“What’s your actual type?”

“Did you kiss him?”

You nervously laugh and look at them as they’re awaiting your answer to probably all their questions.

MJ was the only one who didn’t ask something and she was just as stunned as you. Gwen also didn’t expect for the other three to ask you anything considering how they’ve been acting since Miguel got the text.

Dana was a mess and started bawling her eyes out because she didn’t even get to say anything to him or hug him before he left. The other two instantly got into cliquey mean girl mode and said things like no girl could take Miguel from her and that you wouldn’t be prettier than her which had MJ and Gwen feeling so uncomfortable.

To them it just felt like an unnecessary thing to say and they were all in the earliest of days getting to know one another. There’s no point in trying to bring Dana up by bringing another girl down.

They tried to make her feel better but their actual kind words just weren’t what she wanted to hear. So of course the other two told her what she wanted to hear to cheer her up, not like any of them would now say any of that stuff to your face right now.

“Honestly the date was amazing, I think we just clicked and bounced off each other so naturally and quickly found out how much we had in common.” You start and pray you wouldn’t get your ass beat then and there.

“He was very sweet and I was pleasantly surprised that he could actually hold a decent conversation with me.” You added making MJ giggle.

“Honestly he’s such a sweetie, just very playful when he wants to be.” she says and you nod.

“I definitely got that vibe! He looks like he’d break some hearts but that date just showed the total opposite.” You reply then chuckle. “At least for now y’know.” You quickly add because you didn’t really want to jinx yourself.

“And as for who I have my eye on… genuinely I don’t have any names. I’d like to talk to them all tomorrow and see what’s up with them all because they all seem so sweet.” You explain and that clearly did not sit well with the cliquey trio, even Val.

“I didn’t lie about my type and no I did not kiss him.” You say and look at the two who asked.

Dana looked like she was going to explode and Jazmin didn’t really care, the difference in their reactions was very telling and you were astounded that they were this judgemental.

“Did you feel any sparks?” Gwen asks and Dana’s face got red fast.

You collected your thoughts and debated on whether or not you’d be honest. They might be able to tell if you lie but even if you did, you’d just feel guilty of it.

“I did feel some sparks but we’ll just have to see if they were reciprocated..” You say and shrug, but mentally praying that they were.

Dana’s eyes were twitching and she was very clearly not expecting to hear positive things from the date.

Now she was the one praying that he didn’t feel a thing and they’d be fine until the end. She wanted to be one of those day one couples that had an absolute perfect run, no turmoil, no heads turned, well behaved in casa, and have a smooth finish by splitting the money.

It’s something that’s rare because a lot of people find it hard to be loyal and to just stick with one person for the whole two months. She was thinking it’d be smooth sailing for her and Miguel, having no idea what was to come for her.

“Well Mig seemed very happy when he got here! I feel like it’s good to explore different connections during the first week.” MJ says and Dana gave her the biggest death glare possible.

“Oh for sure! I feel like it’s just gonna be a part of the experince.” You say and she nods.

“Exactly! It’s like a ‘what if’ situation y’know? Like what if you just click with someone more than you expected because you didn’t give them a fair shot to begin with?” Her example made perfect sense and you wouldn’t expect whoever you’d end up choosing to couple up with to just be closed off so soon. Sure some jealousy may occur but that’d be a normal reaction.

Especially if you do end up feeling Miguel more because that date really was the epitome of a perfect first date. Just getting along well, making each other laugh, and a side of flirting? What else could you have asked for?

And him being a perfect gentleman was an extra plus that was so nice to see.

“I feel like because being in here is such a different situation to the outside, you may as well get to know everyone while you can. As long as everyone’s being honest, why not?” You say and MJ nods.

“I’ve been telling Peter he could get to know other girls but he’s the one that has all his eggs on my basket.” She playfully rolls her eyes making you chuckle.

“To be fair it does look like you guys get on incredibly well.” You say truthfully, earning yourself a grin from the redhead.

“Do you really think so?” She asks and you scoff.

“No doubt about it!” You wave her off and she shrugs.

“Well I’m glad what we have is noticeable on the outside then.” She says, feeling her cheeks go warm.

“How are the rest of you in your couples?” You ask looking at the other girls and Dana just chuckles.

“Shouldn’t we be asking you more questions?” Dana asks with a raised brow.

“I mean you could… but I kind of wanted to hear how you guys feel in your couples.” You say and she hums.

“Well Miguel and I are doing great. I’ve never been so happy to meet someone right off the bat that just gets me. I honestly see a bright future with him.” She says and you nod, slightly feeling bad knowing Miguel has been wanting to tell her the truth.

“How about you Gwen?” You look to your left and she tries to hide a smile.

“I’m happy with the pace we’re going, I definitely feel sparks when I’m with him and the more I talk to him, the more I feel myself liking him.” She admits making you aww.

“He seems so sweet! I wish you two the best.” You say and she smiles, “thanks babe, you’re so sweet.”

“I honestly don’t know which I like more. I was feeling a little something with David but then Raul came and kinda sweeped me off my feet which is just making it harder for me to distinguish which I like more.” Val rambles making you chuckle.

“Go with your heart! Just continue chatting to both and I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” You say and she nods.

“I think I’m liking Danny more.” Jazmin says and shrugs.

Right after she was done talking you noticed all the guys got up from the firepit and began to disperse. Three were on their way to the swing while the other four went to the kitchen.

“Oh they must be up to something.” MJ mutters and watched as the three amigos walk towards you guys.

“Wouldn’t be surprising.” Gwen jokes making Val chuckle.

“With Peter B too, it might be over for us.” She says under her breath and they finally come up the steps.

“Y/n would you like the grand tour of the place?” Raul asks and you nod.

“Of course! Can’t say no to that.” You exclaim and get up.

He sticks his arm out for you as Peter B looks to be the second tour guide with Miguel behind him looking nervous.

Uh oh.

“Dana can we go for a chat?” He asks and she eagerly nods.

She quickly stood up and attached herself to him as they made their way to the daybeds.

Jazmin and Val walked off to the kitchen and the rest of you were looking at Dana and Miguel sitting on the daybed. “Well that’s going to be the reason for world war three.” Peter B jokes making you stifle a laugh back.

Too soon.

“Peter!” MJ hisses and he shrugs.

“Just being honest.” He mutters then looks away from them and looks to you, “well we owe you a tour.”

“That you guys do.” You say finally getting up and linking your arm to Raul’s.

“Are you guys gonna join?” He asks and the girls hum.

“It might be a good idea…” MJ mutters and Peter B was about to crack a joke but she stopped him, “don’t even think about it.”

“Yes ma’am.” He says sarcastically then chuckles.

“Alright let’s go!” He yells and wraps an arm around MJ as you all head over to the kitchen.

Dana is hearing wedding bells any time she looks at Miguel, he on the other hand looks like he’s preparing a restraining order! How poetic.

Miguel led Dana to the daybed that was on the right side, he sat down first then scooted over so she could sit next to him.

She plopped down next to him and he was already feeling so guilty. He felt even worse because he really was prepping for this very conversation before the date but now it’s just looking like he’s jumping ship because of the date which really wasn’t the case.

“So… how was the date?” She asks through gritted teeth and he turns his body to look at her.

Her blue eyes filled with worry and her hands slightly shaking just made it ten times worse.

“It was a good date, I did enjoy it but first I want to be honest with you about my feelings overall.” He starts and she slowly nods, not sure what to expect from him.

Her eyes were already getting glossy and she just had an overall bad feeling about this. Her intuition was rarely wrong and right now she wasn’t feeling too good about where this was going.

“I have been thinking a lot the past few days. Firstly I’d like to say that I was going to have this conversation with you after I was done talking to Peter B earlier but I got the text and then I wasn’t able to talk to you until right now-“ he rambled and she cut him off, “Just get to the point!”

“Right... So I didn’t feel an immediate spark with you and I thought it’d be one of those things where maybe it’ll grow after a few days so I gave it a few days to get to know you better and see if I would feel it.” He says and takes a deep breath.

Her lip started to quiver and she already felt her whole future come crashing down in front of her eyes.

“I didn’t feel it. I feel so bad about it because you’re such an amazing girl and I’ve had such a good time talking to you, getting to know you, and making you laugh. But I’m not feeling a romantic connection and it was time for me to not only be honest to you, but to myself as well because it’s not something that can be forced from either side.” He admits and she’s just sat silent.

She looks away from him, tears threatening to spill but she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. She quickly wipes under her eyes with her left hand then takes another deep breath before turning to him.

“Fuck.. I really didn’t expect to hear this from you.. at all.” She mutters and gulps.

“I know I’m so sorry. I didn't think things would turn out this way. I genuinely did love getting to know you but I just… didn’t feel it.” He says and she nods.

She quickly thinks of something to say and although she did feel a sting in her heart, she knew she couldn’t really blame him for it.

Sparks might not always come up and she had to accept that one way or another.

“Well thank you for being honest, I can’t say I’m happy about it obviously… but I appreciate the honesty and hope you do find someone.” She says and gives him the smallest of smiles.

“I know you’ll find someone who’ll give you all the iced coffees and sarcasm you could ever ask for.” He says and she chuckles as a singular tear falls down her cheek quickly.

“I sure hope so.” She whispers and wipes the tear away then fixes her hair.

She stands up and he quickly follows suit, “Friends?” He asks and opens his arms wide.

“Friends.” She says and accepts his hug.

What would now probably be the last one ever and she can’t believe it. She could tell from his eyes that everything he said was true. Especially how he looked almost panicked when he said he wanted to have the conversation before he got the text.

She probably would’ve believed him nonetheless because there have been signs the past two days. Signs that she swore would just go away or a part of her imagination, but they weren’t.

Like how he didn’t cuddle her in bed. Or how he never tried to kiss her outside of a challenge (which she was always waiting on).

The good thing was he definitely was trying with her because he didn’t get to know any other girl so that counts for something.

They both pulled away and he gave her a small smile. “If you want I could leave you the bed, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything. You could have your space.”

She hums and shrugs, “Hmm I’m not sure.. ask me later and I’ll decide then.”

He nods and they both walk together for a few seconds but Miguel heads to the firepit while she goes on to go to the kitchen to talk to her girls.

Never been so gutted a couple split up before….. well let’s move on to new girl Y/n getting a grand tour of her new home!

“Obviously up first has to be the kitchen! Drama free, filled with delicious food, and underrated part of the villa to have a chat.” Peter B says and gasps at seeing an opened bag of Lays chips.

He grabs a handful then throws half in his mouth, “Tho now we cun go inthide.”

“What?” You laugh and shake your head.

“Babe, manners please.” MJ pleads, making him roll his eyes.

He swallows and leads the way to go inside, “tough crowd.”

You giggle and Gwen whispers to you, “he is the definition of a goofball.”

“I can tell.” You whisper back making her giggle.

He opens the door for you all and you’ve already seen the beds but now you looked at the neon lights on each side of the room. They illuminated the room a bit more and Raul let you go so you could walk around a bit.

“It’s so much prettier in person.” You say and Gwen quickly agrees.

“We fell in love as soon as we walked through the doors.” She says with a chuckle.

“You’ll get use to the bright light soon enough.” She adds and you nod.

“Ooooh Y/n your bed is already ready.” Peter says and points to the corner bed.

“Oh fuck yes!!” You scream and run towards it then jump on it.

At this point you were more or so dry, so you didn’t hesitate.

It was so soft and was luckily like a cloud. Good thing it’d help the back problems and you’ll get to sleep like a baby.

“A bed all to yourself huh?” Raul says and you flip to look at them.

“Just for the night but better believe I’m gonna enjoy it.” You say and sigh, just letting yourself sink into the bed.

“Alright, alright let’s get going.” Peter says and you pout but get up anyway.

“Are you on a schedule?” You joke and he playfully nods.

“I am so if you don’t mind and keep your hands in the ride.” He says and pretends to point to a file line.

You laugh and walk over to them, now Raul opening the door for everyone while you walk to the main entrance.

Peter takes a right and you follow suit, now walking into the lounge room. There were a few couches with brightly colored pillows on them, plants, more neon light signs, a coffee table, and cute bunny chairs.

It was a cute little hangout spot and right behind the couches was the doghouse.

“I feel like my boy Mig might be sleeping here tonight.” Peter says earning himself a smack on the arm by MJ.

“WHA—!“

“Don’t say stuff like that Pete!” She says in a hushed tone and he waves her off.

“Okay listen most of us already knew it was coming so it’s like… getting used to the idea.” He explains and she just raises a brow.

“We’re gonna have to work on your big mouth.” She playfully jokes, making him groan.

He wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her close to him then kisses her cheek.

He then points to the door that was straight ahead “This is the hideaway which you already knew but you’ve been one of the first to see!” He says and you chuckle.

“Wasn’t really paying too much attention to the actual room…” you say, earning yourself a gasp from him.

“Naughty.” He mutters then lightly elbows your side.

“Oh my god not like that-“

“Yeah yeah sure.” He cuts you off and leads you all to the stairs.

“Let’s keep it going before I feel the need to puke.” He jokes, making you groan.

“Ladies first.” He says, letting go of MJ.

She lets you go first and you’re grateful because this bikini was starting to feel tight and didn’t want to give either guy a free show.

You carefully go up all the stairs and MJ points to the left. You both head their first but Peter catches up to you and just shakes his head. “It’s the beach hut, you’ll be called in before and after challenges, after a date, and all throughout the day.” He explains and you nod.

You do a 360 and Peter leads you straight ahead. You turn to your right and there was the bathroom. You could peek through from the little hallway and see the showers and all types of products on the left and right side of the walls.

Peter ushers you to go in and you do. You walk in and there was a huge mirror against the wall as soon as you walk in and to the right is a bathtub sandwiched between two sinks.

Across from the sinks were two showers and a door to the left of them. “The toilet.” Peter says and you turn to look at him with wide eyes.

“Toilet? As in singular?” You ask, completely stunned.

“Unfortunately.” Gwen groans and you gasp.

“That’s- that’s fucking insane.” You gasp then wince at the thought of having to share a toliet with men who might not know how to aim correctly.

“Well sometimes they occasionally let us use the hideaway bathroom. On rare occasions…” Raul says and you nearly let out a cry.

“Listen, we all get used to it and swear it’s not that bad.” Peter says then lets out a burp.

“Give me a second.” He says and opens said door to utilize it.

One of your eyes twitches and the girls unfortunately don’t have anything to say that’ll make you feel better. It’s been hell.

“Can’t even say it’ll get better girls?” You ask nervously and it was crickets.

“I’m not gonna name any names but some of the guys apparently just don’t know how to piss.” Gwen says with a gag.

“This is probably the worst revelation to all mankind.” You say and shake your head.

“Hope you’re not a night owl either because out here you’re gonna be an early bird.” Raul says and you gasp.

“Y’know what guys I think I can make tinder work…” you half joke and pretend to walk off.

But then you look at the second mirror that was next to some face and hair products on the wall. You fix some stray hairs and your bikini top when you hear a flush.

You look behind you and Peter walks directly to the sink. Everyone looked at him, just patiently waiting while he made sure to wash his hands for a solid minute.

He dries his hands with a small towel then claps his hands, “alright let’s go.”

He took a right and after a few steps you were inside the dressing room. It was somehow the brightest room in the whole villa but it made perfect sense since this was where the girls would do their hair and makeup.

“Oh my god-“ you say and take it in.

In the middle was a big circle table with small chairs below them, and on top were mirrors, hair curlers, Dyson airwraps, and makeup scattered all over it. “Sorry we didn’t clean up our mess..” Gwen chuckles and you wave her off.

“Understandable.”

To the left side were drawers and cabinets of just makeup and hair products.

To the right side was the closet where some of the sliding doors were slightly open which showed how filled of clothes they were. The best part was that the doors were all mirrors, and took up two walls so it was perfect for group selfies or just checking out how your fit looks without bothering someone else.

You walked a step to where there were makeup products, probably from sponsors that production will make you wear, and open two different drawers. One was filled with lip liners and the other with lip sticks.

“This might just be heaven.” You mumble making the girls giggle.

“You’re gonna blend in fine girl.” MJ says, now stood to you and held your hand.

“I hope so! Not sure I’d be able to deal with awkwardness too well though.” You joke and Peter just scoffs.

“I think you dealt with awkwardness just fine earlier. With pure grace if you will.” He says and you shrug.

“Thought I was going to get eaten alive with that girl's chat.” You joke and fake shiver.

“Oh my god you haven’t even seen the best part.” Gwen gasps and grabs your other hand, spinning you to follow her along with MJ, who didn’t let go.

Gwen opens the door to the terrace and the sun has now set, it was pitch black until you walked out and got to the couches and saw the beautiful fairy lights illuminating the garden.

You had a view of the entire garden, besides the kitchen because it was right below the terrace. You saw a few of the guys on the firepit and could barely see the girls by the beanbags which was right by the long pool.

“Wow.” Was all you could manage to think of.

“It’s even more beautiful in the mornings!” MJ excitedly says and you sigh.

Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad.

You sit on the cushioned sofa to look over at the garden before facing them and seeing a cute coffee table in the middle of all the little sofas. There were plants by the walls next to the door and you were stunned by how pretty and surreal the villa looked.

“On second thought I might stick around for a while…” you joke making them chuckle.

Suddenly you heard noises below you and your eyes lit up, “can I finally shower?”

“You gotta go beat everyone else!” Peter exclaims and you get up and run as fast as you can inside.

Luckily your suitcase was in the dressing room so you quickly put it down and opened it, quickly scrambling to find a pair of undies and some pj’s.

Today must’ve been your lucky day because your cute pjs sets were right on top and found your underwear to be on a side pocket. You chose a random one and sprinted to the bathroom as the rest of the islanders went inside to get ready to go to sleep.

As you quickly hopped in to one of the two showers, the three other girls were coming up the stairs and the guys were in the bedroom getting undressed.

At this point Miguel had had his chat with Dana and spilled the beans with the guys. Dana had done the same, or at least tried to because she started to sob before getting a single word in.

Raul and Peter went downstairs as the girls went into the dressing room and Dana’s smeared makeup was not a good sign so they sprinted downstairs to know what happened.

“What happened?!?” Peter yells as they walked into the bedroom and Raul quickly closed the door.

“I ripped the bandaid off.” Miguel responds then sighs.

“She took it better than I thought, at least in front of me she did.” He said sadly and Peter frowns, walking up to him.

He gives him a bear hug and pats him on the back as Miguel hugged him back. “You had to do it. You weren’t feeling it and there was no point in letting her fall in love with you while you didn’t feel jack shit.” He says bluntly making a few of the guys murmur.

“Brutal.”

“When it comes to love, you have to be.” He quickly says and it sounded much deeper than he wanted.

And coming from him was just something else.

“You’re here for you alright? Don’t forget that.” He says and lets him go.

Raul then steps him and gives him a shorter hug, “he’s got a point, we’re all here to find love so it’s only fair you’re true to yourself.”

“Thanks guys.” Miguel chuckles as Raul pats his back.

“Alright well I think I have to hit the showers.” He says but Peter makes a face.

“Y/n’s up there right now, maybe wait a bit so it won’t look a type of way.” He advises and Miguel nods.

“That’s fine by me.”

After you had finished your shower now feeling all clean and refreshed in your cute pj set, you only caught Jordan brushing his teeth.

“Oh here are the toothbrushes by the way!” He says and pulls a little bin under the sink to show you sealed toothbrushes.

“Thank you!” You exclaim and grab a red one.

“After you’re done most of us put them in these little tube boxes and you just write your initials on it, and then put it in your own cabinet over there.” He shows you another bin with the boxes and pointed to the drawers on the sides of the wall.

“It’ll take some time to get use to but you’ll catch on quick.” He adds and you nod.

“Thanks.” You say and open the toothbrush then throw the packaging in the garbage below the sink.

“Gonna have to assume the toothpaste is….” You guess a random bin next to the tootheburshes and of course, there they were.

“See you’re catching on already.” He teases making you chuckle.

You open up the tube and put a dollop on your toothbrush when you see a shirtless torso walking by through the opening on the wall. You follow it then look away once they’re in the bathroom. You brush your teeth looking at the mirror and the shirtless torso made an appearance behind you, it belongs to none other than Miguel.

You check him out in the mirror and you were just admiring his biceps as he grabbed a towel and put it on the rack by that shower. You shook your head and spit into the sink before quickly finishing up.

You take another looks at the bins to find one with floss and it only took two tries to find it. You took out a decent amount before flossing your teeth, getting closer to the mirror so you could see better. At that point Jordan had left and you were alone besides Miguel, who was in the shower.

You threw the floss into the garbage and were wondering what they used to write on the boxes. You bit your lip and wondered if there were sharpies or something around.

Then an idea clicked and you put your wet toothbrush into the box before walking over to the empty dressing room and going through the drawers until you found eyeliner. You wrote your initials in cursive just to be a little extra.

You put the eyeliner back into the drawer then closed it before walking back into the bathroom. You grabbed all your things and opened drawers until you found an ideal one to put them in.

Just then the water turned off and that was your cue to leave because you didn’t know if you could handle shirtless wet Miguel at that moment.

So you saw yourself out and went downstairs and into the bedroom where everyone was on each others beds, Gwen was racing Peter B from jumping to bed to bed. You closed the door and shook your head in disbelief.

You covered your mouth as Peter nearly knocked over the second Peter, who didn’t see him coming.

“Bro move!!” Peter B yelled and Peter gave him a scoff.

You walked to your bed and sat on the edge so they could still finish their race.

Gwen was beating him by two beds and with her fast speed she beat him by a landslide. MJ clapped for Gwen which prompted Peter B to give her a playful glare before he sprinted towards her like a bull.

He then began tickling her and she immediately started yelling for him to stop but that devious look on his face did not look like he was going to stop anytime soon.

You looked at the bed next to you and it was Jordan and Jazmin’s. Jordan was already snuggled to the blankets but Jazmin was in Dana’s bed.

Then as if remembering something Dana got up and walked out, going upstairs. She went directly to the bathroom and Miguel was coming out of the shower.

Droplets were dripping down his body and she had to remind herself to stay focused. “You can sleep in our bed, it’s absolutely fine.”

“Are you sure?” He asks as he dries his hair with a towel and she nods.

“Yes.”

Meanwhile Peter B made his way to your bed and was giving you a fat ass hug while saying, “I hope your first night was good.”

“Honestly was better than I expected.” You said and hugged him back.

It felt as if you had been friends for years. He was so laidback with a good amount of playfulness and goofiness, you didn’t even mind the gesture.

That was until MJ and Raul followed his lead and jumped on top of you, making you both fall back onto your mattress. “Fuck-“ you groaned and felt Raul’s body weight on you.

“Get your fat ass off the poor girl Raul.” You hear a voice say as you fake groaned some more.

He was then off you thinking they were real and you gave him a laugh when he realized you were playing. He was about to pounce on you again when Miguel held him back, “let her be man, come on it’s her first night.”

Raul shrugs and goes in for a normal hug which you accept, “Buenas noches, duerme con los angelitos hermosa.” He whispers in your ear and you felt a shiver go down your spine. (Goodnight, sleep with the little angels gorgeous)

Damn.

“Igualmente.” You whisper back and he pulls away with a grin. (Likewise)

MJ then hugs you and pulls away with Peter B giving you yet another hug. He pulls away and they went on to their own bed.

You then notice Miguel leaning against Jordan and Jazmin’s bed, just looking at you. “What did you want me to tuck you in?” You joke and he chuckles.

“I wouldn’t mind that.” He jokes back making you laugh.

“But I’m luckily not in the doghouse tonight.” He says and you chuckle.

“Good for you!” You say and he shrugs.

“Still feels bad.” He mumbles and you nod.

“Obviously it would but you did what you had to do!” You whisper and he nods.

He then gets up and sits next to you before leaning in, “Thank you for an amazing first date. Espero que hayan más en nuestro futuro.” (I hope there’s more in our future)

“Me gustaría eso.” You whisper back and he tried to hide his smile back. (I’d like that)

“Goodnight, sweet dreams.” He says and hugs you.

You hug him back and feeling his arms around you just felt so.. right. You felt safe and it was sending loads of butterflies to your stomach.

He pulls away and you whisper, “goodnight.”

He smiles and gets up before making his way to his and Dana’s bed which was by the middle of the room.

You now got into bed as all the other couples, and two singletons, got comfortable in their own beds.

All the lights turned off and you turned to your ideal spot to sleep in then pulled the covers over you.

“Goodnight Y/n!!” Peter B’s voice yelled and it was followed by the same from all the islanders.

“GOODNIGHT!”

“Night pretty.”

“Sleep well Y/n!”

“Goodnighttttt.”

You yelled a loud goodnight to them all then closed your eyes and quickly drifted off to sleep, completely oblivious to a handful of noisy couples and individuals snoring their heads off.

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

blorbos are how we are coping with current events

so uh. here’s a few nice lighthearted gravity falls headcanons for you all (and yes there is a lot of ford centric ones here. no negativity about him on this post, please. preferably not about anyone else featured here either)

-both stan twins are trans. shermie was the first one they told about this, and he’s been immensely supportive of them. he started referring to them as ‘boys’ whenever he could, especially when filbrick was around (‘you boys ready?’ and stuff like that). even though the twins haven’t seen him in a while, and his relationship with ford is a little strained, they both still feel safe around him

-shermie’s daughter, the mother of the mystery twins, is transmascfem. they’ve always been much closer to her than to their father. it was her idea to get a cat, and she let the niblings pick it out. they collectively named it ‘smoky’

-both mystery twins are trans as well. as soon as he knew, stan made damn sure they were aware of his support for them. mabel told ford she was trans before dipper did, and he made sure they both knew he would support them as well

-the stan twins get a ship cat with polydactyl and name him icarus. he was supposed to work as pest control, but ford babied him too much so now he’s just there for emotional support

-upon figuring out how cellphones work, ford took an immense liking to the camera function. he frequently sends stan and the niblings pictures of anomalies, animals, or just cool stuff he finds

-stan keeps his cool when being insulted, but absolutely cannot stand it when the same happens to his family. type of guy to go ‘ok’ when you tell him he sucks, and then turn around and threaten to murder you when you say the same to ford or the niblings

-gideon is an exception. gideon crossed the line with mabel and now stan can’t help but get irrationally angry every time he sees or hears him

-ford isn’t as good at math as people tend to thinks he is, and he is. so anxious about someone finding that out

-ford has maladaptive daydreaming disorder, and so does mabel

-ford initially bought the painting in the attic of a ship in a storm because it reminded him of stan

-melody and soos got a tabby cat and named it metronome. soos chose the name because it was similar in theme to ‘melody’ and cause he thought it sounded cool. melody calls the cat ‘bloop’ and at this point it probably thinks that’s its actual name

-mabel uses exclusively edible glitter due to all the pets in her life (waddles, smoky, icarus, metronome)

-mabel helps pacifica realize that she’s transmascfemneu. this makes pacifica think about things a lot, and eventually she ends up in a qpr with mabel (featuring candy and grenda as wingmen)

-wendy is bigender and enby

-ford nearly cried the first time stan made pancakes after the portal

-it’s become a running bit to call ford anything but his name and at this point he’s just given up on correcting people and chosen to embrace it

-robbie’s first name is actually robin. his friends started calling him robbie when he came out as trans and the name just stuck. he’s still very attached to ‘robin’ though and has no problem being called that as well

-stan repaired his old winter jacket, though he doesn’t wear it any more. ford sometimes does

-because stan runs hot and ford runs very cold, ford has a tendency to come up to stan and hug him under his coat. stan is fine with this, despite his grumblings about ford just doing it to steal some warmth

-ford experiences cuteness aggression to the max, while stan really doesn’t at all. icarus has experienced both threats of being eaten/crushed and ford screaming into his fluff

-icarus has separation anxiety with ford

-stan doodles on ford a lot. the only rule is nothing on his face and do NOT touch the neck tattoo (destroyed as it may be from weirdmaggedon). yes, stanley, the all-star one. get that smug smile off your face- stop laughing-!

-ford’s sleep schedule has significantly improved since getting icarus. this is mostly because he sometimes falls asleep while waiting for icarus to move off his lap (can’t move til the cat does, y’know how it is)

-stan loves loves LOVES sunny cloudy days. they remind him of running across the beach with his brother, and watching the niblings throw water balloons at each other, and hearing his twin laugh as he tells jokes on the stan o’ war ii

-stan had ford custom engrave his lighter. he thinks it looks cool as shit

-ford has made several smoke bombs for stan. he has no clue what he keeps using them for, but he likes building things, so he doesn’t mind

-mabel has set up three music playlists for the stans. one only for ford, one only for stan, and one that’s visible to both where they can both add music

-mabel introduced ford to breakcore and noisecore. she was very surprised that he liked the two genres

-ford is agender and anattractional

-stan’s favorite smells are cinnamon, bergamot, and saltwater

-stan made sure to always have supplies to make brownies and hot chocolate on the ship in case of them need some mood lifting

-ford has a plaid weighted blanket. the cat laying on top of him every night also helps

-ford made sure stan got a good mattress that would work with his back before they set sail. stan argued with him the entire time, but he has been waking up in less pain since then

-ford always ends up hogging the blankets in any bed. more cover = better in his unconscious mind. stan doesn’t really mind too much, but he would like to keep at least one blanket some time

-ford makes a startlingly good seagull impression

[frnkiebby]

hi hi hi do you have any good pictures of franks arm and hand tattoos please i am desperate (doing an art and need a reference lmao)

okay i did my best to find the highest quality frimages that show his hands arms and tattoos at different angles and doing different poses so that way you have a good all around idea of how they look in different potions.

sorry that took a hot minute~🎃

(i would love to see the art when it’s done!!)

[eoieopda]

FORCE QUIT // EPISODE I: SCRAPS

you didn't have "anti-capitalist revolution" on this year's bingo card, but you never turn down a good time.

pairing: lee felix x reader | series masterlist (1/4) | next episode series summary: it's 2077, and life's a fucking nightmare. corporate titans ate the state and shat it back out, leaving citizens of the new republic to fall in line, or fall to their knees. a reckoning is coming — where will you fall? au: series — dystopian, cyberpunk; episode — childhood friends to strangers to something ➢insp. by: cyberpunk 2077 + the true lives of the fabulous killjoys genre: smut + angst + some fluff word count: 15.4k rating: 18+— minors do not have my consent to interact. series warnings: violence (hand-to-hand, firearms, explosives), depictions of injuries (blood/bruising/burns), some characters have cybernetic modifications, class conflict + poverty, surprise - corporations are bad!, unethical medical/tech experimentation, self-indulgent references to non-skz idols, reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns. episode warnings: above + trainer!felix, edgerunner!reader, pov switches, time skips, reference to food insecurity + reader living check to check, reader experiences temporary vision loss after being knocked out, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v penetration. reader notes: afab & uses she/her pronouns; has cybernetic retinal mods + one in her hand; grew up in (what is fka) korea and speaks korean — however, it’s not stated that she is asian and/or that her family is; does not speak fluent english; has tattoos; has long enough hair to put in a ponytail & use bobby pins (hair not otherwise described). ➢ notes added/expanded upon during 8/6/24 inclusivity review. a/n: each episode features a different member x reader pairing, but the plot is linear, so you'd need to read them (in order) to get the full picture! you can sign up for the taglist to be notified of the next uploads. thank you to my beloved @sailoryooons for beta'ing this and @jihopesjoint for being my emotional support internet wife even though she doesn't stan skz. ily both endlessly!

You don’t deal in absolutes, but you know two things for sure: vending-machine burritos are a crime against humanity; and Han Jisung is a dirty, rotten bastard.

The firm stance you’ve taken on the latter may or may not have something to do with the former, but you can’t draw that conclusion now — not with the abuse your taste buds are currently suffering, anyway.

“Who the fuck —” 

You cut yourself off to spit a mouthful at the ground. Notably, the remnants of that half-chewed abomination look just as awful on the way out as they did on the way in.

 “— Replaced this queso with battery acid?”

Chipmunk cheeks stuffed to bursting, Jisung blinks back at you. He says nothing — suddenly too polite to speak with his mouth full — and shrugs, unbothered. That’s when the realization hits you like a boot to the skull. Drenched in disbelief, your muttering comes out in slow-motion: 

“You spent the last of our cash on these.”

He swallows, though you don’t know how he could bring himself to do it. That act alone makes the rage you’re simmering in bubble over. 

You repeat yourself through gritted teeth, pausing emphatically between every word, “The — last — of — our — cash!”

“My bad?” He eventually offers. Tongue flicking out, he tries to gather the unidentified sauce that clings to the corner of his mouth. He fails. “Not sure what else I was supposed to find with that little money in this part of town, but go off, I guess.”

You bite your lips together to hold back the guttural yell you’re seconds from releasing. At your sides, your empty hands clench tightly. Instead of snapping — with your words or your fists — you close your eyes, inhaling slowly through your nose. Deep breaths won’t do you any fucking good in this smog, but your brain tends to work a little bit better without visual interference.

I can go another twenty-four hours, you think. Maybe.

It’s been a while since you’ve last eaten and even longer since your last job. This isn’t out of the ordinary; gaps are to be expected when you live on the fringe, jumping from thread to thread. Still, it isn’t like Changbin to leave you hanging the way he has been lately. It sure as shit isn’t like him to dodge your calls, either.

So, you figure, if you make an unsolicited visit to his office — the stock room of a bar you know better than to frequent — he won’t have a choice. He’ll have to look you in the eye and explain the dry spell, personally. He owes you at least that much.

With your plan finalized, you hold out your left hand to Jisung. In the few moments you’d taken your eyes off him, he’d apparently gone from sitting on the hood of your car to reclining fully with his own eyes closed. Basking like a little lizard in the sunlight, it’s a miracle the hot metal hasn’t burned a hole in his shirt.

“Come on.” You nudge his bent knee with your knuckles to no avail.

As Jisung is wont to do, he pouts. “But it’s so nice out — and your car still reeks, by the way.”

The absolute, rakish audacity.

If you didn’t love him, you’d probably kill him. 

Strike that. 

Love is irrelevant. You wouldn’t kill him unless and until there was a price on his head. After all, your mother taught you better than to do the things you’re good at for free.

“Do we want to talk about whose fault that is?” You ask with a roll of your eyes. The affection’s still there; you know he sees it. “If I recall correctly — and I think I do, having been the only sober person present — you were the one who got blasted and barfed on everything I love in this world.”

“I got blasted and barfed exclusively on the floor of your car.”

It’s your turn to shrug. “Exactly. End of list.”

Groaning, Jisung rolls his eyes as far back as they’ll go, but he still takes your hand. He always does, always has. With your help, he scoots his ass down the hood and lands with both boots — precisely where your ejected burrito bite did, not five minutes earlier. You can’t stop the satisfied grin from spreading when he whines again, this time louder and with twice as much despair.

After playfully shoving your passenger towards his door, you unlock your own. You don’t dump yourself into the seat, however; not yet. A wall of horrible heat is waiting for you the second the door opens, and you know better than to run into it, headlong.

Jisung is less patient. He’s also more regretful, face twisting in self-imposed anguish when he drops down onto the sun-scorched leather seat. And, to your delight, the hits keep coming. You watch with a smile when the consequences of last weekend’s actions hit his nostrils. The look he gives you falls somewhere between humbled, apologetic, and absolutely dead inside.

“Not one of my finer moments, I’ll admit it.” He acknowledges with a wave of his hand. Resigned, he sighs, “I’ll scrub the shit out of the floor mats the next time we can afford a wash.”

Satisfied, you finally climb behind the wheel. Pushing through the slightly-muted sting of the seat against the backs of your bare thighs, you put your foot on the brake and lift your right hand to press your thumb to the ignition port. The roar of the engine covers the way your breath hitches, but Jisung doesn’t have to hear it to notice the grimace that accompanies it.

“Still sore?” He asks. 

To his credit, he looks genuinely concerned as he reaches across the center console and takes your hand in his. It’s gentle, the way he tilts your palm up, but the movement burns in every single one of your tendons. This time, you know you have a captive audience, so you don’t flinch. 

Despite the trouble it’s giving you, you have to admit that the new enhancement looks beautiful in the sunlight. In the center of your palm, two rectangular, silver brackets refract iridescence. Their shine contrasts sharply with the matte, midnight black cybernetic plating that now covers the majority of your palm, spreading to the first knuckle of your fingers but coating the length of your thumb in its entirety. 

More than beautiful, it’s deadly — and it aches like a motherfucker.

“I read a study about these ballistic co-processors last night while you were knocked out,” he hums. 

Classic Jisung. 

He has no medical or academic background whatsoever but wastes his time reading crank doctors’ research for fun. And, of course, he makes sure to mention it — casually and apropos of mostly nothing — in order to impress.

Gingerly, he runs his finger along the edge of the cyberware, mumbling, “It usually takes five days from installation for the musculoskeletal inflammation to chill.”

Your fingers twitch of their own volition, which prompts him to look up at you curiously. 

“Yeah, well…” You grunt.

Less carefully than you should, you pull your hand from his, tap the gear shift, and throw the car into reverse. Peeling out of the lot, you scoff without even bothering to look his way:

“It’s been ten.”

When the War came and went, it took the old way of life with it on its way out. You might’ve been late to the party by fifty or so years, but you’ve got the gist now. It goes something like this:

Korea, as it was once known, crumpled like a beer can in the face of a corporate uprising and was quickly kicked curbside with the trash. In its place came the New Republic — in all its stolen, neon glory — promising technological revolution, profit in excess. Although the world’s eyes were trained on the peninsula then, not everyone stuck around to watch democracy die in real time. 

Not up close, anyway.

Some people had enough cash to run but not enough to make staying worthwhile. With their tails between their legs and their life savings in hand, they left before the capitalist rot could set in fully; chose willful blindness and headed for countries where corporations rule from the shadows rather than broad daylight.

Most people, however, didn’t leave. People like your grandparents, who hadn’t looked up long enough to notice things going to hell in a hurry. And if they did — well, maybe they saw things for what they were: shitty, same as anywhere else. 

Five decades later, that fact hasn’t changed much.

Regardless of why a person opts to stay in the New Republic, their options for survival are effectively limited to two. Simply put, a person can sell their soul to the very corporations that strangled the state, or they can starve.

Nobody ever chooses the latter.

You can safely assume everything you need to know about a person based on where their next steps take them.

For example, those who crave both chic, penthouse apartments and blood-soaked streets are most likely to fall in line with WraithCo.. The name suggests that it’s a criminal enterprise run by fucking ghouls because that’s essentially what it is. More than that, it’s the arms manufacturer monopoly that out-manned and out-gunned the national military without breaking a sweat. 

The high-powered, highly-paid WraithCo. executives find joy in three things and three things only: designer suits; missiles that explode into clouds of fiberglass upon impact; and testing said missiles out on non-violent nomad encampments outside city limits.

Fucking ghouls.

Despite being the most openly violent of the major players, you find WraithCo. to be the most boring. They lack nuance, don’t bother with a false front or a positive PR spin — it’s all a little too predictable. Thanotech, on the other hand, is subtle; the perfect  cover for those who like to convince themselves they’re doing more good than harm.

In furtherance of that delusion, Thanotech replaced all public hospitals with state-of-the-art, for-profit rejuvenation centers. Worse, their lobbyists ensured that medical licensure was limited to employees of those centers, outlawing the provision and receipt of medical care outside of authorized Thanotech facilities. 

In short, those who can’t afford Thanotech’s astronomical rates — specifically, poor fucks like you — are left to fend for themselves in back alley clinics; to pray that they don’t wind up worse-off than they started, that the police don’t sniff them out, and that their new modifications aren’t just garbage-tier knock-offs.

Of course, some people give more of a shit about these designer mods than the patients who may or may not wind up with them. In that case, the last of the three titans has them covered.

It’s no fucking surprise that the Ulsan Corporation is the crown-jewel of the New Republic — it’s primarily responsible for killing the old one. As the world’s premier technology and cybernetics conglomerate, Ulsan is also primarily responsible for the research, development, and distribution of cybernetic enhancements.

Like the one your body is currently acclimating to.

No such thing as ethical consumption under capitalism, right?

Ulsan may be less obvious with its bastardry than its counterparts, but as far as you can tell, it’s not good guy behavior to eat an established state and shit it back out. Even if you can’t tie any specific, ongoing atrocities back to them, you have no qualms about adding the desperate state of the union to their indictment.

You can blame them for the desperate measures they’ve necessitated, although you won’t give them an ounce of credit for the spark of resistance they so recklessly lit.

Despite it all, there are still people out there who refuse to accept things for what they are. They find an alternative to the comply or die ultimatum — run along the razor’s edge, taking what they can get, whenever they can get it.

Like Changbin, one of Seoul’s best-connected fixers.

Like you, a gun for hire. 

Like Jisung, sitting in your passenger seat as you drive across town, who’s just happy to be included.

Generally speaking, piss and vinegar don’t mix well with club security.

If you were anyone else, rolling up to The Crypt like you own the place would be ill-advised. More than that, it would be asking to get your teeth kicked in faster than you could say, “I’m on the list.”

Thankfully, as it often does, your reputation precedes you. Nobody in the block-long line bats an eye when you cut right to the front, a fact that has Jisung smirking in a way that might otherwise get him killed. Still, the bouncer shoots you a look that says you’re more trouble than you’re worth; and you agree.

Before your friend can change the muscle’s mind, you grab Jisung by the wrist and tug him through the front entrance. You don’t let go when the door shuts behind you, although it’s more for convenience than concern for his safety. He has a tendency to wander, and you don’t have the patience.

“Haven’t been here in a while,” he muses as you drag him towards the main bar, head turning to look in every direction except the one you’re moving in.

You don’t slow down.

Winding your way through the drunks at the counter, you inch closer to the large booths along the far wall. Inside, draped nonchalantly over the plush benches, sit the big guns — mercenaries with far more sway than you, far fatter wallets. They’re living the high life you’ve always dreamed of, and they don’t even notice you staring as you pass.

“Oh, shit!” Jisung waves overhead to one of them, reminding you without trying that he — unlike you — has other friends.“S.Coups, where have the fuck have you been, man?”

You still don’t slow down.

Not when you reach the stairwell at the far side of the main floor. Not when you shuffle down the steps to the employees only section. Not even when the security camera overhead silently demands that you do.

There’s only one locked door amongst the few; you fly to it like a homing pigeon and beat against the metal with your free hand. It isn’t until the burning ache sets in that you realize you chose your right.

“Goddamn it.” You growl down at it, as if your hand will apologize for hurting. Turning your vitriol towards the door, you kick it hard, steel-toed boot forcing out a thud. “Changbin, open this shit up!”

Jisung glares as he scolds you, “Manners, maybe?”

You roll your eyes, but his expectant expression doesn’t budge.

“Fucking — fine, okay? Fine.” Hands thrown up in defeat, you take a deep breath. Your next words come out saccharine, accompanied by fluttering lashes that can’t even be seen. “Changbin, darling, could you please open this shit up?”

The two of you wait in dead silence for several seconds before Jisung’s hands fly up to your hair, unprompted. Your surprised yelp doesn’t faze him. He grabs the bobby-pin from where you’ve stashed it under your ponytail, drops to his knees, and starts to work.

You snort, “Well, damn. Look at you!”

Truly, you’re impressed. Jisung normally leaves the dirty work to you, yet here he is — breaking and entering.

They grow up so fast.

He tries not to look proud of himself, but his cheeks blush a shade of sakura and rat him right out. Though you’re sure he’d love to, he can’t even lift a hand to wave you off before the lock clicks. With a quick twist of the knob, he pushes the door open.

Changbin’s office looks close to normal, with a few notable exceptions. For starters, he’s not in it. The man you’re dealing with never sees the light of day if he can help it.

Jisung pipes up first: “Okay, what the fuck?”

The office chair Changbin normally occupies is spun to the side, as if his ass left it in a hurry. Even odder than that is the small, green light which indicates that he didn’t shut off his computer before leaving it unattended. It’s not a decision someone like Changbin — neurotic and paranoid to a borderline clinical degree — makes on his own.

That, you know outright, is a problem.

Cautiously, you slip past Jisung and walk on eggshells towards Changbin’s desk. You know it’s stupid, that no one would bother rigging the floor tiles to blow under the weight of your boots, but you can’t ignore the way your gut twists with every step. That dread only gets worse, the closer you get.

To the right of his primary screen, there’s a half-eaten vending-machine burrito that’s so covered with ants, you almost mistake them for pepper flakes. That sight makes bile rise in your throat, in and of itself, but it’s the untouched cup of coffee that sends a tingle of panic down your spine. Around the base of the glass, hardly visible on the sheet of paper underneath, is a water ring. 

That coffee — at one point, however long ago — was iced.

Changbin would kill you for it if he were here, but he isn’t, so you drop down into his chair. You pause as soon as your ass settles onto the leather, still not convinced that one wrong move won’t set off some sort of trap. The breath you’ve been holding leaks out slowly when your actions go without consequences.

A quick glance up at Jisung confirms that he looks exactly as spooked as you feel. You watch his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows hard. 

He knows the answer before he asks, but that doesn’t stop him. It comes out scratchy, riddled with hesitation that says he doesn’t really want to hear the response. “He hasn’t been here in days, has he?”

You shake your head, just barely, then turn to the desk. Bottom lip pinched between worried teeth, you scan the surface for anything you missed on your first pass.

Give me a hint, you motherfucker. All I need is a breadcrumb.

It’s the absence of something that grabs your attention. Eyes narrowing, you lean forward in your seat to get as close as possible to his monitors.

“Does that…?” You start to ask but your voice trails off before you finish; thoughts moving too quickly to inventory before the next one arrives.

Though black, the screens in front of you aren’t lifeless. If anything, they’re still backlit, glitching subtly in a way they shouldn’t — not if the system had been locked, powered off, or otherwise put to sleep. You don’t have to be a netrunner to know that someone is running an opp, fucking up the computer’s processing and leaving it brain dead.

It’s so small that you almost miss the minimized window at the bottom left-hand corner of his secondary monitor, screen otherwise barren. Hesitantly, you reach out your hand and press a trembling finger to it.

Jisung is hovering so closely over your shoulder that you can practically taste that burrito on his breath. You elbow him once in the chest, hard.

He coughs, pointing to the screen as he sputters, “What the hell are those?”

“Numbers, Jisung.” You deadpan. “They’re called numbers.”

Ignoring the way he grumbles in response, you grab your mobile from your pocket. It springs to life at your sudden touch and broadcasts a holographic home screen in the air just centimeters above the glass. Just as fast, it tracks the movement of your eyes flicking through the list of applications. With the faintest shudder, the GPS navigation consumes the screen.

You repeat what you hope are coordinates:

35.2029, 128.6001.

As the map loads, you and Jisung exchange glances that are underscored by tense swallows. He knows it, and so do you: 

No matter where that pin ends up dropping, you have no choice but to go.

It takes three hours to drive from Seoul to Changwon. Although it’s not a route you’ve taken in years, or one you ever expected to take again, you still know it like the back of your hand. You can still navigate every turn — every crater and curve — with your eyes closed, even now. 

Despite that fact, your decision to race to the southeast this time has nothing to do with sentimentality for the hometown you left five years ago. 

This is just for Changbin, you repeat like a mantra, pressing harder on the accelerator. 

With every stoplight and thought you race through, the background grows blurrier but the big picture gets clearer. Changbin himself has nothing to do with it; and you’re not as selfless as your inner monologue keeps claiming. You correct yourself:

This is for me and my empty bank account.

Really — who could blame you?

You need steady contracts in order to eat. Without Changbin, those get fewer and farther between. It’s the transitive property, or whatever; basic math. You might starve without him, and that is the one thing in this life that you’re unwilling to do.

In the passenger seat, Jisung stirs. When he speaks, his voice isn’t weighted down with exhaustion in the way it usually is, halfway through a car trip. For some reason, it makes your stomach turn to consider that — for what is probably the first time ever — he isn’t sleeping through a drive.

“He left in a hurry,” he quietly notes.

Out of the corner of your eye, you glance at him and confirm the presence of that worried crease between his eyebrows. It’s not accompanied by the usual, furiously-bouncing knee. That makes your stomach turn, too. Clearly, he’s vaulted over mere anxiety and landed somewhere close to shutting down.

You nod. “He did.”

It spooks him when you take your right hand off the steering wheel and give his elbow a brief squeeze. You’re not the affectionate type; you both know this. It always makes your rare touches more ominous than comforting.

“Do you think he was running to something, or running away from something?”

Leave it to Jisung to say the quiet part out loud. 

Normally, you have an answer for his constant questions; and if you don’t, you resort to lying or guessing. This time, however, you don’t bother with either of those tactics because it doesn’t matter. Whatever the correct answer is, it’ll still feel wrong because Changbin doesn’t run.

Period.

Full stop.

So, the conclusion your brain keeps trying to come to is that he didn’t — he wouldn’t — if it came down to choice. The only reason Changbin would’ve disappeared like this, suddenly and wordlessly, is if he was taken.

Pulse hammering loudly in your ears, you don’t hear Jisung announce that your destination is only a few hundred meters down the road. Without his emphatic pointing out the windshield ahead, you simply would’ve continued racing forward, taking the speed limit as a suggestion to be ignored. Thankfully, your lead foot switches to the brake with enough time to make your turn. Tires hit dirt; your car fishtails as it transitions from the road to the worn-out path to your right.

“The fuck is this place?” You mutter, more to yourself than to Jisung.

It’s obsolete, you know that much. 

Something akin to an industrial park, but one that clearly hasn’t been used since before the War. There are electrical towers dotting a perimeter around the space, none of which are operational; the grid system was replaced by wind power, then by solar energy no fewer than fifty years ago. The driveway below is so cracked that patches of weeds have overtaken most of what remained of the pavement. All the rest is weathered, reduced to broken bits of cement and dirt.

Your car slows to a stop halfway down the parkway, surrounded on both sides by empty storage units with doors either broken or missing entirely. Hair raising on the back of your neck, you park but don’t kill the engine. Slowly, you rest your right hand over top of the holster strapped to your thigh and open your car door with your left.

The sun set a few hours into your drive. Its absence hasn’t done a damn thing to break the thick heat waiting for you outside. Humid air settles on your skin and leaves a sheen of sweat behind like a handprint, sticky.

“These were the coordinates,” Jisung affirms with a sigh. He stays seated inside the vehicle, leaving you to wonder why. He’s either too panicked to move, or correct in assuming you’d tell him to sit his unarmed ass back down before you made him.

You don’t respond. 

Instead, your eyes continue to scan the property for signs of — well, anything. Movement, a heat signature, whatever might register on your optical mods. There’s nothing, save for the stray tumbleweed somersaulting across the empty lot. You narrow your eyes to zoom in, heart pounding with anticipation.

You almost scream when you see it, but you swallow the urge. Fear won’t do you any good, but the semi-automatic strapped to your thigh might. It’s in your palm before you can blink, cocked and aimed at the figure ahead. At the bottom of your field of vision, your ammo count glows in translucent, block letters.

So, the ballistic co-processor is worth the pain.

Their posture is casual, legs dangling from the metal catwalk they sit on. Their elbows rest against the railing in front of them, as if they’re leaning on a counter in a bar and not spying on you from a scaffold four meters overhead. The way they’re watching in silence is unsettling enough; the wooden tal obscuring their face is fucking nightmare fuel, if you’ve ever seen it.

Head tilted curiously to the side, the stranger stares down at you through small eye holes, wooden mouth frozen in a hand-carved smile. Whoever they are, they’re immersed in the bit. They exaggerate every slow movement for their audience of two.

Good for them, you scoff to yourself.

Gloved hands come up to pantomime “don’t shoot” mere seconds before they grab hold of the railing in front of them. Just as quickly, they swing themselves underneath with a kick of their legs until they’re falling, falling, falling towards the ground below. They land easily on their feet without so much as a grunt. All the while, dust swirls in pirouettes around their ankles, spot-lit by your car’s headlamps.

“What — what the fuck?” Jisung squeaks. 

You don’t answer, but that doesn’t stop him from repeating his question, over and over.

Hands still raised, the stranger slowly closes the distance between you. Their fingers wiggle slightly in some demented version of a wave; they’re taunting you. The unhealed part of you wants to shoot those fingers off, one by one. 

You’ve never been fond of clowns.

“If you like having kneecaps without bullets in them, I suggest you stay still, chingu,” you scoff, now more annoyed than alarmed.

To your surprise, they listen. Their feet still, side by side; and their hands stay where you can see them. That is, until they curl all of their fingers into their palm, except for their right index finger. With it, they point silently over your shoulder.

As soon as you can whip your neck around, a gloved fist collides with your temple. The last thing you see before your vision goes black is a second, wooden smile looming over you.

A hushed tone manages to nudge you awake.

“You really can’t keep doing this. Seriously, your people skills are awful.”

The whole world’s blurry, and you can’t make out the source of the sound, but you’re coherent enough to know it when a second voice chimes in. It’s much less gentle than the first, higher in pitch and twice as exasperated. It snaps, “She was armed.”

“I had it under control,” the first voice huffs. 

The two seem to be too lost in their argument to notice your eyelids fluttering or your fingers twitching. Your wrists aren’t bound, you realize, but that fact doesn’t help you much in your current state. Back resting heavily against the thin nylon cloth of a cot, it’d take more energy than you have to spare in order to get to your feet. Worse, your eyes don’t seem interested in cooperating.

They should be by now. 

They’re open, you’re conscious, and —

Motherfucker.

The more awake you become, the more the ache in your temple reverberates down your jaw. You know without looking that the right side of your face is bruised to hell and back. Scraped up, too, if you had to guess; you hit the gravel like a bag of bricks.

They must’ve done it on purpose, hitting you exactly where they needed to in order to scramble your visual input. The most you get is shapes, black and white static. It wasn’t the hardest knock you’d ever taken to the head — not by a long shot — but it was perfectly targeted and timed. 

Clearly, they’re no amateurs.

One such shadow kneels down next to you. Gentle fingers tuck a strand of hair behind your ear while their other hand tilts your drooping head to the side. 

They tut, “Just look at what you did to her face.”

“From what I’ve heard, she’s been through worse,” the second voice scoffs. You watch the shadow’s shoulders as they shrug, wishing you could focus on their face well enough to bash it in.

The retort comes quickly, but it doesn’t come in Korean. 

“That doesn’t mean you can’t do better.”

The hands that gently cradle your face pull away, leaving you cold. The action itself isn’t as jarring as the sudden use of English, though — especially the accent it’s spoken with. You may not be fluent, but you can sense what’s missing: the consonant on the end of that last word.

You sense something else, too, but you’re still too disoriented to follow that thought from start to finish. It’s on the tip of your tongue, just out of reach.

Who — ?

The bastard that broke your brain must notice your face scrunching in confusion because their next words seem to be aimed at you. Clipped and unapologetic, they mutter, “Should be fine within the hour. Already been out for —” 

They suck in a breath through their teeth. You can’t tell if they’re stalling in order to toy with you, or if they’re genuinely doing the math. 

“— Seven hours or so, now.”

Fuck!

One of the two snorts out a laugh; it’s the only reason you piece it together that you spoke out loud. Emboldened by the confirmed functionality of your voice, you speak again without thinking it through first. 

You don’t care where you are or who you’re with. You only have one question:

“Is Changbin still alive? Because if he is, I’ll kill him myself.”

The man kneeling next to your cot chuckles, soft and low, but he doesn’t acknowledge your question beyond that. Instead, he addresses his hamfisted friend. “Can you please get her some water?”

“Am I a waiter now, Yongbok-ah?” The other snips, though his tone is devoid of any real heat. If his face wasn’t blurred out of existence, you’d likely find a sneer on it. “Should I roll some gimbap for her, too?”

“Actually, you should,” counters this Yongbok. His response is buried so deeply under his breath that his back talk may as well be a secret for your ears only. “Punched her clean into the next weekday — so, yeah. It’s the least you could do.”

It grows silent enough that you can hear every incredulous footstep as the waiter storms off.

The remainder says, “Sorry about him,” and for whatever little it’s worth, he sounds like he means it. You say nothing, simply marinating in your resentment. 

Meanwhile, he shifts from his knees in order to sit fully on the ground next to your cot. Elbows extended, he leans back onto his palms and sighs gently, “Minho’s not as bad as the first impressions he makes.”

You scoff so forcefully that you feel it in your sinuses. “This is the second. His first is the reason I can’t see who’s holding me hostage.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” The shape beside you sits up suddenly. He sputters, “You’re not a hostage, and this isn’t a kidnapping —”

“Then what the fuck is it?” You snap, “Huh, Yongbok?”

Blindly, you throw out a half-balled fist in a half-baked attempt to even the score. It misses by a mile, nearly knocking you off balance in the process. Your wrist is encircled by the same warm fingers you felt before, doubling over but exerting no force.

“We were scouting you. You know, like, soccer?” He chuckles sheepishly. “Changbin mentioned that you were a free agent, so to speak, and we thought you might wanna join the team.”

What the fuck?

“And — it wasn’t supposed to wind up like this.” His shadow’s hands gesture vaguely at the room you can’t see. “I did try to warn you. You just didn’t turn around in time.”

There are too many questions swirling around in your skull to choose from. One of them must break free and nudge your retinal chip back into place because something turns the lights back on. Glitching wildly, your vision flickers from low contrast to high definition. It doesn’t hurt, but the surprised gasp you choke out could easily be interpreted that way.

The man next to you is back on his knees in a second, both hands finding your shoulders to either comfort you or immobilize you — and you aren’t sure which. Against your better judgment, you ignore the reflex that tells you to fight or flee. Instead, you reach out and touch his cheekbone to confirm that the faint spots you see are freckles and not lingering sensory damage on your part.

He doesn’t even blink, much less say a word. There’s no jerk to get away, and there’s not a single question asked about what the fuck you’re doing — just tolerance. Far more than you’d be extending if the roles were reversed.

Freckles.

You aren’t embarrassed, but you drop your hand quickly and scowl at him until he does the same. Once again, he raises them as he leans back. Notably, he doesn’t wiggle his fingers like the first time you crossed paths.

That reminds me —

Abruptly, you draw your arm back to deck him in earnest. 

Just like the last time, he catches you before you can strike him; however, instead of capturing your wrist, it’s the entirety of your fist. His palm absorbs the shock, fingers closing around your hand. It’s the gentlest trap you’ve ever been ensnared in, which you hate.

Smart of you to prevent another attempt.

“Can I finish explaining myself?” He asks, voice soft. 

Bright doe eyes scan over your face cautiously as he contemplates letting your hand go. It’s disarming, sure, but you’d rather die than admit it. 

You give him absolutely nothing to work with, so he adds, “You can hit me when I’m done, if you still want to.”

All you give him in return is a glare, which he somehow correctly interprets as permission to keep going. The grip on your fist loosens, although it wasn’t constricting to begin with. Like nothing happened, you pull it away and cross your arms.

As if nonchalance has ever been your strong suit.

He stares at you, deep in thought, for longer than you know what to do with. Eyes sweeping over your features like he’ll be quizzed later, taking in every detail. It’s unsettling — what about you is even worth gawking at?

When he frowns, that spark of light in his eyes stays put. “You don’t remember me.” 

It’s not a question because he isn’t asking; he’s telling. And you have no goddamn clue what he means, no matter how loudly the voice in your head screams that you should. The familiarity buzzing through your brain can’t place him — not the button of his nose, not even those fucking freckles.

“I don’t know anyone named Yongbok,” you counter, frustration evident.

You wouldn’t be this harsh if you know how not to be. Part of you feels guilty when you see the hurt flicker across his face, but both emotions — his and yours — are gone as quickly as they appear. Consequently, the walls stay up, refusing to give. Despite you, the corner of his mouth hitches up in a lopsided version of a smile. 

That’s familiar, too.

“Never really went by it,” he chuckles. As he does, he tilts his head quizzically. 

Another bell rings, yet you can’t name the note.

Shyly, he takes his half-smile with him and looks anywhere else. The anticipation is spinning cartwheels in your stomach, tingling down the back of your neck, and you’re seconds away from trying to smack the trapped words right out of him. 

Who are you to me?

After a deep breath in and out, he glances back at you from the corner of his eye. His hesitation does nothing to prepare you for his response, which isn’t his name at all. It’s yours — a nickname, more specifically. One no one has used in damn near a decade.

“Been a while, Scraps. Hasn’t it?”

Felix has never seen anyone freeze the way you do when the realization finally hits. For a minute, he worries that Minho did more damage to your poor brain than either of them initially diagnosed; it wouldn’t be the first time. Minho’s never been known to be careful or tactful.

Your silence — and your total lack of physical response — doesn’t last, though. He nudges your kneecap with his knuckles just to make sure you can feel it. You blink rapidly, as if you’re just now remembering how.

He starts to ask, “Are you ok—?”, but your fist flies out, pops him right in the jaw, and he chokes on the rest of that question. Hands flying up to cover his face, he collapses back onto the floor with a groan. When the initial shock wears off, it dissolves into laughter that shakes his shoulders.

Honestly, what did he expect?

In a flash, you shove yourself off your cot. You’re on top of him before he can blink, pinning him down. You grip his shirt in one fist and raise the other. He braces himself for impact but doesn’t flinch, too taken aback by the fury you’re capable of communicating without a single word.

“You’re fucking with me,” you spit, breaking the silence.

Your glare is borderline feral — burning — and that makes him laugh even harder. 

“You haven’t changed a bit, you know that?”

To both of your surprise, you don’t hit him again; you don’t even try. You freeze, but unlike the last time, your eyes are shaking. Your raised arm is, too, like it’s taking all you have to keep whatever you’re feeling to yourself.

Classic Scraps.

You mutter, “You’re dead,” and it’s not a threat. 

Not even close, really. It’s a declaration, one accompanied by an expression that’s as close to vulnerable as he’s ever seen from you. All at once, you lower your arm; the rest of you slumps, too. Whispering, you repeat, “You’re dead.”

Something about your tone hurts worse than the burgeoning bruise near his mouth. It aches, even more so when he frowns. You deserve an explanation — an apology, too — but Felix doesn’t know where the fuck to start.

Maybe he should cash that reality check first.

“Is that what people are saying?” He asks.

He’s not sure what about that trips him up. It makes perfect sense that this is the conclusion people wound up jumping to. After all, he left without a word and never came back — didn’t leave a trace, either. 

Felix wasn’t the first teenager to slip through the cracks, so he’d figured that his would be another run-of-the-mill disappearance. Sure, people tend to notice when kids go missing; but that doesn’t stop the world from turning. Sooner or later, people stop looking, either too busy or too hopeless to keep holding a torch.

Eventually, they forget.

At least, that was the reality Felix had subscribed to — that, after a while, he’d slipped through the cracks of collective consciousness. It was easier to tell himself that he wasn’t missed. His guilt couldn’t keep him up at night if nobody remembered that he existed in the first place; especially when a decade slipped past in his absence.

But you did remember. 

You missed him.

You lift your knee so that you’re no longer straddling him and drop onto your back at his side.

It’s funny, he thinks as he stares up at the ceiling. The two of you spent years just like this, albeit on the hood of some junkyard sedan. Two pairs of wide eyes were always fixed on constellations, dreaming of something bigger than both of you. Of some future where you weren’t still stuck in the gutter.

“There was no trace of you anywhere.” You speak so softly that Felix is left to wonder whether you’re talking to him or yourself. “No records that you fled, no word from you, no hits on CCTV — nothing. The cops said there’d be a trail if…”

Your voice fades out before you can finish that thought, so Felix picks up where you left off: “If I was alive to leave one.”

There’s a long pause before you speak again. 

“This is where you disappeared to?”

He feels a shift beside him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the way you’ve tilted your head to gaze at him. By the time he does the same, the moment is gone, and you’re taking in the room around you. 

It’s not much, but it’s all he has: A small room in a decommissioned factory, smelling faintly of sawdust despite not containing any. The cot you just sprang from is where he’s spent most nights since he was fifteen. 

The floor underneath it — underneath you — is more dirt than concrete now, no matter how many times he’s scrubbed it; and the few iron shelves that hang along each wall are just as gross. So are the knickknacks he’s set on them, but he doesn’t mind.

The site itself is long forgotten. It’d be an eyesore if anyone ever looked, but no one bothers.

Even satellites have stopped paying it any attention, leaving it to fade into dirt and obscurity, not even a shadow of what it used to be. Once plush and inviting, the surrounding forest was leveled in a firefight that ended with ninety-percent of the nearby buildings getting blown to shit. 

The New Republic could’ve easily organized a relief team to dig through the shattered city. At any point in the last fifty years, they could’ve rebuilt what burned in that failed uprising, but they didn’t; and Felix knows they never will because that rubble has a function. Apart from burying one of the country’s most impoverished districts, it serves as a cautionary tale. A threat left behind to the masses: this is what happens when people pose risk to profits.

Still, flowers can grow within cracks in concrete. After all, his life with you started just a few kilometers away.

“Are we still in Changwon, or did you and that asshole drag me out of the province?” 

That edge of yours is ever present, and Felix is glad. It’s one of the million things he’s missed about you; a feature on the long list of reasons he wishes he could’ve called — messaged, sent a smoke signal, anything — to keep you around in whatever capacity he could.

But he didn’t. 

He couldn’t.

Felix feels the weight of a lost decade sitting heavy on his chest, so he does what he always does: he chooses light. Smiling brightly, he asks, “D’you remember that junkyard we used to run away to after curfew?”

You roll your eyes. You don’t have to say it out loud; he knows you do. The two of you spent more time there than you did in your own homes, lining glass bottles along the wooden fence posts and firing stones at them with a homemade slingshot.

“We’re a few kilometers up the road, actually.”

At this, you sit up so that no part of your body stays pressed against his. Dead silence settles in the space between you like a brick wall. You bristle, then you snap, “All that time you were dead, you were still within spitting distance?”

Felix opens his mouth to respond, but your rigid posture makes it clear that you have no desire to listen. He closes it again without saying a word. It’s what he deserves, isn’t it?

“Traded in your family, your home, your — Me.” You clear your throat to hide the fact that your voice breaks. It’s too late. “And for what, Felix? To haunt some abandoned building like a ghost?”

You clench your fists, like a grip tight enough might keep you together. That part of you hasn’t changed either, it seems. Neither has the extremely unsettling way you get quieter, the more upset you are. Just like that, he’s reminded of what you used to say: the more it hurts, the less it shows.

“I couldn’t pick you out of a fucking lineup despite all of that history,” you whisper, deflated. “And you were here the whole time.”

Talking won’t do him much good, so Felix opts to show you. Palms pressed to the ground, he pushes himself to his feet, and he doesn’t bother dusting off the back of his pants once he stands. It won’t make a difference, anyway, when the whole damn city is covered in it.

Once he steadies himself, he extends his hand to you, half-expecting you to slap it away. You don’t budge. You never do, he recalls fondly.

“One chance?” His eyes are pleading, even though you don’t look up to meet them. “It’s hard to explain, but it’ll make more sense if you see it.”

Without looking, you lift your arm and slap your hand into his. A small concession, but it’s enough to make his smile reappear. He’s practically beaming when he hauls you to your feet, and you grip his forearms to keep steady.

“Fine,” you concede with a huff. 

Then, you round on him with one pointed finger, jabbing him in the center of his chest with force. It’ll bruise, but he supposes that’s the whole point. 

“This better be worth all the fucking theatrics, or I swear to god —”

“You’ll make me swallow my own teeth?” He rolls his eyes with a low chuckle and tugs you along after him on his way to the door. “Yeah, yeah, yeah — Heard that threat a thousand times, Scraps, and you’ve never once made good on it.”

Just to emphasize his point, he looks over his shoulder at you and grins with all thirty-two of them.

All things considered, you take everything in stride. You don’t react much at all when you discover that the abandoned building is anything but; refuse to bat an eye when the two people you woke up to are revealed to be a tiny fraction of the whole.

You even keep your hand in his as he ushers you from room to room — through the clinic, the makeshift and woefully under-equipped armory, the Hub — and introduces you to whoever you come across. He might even go so far as to call you friendly, which is a first. Receiving any kind of warmth from you typically requires high-level security clearance. 

Or, at least, it used to. Felix has to remind himself more than once that, small echoes aside, there are parts of you he doesn’t know anymore. This could very well be one of them.

Halfway through the tour, you finally offer up more than a lukewarm greeting and your name. It’s just the two of you now; you don’t have to make yourself palatable anymore. Blunt as ever, you throw out, “This is a cult, right? You ran away from home to join a cult?”

There she is, he thinks.

Felix pulls a face in disapproval, which you either don’t catch or don’t care about. Instead, you turn your head in the opposite direction and let your gaze sweep over the loading dock you currently stand upon.

It’s the closest thing they’ve got to a sitting room, filled with the only comfortable furniture they could get their hands on — half-busted arm chairs, ratty old couches, tables held together with duct tape and a prayer. You drop suddenly onto one such couch, jerking him back until his ass winds up next to yours on a tattered cushion. 

Felix can’t tell if you pulled him down on purpose, or if you simply forgot that you were holding onto him. Either way, he doesn’t mind, but part of him hopes it was the former.

“It’s a collective,” he corrects you, lips flattening into a firm, straight line.

“You don’t have to sugarcoat it. If it’s a sex cult, just say so.”

He tries not to laugh — really, he does — because the last thing you need is an enabler, but your deadpan delivery has always hit him where he’s weakest. He tries again while swallowing a chuckle: “It’s the Black Screen, home to the most talented and ungovernable motherfuckers on the peninsula.”

You don’t look impressed. Felix doesn’t take it to heart.

“We’ve got a reconnaissance team, netrunners —” 

As if he’s doing a roll call, he points to nearby stragglers with every position he names. 

“— corporate defectors, combat vets, medics, ex-fixers —”

He nudges you with his elbow, wiggles his eyebrows and murmurs, “— Edge runners —” 

If that look in your eye is any indication, you still hate it when he does that.

“And a couple of wayward drunks who — well…” Felix pauses for a moment to think. It doesn’t help, so he shrugs, snickering, “I dunno how they got here, and they don’t contribute much, but they’re fun to have around!”

The corner of your mouth twitches, ever so slightly. He grins down at you, as if to say gotcha. 

“So, it is a sex cult,” you repeat flatly after a beat.

Felix can’t beat your bit, so he may as well join you in it. Bested, he sighs, “Yeah, pretty much.”

You hum in acceptance of his defeat, clearly amused by how easily he still gives in to you. 

With pursed lips, you continue to take in your surroundings. Your brow furrows while you process the information you’ve been bombarded with so far, but you don’t offer up any further questions or snide comments. Thankfully, the silence that falls over you both feels a lot less like lead than the previous one.

Felix’s gaze stays fixed on you, though you’re too busy looking elsewhere to notice. Maybe you couldn’t recognize him, but shit — he’d know you anywhere, anytime. You’ve gotten older, of course, finally grew into those features of yours. Still, there are hints of the kid he used to know hidden all over your face.

Original traits aside, the new additions — the tattoos, for starters — all read like you. In fact, Felix is fairly confident that he’d know who they belonged to, even if the other context was removed. After all, the cyberware installed into your hand can’t undermine the familiarity of it resting against his palm. 

And it sure as shit still hits like it used to.

He considers it a blessing, really, that so much of you survived the years that flew by without him. That the scrawny girl next door — ready and willing to fight God over a single slight — still rolls her eyes the same way, still speaks in that satoori his non-native tongue could never mimic.

“Maybe I’m missing something,” you announce suddenly. The unexpected sound of your voice startles Felix so much that he jumps, knocking his shoulder into yours in the process. You ignore his reaction and continue, “This just looks like someone is collecting people as a hobby. What are you all doing here?”

Oh.

Yeah, that’s a fair question.

“We’re… starting a fire,” Felix muses. 

You arch an eyebrow expectantly, although the rest of your face remains impassive. It’s less of a demand for him to continue than it is permission for him not to stop.

“And we’re going to burn it all down.” He hits you with a devilish grin, drops his voice low in a way that makes you shiver involuntarily. “The corpo-rats, the lies they sell — all of it.”

“Sounds like anarchy,” you say, tilting your head to the side. There’s a beat, then you grin to match his. “Sign me up.”

Felix stands at the far side of the dining area with his arms crossed and his head leaning back against the cinder blocks behind him. His legs are crossed at the ankles, knees aching from the sheer amount of time he’s been holding the wall up. 

As much as his body wants to sit, the rest of him is out of options. The only table that isn’t full is the one you’re occupying with Changbin and Jisung. After the day you’ve had, you deserve time alone with something familiar. He recognizes that he isn’t that. 

Not anymore — and not yet, either. 

He finds it hard to stray too far, though. You’ve always been able to fend for yourself — that black-and-blue jaw of his is proof enough — but it’s a role he can’t help falling into, looking out for you. Muscle memory.

Although Felix can’t quite make out anything that the three of you are saying, it’s clear as a damn bell when you slam your palms down on the table. Just as obvious is the split second in which your anger gives way — when the pain in your right hand finally registers in your brain.

“That one going to be a problem?”

Hyunjin, as usual, seems to appear out of thin air. He sidles up to Felix and takes up the spot next to him along the wall. All it takes is one quick glance to confirm it — he’s exhausted. Dark half-moons sit in the wells beneath his eyes like ink, silently informing Felix of yet another all-nighter; still keeping secrets as to where he goes at night when everyone else is sleeping.

But Hyunjin isn’t a mystery Felix will ever be able to solve, so he looks back in your direction and asks, “Who, Scraps?” Then, with a shake of his head, he sighs, “No. She’s a cherry bomb, but she’s reliable. Far more than most, actually.”

It’s odd, Felix thinks, that Hyunjin didn’t already know the answer to that question. As the reconnaissance leader of the Black Screen, there isn’t much Hyunjin isn’t aware of. Felix doesn’t comment on that piece, however. Instead, he does his best to interpret your reaction.

“If I had to guess, Changbin just told her about the fake kidnapping.”

And Hyunjin doesn’t do a damn thing to conceal his smirk. That was his plan, after all. 

Two weeks ago, Seo Changbin stumbled upon a lead by accident. While Felix isn’t privy to the details of what Changbin dug up, he knows it must’ve been significant. That’s the only explanation Felix can come up with as to how Changbin wound up at the rendezvous point. Nobody — not the corporate ghouls, their war dogs, or any other sorry soul  — finds the Black Screen unless they want to be found. 

Felix is privy to what happened next because it’s the only reason he wound up involved in this at all:

Whatever intel Changbin had was groundbreaking enough to score an invitation to the revolution, but he had more to offer the higher-ups than that. He dropped the name of someone who could be an asset, under the right circumstances. Someone who wouldn’t follow a breadcrumb trail for free but would tear the peninsula apart to find whoever owed them.

For what it’s worth, Felix disagreed with that characterization the second he heard it. Despite the mask you like to wear, you’re incapable of being self-centered. You’ve never been profit-driven, heartless, or attachment-avoidant. Just hellbent on survival for you and the people you feel responsible for, even as a kid. 

The only reason Felix hasn’t asked you about your motive outright is because he knows you’d lie. The truth is simple: Unless it was for someone you care deeply about, you wouldn’t waste gasoline on speeding back to a place you hate.

Hyunjin clears his throat, pulling Felix out of the daze he’d fallen into. Given the pointed look on his face, Hyunjin must be repeating himself when he says, “She got you bad, huh?”

Confusion forces Felix’s brow to furrow. 

“This?” He takes a wild guess and gestures to the bruise on his jaw before waving dismissively. “Nah, her form is terrible. Truly garbage-tier follow-through. I can teach her, though.”

Hyunjin pushes himself off the wall and moves to exit the dining area. As he passes by, he gives Felix a patronizing pat on his shoulder. “Not what I meant, Yongbokie.”

Felix frowns, unsure how to take what he’s being given. 

The fuck?

“Not even close,” Hyunjin calls over his shoulder. 

He shoots Felix a wink, and then he’s gone, disappearing out the door the same way he entered it — like a goddamn apparition.

“Wow. Recruited? That’s — wow.”

Jisung is doing a terrible job of pretending he isn’t blushing. He clears his throat to keep his voice even, but it’s useless. He’s not fooling anyone. 

“I didn’t realize we were so sought after.”

“You’re not,” Changbin responds bluntly. He gestures across the table to you but maintains his eyes on Jisung. “She is. You just happened to be present, and they couldn’t leave a witness behind.”

Jisung doesn’t bother to hide the way his face falls. When he opens his mouth to whine, you raise your hand and silently demand that he spare you the earache. It seems to work; he slumps dejectedly and leans with his elbows against the tabletop. You proceed to ignore him.

Affect flat, you stare straight ahead at the source of all your fucking problems. The half of you that wants to hug Changbin for being alive and well is significantly quieter than the half of you that wants to grab him by the nape of his neck and shove his face into his yukgaejang.

Bastard.

“I no longer give a shit how I ended up here,” you state coolly. Liar. “That ship has sailed, and to keep it a buck with you, Binnie —” 

He cringes at the nickname, which is exactly the reaction you sought. 

“— I’m not interested in stroking your ego for getting one over on me. It won’t happen again. What I’m still waiting on —” 

The only reason you leave that clause hanging in mid-air is to see the anticipation stir in his eyes. From where you’re sitting, it’s what he deserves: a little bit of unnecessary suspense. Really, it’s a form of reparations for the giant fucking inconvenience he’s been lately. His balance is way past due. 

Jisung, perpetually along for the ride, shovels shrimp chips into his mouth while his eyes dart back and forth between your face and Changbin’s.

You shoot Changbin a sly smile and grab his beer, tilting the can his way in lieu of a bow. His eyes narrow, visibly annoyed with your stalling, but he doesn’t audibly complain when you down the rest of his drink. Resigned, he accepts the empty can that you hand it back to him

At long last, you clear your throat.

“— is an explanation for why you’re here,” you finally sigh.

Changbin rolls his eyes so hard that they go all-white for a moment. Then, to your surprise, he glares across the table at Jisung. 

“You know, my life was way more pleasant before you dragged this one,” he huffs, gesturing to you with his chopsticks, “Into my bar.”

Just for a moment, Changbin sits with his annoyance. He’s entitled to some of it, you’ll concede. You’re not easy to love — you never have been — and you’re occasionally even harder to like. Despite that, he’s been known to look out for you in his own, mostly useless way; even in moments like this, when you’re being a fucking gash simply because you can. 

But the fact remains that you dragged your ass across a peninsula for him. He knows damn well that you accept payment in the form of secrets when cash is too hard to come by, so…. 

“Spill,” you demand.

That tough exterior of his collapses like wet cardboard, just like you knew it would. He glances around the room quickly to confirm that no one is listening in, then he pushes his empty bowl out of the way. With the threat of staining his white t-shirt neutralized, Changbin leans in and asks, “Do either of you know Jung Wooyoung?” 

Simultaneously, you and Jisung respond:

“The boxer?”

“The biter.”

Just the same, your friends turn to you with identical looks of bewilderment. You shrug, declining to elaborate because Changbin asked if you knew him, not how or how intimately. Truth be told, you’re not sure that he’s prepared for that answer.

“Anyways,” Changbin segues after clearing his throat. “He’s not up to either of those tasks these days.”

Genuinely curious, Jisung asks with a frown, “Did someone finally kill him?”

Fair question, you think.

With the way Wooyoung runs his mouth, it’s a wonder he’s lived as long as he has — assuming, of course, that he’s still alive. Beyond picking fights with people three times’ his size, his specialties include fixing matches and swiping other fighters’ significant others. If he’s not dead yet, you figure, it’s only a matter of time until the consequences of his antics come calling.

Changbin shakes his head, and the look on his face seems weirdly solemn, like the answer is even worse than that. It’s sobering; it knocks the smirk right off your face.

“He was short on cash, so he signed up for some clinical trial promising a million won for participants.”

Jisung, the resident non-doctor, sits up at this development. “Thanotech?”

You’re in the middle of rolling your eyes when Changbin intercepts, grimacing: “No, that’s the fucked up part. Well, one of the fucked up parts.”

Two pairs of expectant eyes lock on him.

“It’s Ulsan running the trial.”

You don’t pretend to be well-versed in any of the biomedical, cybernetic shit going on around you, but you do know that this particular corporation never leaks details of its research and development — not ever. Doing so would run the risk of a lesser titan swooping in to try and to dupe it. 

But that’s not the only revelation that smacks you upside the head.

“Ulsan pays for lab rats now?” You scoff, surprised by your own interest. “Here I was, thinking they used ex-employees for that shit.”

It sounds callous when you say it out loud, but it’s a universal assumption. Part of the New Republic’s mythology, so to speak.

In your lifetime, you’ve never come across a single person who used to work for the Ulsan Corporation — not one. Just the same, you’ve never heard about anyone leaving; no one you’ve ever met has. It’s beyond the realm of possibility that a corporation like that has no turnover, so where do people go when their turn is over?

The dumpster out back, some say. According to others, they wind up in a secret mass grave in the oil fields.

“When he came back, I didn’t know where he’d been or why; I just saw him wandering around like a fucking zombie.” Changbin shivers. “He’s empty now, all sucked dry.”

Jisung looks pointedly at you, shit-eatin grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Is that what happened when you —?”

An elbow to the center of his chest stops his question before he can finish asking it. He yelps instead, scooting his chair further down the table to get away from you, your sharp edges, and your even sharper glare.

“It freaked me the fuck out, and I didn’t have any answers, so I started poking around for something — anything — that might make sense of it.”

“So, that’s how you got pulled into the web.”

The voice from nowhere makes all three of you jump. You whip around to find yet another stranger. 

How many fucking people do I have to meet today? 

This particular wild card sits on top of the table directly behind yours with arms gently crossed over her chest; not closed off but cold, judging by the goosebumps making themselves known across her bare arms. Her boots rest on the chair in front of her, one chrome leg shining next to flesh-and-blood.

Whoever she is, she’s beaming. That fact confuses the shit out of you because you’re not often met with friendliness, especially from unknowns. Or maybe, you think, it’s a well-concealed effort to disarm you. Whatever it is, it’s working; the urge to snap at her for intruding is dead on arrival. 

You open your mouth to ask what she means, but you can’t get the words out before someone else interjects. 

Minho, that bastard, shouts from across the room, “Spider! Got a minute?”

Her eyes light up in a way that says she has several, so long as he’s the one asking. Without another word, she hops to her feet and pushes the chair that held them back under the table. As she heads his way, she sends you an apologetic smile, like she somehow owes you anything.

“I don’t know what they unraveled by pulling that thread,” Changbin sighs, nodding towards the pair exiting the room. “But this place has been buzzing since I got here.”

You need something to chew on that isn’t this, so you reach over and grab the bag of shrimp chips from Jisung’s unsuspecting hands. The frown he gives you is cartoonish, but as usual, he doesn’t put up a fight. Your version of an apology is holding a spare chip out to him, which he happily accepts.

After shoveling a handful into your mouth, you mumble, “So now what?”

“I don’t know about you, but if these guys —” Changbin gestures vaguely around the room with his index finger pointed. “— Give me a target to point at, I’ll pull the trigger.”

You snort, “That’s a lot of trust.” 

It doesn’t mean much, coming from you. Your metric is beyond fucked, and you know it. That word is foreign, though; so far out of your grasp that you can’t wrap your brain around it.

“Maybe it is,” Changbin mutters while he looks down at the empty can in his grip. 

For a moment, that’s all he says. All he does is stare into the black hole of its opening, as if there’s some answer lurking in the emptiness below it. He must not find it, though, because he crumples the aluminum like a piece of scrap paper. 

When he glances back up at you, you see the uncertainty in his eyes. It reads like fear, which manages to unsettle you.

“I just — I can’t see what I saw and do nothing.”

Your second month in the compound starts with a bang — no, a thud. 

With your body being forcibly ejected from your cot, crashing onto the ground, and your jaw clenching shut quickly with a click of gritted teeth.

“How many fucking times are we doing this?” You growl, less than half-awake. 

Already past today’s quota for rage, you form a fist and swing your arm back violently against the capsized cot; it scrapes along the cement floor and skitters further away from you. The sudden burst of movement doesn’t do anything to make you feel better, but it was worth a shot, you suppose.

Felix, whose sunshine smile is too goddamn bright for this hour, crouches down in front of you. He at least has the decency to look apologetic when he lilts, “Until you learn to wake up to an alarm, I fear.”

He pauses, eyes scanning for any genuine distress beyond your shitty mood.

“Does that hurt?” He frowns.

Bleary eyes follow his pointed finger to your elbow, now prickling with blood where you skinned it against the floor. It doesn’t; and you’re not even remotely concerned about it, so you swat his hand away without answering his question and shove yourself to your feet. Once standing, you wander over to your steamer trunk to grab something clean enough to wear. 

The shadowy one, Hyunjin, brought your shit to you a week ago —  thank god. He provided no explanation whatsoever for how he knew where you lived or how he managed to get inside your building, but you’re a beggar, not a chooser. You’d rather enable his burglary than keep wearing the same, re-washed clothes you came here with or borrowing from people you still don’t know well.

As you peel yesterday’s tank-top up and over your head, your gravelly voice flies out to Felix, who stands and moves to lean against the wall. “You at least going to feed me breakfast before you bore me with more target practice?”

That’s most of what your time together has been so far, anyway. The chain of command is sorting out details above your pay grade; and you condition yourself to jump as high as they may eventually ask you to.

Felix doesn’t answer you, which isn’t like him. You look at him out of the corner of your eye and find him staring up at the ceiling, like his life depends on it.

“What are you —?” 

Oh.

You glance down, cutting your question off midway through. He’s giving you and your semi-exposed body privacy, that’s what. 

Sensing blood in the water, you swim in to scoff, “You have no problem flipping my bed when I’m in it, but bras are where you draw the line? What kind of gentleman are you?”

Still averting his eyes, he rolls them. You do him the favor of tugging on a different, slightly wrinkled tank-top; but you don’t give him the courtesy of letting up.

“Where do you stand on ass, Felix?”

“Are you always this annoying, first thing in the morning?” 

Amusement slips through the cracks despite his efforts to conceal it. You slip out of the cotton shorts you slept in, dip your toes under the fabric pooled around your ankles, and flick them at him. He concedes his staring contest to the panels overhead in order to catch them.

Impressive reflexes.

“I’m this annoying at all hours of the day.” You grin impishly for just a second, then shrug. “You’re just less able to handle it, first thing in the morning.”

Bending back over your trunk, you dig through for something denim. You land on black, high-waisted shorts with a triumphant, “Aha!”, and make a big show of raising your trophy overhead. Once again, you glance at Felix to see if your attempt to get a rise out of him was successful. In a way, yes, it was — just not in the way you expected.

Based on the way his gaze lingers on your thighs and the curve of your ass, you don’t think Felix even noticed your theatrics. You don’t think he means to stare, either. As far as you can see, it’s the perfect opportunity to fuck with him further.

“Admiring the tattoos?” You arch an eyebrow and wait for him to blush out of panic at being caught. “I can recommend the artist, if you want to hit them up.”

To your surprise, you don’t rattle him. Dark eyes flick up from your body to your face, and they don’t seem ashamed of where they’ve been. Your plan backfires. More than that, it blows up right in your face, which is starting to heat up.

“The cantine closes in five minutes. Training starts in ten,” he states matter-of-factly, holding your gaze. “So, you can either eat, or you can keep pretending you’re not trying to flirt with me.”

Your mouth drops open, but you can’t even snap back at him before he chirps, “The choice is yours, Scraps,” with a playful smile.

With nothing more to say, Felix leans away from the wall. On his way out the door, he gives you a lazy, two-finger salute. Dumbstruck, you stand there, watching him leave; wondering where the hell your bumbling, sweetly shy friend from back home managed to disappear to. 

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” Felix waggles his finger at you. A smug smile toys at his lips when you let out a frustrated grunt. “That’s the problem.”

He takes a step away from you, raises his fists to mimic your posture, and throws a right jab out into the air ahead of him. When he draws it back, he pauses with his shoulders even.

“D’you see the issue with this?” He asks, loosening one fist so that he can gesture from shoulder to shoulder.

You roll your eyes. “Is it that nobody’s currently hitting you?”

Felix, to his credit, is completely unbothered by the attitude you keep giving him. He’s far more patient than he should be with you. You, however, do not take criticism well.

“You square yourself off instead of retriggering an attack,” he gently corrects you. “By not turning and leading with your shoulder —” He twists slightly backwards, so that his body is angled similarly to the way it was when he struck in the first place. “— you leave all this surface area open.”

Okay, fine. 

You’ll concede that this makes sense, but you will not admit to poor blocking. In fact, deflecting is what you’re best at, so that’s precisely what you do. 

“And how exactly am I supposed to block hits that aren’t coming?”

Felix relaxes his stance with confusion scribbled all over his face. You don’t wait for him to ask what you mean, plunging right into your notes for him:

“This sparring shit doesn’t feel real because you refuse to hit me. It’s been weeks, and there still aren’t any stakes. If you’re going to insist that I learn this — which, by the way, feels pointless when I’m already armed —”

You gesture down to your thigh, where your pistol is normally strapped. 

“— then you have to make me care.”

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, opting instead to quietly chew on the challenge you’ve raised. For a split second, you think you’ve finally grasped the straw that’ll break his back. He turns towards the door and walks away, seemingly giving up on trying to teach a rabid dog new tricks.

But Felix defies your expectations yet again, grabs your gear off the counter at the far side of the room, and heads back to you. As he walks, he pulls back the slide to fish out the round that waits in its chamber. Bullet still in hand, his focus shifts to the magazine, which he easily removes from the base of your pistol’s grip. After tucking your ammunition into the back pocket of his jeans for safekeeping, he holds your now-empty firearm and thigh strap out to you. 

“Gear up.”

Now, it’s your turn to be confused. You accept the items he pushes into your hands with both eyebrows raised.

“Are we giving up on hand-to-hand, then?”

“Absolutely not,” Felix snorts with a shake of his head. “I’m just going to prove the necessity.” When you don’t budge, he waves his hand to hurry you along. “C’mon, Scraps. Strap in.”

Eyeing him suspiciously, you slip the vertical strap over your belt loop and fasten it before doing the same to the horizontal piece around your thigh. Once it’s nestled snugly against your skin, you slide your weapon into its resting place. 

Holding your hands up, you fire off a saccharine smile like the brat you are. “All done,” you chirp.

The smirk that appears on his face makes your stomach flip for two reasons, the least of which is the anticipation of his next move.

“You want it to feel real, right?” His voice drops so low that you feel it deep in your abdomen. “Fine by me.”

Like before, Felix steps slightly backwards. With a nod of his head towards your firearm, he challenges you, “Draw.”

It’s unfamiliar, seeing him counter you like this. Growing up, he was content to go in whichever direction you nudged him in. The version of Felix you knew back then was passive, agreeable to fault. You may not know what the fuck he’s planning now, but he radiates newfound authority that you almost want to respect, so you listen.

“Fine,” you demur while your fingertips trail over the cool, metal grip. “Make your point and move onto something useful.”

The next sequence of events flashes by so quickly that your brain can hardly keep up. 

Just as soon as you pull the gun from its holster, Felix turns in his spot, channeling the momentum into a strong push off the ground. He’s in the air before you can even level the barrel; and in the blink of an eye, the side of his boot collides with your hand, forcefully ejecting the gun from your grip. The power behind his kick sends the weapon flying several meters away, where it clatters to the floor with a smack amidst the quiet.

Gasping more so out of surprise than pain, you recoil your stinging fist and clutch it to your chest. He reads your expression incorrectly, if his widened eyes are any indication. Immediately, Felix breaks his stance to step across the distance in between you.

Worried hands come to rest on your biceps, squeezing gently. He urgently asks, “You alright?”

You blink back at him, throughly stunned by how fucking fast his reflexes are, and he misinterprets that, too. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he sputters. His next words come out so frantically that they bleed together over the course of one breath. “I really didn’t want to hurt you; I just needed you to understand that your gun can’t always save you. Sometimes, you have to —”

“That was insane,” you blurt out.

Felix’s eyes widen, caught completely off-guard by your interruption. It’s understandable, you think. After all, it’s the closest thing to a compliment you’ve given him over the past few weeks. 

He peeps, “Oh?”

You nod vigorously — and there’s that sweetly shy boy from down the block, blushing slightly under the weight of your attention. 

Somehow, seeing him this way feels like home; the one you knew before he disappeared, that you might actually admit to missing. Acting solely on instinct, you unfurl your right hand and seek out the warmth of his cheek, like it’ll flip a switch and turn the clock back.

It doesn’t. Of course, it doesn’t — but you can’t help feeling like this is fine, too.

Until you realize what the fuck you’re doing, and you see the starry-eyed look he’s giving you. Then, you do what you always do.

You dodge.

Patting his cheek patronizingly, you breeze, “I guess I’ll let you train me, then,” before turning to retrieve your gun.

“Oh, really now?” He laughs, like he’s already forgotten the way your mask just cracked. You can’t tell if you’re grateful for this, or disappointed. “Is violence all it takes to win you over?”

Disappointed. 

You wish he’d called your bluff again, like he did so long ago in that closet you’re currently calling a bedroom. Once wasn’t enough; you want to be caught out, to have someone refuse to let you get away with the bullshit you’re always trying to pull. For some proof that you’re not the bulldozer you pretend to be.

Felix raises an eyebrow as he tilts his head teasingly to the side. “Are you actually going to shut up and take instruction this time?”

Like that.

“Maybe.” You crouch down to grab your discarded pistol off the ground, lips pursed to keep the satisfied smile off your face. “Are you going to stop pulling punches?”

Three weeks of sparring tick by before you manage to clean his fucking clock.

It came as a surprise to both of you; not just that Felix slipped up in the first place, but that you were fast enough to capitalize on an opening he’s otherwise never created. You might’ve gasped even louder than he did when you managed to seize the opportunity — but that memory is fuzzy already. It doesn’t matter, anyway, not to him. Either way, the point stands: 

You actually learned from the shit he’s been trying to instill in you.

Having hobbled from the training room to his bedroom, Felix now sits on top of the old, metal counter that once served as a workbench. It’s not comfortable by any means, but he’d rather die than move from his current position. Between his knees, you stand close to him, holding a frozen sponge to his left eye with your right hand. 

Funnily enough, that particular hand is the reason he needs an ice pack in the first place.

For a while, the pair of you exist in comfortable quiet. It’s nice, he thinks, just being present. He would’ve been happy to carry on that way for as long as possible, but the shitty voice in the back of his brain keeps yelling that he’s letting more moments slip by than he has to spare. Wasting time that he should be making up.

He clears his throat to shake off the rust, prompting you to glance down from his forehead to his eyes. Your expression is hard to read, but there’s anxiety in there, somewhere. Felix worries that you’re worried; you’re searching for a sign that you’ve somehow injured him further.

“You’re a quick study — if and when you want to be.” His teasing sounds pathetic because his voice is barely more than a groan. Still, he smirks, “Those corporate mercenaries won’t stand a chance.”

With his good eye, Felix watches as your mask cracks a little further in the shape of a smile. 

For once, you simply nod in acknowledgement and let the compliment slip through your defenses without trying to deflect it. He wants to compliment you for that progress, too, but he’s hesitant to push his luck when he’s already flying half-blind by the seat of his pants. 

Then again, it might be worth the risk to push the envelope — even if you succeed in punching his goddamn lights out for good. He doubts that he’d complain, if that were the case. You’d be an incredible last sight to ever see, wouldn’t you?

His internal monologue pipes up again, demanding that he gamble.

Every single muscle he has aches after spending hours sparring with you, but that’s not at all what he’s talking about when he says, “You’re a knockout, Scraps.”

It’s a cop out, but it’s something. 

Just for a second, Felix wonders if you heard what he meant, and not just what he said. All his doubt disappears when that shy smile tugs even harder at the corners of your mouth.

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes, chuckling quietly. “If you want to get technical, you didn’t even lose consciousness —” 

Carefully, you bring your free hand up to his forehead and brush flyaway strands of hair out of the way of the makeshift ice pack. By contrast, your fingertips are warm enough to simmer on his skin.

“— so you’ll have to try that joke again when you actually do.”

Although you could, you don’t take your hand back after unsticking his hair from the condensation on his skin. You lower it gently, let it rest on his shoulder, and leave Felix to wonder if it’s a choice, a convenience, or a reflex. 

This eats at him.

A long time ago, this little gesture wouldn’t be something he’d have to guess at. He used to just understand, never once needed to be told. So far out of practice, he’s no longer fluent in your body language — and he hates it.

Unwilling to leave anything else up to interpretation, Felix looks up at you with one, unobstructed eye. “Wasn’t joking,” he murmurs.

You freeze without meeting his eyes. 

If he didn’t know better, he might think your retinal mods had been knocked loose again. You don’t seem to see him, and that’s all he wants. All he gets is quiet, so he tries again: “And I’m not bullshitting you, either.”

It’s his low voice speaking your real name that finally draws you out of hiding. Surprised for just a moment, your expression softens when you notice the way he’s studying your reactions. You don’t speak at first, but your bottom lip is pinched between your teeth; a telltale sign that you’re trying to.

“Since this is apparently honesty hour,” you start with an exhale.

Felix braces himself for whatever evasive maneuver you’re going to throw next. 

Shockingly, you don’t throw out a joke to change the subject. You take the ice pack off his eye so he can see you properly, set it down next to his thigh on the counter, and scrub your hands sheepishly over your face.

“You freak me the fuck out.”

You laugh despite yourself, and then you pause just like that; like you’re waiting on him to laugh at you, too. When he doesn’t, you take it as your cue to keep going: “Am I insane, or does this feel easy?

“I think both things can be true.” You shoot him a look that could — and might — kill him. He holds his hands up in surrender, but he keeps his eyes locked on you. “And I know you’re not used to easy.”

Felix doesn’t know what he expects you to do next, but your next move isn’t one he would’ve guessed. In the end, it’s your still-chilled palms reaching up to meet him, and your fingers filling the empty spaces between his. Brow furrowed, you study the way you fit together, like the words you’re searching for are hidden somewhere in the gaps of your chain-linked knuckles.

“I’m not used to it because I avoid it,” you correct him, frowning. “Easy scares the shit out of me. It just feels like a trap, you know? Like, the second you stop looking out for it, the other shoe will drop and knock your unsuspecting ass to the dirt.”

Keeping his fingers interlaced with yours, he lowers your joined hands until they rest against the tops of his thighs. You watch them go; he watches you, and he can’t help thinking that he’s the reason you armored up in the first place. That him leaving was the blow to the head that taught you to wear a helmet.

“I’ve got good reflexes,” Felix whispers, squeezing your hand.

At this, your eyes flick upwards. A microscopic crease forms between your eyebrows, and he knows exactly what’s coming next, so he says it first: “Excluding today, obviously.”

When you smile, it hits him even harder than your right hook did.

“What are you saying, exactly?” You ask, head tilting to the side as you narrow your eyes.

“Fuck the shoe.”

The look on your face suggests that he can’t possibly be serious, but he’s never been more so. Maybe he can’t promise you easy in a world like this one; and he can’t keep that fucking shoe from dropping, but he swears he’ll catch it when it does.

Felix has to let go of your hands to hold you properly. You lean into his touch when he snakes his arms around your waist; and you rest your forehead against his, careful not to press into the bruise that borders his eyebrow.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he whispers. You hum in reply, confirming your willingness to trade. “Kiss me now, and we’ll batten down the hatches later.”

Felix may have called you a quick learner, but you have to wonder what his basis for comparison is. From your vantage point, it’s him that catches on in a heartbeat, like nothing unexperienced is truly new to him. 

Coincidentally, it’s also him that’s kneeling between your thighs, bearing the weight of your hinged knees over his shoulders and making you shake with his tongue alone.

“Fuck, fuck — nngh — fuck!” 

It’s all you can say because it’s the best you can do. 

Over and over, too drunk on the sensation of his mouth, you let profanity spill out of yours. He has you dripping in more ways than one, pooling on that godforsaken counter, and you can’t spare a single thought about the mess you’re making.

Every neuron fixates on him, the cotton-candy blue strands gripped tight between your fingers, and the way he devours you, like he’s making up for skipped meals.

“F-Felix,” you beg, breathless.

Looking up at you from under his lashes, he feigns innocence. It’s bullshit — he knows you’re on the brink of death, knows your whole damn body is buzzing — and his sweet smile doesn’t match his actions. You jolt, wailing, when another kitten lick trails over your clit.

“Hmm?” That low timbre of his vibrates through you when he pulls back, panting.

God, you’re spent already, but you can’t collapse until you know what he feels like, buried to the hilt in you. Something about that need makes you shiver; has your bottom lip quivering when you manage to squeak, “Please.”

Absolutely boneless, you slump against the wall behind you. With far more grace than you, Felix maneuvers his way out from under the tangle of your legs. He ensures that they fall gently back into place on the countertop.

“Gotta work on that stamina if you’re gonna help wage a war,” he teases.

The half-powered glare you shoot at him doesn’t stop him from leaning in and pressing a kiss to your forehead. It doesn’t keep his fingertips from tracing languid lines down the lengths of your bare thighs, either.

Your voice is fucked out and weightless, far softer than you’ve ever heard yourself sound. “Is that what this is? Conditioning?”

The hand not caressing your thigh comes up to cradle your jaw, like it’s something fragile. It’s the first time anyone’s touched you as if you’re breakable, worth protecting — and motherfucker, you’re one soft smile away from crying.

“No.” 

He states it much more firmly than he kisses you. So gentle that you can’t believe it’s real until you taste yourself on him, so warm that you dissolve like a sugar cube on his tongue. 

Fuck any other person that’s ever pressed their lips to yours and called it a kiss. They’re liars, all of them. One by one, their names disappear with every passing second in which you know better.

“Need you,” you moan into his mouth. 

Fistfuls of his shirt can’t bring him close enough. Even when his head dips down and his lips are at your throat, the ache wins out. You crave him anywhere — everywhere — all over you. 

“Going crazy —” You gasp when his teeth nip at your collarbone. “— waiting on you.”

Greedy hands drop to the button of his jeans, fumbling to no avail. Apparently, your dexterity flew out the window two orgasms ago. A frustrated whine jumps out after it, pushing your head back as it goes.

Felix’s low chuckle soothes you, but it’s nothing compared to the relief you feel when his hands nudge yours out of the way. That, too, is a drop in the bucket; bliss crashes in waves when there’s no denim left to separate you. His hands land on your hips, fingertips pressing into your flesh as he guides you further down his length. 

Never — not fucking ever — have you made a sound quite as pathetic as the one you bury into the crook of his neck. You can’t classify it, not as a moan or a whimper. It’s desperate — loud. It’s an air raid siren; every fucking barricade you’ve built over the years being blown to smithereens.

This is it, you think.

Fuck your bank account. 

Fuck staring at the sky and waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Fuck your contracts, your shithole apartment, and the million different ways you were set up to lose in this life.

This isn’t about you at all. It’s about you and him; all the space and time you’re dead set on reclaiming.

This is for us.

a/n: thank you so much for reading! i’ve been working on this since JUNE, and it’s a much bigger undertaking (creatively and….. mentally) than anything else i’ve done before, so i’m scared and also excited to start sharing it with y’all.

while likes are appreciated, comments/tags/reblogs with your thoughts are really what make my brain go brrrtt.

tagging: @saintriots, @mal-lunar-28, @dabiscrustyfeet

wanna be tagged for future uploads? sign up here.

[wh0relibrarian]

sunshine

a/n: a continuation of this post, although altered to be a summer break instead of winter. completely got lost in that 😭 please excuse any informalities, i’m still getting used to writing in second person (or smut for that matter), and tumblrs post format! so don’t be mean ;(

context (if you don't want to read the previous post): Reader is visiting her hometown for the summer. A rising grad student who just so happens to bump into Sukuna at the airport. After quick introductions, he gives her his number in case she gets too lonely...

content ahead: southern sukuna au, black coded!reader, afab!reader, d referred to as dick bc i don’t like using “cock”, v referred to as cunt or pussy, age gap (reader in her early 20s, sukuna is in his early 30s), cowgirl, daddy kink, rough!sukuna (but he’s still a softie), needy!reader, clit stimulation, nicknames such as sweetheart, princess, baby/babydoll, creampie, ass/face slaps, lots of praise, a decent amount of plot

word count: 3.9k

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You’ve been texting Sukuna for a week now. Off and on, trying not to seem too interested, but interested enough to keep his attention. It sucked that he was a man very obviously out of touch with technology, because you can’t find pictures of him anywhere. Not even a Facebook page. You’ve just been grasping at straws, trying to remember each detail of his face. Each tattoo. You didn’t even get enough time to admire the one’s on his face, way too engulfed in his general appearance.

And oh, Sukuna. That poor man. He knew from the moment he saw you that you’d keep him up at night. From the curvature of your lips— only being the opening act to the beautiful smile you had hidden beneath. He tries to remember what color your shirt was, but can only remember how plump your tits looked. Practically spilling out of a… tank top? Or maybe it was a crop top. You had a jacket on, which he knows was gray because you kept trying to wrap it around your waist like you were embarrassed by your body. He couldn’t figure out why, though. You’re beautiful from head to toe, every part of you.

But today, today was the day you’d ask him to take you out. Or just ask to go out in general. Hell, you’d take anything at this point.

You: Hiii Sukuna. How’s your wrist feeling? I know a couple days ago you said it was progressively getting worse, any updates?

Sukuna: Hey babydoll. I think it’s all good now. Nothin a lil icyhot can’t fix. How are you?

You: I’m happy to hear that :) and I’m okay, just bored, per usual.

Sukuna: Ya know I’m always around.

You: It’s funny you mention that… I was wondering if you were busy later today? Or tonight. Either or, whatever works best for you. If you would even want to do anything of course.

Sukuna: City girl finally ready to get some sunshine?

You: Don’t make fun of me 😑

Sukuna: Oh I’d never do such a thing. Are you free right now? My lunch break’s comin up, could use the company.

You: Yes I am! I can be ready in 15, I’ll send my address.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You weren’t as nervous as you thought you’d be. You know you looked good, you felt good. You put on a casual outfit, just a pair of bell bottoms and some old t-shirt your mom left around. This wasn’t a date, and you didn’t want to scare him, so you treated it like a normal hang out with a friend.

He picked you up in an old pickup truck, run down from the years spent riding on dirt roads and an occasional swamp. (Things can get messy the further south you go.) It was normal where you’re from to have at least one beat up truck per household, so his car was not a problem. You were all smiles, nearly skipping your way to the passenger side. Sukuna rolled down the window and he too had a bright toothy smile plastered on his face. It almost looked malicious, but you overlooked it once you got in. Something about his presence had you in a trance, you couldn’t focus on anything else but him.

When you opened the door, he stretched his arm out to help you into the chair. You made it a point to act as if you were struggling to get in and shut the door, nerves suddenly keeping you from wanting to look him straight in the eye. “Damn sweetheart… just look at you,” he said while leaning his body back, taking a moment to take in your appearance. “Hiii Sukuna, you aren’t too bad yourself,” you said giggling.

“We’re just goin’ up to Milo’s, hope that’s luxury enough for ya.”

“You think I came dressed like this for somethin’ luxury?”

“Well if that ain’t luxury, I’d be curious to see what is.”

Smirking, Sukuna went back to putting his full focus on the road. The butterflies in your stomach had died down, finding his presence incredibly inviting and safe. You were looking out the window for a while, until his hand found yours which was resting on your thigh. You turn around to him surprised, only to see his eyes still trained on the road in front of him. His hand clasped yours and gripped it tight, and you found the silence warm, like a gentle hug you wanted to last forever.

The lunch date was sweet. You both ordered cheeseburgers, fries, and a large sweet tea; reveling in its taste since it had been some time since you had genuine sweet tea. He started asking you about your schooling, learning that you’re majoring in business and will soon start working on your master’s degree. This charmed him— you were both alike even if it was in different ways. You’ve always provided for your mother, and so has he. You won’t stop reaching new opportunities, and neither will he. As the date went on his attraction only grew deeper. Your physical appearance did not mean much to him, you were to die for, but right now he wanted to know every single thing about you and didn’t care about anything else.

But… this wasn’t to say he’s not a curious man.

When ordering the food, you took a step back to look at the entire menu. This caused your skin tight shirt to rise up ever so slightly, showing off your cute tummy and belly button piercing. You noticed him staring, and he was never one to lie.

“Sukuna, order some damn food and stop looking at me like that,” you slapped his large bicep jokingly, making that same smirk from earlier slowly grow on his face.

“Mmm, you hidin’ that accent from me girl. Soundin’ so pretty bossin’ me around.”

You could tell the cashier felt a bit awkward at this point, so you pushed Sukuna in front of you to get him to focus.

Even though he would have moments like those, you didn’t feel like he was objectifying you. It never became the focal point of your conversations. It seemed like he was genuinely interested in getting to know you and it made you feel so… different. Sure you were young, but you’d never experienced such a natural yet interesting conversation with a man. You were shocked by it, to say the least, and it only made you want him more.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

After that day, you two were basically inseparable. He made it a point to try and see you after work, and if there was a day where he couldn’t do it, he’d make it up to you x2 the next day. He immediately started spoiling you, whether it was food or sending you money for new makeup, it’s like he couldn't do enough for you. You were always beyond grateful, and would even tell him to tone it down a bit, but he’d always say, “Princesses deserve princess things.”

It’d been around four weeks of this, the dates would get more romantic, and his time with you only more cherished. Although the flirting continued to grow, he never made a move on you. You definitely didn’t want to be the one to initiate anything. Maybe there was a reason for him not wanting to get physical, but not even a kiss? It was killing you at this point, every night you spent just dreaming of what his pretty lips felt like on yours. Not being able to help your hands traveling down to your aching pussy. You were so horny it hurt, and nothing you did could satiate the feeling; knowing good and well that his fingers— let alone his dick could reach spots you didn’t even know were there. Your own fingers would suffice for now, but you would be leaving in just a few weeks, you needed to know what Ryomen Sukuna was like in bed.

So, the next time he picks you up, you make sure to look drop dead gorgeous (not like he didn’t think that about you regardless.)

A few days ago, he paid for your hair and nail appointments. Large knotless braids with curly pieces coming out of them, and the prettiest french tip set you’d ever got done. You told him you wanted everything to be a surprise, and that you were planning to get a new outfit as well AND that he didn’t have to send you money for that. But you know he did anyway. The plan for this night was a drive-in movie closer to the heart of the city rather than where you both resided. There was a wing place you loved, different shops, and the movie would be the last activity.

After picking up a new sundress, a black one with thin straps and a slit at the bottom, you felt confident enough that tonight would go well. You took a shower when you got home, lathered your skin with shea butter from head to toe, and put on all the gold jewelry you owned.

There’s no way he wouldn’t want to fuck you dumb.

As always, dinner with Sukuna was to die for. He was such a gentleman, making sure to pull your chair out for you, telling you to get whatever you wanted from the menu. “Don’t be scared sweetheart, want you nice ‘n full.”

You shopped for a little while after, well, it was really window shopping. You felt so bad that Sukuna was paying for everything, even though he always insisted. You decided to just point out all of the things you liked, kind of like a test— if he really liked you then he’d remember all these things for a future event.

The drive-in was dead. Which I guess isn’t too surprising, you can’t remember the last time someone talked about seeing a movie here. Nonetheless, this was your dream scenario. With basically no one to catch you guys, it was the perfect breeding ground (literally.) The movie was some rom-com looking thing in black and white which you begged to watch, only because you knew neither of you would want to pay attention. Once he grabbed some popcorn and soda from the concession stand, he pulled up in front of the big projection, claiming he needed to be as close as possible because of his eyesight. After a few minutes of pretending to be interested, you turned to him and finally broke the ice.

“‘Kuna, do you like me?” Sukuna couldn’t believe the question.

“Of course I like you baby, why else would I be here?”

“Well,” you started, “I don’t know…”

“Oh, you know.”

“I know you like me, it’s just like— we aren’t like… you know.”

“Gonna have to use your words sweetheart.”

You looked forward as you tried to find the best way to say this, you decided to just rip the bandaid off.

“We haven’t kissed! Or anything! You just hug me or wrap your arm around my waist, but we haven’t done nothin’ ‘kuna. And I’m not sayin’ that’s any indicator of how much you like me, I’m just sayin’ it’d be ni—”

You anticipated this kiss, not only because you did everything in your power to set it up, but you could feel Sukuna’s eyes latching onto the way your lips moved while talking. His lips were just as soft as you imagined, tasting like cherry carmex and popcorn. His hand found its way to the side of your face, cupping it gently until he moved it to tilt your chin up towards him. Your mouth opened a little from the change in angle, giving Sukuna’s tongue access to the warmth yours had to offer. He melted deeper into the kiss, and so did you, as it continued to get more sloppy and wet. You could tell he was eager, swirling and dancing on the tip of your tongue, sucking it harshly like he was trying to gather as much saliva as possible. Just to pull back and have it leak out of his mouth, dripping down both his and your chin. It was downright nasty the way your fluids were colliding, but it turned you on an unbelievable amount. Whining and groaning into him, rubbing your thighs together, lacking the correct amount of friction from wearing a dress instead of pants.

Your hand started traveling to his chest and lower, and he could tell you were really riled up at this point simply from the way you were tugging on his shirt. He pulled his lips off yours, making you reach out for him still since your eyes were closed. When you opened them, you were able to see the true mess you two caused. Sukuna was drooling, his heavy lidded eyes not daring to move from your frame. His hair was everywhere, and you couldn’t be happier with your hairstyle of choice.

“Fuck baby,” he said while rubbing on the sides of your stomach, “I really need you. I’ve been needin’ you. Yer just so damn sexy, of course I’ve been wantin’ to do stuff. Just didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable.” He leaned in to kiss your cheek and up to the shell of your ear, “Never want you uncomfortable.”

And that sent you over, you cupped his face with both of your hands, kissing him hard. He growled from your sudden dominance, and with a few swift movements, pulled his seat back and slid you over the middle console and into his lap. Your dress hiked up to your thighs once you straddled him, allowing Sukuna to feel just how wet you were. With one hand on your face, and the other on your waist, he slowly made his way down to your cunt.

“So fuckin’ wet for me,” he whispered against your lips, making slow circles on your puffy clit. “This f’me? Say it’s for me babydoll.”

“It’s for you ‘kuna, it’s all for you. Please–” His fingers slid your panties to the side, revealing just how sticky you were for him. Your pussy was basically crying to be touched, and Sukuna was a gentleman, of course.

His mouth never left yours, left hand now resting behind your neck, while his other is furiously rubbing your bare clit. Your moans were being swallowed by Sukuna’s mouth, and when the pleasure finally got to be too much, you suddenly threw your head back with a yelp. Catching yourself immediately, you press your forehead into his.

“‘M sorry, fuck, ‘m sorry— it’s t-too much.”

“Don’t apologize princess, I love seein’ you act like this. So slutty.”

Your tits have barely been able to stay concealed in your already showy dress. They spilled out on their own from your sporadic movements, and once Sukuna could see one, he dropped everything to unveil the other and fondle them both. You kept grinding on his very hard dick, keeping up the rhythm he set up for you while he went to town on your boobs. Massaging them, pinching and flicking the nipples, mumbling things like “fuckin’ shit they’re so soft,” and “need to fuck you.” It wasn’t long before he popped one into his mouth, sucking on it, making it soo much more sensitive. You were squealing at this point, Sukuna looked up at you to see the tears forming at the corner of your eyes. With a ‘pop’ he brought his attention back to your beautiful face. Somehow fucked out just from dry humping. How cute, he thought to himself.

“Look at me, princess.” You struggled, but your eyes met his, still striving for your release. “‘M gonna fuck you, okay? Is that what you want?” You started nodding your head yes like a damn puppy.

“Need to hear you say it princess. Tell me you want it.”

“Wan’ it s-so bad baby, fuck me, I need you to fuck me.”

The thing about pick-up trucks is that there’s not really a backseat, which means you’d have to ride him right where you were. This wouldn’t have been a problem, until Sukuna quickly pulled down his pants and boxers, revealing probably the biggest dick you’ve ever seen. It was the fucking length that scared you. It wasn’t too thick, but girthy enough that it, plus his length, would have your legs shaking for days. He gave his dick slow strokes while you took off your dress, suddenly feeling embarrassed from being the only one naked. He could see you get self conscious by the way you try and hide yourself like the day he met you.

“Whatcha lookin’ at me like that for,” his eyes were still focused on yours while he prepared himself, licking his lips like he was genuinely going to eat you later.

“I can’t look at ya? You just look so damn good sweetheart. Can’t believe yer all mine.”

“You don’t have to gas me up now,” you said looking away.

“Nuh-uh,” he grabbed your cheeks and turned your face back to his, “I’ma always tell you how good you look. Don’t act so shy now baby.”

Your pussy clenched around nothing at his statement, still leaking from the previous foreplay. He pulled your forehead to his lips, kissing it tenderly, and when he let go of your face he asked you one last time if you were ready. You whisper out a shy yes and grab his dick cautiously, lining it up with your entrance as you slowly lower yourself onto it. You let out a sharp grasp as Sukuna rests his hands on the sides of your hips, trying to assist in any way he can. Once you’re close to bottoming out, he starts whispering praises.

“Doin’ so good babydoll.”

“Look at you takin’ me so well.

Every time he spoke your pussy would clench around him, making him hiss and choke back a whine. Once he was all the way inside you, you let out a breathe you didn’t realize you were holding. You raised your head to look at him instead of the way he was stretching you out. There’s that smirk again. One of his hands finds it’s way back to your clit, rubbing slow circles like before to help you relax. You were so tense but you tried to keep a level-headed face, even though it literally felt like you were being split in two.

You felt your walls get used to his size and shape, feeling them contort and mold into Sukuna’s cocksleeve. With that, you start riding him slowly, using his shoulders to stay balanced. You got the hang of it quickly and began picking up pace. He was still stimulating your clit, using his other hand to keep guiding your body up and down. It was clear that you were struggling to take him all in though, pausing every few seconds to catch your breathe or readjust yourself. And this would just not do for Sukuna.

He gripped and slapped your ass hard.

“Gotta do better than that baby.”

Smack

“C’mon sweetheart, put your fucking. back. into. it.”

Each emphasis on a word was coupled with a hard thrust and loud whines coming from the depths of your throat. The sounds you were both making at this point bounced around the truck. There wasn’t a moment of silence and you felt blissful. Lulling your tongue out just for Sukuna to catch between his teeth; moving his hand back to bully your clit, and using his free hand to grab your face and continue fucking his hips up into yours. He was growling obscenities into your ear, “Yeah baby, just like that keep fucking me like that.”

“Sukuna, please! Fuckfuckfuck I can’t,” you were bouncing on his dick beautifully, tits bouncing in unison and he truly believed you were unreal.

“Yes you can baby,” he gave your face light slaps, “keep those eyes open, keep lookin’ at me baby. Doin’ so good, I promise.” You were leaking like a faucet down his dick and balls, and with a certain thrust, you were sure he was hitting your cervix. The string of cries that came out of your mouth made him go faster, harder, knowing that he finally found the spot that makes you weak.

“Am I makin’ you feel good baby?”

“Mhmm, y-yesss, so so good.”

“Yes who?” Your eyes were crossing trying to look at him, confused at what he meant at first, but as his thrusts got rougher you knew exactly what he was getting at.

“Y-yes daddy, it feels so good.” You were slightly embarrassed by the things you were saying, the noises too. You felt so dirty, but in a good way. Searching for your release that was so close.

Sukuna was close too, but he didn’t want that to come before he made you gush all over his dick. When he found his way to your neck, kissing and biting and sucking on your precious skin, you were done.

“Fuck daddy right there!”

“Here sweetheart? You like this?”

“Yesyesyes don’t stop please don’t stop–” and with a cry you were creaming all over Sukuna’s dick. Your pussy clamped down on him so tight, he couldn’t help but look down at the beautiful mess you made all over his thighs. He kept fucking you through your orgasm, causing you to become incredibly overstimulated. Sukuna was getting close, you could tell by his relentless strokes, forgetting any type of consistent pace. His hands were on your hips now, pistoning up into you as your head rested gracefully on his shoulder.

“Mm babydoll gimme a kiss, c’mere.”

When your shaky lips met his, he was sent into overdrive.

“Fuck ‘m gonna cum. Fuck baby, where do you want it.”

Absolutely fucked out, you tried to come up with some sort of cohesive thought. “I-insi..de ‘kuna. In m-me.”

“You sure? Tell me you’re fuckin’ sure, yer milkin’ me baby.”

“I’m s-sure. Please please just cum inside me!”

“Oh, fuckkk…” Sukuna’s load filled your pussy to the brim, leaking out to coat the sides of his dick. He made you feel so full and warm. Finally stopping his thrusts, you hunch over his shoulder and he begins rubbing what feels like hearts on your back, humming into your ear how good you were for him, dick never leaving your pussy.

“Did such a good job princess. So fuckin’ good, are you an angel? Must be an angel, the way you dropped into my life like this.”

“Mmmm I’m your angel ‘kuna. I was made for you only.”

Although the moment was wholesome, your mind immediately flooded with the thought of you leaving in a few weeks.

How were you supposed to leave after this?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

hope you enjoyed ;) and let me know if i missed anything as far as my content ahead section goes!

tags: @aiyaaayei

[fearful-quartet]

So I've been listening to The Magnus Protocol, and managed to get my dad into TMA last year so he's now listening to Mag Protocol too. So last night we were listening in the car to the latest statement, and I was half-jokingly saying which fear the statement sounded like mostly, to which my dad starts talking about how he doesn't think these statements and the O.A.I.R are connected to the Fears at all. I'm gonna try to put a cut for anyone not caught up but here's how this led to a theory of mine:

So Lena said to Gwen that there's good and bad forces that need to be balanced, but she never said which side of that the O.A.I.R. is part of, if any. I was noting this when it hit me.

Every single Magnus Protocol Statement so far has been about misfortune coming around due to perceived fortune or a fortunate opportunity becoming misfortune.

Let's break this down ep by ep so you see what I mean.

Episode One: It's a little hard to figure out what the fortune is to the misfortune, especially since it's mostly getting us used to the characters and the overall setup of the show, but for the first statement I think it's not the statement giver, but the husband. Harriet (the one emailing) says he sounded excited in an unsettling way (I am assuming the "he" she is talking about is her husband since she doesn't mention anyone else). When she meets him, or what has him, she describes that he laughed and laughed. Her misfortune was his fortune, his joy.

The second statement in that episode of course is about the Institute, but by way of a bunch of spelunkers looking for something intriguing to discuss. I haven't quite figured out the connection here but I am sure there is one, even if it's through the characters (aka Sam) finding something within it.

Two: A lot easier to connect to this. Daria is finding joy through getting this tattoo that allows her to change how she looks and alter her appearance immensely (and grotesquely). Enough said.

Three: This statement is one that overall I just don't understand tbh, but I think it shows the opposite? As in the victim is experiencing fear and discomfort the entire time, but towards the end you'll notice he gets much more happy and calm about the situation.

Four: This is again easy, it's about a violin that needs blood but will give you amazing talent if you pay that price, and horrible bloodshed if you don't. Self-explanatory.

Five: The guy is trying to make a living off watching and reviewing horror movies, gets excited at a live showing of one just for him, then realizes it's not what it seems and posts everyone should see it. Easy enough. (Very Grifter's Bone in energy)

Six: The introduction to infamous new tumblr sexyman, Needles. I shouldn't have to spell out how he gets pleasure from others in pain by needles.

Seven: All I gotta say is it's "all for a good cause" and you should get the picture.

Eight: Utilizes that uncanny fear of false hospitality if you ask me, but either way this statement is clearly taking something associated often as comforting and twisting it.

Nine: The dice literally affect fortune and misfortune and likely make the statement giver into the embodiment of fortune. 'Nuff said.

Ten: Bonzo needs no explanation for this in his introductory episode so let's move on.

Eleven: This one goes more into obsession territory than anything, which is another running theme of the show and another theory, but it also talks about how the sea brings comfort so that could be part of it. (Also I noticed the sneaky possibly Dr. David reference in there lol)

Twelve: Now I know what you're gonna say, "How is this one connected to fortune at all, Cal? It's about some woman being traumatized at a strip club!" Well think about this: what if it wasn't supposed to end in Bonzo? Gwen gave Bonzo an "assignment," didn't she? And Lena pretty much outright says that this statement was that assignment. So it's possible this is what happened after stopping the initial outcome.

Thirteen: The latest episode as of typing this, and the most clear with evidence. The man literally gains a fortune from his own misfortune, so ya know it's right there.

So every statement is a good thing turned bad or a bad thing turned good. So what? Magnus Archives had plenty of statements similarly framed, so why am I focusing on it here?

Because what is the tagline for Magnus Protocol again?

Fear takes many forms.

[monster-match-if]

Hiii, good morning. I have two questions but I think they can be answered in one, I hope. Hahaha

First, what do Ro's smell like? What scent would you say identifies them?

Second, do you have any description of their physique/body type in mind? Maybe some reference.

Obviously don't answer if you don't want to and take your time, have a nice day~😌

Hiii^^ thank you for the ask, you get a long answer :)) And hope you have a lovely day as well💕

First, what do Ro's smell like? What scent would you say identifies them? Morgan - naturally doesn’t have a scent (a predator thing), but likes rich fragrances, I picture Tom Ford perfumes like Black Orchid, Tobacco Vanilla or YSL Black Opium. Eli - freshly cut grass, rain. Doesn’t particularly do perfumes. Ragnar - powdery, woodsy impressions with fruity undertones. He sounds like an apple tree, lol :)) Blake - hell I mean jasmine and burning souls Kitai - cherry blossoms and vanilla. Fion - very cliche, but I always imagined they’d have a lingering scent of the beach and ocean. Like they’re always just coming out of the ocean and dried off on the beach, skin heated and a salty scent flowing all around them. Sei - no specific scent (cold blooded predator and all that) but he prefers fresh scents like eucalyptus, peppermint, citrus.

Second, do you have any description of their physique/body type in mind? Maybe some reference. I have like super, super vague references, but I think I ended up changing most of them from the original versions/ they look different now in my head. They’re all very fit, with Ragnar having a little beginner’s belly :)) and Kitai being on the leaner side.

Muscle mass Ragnar > Sei > Fin > Blake > Eli > Morgan > Kitai Juiciest booty: Blake (as long as probably biggest boobs for F Blake) I added some pics below for general vibes, but they are not entirely accurate and some of them are more inspo than actually body types.

Morgan - this lovely incestuous duo, but more modern and put together - classic vampire look.

Eli - My reference was drow mommy Minthara, lol. But Eli’s sweeter and not technically a drow. You can also have the Drow twins from BG3 as a general visual. But yes, both M and F versions are athletic, I think I mentioned “swimmer’s body” - muscled, but not overly so. You can also picture classic elf, I think - on the tall side, lean and not too muscular. Credit for the amazingly stunning Minthy picture to feyspeaker

Ragnar - this is the easiest, he looks the same as the original. My references were Big Nasty and Rollo from Vikings. He's sporting a little belly pouch from his new job as a chef :))

Bonus tattoos - the skull on the back, but more blacked out towards the edges and merging into the second picture for the neck and arm.

Blake - I got nothing :)) I think they suffered the most changes. For anyone playing Romance Club, I pictured the “demon” forms as the succubus/incubus in Soulless. Other than that, just the image I have in my head - runway model, deep brown skin in contrast with bright green eyes and bouncy black hair. M Blake is a bit stocky, F Blake is curvy. The pics are not exactly accurate, but the closest I could find.

Kitai - My theme was "Japanese yakuza looking, but make them actually a sweetheart".

Fion - my theme was ✨ Baywatch lifeguards✨ - but make them ginger and and a little boho. Dark crimson tentacles when in "true" form.

Sei - I basically saw the first pic and thought “Yes please, but make them male for the double D.” The second pic is the closest I could find that fits the body type.

[prettyoddfever]

Tumblr glitched while I was trying to answer this, but thankfully I took a screenshot of everything before refreshing because I legit cannot find that draft or question anywhere now, sorry. So here we go again...

I'll link to the post here. (btw any annoyance that might seep into my tone in my recent answers is NOT directed at the actual people asking... y'all are lovely). So that post is done in a very similar tone to the Ryden primers that the pre-split fandom posted, but I'm getting the sense that this is very very different... like that person seems to actually believe the content that they're posting is straight up facts (and even if they don't, the fact that you're referring to it as "infamous" probably implies that other people are at least treating it as real facts, so I'm still going to address it like the tone is serious). Here's an explanation of how the majority of the fandom used to view Ryden.

A lot of their pictures no longer show up, so I'm going to leave a wayback screen recording here for reference:

I'll just comment as I go through it if I have something to add:

I suppose that the tone of someone's comments is open to interpretation, so idc as much about whether those are misread or not.

That supposed AIM convo was shared as a myspace bulletin by Brent's brother Blake during the summer 2006 season when he was trying to stir up shit and was busy posting other inaccurate info too. I'm just saying to take it with a grain of salt. 

Ryan’s lj post on 9/27/05 was about the release of AFYCSO that day. He talked a lot in interviews that season about how it was weird for him to see so many fans singing his lyrics back to him.

uhh most of the pictures that this person lists "from this era" of 2004/2005 are actually from 2006. so they definitely know what they're talking about here lol.

they list one of Ryan's livejournal posts and then say "I'm not sure of the exact date, but I know it was some time in 06." It was from June 24, 2006. 

lol Audrey.

re: the Myrtle Beach theory

why is the part where Ryan called Brendon a golden god in late 2006 any different than when Brendon said this about Spencer that same season?

re: the 2006 mic-sharing & stage gay

fans would positively scream when Ryan & Brendon approached each other, especially in the last half of 2006. this moment in Munich in October 2006 seemed no different... the guys absolutely knew what they were doing.

the VMA performance just seemed like Ryan was still using Brendon as a safe space to look at so he wouldn't stare at his feet or guitar, but that is still very much something you could turn into a Ryden thing so carry on haha.

about the Rolling Stone interview

I'm laughing at the "squint a little harder" comment about finding Ryden content in 2008. That is so accurate. 

re: Dylan's myspace (yes, Keltie ran a myspace for Hobo that anyone could grab pics from).

Ryan absolutely sounds like he's saying dude... also that would be normal.

the picture of the bracelet is normal

I'm just going to link to this post since it addresses many similar inaccurate points about early 2009.

I was about to side eye them so hard for posting the Lana Jade letter as real, but at least they added that she made multiple posts explaining that it wasn't her. And yes, obviously Brendon's best friend was Shane (not Ryan).

omg Ryan's tattoos are not about Brendon. Those are Tom Waits lyrics. Ryan was good friends with Thomas Dutton. About a year before getting the tattoos, Ryan was hanging out with him on tour in the UK and later told Kerrang that “a friend of mine in Forgive Durden turned me on to Tom Waits when we were in the UK… I’ve been listening to him ever since. His voice is so rough and dark. I’d never really heard anything like that.”

the sharing beds idea was misunderstood in the Billboard interview... all 4 guys slept on bunkbeds in the same room when they were recording AFYCSO. That's what Brendon's referring to.

re: the Bishop Gorman tshirt… Ryan was hardly that size in high school. But Brent went to Bishop Gorman too (and so did Paulina, who was also friends with Brendon). Brendon did borrow some of Brent’s stuff in 2004/2005 (like money for food while they were first touring). Just saying… it's def interesting, but it’s not an automatic Ryden connection.

I didn't read Spencer's tone in that out.com interview the same way... there's some relevant bits in this post.

about the red shirt

here's my general tag for Ryden stuff

[hetalianskywalker]

Day 7: Scavenged

Pairing: Mer Denal x Reader

Summary: A scavenger stumbles upon a different kind of treasure.

Author’s Note: Denal is the clone with blue tear streaks on his helmet from the first two seasons of clone wars. To any other Denal fan out there! Here is my contribution for I could not find a single x reader of this man. Also, I kept thinking about the show Poldark while writing this one.

Warnings: Some blood and vaguely talking about wounds. Some cursing.

Word Count: 961

Prompt: While exploring the wreckage of a huge storm, Character A finds a mermaid on the beach, bleeding and unconscious. Naturally, Character A takes them home and puts them in their bathtub; Character A hopes that they can heal this mermaid back to health. Character B is that mermaid, and the last thing that they remember is being tossed by a huge wave. Waking up, Character B is surprised to find that their wounds have bandaged and Character A is watching them anxiously.

Prompt Mermaid in the Bathtub AU by auideas.

You were a wrecker or, as most referred to you, a scavenger. Before the authorities could arrive on sight, you took as many valuables from crashed ships on the beach as you could. The war had done a lot to keep you better fed than ever before so it was well worth the risk.

A bleeding Mer clone was not part of the agenda. He is bleeding out into the sand and shallow water, unconscious and slowly breathing. His beautiful blue and white fin shimmers in the moonlit water. He’s going to die.

Before you can really think it through, you secure your stolen goods to your back and slowly pick him up. He’s heavy, but you’ve heaved heavier across the sand. Once you see the coast is clear, you are racing for your home, thankful for the rising tide washing away your footprints.

‘What are you doing?’ You mentally scream at yourself. ‘You are a Separatist! You live on a Separatist island. Leave him!’ But you can’t. You don’t know why, but you can’t.

Finally, you run through the front door of your isolated home and kick it closed behind you. You almost collapse right there, but the smell of blood and sea water pushes you onward. You pant as you slowly make your way to the bathtub with the end of his massive fin trailing along the floor. Gently, you set him in before quickly getting your supply of bacta potions.

You work for over an hour patching up as much as you can before filling the tub halfway. The pistol wounds in his left shoulder and right side are nasty, but at least the amo had passed all the way through. However, without a bacta bath, it would take a long time for those shoulder and torso muscles to heal. You flop down on the bathroom floor and just watch him breathe. There is a Mer clone in your tub. Maker, there is a Mer clone in your bathtub.

The last thing Denal can remember is Cad Bane shooting him before falling overboard and being tossed around by a huge wave. He grumbles as he slowly opens his eyes; his body hurt, but not as bad as he expected. His vision swims a little as he moves to sit up more. The pain from his gunshot wounds almost makes him scream, but he grits his teeth. He shuts his eyes tight, wishing it away.

After a minute, he tries to at least look around and finds the world far more still. The first thing he notices is that he’s still in Mer form and in a bathtub. As he looks himself over, he’s more than surprised to find his wounds are already wrapped, but now the question is who wrapped them.

He slowly glances around the room, taking no chances that the spinning sensation will come back. Finally, his blue eyes land on your anxious ones; you both just sit there and look at each other.

With all the insanity of keeping him alive, you now truely look at him. You had seen pictures of Mer clones before, but this man was slightly different. While he had the standard short hair, a pair of blue eyes looked at you curiously. Two thin blue lines were tattooed like a tear trail from the center of each lower eyelid to his jaw. He’s undeniably handsome, but the sharp teeth and claws unnerve you.

“Thank you.” His voice is raspy and he gives you a pained smile, barely holding himself together. The sheer amount of pain he must be in finally clicks.

“H-hold on.” You slowly get up and before grabbing some pain reliever and something to drink. He happily takes it and chugs the water down. It’s quiet for a moment as you both stare at one another.

“I’m Denal.” You smile and give your name in turn. “What happened?”

“I found you in the remains of a ship wreck. This is a Separatist island so you got lucky I found you first.” Denal lets out a sigh in annoyance at his situation and you bite the inside of your cheek not to laugh at him. It’s not that your taking any joy in this; annoyance, like this was only a great inconvenience , just completely caught you off guard. “What happened in the battle?”

“Cad Bane happened.” He ground out before running a hand down his face. “He needed my armor to escape so he knocked me out before putting me in his clothes. He then shot me and… I fell.”

“Stars. That’s fucked up.”

“No doubt of that.” Denal laughed before coughing. You quickly grab the cup again and hand it to him when he’s done.

“Why are you helping me?” His voice was a bit clearer as he set down the empty cup.

“You needed and still need help.” He blinks and cocks his head. “I couldn’t leave you to die.”

“But…”

“Just rest. You can figure out how to leave later.”

“I can shift to…” You shake your head.

“Moving your head is a battle. Your human form can wait. Just focus on making it through the night.” Denal slowly nods, giving in.

What neither of you knew was Denal would stay with you there the rest of the war. It was hard hiding him from the authorities, but his companionship was more than worth it. He felt guilty not going back to Rex and the 501st; however, there wasn’t a way for him to get off the island undetected.

With the news of an ended war and occupying imperials coming, you cast your lot in with Denal and the Mer. You both left for Mandalore before conquering boots hit the beach you once found him on.

[cantcompetewhereudontcompare]

Fine Line lyric analysis

I have too many plates spinning at the same time, but I was having a conversation with a friend about this last night, and she encouraged me to make a post about it. I haven't been able to get it out of my mind ever since.

The original theory isn't mine, or my friend's, or even from the group chat we were talking on, but a compilation of different things we've seen around for a while and that we started to chat about a while ago. Apologies if whoever originally thought about any of this sees this post and recognizes anything about it, not meaning to steal anything

The conversation came up the same way random themes come up in group chats, so I know perfectly well it's random to bring it up now.

As we all know, most of Fine Line (the album) is about Harry's ex girlfriend Camille Rowe.

This was on the back of the album

Which is a reference to Camille's tattoo

Not all songs on the album are about her, but we can infer (Harry hasn't confirmed anything) that most of them are.

This is the tracklist of the album, I'll add if I think it's about her or not next to the track.

Golden - About Camille

Watermelon Sugar - About Camille

Adore You - Maybe about Camille / Maybe not

Lights Up - Not about Camille

Cherry - About Camille

Falling - About Camille

To Be So Lonely - About Camille

She - Not about Camille

Sunflower, Vol. 6 - About Camille

Canyon Moon - About Camille

Treat People With Kindness - Not about Camille

Fine Line - Partially about Camille

First less address the ones not about her

Adore You

I think Adore You could be about her because thematically it fits (it's somewhat similar to Watermelon Sugar), but I think "brown skin" would be an odd descriptor for her (since she's not really known to even tan) plus the timing of it doesn't really fit.

We know he wrote Adore You in May 2019 because Amy Allen (co-writer of the song) posted about it in her stories at the time. This was about a year after he and Camille broke up, when Camille had been dating Theo (her current boyfriend) for a long time.

Absolutely not impossible that it's about her, but I would say inconclusive. It could be just a feel-good song about finding infatuation again after being heartbroken. There's nothing in the song that points directly to her to make it conclusive.

Lights Up

Harry said this song is about self-reflection and self-discovery. I think it's an introspective song that's not about anyone other than himself.

She

I think it's a song similar to Lights Up in that it's about introspection. Harry hasn't said anything other than he wrote it while high on mushrooms.

Treat People With Kindness

Not much interpretation and explanation is necessary. It's a kooky song.

Now, the ones that are about her. There's a common misconception that the album is in chronological order and tells the story of a relationship, but that's not really true. Canyon Moon seems to be a happy song about missing her when things were well, and it's one of the last songs on the album.

My chronological order of the songs (and remember, everything here is speculation and interpretation).

1 - Watermelon Sugar 2 - Canyon Moon 3 - Golden 4 - Fine Line 5 - Falling 6 - To Be So Lonely 7 - Cherry 8 - Sunflower, Vol. 6

Watermelon Sugar

This one is self-explanatory because it gives you the timeframe in the song itself. "Baby you're the end of June." Obviously he's comparing the object of his desire to the summer season, but also, that's when he and Camille started dating.

We don't know exact dates or anything, but Camille started following Harry on Instagram between June 22 and June 25, according to this timeline of the relationship (Harry followed her first in 2016). Harry was first teased about the relationship live on the radio July 17th and they were first pictured together July 21st.

The name of the song is a nod to one of Camille's favorite books, 'In Watermelon Sugar' by Richard Brautigan, which Camille mentioned in this interview with Elle in August 2017

Harry said in his Tiny Desk performance that this book was in the studio while he was writing music and the title of the book inspired him. He has also said that the song came about while in a studio in Nashville in September 2017.

Canyon Moon

This song is, presumably, about late 2017, when Harry was first on tour solo and he and Camille were still in the honeymoon stage.

Camille lived in Beachwood Canyon with her BFF Lauren Cohan. This song is basically saying that while he's on tour, Harry misses those evenings with her, in her backyard, listening to music, surrounded by friends, under the moon.

The song references Kid Harpoon's wife Jenny. Kid Harpoon was Harry's good friend and producer. He and his wife became good friends with Camille.

"The world's happy waiting. Door's yellow, broken blue. I heard Jenny saying, 'Go get the kids from school.' And I keep thinking back to the time under the Canyon moon."

Essentially, the world is waiting for him, but he's on the phone with his girlfriend who's back home with his friends, and he overhears one of his friends talking in the background.

This is a video Camille posted on her Instagram stories while Harry was on tour. In it, she's hanging out with Jenny and Kid.

The song also references Camille's ex boyfriend Devendra Banhart.

"Quick pause in conversation, she plays songs I've never heard. An old lover's hippie music. Pretends not to know the words."

(A little bit of a dig at Devendra there too with the "songs I've never heard")

Camille and Devendra were together for about two years until right before she and Harry started dating, and he most definitely qualifies as "hippie music."

The entire song is about Harry anticipating getting back home to her. Harry toured Europe (which is referenced in the lyrics "through Paris or through Rome") twice, first in 2017 with small theater tours, and then in 2018 with bigger arena tours. This song seems to reference the first part of tour, in 2017, particularly because Camille was at Harry's show in Paris in 2018.

While Harry didn't do a show in Rome specifically in 2017, he did do a show in Milan. In fact, his European leg started in Paris and ended in Milan, and he had an off day right before the Milan show. Considering he has a lot of friends in Rome, he probably spent it there (also, Milan wouldn't have fit the metric of the song lol).

Camille was with Harry until right before he started this leg of tour, as she was in the audience with his family at his performance in We Can Survive (a cancer awareness concert), October 21st 2017.

October 25 till November 10 is exactly two weeks and two days. In the song he says "two weeks and I'll be home."

That said, Camille did join him for the last two dates of this tour, but most likely scenario, he wrote the song either during or about the beginning, when he was a little sad to be away from her for that time:

"Gotta see it to believe it, the sky's never looked so blue. So hard to leave it, but that's what I always do. So I keep thinking back to a time under the Canyon moon."

Perhaps at the time he wrote the song he didn't know she'd be joining him.

Golden

This is the beginning of the end, the dreading anticipation of what's about to come. In this song, Harry comes to terms with the fact that he doesn't see a lot of future in the relationship, and he's devastated by it.

"I don't wanna let you go. I don't wanna be alone when it ends."

It's daunting. A Chronicle of a Death Foretold.

This is obviously speculation because Camille hasn't said anything directly about it and Harry has only said anything through song, but we can infer because of other interviews and timing, that Harry was way more into her than she was into him. This is not a dig at either of them. Sometimes that just happens.

She was with Devendra for about two years and she said, while dating him, that she wanted to settle down with him. They abruptly broke it off in May/June 2017, and she immediately started dating Harry. We'll revisit the end of her and Harry's relationship in a little bit, but it shares similarities in the sense that she also seemingly moved on pretty fast.

Camille also recently revealed that she met Theo a year before they got together, but that they didn't get together at the time because they weren't mature enough to handle those feelings. This means that when she got with Harry, she had recently met Theo and seemingly had feelings for him. (She said this in her Elle France interview, which is not only in French but also not online, so I can't really link a source).

This in no way says anything about her or her character. It can happen to anyone, to dismiss a relationship with someone because it's too intense and you don't know how to handle it, and perhaps a relationship with someone else is more accessible. And it doesn't mean that this second person isn't important or that you're using them. It's just life.

But it would explain why Harry felt the way he did. He felt like he was "so open" and she, in turn, wouldn't open at all. At the time, Harry chalked it up to her having been hurt and ending up heartbroken before, but it could just be that he simply wasn't the right person for her. And that sucks, but once again, it's life.

Regardless of him knowing that it likely wasn't going to work out, he fell hard.

"But I can't feel you take a hold, I can feel you take control, of who am I and all I've ever known"

Harry and Camille met right about the time his stepfather, Robin, passed away. Robin passed June 20th 2017. In his song Ever Since New York, which is about finding out Robin was diagnosed with terminal cancer (he said this in a few interviews), he says "there's no antidote." In Golden he says "loving you's the antidote."

Of course falling for Camille wouldn't "cure" the fact that he's heartbroken by the loss of his stepfather, but it's very likely that falling in love on the heels of such a huge loss healed him a little bit, made him feel better at a terrible time. This is for another day, but in his song Daylight, off his third album, he mentions someone being/having an antidote again ("you got the antidote"). That song also seems to be about Camille.

Before I continue analyzing songs...

I should point out a little bit more about the timeline of events, especially because it will affect basically every song that comes after this.

Harry and Camille were seemingly in a good place until March 2018. I say "seemingly" because we do not know them, of course. She would post stuff on social media that alluded to him, or his friends, or follow his family. His family would follow and interact with her. She would go to shows, etc.

As I said before, Camille was in Paris for his second show in 2018 (his first show was in Basel). This was March 13 2018. In the following days, Camille would be spotted at his shows sporadically, or she would post Instagram stories from art galleries that happened to be in the cities he was touring.

For instance, she posted this pic March 21st 2018 (it's still up in her highlights), which is Untitled (cowboy) by Richard Prince, 1999, and it's exhibited in the Astrup Fearnley Museum of Modern Art in Oslo, Norway

Harry had a show in Oslo that same day

This happened a few times, so it's likely that Harry was arranging private showings at the museum to be with her while on tour. Keep this in mind.

Camille seemed to have gone back home after this. We don't know if she had work, if they had a fight, if she was homesick. We just know that she went home. And by going home she missed Harry's Home London and Manchester shows, which were April 9, 11, and 12, which were attended by his million of friends and family members.

That was odd, and it was also odd that they didn't seem to see each other at all for several weeks (particularly because he was writing whole songs about being away from her for two weeks a few months prior).

She did go to the venue of his show in Dublin, which was April 16 and was seen chatting with him while Mabel, the opener, was playing, but she apparently didn't stay for his actual show. The timeline I linked earlier claims that she flew to London with him afterwards, but that's... speculation based on nothing, as neither of them were spotted in London. She was usually spotted at the shows when she was there and she was not spotted at this one (even though she was spotted during the opening act).

Harry had a show in Perth, Australia, April 21st, and he was first spotted there at around 2 PM local time the 20th, which would be very early morning in London.

A nonstop flight from London to Perth is about 16/17 hours, putting him actually getting on the plane late night the 18th or early hours of the day the 19th. This to say, that the timeline I linked earlier, while well-meaning, makes a lot of assumptions trying to make their relationship A-okay at this point in time, by, for instance, claiming that they spent time together in London between Dublin and Australia. But there's no indication this is the case, and at most it was two days.

What the timeline does get right is that Harry uses a new guitar for his Sydney show the 27th. This guitar, we now know for a fact, was painted by Nikolai Haas, who was a close friend of Camille's (more on him later).

Nikolai is based in LA and Harry hadn't been to LA in months. Camille had just been to LA before Dublin, so it is pretty likely that she went to his show specifically to give him the guitar. All speculation, of course. Camille did have work in London afterwards, so a trip to Dublin wouldn't be too much of a bother.

The timeline also mentions Camille liking a post of Harry's for the first time May 2nd. It wasn't actually the first post she liked of his, but the second. The first one was a March For our Lives post he uploaded on March 24th (right after she left). It does mark a shift in attitude on Camille's end. This is absolute pure speculation, but it's very possible that at this point they were no longer together, at least not in any official capacity. That her leaving his tour marked their separation in a very amicable way and that's why she felt, let's say freer, to interact with him on social media. Remember she'd followed him for close to a year at this point and had never liked anything he'd posted.

Her leaving the tour, them being apart for weeks on end for the first time, her missing his hometown shows. None of it says anything by itself, but it's a pattern that continues repeating.

The timeline I posted speculates that they disappeared and reappeared at the same time in England between May 14-20th and that that meant they probably spent time together. There's literally nothing at all pointing to this. And the truth of the matter is they hadn't seen each other in a month between April 16-17 and May 14 anyway.

Harry then continued with his tour, this time in Latin America and part of America, and Camille didn't go to a single one of his shows, nor did they spend any time in close proximity, for another month and then some.

Harry then had two shows in Madison Square Garden, June 21st and 22nd, and Camille did go to the second one. And we know she went to the second one specifically because she posted from the plane doing LA-NYC, June 22nd.

She had a photoshoot that day in NYC, btw.

As an asterisk, because we're about to get in muddy waters, at this point Camille was acting single. And I mean this in the most respectful possible way, because she probably was.

This is her and Alexander Skarsgard June 14 2018.

This was a couple of weeks later (it's very blurry but the original account that posted it got deleted, so this will have to suffice). It's Camille sitting on Alexander Skarsgard's lap, watching the France national team during the World Cup against Belgium (July 10th).

Around this time, Alexa Chung, who introduced Harry and Camille and was close friends with both of them, unfollowed Camille on social media. I can't prove this to you, but she followed Camille and often interacted with her posts, and they were, well... friends. They hung out. This was literally a couple of weeks prior (Camille still follows Alexa):

Alexa had dated Alexander up until July 2017. I presume she and Camille are all good now, just not, well... friends. They do seem to run in the same circles and I doubt Alexa would hold a grudge all these years later, but she did unfollow in 2018 when Camille and Alexander did whatever it is they did, and to this day she does not follow (it's a big deal for very Instagram dependent celebs like Alexa or Camille to follow/unfollow each other, don't let anyone tell you otherwise). The Sun would claim that Alexander and Camille were dating later (after they reported on Harry and Camille's breakup in like, late July), but they were late to the party and by then, Camille was already dating Theo.

But I don't wanna jump ahead. I'm trying to keep a semblance of chronology.

Camille went to Harry's second MSG show June 22nd and from mid March when she left his European tour and until now we have three long gaps of about a month each in which they do not see each other, with two tiny periods of 1-2 days in between in which they could've seen each other (but we have no proof they did) + we have Camille seemingly being... very friendly, with Alexander Skarsgard.

Camille was seen at Harry's MSG show, with his friends Max and Xander.

The day after the show, Harry went out with Xander and Max in NYC. And well, he got pretty fucking wasted (and yes, that is Joel Embiid's hand Harry is holding)

People speculated that Camille was there because of this picture, but it wasn't Camille - it was Farah Holt

She has deleted her ig and Waseem (Harry's close friend) has updated the caption ever since

This is a pic of her's that night.

(Not implying anything btw, just anticipating some of the things I remember people saying back then. It's clear that Camille wasn't there that night, and people thought the blonde girl was her, but it wasn't).

Harry had a show in DC the day after that (June 24th). People noticed him being off at the show from the get go, and all these years later it's a meme that he was pissed off.

In several interviews since then Harry said that he's fully sober while he's on tour because it affects the way he feels at the show later. He said he only did it once during his solo career, and the show afterwards was his least favorite.

Everyone in the quotes of that tweet understood immediately which show he was referencing.

Before we theorize any further, let me fast-forwards to the end, because there's not much more left to say.

After this show Camille attended, she didn't go to any others until the very last one, which was July 14 in LA. She wasn't seen in the friends and family section, but in the stands with some of her friends, and she didn't stay for the after party or go backstage. She just left. There were pictures of her leaving The Forum in the parking lot with her friends (I don't think there's a chance in hell I'll find them, forgive me), while Harry was still inside helping the crew pack up the stage (it was a whole thing, workers posted pics of him in the venue at like 2 AM).

At this point, she was likely already dating Theo, given...

Her fan accounts had noticed her posting stuff about Theo or with Theo for a while, this post is from August 16th, but it'd been weeks at that point. It's impossible to scroll and find anything concrete 6 years later, but anyone who was online at the time can attest. To this day Camille is with Theo.

Theo Niarchos is a son/child of Greek aristocracy. His family owns multiple galleries and museums. This will also come up later.

Now let's go to the songs.

Fine Line

I said this song is partially about Camille, because I think it's also pretty introspective. I think he's not just talking about the demise of their relationship and the work he had to do to be better after it, but also about healing in general, about working on himself and getting to a better, more mature, more solid place.

He said he started writing this song in January 2018, but he never said when he finished it, so I do think at that time, he and Camille were mostly in a good place. When he starts a song melodically and where it ends up lyrically are two completely different things.

The song doesn't have a lot of lyrics, but the verses are very wordy and important. I'll break them down.

"Put a price on emotion, I'm looking for something to buy"

He's so desperate for emotion, for any emotion, that he's willing to pay for it. This goes with the Golden lyrics where she wouldn't open up to him while he was super open and yearning for more of a connection. It seems it's reaching a breaking point.

You've got my devotion, but man I can hate you sometimes.

This will come up later in Falling and TBSL, this dichotomy of loving this person (Camille) endlessly, but feeling anger and frustration with her.

"I don't want to fight you, and I don't want to sleep in the dirt."

This idea of him sleeping "in the dirt" (away from her) after a fight will also come up later.

The imagery of sleeping alone is one that Harry repeats a lot in his music, going all the way back to Don't Let Me Go (the first song that ever leaked with just his vocals back in 2013). It seems to signify something to him, sleeping (as in, actually sleeping, not sex) with the person he loves vs alone in his bed.

We'll get the drinks in, so I'll get to thinking of her

This, this is important. He's not getting the drinks with her, he's getting the drinks with friends. And as he's getting the drinks with friends, his mind goes to her. We'll get back to this.

The chorus is the yearning, "we'll be a fine line"

"Test of my patience, there's things that we'll never know. You sunshine, you temptress, my hand's at risk, I fold. Crisp trepidation, I'll try to shake this soon. Spreading you open is the only way of knowing you."

This verse deserves to be talked about together in its entirety because it's so... fucking heartbreaking. He's comparing her to sunshine again (see, Golden, where she shines too bright for him). "My hand's at risk, I fold" means that he realizes he's about to lose, so he gives up. It's using poker imagery. The picture he paints is someone who's betting and betting until he realizes he's not going to win, so he folds.

She won't open up to him (once again, see "Golden"). Spreading her open, sex, is the only way of getting to her. She'll give him her body, but she'll give him nothing else.

This repeats itself in the unreleased leaked song Make My Day, where he says:

I make lots of money, build a big house Put an extra sink in, say I’ll settle down Friends call me a loner, I know they’re wrong She asked me to choke her, I play along

He wants to settle down with her - she wants sex that he doesn't really mean. He plays along. Coincidentally this seems to be something he repeats in the song Keep Driving (Harry's House), but we won't get into that now.

I don't have a conclusion for this song alone, because he talks about this again in Falling

Falling

"I'm in my bed, and you're not here, and there's no one to blame but the drink in my wandering hands."

People often think he's alluding to cheating here. He's very clearly not. Camille, all her friends, all her family, all seem to be on perfectly good terms with Harry. There's a song we'll analyze in just a minute that claims that she's asking to be friends with him after they break up. That makes NO sense.

We just went over a song in which he gets drunk with his friends and starts thinking about her, and where he talks about how sex is the only thing on the table with her because she won't open up in any other capacity.

This sentence, to me, is alluding to the fact that he just had sex with her (wandering hands) while drunk (the drink) but they're not together anymore (I'm in my bed and you're not here). There's no one to blame for falling in bed again with his ex he still loves but the drink in his wandering hands.

He KNOWS he shouldn't hook up with her anymore because all she's willing to give him is sex, because she's checked out of the relationship and seeing other people, but he does it anyway, because he's weak. Was was it that he said? "My hand's at risk, I fold."

"Forget what I said. It's not what I meant. But I can't take it back. I can't unpack the baggage you left."

What was it that he said? "I don't want to fight you and I don't wanna sleep in the dust." Remember? He's alluding to saying something he doesn't mean, but not being able to take it back. This will be repeated again in a third song. But let's finish this one first.

What am I now? What am I now? What if I'm someone I don't want around? I'm falling again, I'm falling again, I'm fallin'

Essentially: I hate myself, I hate what I'm doing to myself. I hate it here.

What if I'm down? What if I'm out? What if I'm someone you won't talk about? I'm falling again, I'm falling again, I'm fallin'

He's worried that if he doesn't do this, if he doesn't have sex with her, then she won't talk about him anymore. She won't think about him anymore. She'll forget all about him.

It kills him to do just sex, just casual, just friends with her, but what if not doing that results in her fully forgetting about him? Not needing him? Not thinking about him?

You said you cared, and you missed me too And I'm well aware I write too many songs about you And the coffee's out at the Beachwood Cafe And it kills me 'cause I know we've run out of things we can say

"You said you cared and you missed me too." If I'm right about the timing, of this happening after his MSG show, right before the DC show, the night that he got drunk with his friends, then it makes perfect sense.

He gets drunk, he thinks about her (because he just saw her, and she's in the area). He calls her, drunk, goes home to her (she had an apartment in NYC as well as her house in LA), they sleep together, and she tells him that of course she cares about him, of course she missed him - they hadn't seen each other in at least a month, possibly two.

But the conversation is awkward. They have nothing to talk about because she doesn't love him that way anymore.

And I get the feeling that you'll never need me again (Oh)

It's devastating. He loves her so much, but she moved on and is over him. That tiny physical connection is all that's left, and he's breaking inside.

We know that the Beachwood Café is Camille's favorite coffee shop as well. (Link to an archived version of the interview, which came out right before Fall 2019, a few months before Fine Line).

And the music video makes it perfectly clear it's about her. The window opens to a very subtle shot of the Eiffel tower

Camille was born in Paris. There are also very unsubtle shots of his left hand playing the piano, while wearing Camille's ring

Not that we needed proof of who this song was about, but ooh well

To Be So Lonely

Don't blame me for falling I was just a little boy

I don't take credit for this because so many people have said it before me, but I bet you she called him a little boy at some point. (She's about 4 years older. They were 23/27 and 24/28 during their relationship)

In Falling he's apologizing, and lamenting. Now he's like "you know what? Nope. Not my fault.

Don’t blame the drunk caller. Wasn't ready for it all

So he got drunk with friends, thought about her, called her, went to her house, they slept together... pretty clear image isn't it?

You can't blame me, darling, not even a little bit. I was away And I’m just an arrogant son of a bitch who can't admit when he's sorry

This is very obviously some private conversation they had. This is Harry being petty and throwing back things she said to him. I'm endlessly intrigued by "I was away" perhaps talking about her being with Alexander while he was on tour? It's impossible to know because while there's a lot we can gleam from looking at timelines and stuff (always just speculation) at the end of the day, he's incredibly cryptic when he wants to be. He's not Taylor Swift who paints a very vivid picture that anyone following her lore can put together. This? Only she can understand what he means. Maybe his producers.

Don't call me "baby" again, you got your reasons I know that you're tryna be friends, I know you mean it

This. This is why the idea that he's apologizing for cheating on her in Falling makes NO sense. She wants to be friends and continues to call him baby. I know she's a cool chick who doesn't GAF about much of anything, but that makes no fucking sense.

Now, if they were friends with benefits after they ended things, then that... that makes sense.

She's so cool, all good, she's over him. So she's fine hooking up with him here and there (while hooking up with other people). She's over him. She can call him "baby" and whatever other term of endearment. She never fully opened up to him, not the way he did. He actually thinks she's too good for him (Golden).

He's not claiming that she's malicious either. She fully feels this way, and that's valid, because she's not responsible for his feelings, or the fact that he's a mess and a half who's still head over heels in love with her.

Don't call me "baby" again, it's hard for me to go home Be so lonely

Once again the imagery of sleeping alone. Of going home after sex and sleeping alone. He hates that. They're sleeping together (having sex) but sleeping apart (actually sleeping). And that kills him.

I just hope you see me in a little better light Do you think it's easy being of the jealous kind?

Once again alluding to a fight. Perhaps his jealous streak is what he said that he regrets in Falling? Who is he jealous of? Maybe Alexander? Maybe someone else? Maybe the situation in general?

He's basically saying, I hope you know I wasn't trying to be mean or jealous when I don't have any right to be. I hope you think better of me.

’Cause I miss the shape of your lips You’ll win, it's just a trick And this is it, so I’m sorry

It seems that Harry has put an end to the cycle. In the Falling music video, he cycles through being soaking wet on the floor and a mess, and being on the piano, playing the keys that make the water fall and flood the room, drowning him.

When the music video begins, he's already wet:

He misses her, so he has to put an end to it, because otherwise the cycle that makes him miserable will continue. "So this is it, so I'm sorry."

"You'll win, it's just a trick." + "My hand's at risk, I fold"

These three songs go on top of each other and enmesh each other all over. They seem to be talking about the same exact thing, just slightly different angles of it, because it's at slightly different stages.

In Fine Line, he's about to do that thing that hurts him. In Falling, he's already done it, and regrets it. In To Be So Lonely, he decides he's not going to do it anymore. All three songs mention drinking, all three songs mention sleeping alone, all three songs mention fighting with the person he loves.

In Fine Line he triumphally says he'll be alright, likely because he's looking at the situation from afar, after having gone through it. It's not just about this situation with Camille, likely, but about working on himself and getting himself out of it. Getting better. Taking care of himself.

Cherry

This song is the aftermath of To Be So Lonely. In To Be So Lonely he asks her "Don't call me baby again"

In Cherry he says:

Don't you call him "baby" We're not talkin' lately Don't you call him what you used to call me

It's a play with words. Don't call me baby, but also don't call HIM baby either. He's fully aware of how petulant it is. Not me, because you won't give yourself fully to me. But also not him??

She asked him not to call him, so they're not talking lately. Just because we don't talk, don't think you can call him what you used to call me.

I, I confess I can tell that you are at your best I'm selfish so I'm hating it

She's with Theo, and he tells, from afar, that she's happy. She never fully gave herself to Harry, but she did to Theo. And Harry hates it.

I wanna say, I don't think it's selfish that he hates it. In normal circumstances, sure, but if your ex who you loved (and still love) never fully gave themselves to you but does to the person right after, then I don't think it's selfish to be upset by it. But I do like that Harry is self aware enough and critical enough of himself to call himself out on those petty thoughts

I noticed that There's a piece of you in how I dress Take it as a compliment

This is me being petty but I don't think he means actual clothes and it's crazy to me that some people credit Camille with his entire street style in 2017-2019. He's talking about her ring, most likely. A piece, not, "I dress exactly how you liked me to dress." He can't exactly say "I wear one of your accessorieeees" now can he? He's making it poetic.

I, I just miss I just miss your accent and your friends Did you know I still talk to them?

He's talking about Nikolai, the man who painted his guitar. And thankfully, Harry seems to have kept Nikolai (and his wife Djuna) in the divorce.

This is Harry with Nikolai a few months ago

I'm sure they're on good terms with Camille. I'm just happy Harry doesn't have to miss them lol

Does he take you walking 'round his parents' gallery?

Anyway, I'm not exactly discovering anything. Anyone with minor knowledge on the subject already knows that Camille's new boyfriend (and current boyfriend) is Theo Niarchos.

His grandfather is Stavros Niarchos, a Greek oil tycoon and one of the world's richest men. His first son, Philip Niarchos, inherited Stavros' art collection and owns incredible paintings such as Van Gogh's self-portrait and Basquiat's self-portrait (Harry admires Basquiat a lot, so I'm sure this was personal for him).

Philip is Theo's father. So when Harry says "does he take you walking 'round his parents' gallery?" he's saying "I didn't have rich parents and I closed out galleries for you." (If he's not saying that, then I'm saying that goddammit).

The ending of the song features him crying agonizingly while she laughs cheerily in a voice note (which she gave him permission to use. Insanity)

Sunflower, Vol. 6

This is one of my favorite songs he's ever written because he takes all of this pain that we just described and he goes "alright, well, I'm gonna be happy anyway."

He's reminiscing on the good parts of the relationship:

Sunflower Sunflower, my eyes want you more than a melody

(...) I couldn't want you any more Kiss in the kitchen like it's a dance floor I couldn't want you any more Tonight (Tonight, tonight, tonight) (...) Wondering, headshake Tired eyes are the death of me Mouthful of toothpaste before I got to know you I've got your face hung up high in the gallery

All those little things, the cotidianity of the first few times someone sleeps over, brushing your teeth side by side, seeing them just woken up, hanging around in the kitchen making breakfast. He's thinking back to all that.

While also being really sad that they don't have that anymore:

I don't wanna make you feel bad But I've been trying hard not to talk to you Sunflower (Sunflower, sunflower) (...) I don't wanna make you feel bad But I've been trying hard not to act a fool Sunflower (Sunflower, sunflower)

Because he told her they shouldn't talk, and he doesn't want to make a fool of himself while she's with someone else. And also being really sad that she never got to open up to him fully.

Let me inside, I wanna get to know you (...) Let me inside, wish I could get to know you

And he's saying, the flowers (the relationship) have died (ended), but they're sunflowers. And when sunflowers die, you get sunflower seeds. The very center of a sunflower is where its seeds are, and the flower needs to die for hundreds if not thousands of seeds to come out.

It's all part of the process. It's a stage of growth, hence Vol. 6.

He's taking all of this, all of these feelings, all of this yearning, all of this love, and he's planting it in his melody, in my music. He's making art out of his heartbreak.

Sunflowers sometimes keep it sweet in your memory (...) Your flowers just died, plant new seeds in the melody (...) Sunflowers just died, keep it sweet in your memory

The flowers died, but I'm planting them in my melody, and the good things will live forever.

Fine Line is a beautiful album, which does tell a story beginning to end, just not chronologically.

There aren't any bad guys, or bad people. He's not calling himself out. Or her out. He's not pointing fingers. He's not mad.

He's processing going through this heartbreak, and trying to make it all better. Learning from it, getting to know himself. One day I'll analyze Lights Up and She a little closer, but that day won't be for a while, because this fandom is incapable of being normal about that sort of thing.

I have other things cooking, but tonight I just wanted it to be about Harry and the beautiful album he made, and the wonderful conversations me and my friends have when we miss him.

I hope he's doing alright, taking care of himself, and surrounded by family.

If anyone made it all the way here, congrats! And thank you.

I'll probably run through this lately and correct a few grammar mistakes, but I just want to put it out now.

[something-about-sunflowers]

Hi all!!!

Right so, straight to the point: I made some custom tattoos for The Sims 4, as screen accurate as I could manage which is a bitch considering how little we see Ed’s left arm, of some of our favorite pirates!

Which is to say the ones with visible tattoos on The Revenge!

So: Ed, Izzy, and Roach! (I’m planning, at some point, to figure out Wee John’s but I’ll maybe put that out when I can manage to find a good quality reference for Calico Jack’s. Maybe those two plus Ivan’s crescent moon on his head? If anybody wants to offer up some pics I’d be forever grateful!!!)

I did have to do a bit of guesswork for some of them again, that left arm. . . also Taika’s collarbones? Hard to find a good pic to see what they actually say but otherwise I mostly just did a lot of squinting and screenshot hunting and I used this and this for reference (bless you both, the placement is so confusing to me and these helped immensely 🙏). I did also do one or two ‘fill in the blank’/headcanon tattoos for Ed, mostly just cause his chest looked a little empty otherwise but also just cause I thought they were fun I think the trampstamp is fun at least lol, if yall want though I might add another version with the ‘only what we can see/infer’ ones when I get around to the second batch? I don’t think they’re too obtrusive though so I’m not sure if it’s really worth it if there’s not any demand for it, let me know, I guess?

Anyway, pics under the cut + link:

I did combined and separated versions of Ed’s, just gonna share the pictures of the combined file though:

Front

Back (trampstamp shows over clothes in the file viewer but displays properly on skin in game)

Right arm

Left arm

Izzy’s are all on one file:

Cheek

Neck

Hand

Roach’s are all on one file:

Wrist

Chest

Arm

Download

(I would have grabbed screenshots from them on the game itself but I haven’t updated it after the infants/new pack drop and I really can’t be bothered to wait for it to do all that, turn cc back on, then close and re-open all for some screenshots so this is what you get lmfao.)

[ethereousdelirious]

Sicktember 2023 Day 25

Prompt: Confused/Disoriented

Fandom: Bl.ack B.utler

Characters: W. illiam, Gr.ell, R.onald

Notes: this one let me do some WIP necromancy hehe

The mission was far from standard, so vague it set Grell to grinding her teeth to keep from gnawing down her precious nails. She'd spent too long growing them out to sacrifice them to her own frustration. Upper management wouldn't take that from her like they'd taken her free evening.

With a huff that ruffled her bangs, she turned to Ronald. He stood with his hands in his pockets, one leg extended and resting on the heel. Picture-perfect nonchalance.

He caught Grell looking and tilted his chin at her. "What did they mean by 'unusual'?"

"Exactly what it sounds like." Grell tossed her hair over her shoulder. The alleyway was well-lit and deserted; this wasn't the place for dark dealings or shady exchanges.

"They're referring, of course, to the deserter." Will's voice was hoarse and so quiet that his sudden appearance didn't even startle his companions.

Grell's heart beat a tattoo against her ribs but she was too preoccupied for her usual theatrics. "I thought you were off sick today."

Will certainly looked the part. He had buttoned his long black coat up to the neck and wore a heavy muffler around his mouth. A distinctive flush stained his cheeks and a similar shade of irritated pink lined his eyes. He sniffled, brows drawn down. "I don't know what they expect us to find, but I was ordered here to provide support."

"You sure that's a good idea, boss?" Ronald asked despite Grell's look of warning. "You don't look so good."

Will coughed lightly into his sleeve before answering."That's not for me to decide."

It seemed the little coughing fit was not enough, however, and another soon followed. Will turned away and bent at the waist. Grell exchanged a glance with Ronald, who only shrugged.

Everything was quiet for a moment after Will turned back around, three pairs of phosphorescent eyes darting around the abandoned street as they all shifted.

Grell rallied her spirits and swished her hips, heels clacking on the pavement. "Well, let's not stand around all night!"

Will muttered something under his breath as he turned to follow, but Grell didn't bother to ask him to repeat himself. The poor thing probably had a miserable sore throat and besides, whatever he had said was likely not very nice.

Ronald checked his watch. "So what, we're just supposed to wander the streets until we see something?"

In response, Will took a small piece of paper out of his pocket. He nearly dropped it while unfolding it and Grell tilted her head. Displays of weakness generally repulsed her. Any emotional softness was useless, physical weakness nearly unbearable. The revulsion was there, the urge to sneer at Will for letting his hands shake like that, but there was something else there, too. Something softer. The urge to help him.

But he didn't need her help. He'd only faltered for a half a second before recovering himself. Now, he shook out the paper and scanned it, mumbling key phrases to them: "'something unusual spotted,' 'reports of disturbances,' 'patrol the area until satisfied.'"

Grell was more concerned with the back of the sheet and bent over so she could read it. She scanned it quickly, expecting a blow to the back of the head from Will's Scythe, but none came. The paper was office stationery, dated for the previous day. Will's request for sick leave. It had been stamped with the word "APPROVED," then subsequently stamped over with the word "REJECTED."

Grell straightened and crossed her arms, looking Will up and down while he and Ronald discoursed over the finer definition of "satisfied."

Will, like Grell herself, did not abide weakness, though time had shown that their standards differed in key ways. Will seemed perfectly content to carry out the mission in his coat and muffler, with his hands shaking.

It was somehow beautiful and terrifying, seeing him made so fragile yet so resolute. If he had been wounded then, covered in lovely red, she could have kissed him for it even as she resented him for letting it happen.

"Pay attention, Grell," Will snapped, and how rare it was that he called her by name. "We're moving."

She skipped along beside him, chainsaw swinging. "Oh, how lovely," she sang, "a special mission with William." Rain began to cast dark spots on the pavement.

"What am I, your chaperone?" Ronald huffed.

Will only gave a congested sigh and pushed his glasses up.

He did look ill; even in the low light, all the signs were there. The sight was strangely alluring. With the distinctive bend in his posture, the stray hairs hanging in his face, the languid way he blinked… He looked less ready to meter out discipline and more prepared to fall asleep at his desk.

And Grell still wanted him.

No, she wanted him more than ever now. Now that the doors had opened slightly to let a little light in, now that silhouettes were visible. Little corners and hints teasing her more than ever before. Did his hair hang in his eyes in the mornings, before he applied his pomade? Did he sigh like that in bed at the end of long days? Did he like it when someone else straightened his muffler for him and smoothed the wrinkles in his jacket?

Raindrops flashed yellow in the lamplight, coming down at a wicked angle.

"Marvelous," said Ronald, running a hand through his fringe in a way that was less rakish and more exasperated. And they continued on down the cobblestones.

William whipped his head to the side and sneezed, sharp as a whip-crack. Damp hair hung in his eyes and caught on his glasses, flushed cheeks peeked out above his muffler. He had gone pale with the cold and now the contrast was greater, or maybe he was in a fever. The green glow of his eyes made it difficult to tell without touching him.

"Are patrols always like this?" Ronald asked.

Grell caught Will's eyes and they both tilted their heads, noncommittal. "This is an unusual situation," Will said, as though the memo on the back of his sick leave paperwork had not adequately demonstrated that point. He left off with a huff and adjusted his glasses at the temple.

"We don't usually do patrols without the to-die list," Grell elaborated, watching William out of the corner of her eye. He only rubbed his temple and carried on walking. Enduring.

There was a strange, raw honesty to his actions. He clearly wasn't trying to hide the way he felt, but he didn't revel in it, either. There was a perverse pleasure in victimhood that William seemed wholly immune to. He didn't play the martyr or over-apologize. He didn't moan in discomfort or snap at Grell for staring. He just carried on.

"Oh?" Ronald prompted.

Grell shook herself. "And we don't usually get vague memos about 'something unusual,' either. I can't help but wonder if we're truly meant to find anything at all." Rainwater trickled into her face when she spoke. She swiped it off with a gloved hand and scowled.

"Turn here," Will interrupted, and directed them onto another street.

A clatter split the silence and something shot between Grell and Ronald, landing somewhere behind them with a metallic tinkle. Splashing footsteps echoed off the alley walls and a figure in black dashed through one of the puddles of light from the streetlamps.

"A carving knife," said Ronald, looking backward.

"Move." Will took off at a run.

Grell flanked him and Ronald caught up on the other side and they ran in V formation.

Their target was not fast and did not attack and the thrill of adrenaline wore off within a few seconds. The pinprick predator vision widened into total clarity the closer they got to the figure.

"I'm sorry!" A high, childish sob. "I was only playing!"

And just like that, the chase ended.

Grell stomped forward. "What were you doing?" she demanded, her breath displacing what few strands of hair had not been fully plastered to her face by rainwater.

"Just playing!" the child sobbed. "Please let me go home, miss."

"You think it's funny to scare people, do you? Well, I'll show you something scary."

Before she could make good on her threat, Will barked out a string of violent, chesty coughs from somewhere behind her. Grell bared her teeth. "Just go."

Turning, she braced herself against a lamppost, every breath burning in her chest. Will and Ronald had done the same, both bent at the waist and panting. The light drizzle made them both shine in the flickering light.

"All that…" Ronald panted, "...for a kid?"

"Fast little bugger," Grell muttered. She brushed her bangs out of her eyes and straightened, pulling her coat up. It drew itself taut over her shoulders and wouldn't close all the way, but she did her best to draw it over herself without straining the seams. "Well, boys? What say we call it a night?"

Ronald seemed to be recovering; he had straightened up and nodded when he caught her eye. "Please."

But it seemed their time spent dashing aimlessly in the rain had taken its toll on Will. He had closed his eyes, frantic half-coughs rippling the fabric of his muffler.

"Will-i-am," Grell sang, inching closer. "Did you hear me?"

The furrow in his brow deepened. Grell blinked and he was slumping forward, forward, and her heel made a sharp click on the pavement and his head hit her chest right above her heart.

He had a shocking fever and Grell had to fight the urge to wrap her arms around him and pull him close. He shouldn't be this warm, not in this weather.

"Boss!" Ronald dashed forward to help Grell take his weight.

But it seemed the swoon was temporary, for Will regained a modicum of balance before Ronald could so much as lay a hand on him. "You shouldn't be out this late," he mumbled, blinking. "What would your mother say?"

"Oh dear, oh dear." Grell pressed her hands to his face and his fever warmed her fingertips even through her thick leather gloves.

"Ah, he's raving," Ronald pronounced, rubbing the back of his neck. "Now what are we supposed to do?"

-

Breaking into an uninhabited flat was a simple matter of standing outside the door while Ronald worked the window open using a heretofore undisclosed set of skills.

Granted, Grell had never asked and now was really not the time. Not while William needed her support just to stand. He kept coming over dizzy in turns until she'd finally made him sit down in the dusty hallway.

Now, he lay on an old sofa, recently divested of its dust cover, motionless but for the shivers wracking his body and the faint, frantic movement of his lips.

While Grell had heard tell of secrets let slip under the influence of fever or wine, it seemed the only thing weighing heavy on Will's mind was concern about getting home on time.

"I know what your father will say," he said, grasping at Grell's hand. "And I have— forgive me— no intention of pursuing engagement." His eyelids fluttered, revealing wide pupils and, to Grell's surprise, a hint of mirth.

"A man after my own heart," Ronald muttered. His footsteps made hollow thuds on the floor as he paced behind Grell. After a moment's pause, he stilled. "What are we supposed to do now? We can't stay here."

"Give me a moment," Grell said, tracing her fingertips over William's forehead. "I'm worried he might try to run off if we take our eyes off him. He's terribly confused, the poor dear."

"So, what, you're hoping he'll wear himself out?"

Grell traced the burning line of William's cheekbone with her pointer finger. "Exactly."