#–– filed : featuring christopher.

[rimatsu]

alcoholic hallucinosis

bucktommy, m, 2k words. read on ao3 Alcohol has dulled his sense and alertness enough that alarm bells don't immediately go off when the camera tilts back to reveal a wider shot of Buck's wooden headboard. It's only when the video shakes and refocuses on a familiar head of chestnut curls that Eddie begins to regret every life decision that brought him to this particular moment. (In which Eddie receives an unsolicited, accidental sex tape.)

Eddie is 12 hours into a 48 off when his phone pings with a new text notification.

Outside, the blue haze of daylight has lifted to reveal the moon. He's been languishing on the couch with a drink and bad TV as his sole company for longer than initially planned. There's a tiny gulp of amber liquid left at the bottom of his Glencairn glass where grains of charred wood have started to sediment. It's the barrel-proof stuff, casket-aged and bold and explosively flavorful, pricy and usually reserved for special occasions.

Eddie isn't the type to indulge for no reason, but he figures he deserves a treat after dealing with Gerrard's machiavellian schemes at work and withering familial radio-silence courtesy of his son. The text he's sent this morning — three whole paragraphs detailing his week and asking about Christopher's new friends and the robotics club he's joined — had only garnered a thumb-up in response

So it's 9:48pm and Eddie is 2 fingers away from buzzed, and he's watching fictional characters make mistakes more disastrous than his own stupid blunders with a pleasant fog cushioning his thoughts, eyelids heavy and guards down, and naturally that’s when Buck decides to send a cryptic video his way.

Eddie is used to receiving pictures and random factoids and links to obscure forums whenever Buck descends into one of his manic research deep dives, but they usually come with some key context. The newest addition to their chat log is a lone clip, with no caption or introduction or explanatory details. It's about 12 minutes long and the preview thumbnail is mostly indecipherable: brown, blurry with motion and too close to the lens for identification.

Against his better judgement, Eddie shrugs, mutes the TV and taps play on the video file.

Alcohol has dulled his sense and alertness enough that alarm bells don't immediately go off when the camera tilts back to reveal a wider shot of Buck's wooden headboard. It's only when the video shakes and refocuses on a familiar head of chestnut curls that Eddie begins to regret every life decision that brought him to this particular moment. His eyes bug out as he tries to compute what he's seeing unfold in rapid increments, something like dread settling in the pit of his stomach.

On his screen and in his hand and in HD resolution, Buck’s right cheek is smashed into a pillow, face sweaty and so red his birthmark no longer stands out against the backdrop of his skin. His mouth is an open wound gasping for air, and there are thick-knuckled fingers twisted in his hair, keeping him down. His brows are furrowed like he's in agony, except that's not pain twisting his features; it's not the expression that haunts Eddie from a half-dozen near tragedies and hospital visits — no, that's a face crumpled in uncomplicated pleasure.

“Arch up, sweetheart,” comes out of the tiny speakers, and that's Tommy's voice, laced with something unrecognizable, low and warm and whiskey-soaked like the scotch Eddie has been sipping all evening; loud because he’s holding the phone this was filmed on, because that's his hand cradling the back of Buck’s skull, big and proprietary and unrelenting. “Give me something nice to look at.”

Eddie's entire central nervous system shuts down after hearing that request, and he’s left gaping at his screen, stunned stupid, staring unblinkingly and in morbid fascination the way passerbys might gawk at a car crash, awful but ultimately fascinating.

Distantly, Eddie wonders if he’s perhaps experiencing some acute form of alcoholic hallucinosis.

Now, he’s borne witness to his fair share of disturbing sights throughout the years — viscera and gore, absurd accidents and gruesome deaths. With two military tours under his belt, he’s developed quite the steel core; Eddie knows how to push past shock to go through necessary motions. Still, no amount of training and field experience could've prepared him for this, because in the next second the video frame shifts again, pans down Buck’s neck and the broad expense of his back and along the sine wave of his spine—

And yep. That's definitely a POV shot of Eddie’s best friend taking it up the ass.

When his synapses start firing again a heartbeat later, horror cuts through the petrified and intoxicated daze clouding Eddie’s brain like a punch to the sternum, sudden and sobering.

“Oh my God!” he screams, shrill and panicked and undignified, and then does the instinctual thing, which is to toss his phone across the room like it's contaminated by the bubonic plague.

It lands facedown near the TV console with a loud thud. Unfortunately, the distance does nothing to muffle the telltale, slick and rhythmic noises of skin-on-skin or the pornographic grunts of masculine pleasure coming out of the loudspeakers, resonating against the walls of his too quiet house.

Eddie stares at the mobile device like it’s radioactive, the tip of his ears burning hot in embarrassment and delayed indignation.

What kind of sick fucking joke is this?

Badly-lit, homemade, amateur porn. Of the gay variety. Starring Buck and his boyfriend — his two closest companions these days. That's what Buck shared with him tonight for some depraved, incomprehensible reason. Because he's apparently a lunatic with no understanding of the concept of privacy or boundaries or socially acceptable behavior. Either that or Buck is experiencing a stroke, or being hacked, or this is his way of letting Eddie know he’s been kidnapped, or maybe it’s all a huge mistake they’ll maybe laugh at ten years from now when Eddie can remember this moment without wanting to gouge his eyes out of their sockets.

Eddie presses the heels of his palms into his lids until stars replace the afterimage seared onto his retina, and then prays for deliverance from this wretched, godless existence.

"Daddy," he hears, rough and saliva-garbled and pleading, and nope.

No.

Absolutely not.

Eddie scrambles for his phone so he can put a stop to the auditory torture. Since his life is a joke, the jump over the coffee table he attempts in his haste proves to be too perilous for his tipsy, uncoordinated limbs. His toes get caught in the folds of his area rug and he ends up a screeching, scandalized heap on the floor.

"Ow!" Eddie yelps, a few feet from his phone that is still taunting him with moans.

Once he finally manages to press the side button, Eddie collapses back on the ground, hands shaking with residual adrenaline. His screen is cracked and his knees are throbbing from the force of his fall, but silence sounds so blissful Eddie can barely find it in himself to be irritated.

He flips on his back and stares at the ceiling, suddenly exhausted.

Maybe Eddie is the problem. Maybe he’s an enabler who invited his own misfortune.

Buck has always been prone to over-sharing, but there had been a time early in his relationship with Tommy when he had acted unusually tight-lipped. In the spirit of unconditional support, Eddie had reiterated that nothing had to change between them — that Buck didn’t need to censor himself just because he was seeing a man.

(“So you want the details?” Buck had asked, eyebrows raised skeptically.

Eddie had made an unimpressed face in answer. “I never want the details, but it’s not like that ever stopped you before.”

“Your funeral,” Buck had said with a grin and a shrug, and then spent the next few minutes recounting the epic tale of his ‘tumultuous journey to rid himself of his gag reflex’. Eddie had listened in a mostly dissociative state, doing his best not to wince at the very descriptive portrait painted before his eyes until he’d realized Buck was messing with him by testing the limits of his tolerance.)

That had been only fair, since Buck is the type to readily lend an ear for ex-nun girlfriend troubles — and with minimal judgment to boot — but now Eddie is starting to regret the gesture. Maybe Buck had heard ‘you don’t have to keep it PG for my sake, I'm totally down with the queers’ and understood ‘if you ever need constructive criticism on the angles of your sextape, I’m your guy!’

Eddie briefly entertains the idea of sending Buck a vindictive voice message demanding he explains himself, maybe even relay the various ways he wants to throttle Buck for his crassness and his exhibitionist tendencies and his wild disregard for the sacred bonds of pseudo-brotherhood, but he still feels off-balance, and in the end Eddie chooses to resort to a less confrontational coping mechanism: drinking the trauma away.

He ignores the abandoned glass sitting on his side table to take long gulps of whiskey straight from the bottle instead. It's not the kind of liquor made to be chugged down, and the alcohol burns his throat all the way down his stomach, but he welcomes the flame, grateful for the physical distraction.

He’s working himself into an inebriated stupor when his phone starts vibrating like a hummingbird's wings, pinging madly with texts after texts.

When he unlocks the mobile with the apprehension of a soldier stepping into a minefield, it’s to find 42 new messages from Buck.

Eddie takes another fortifying swig of booze and opens iMessage.

The first ten text bubbles are strictly comprised of delirious keysmashing, confirming the inadvertent mistake hypothesis. That’s a relief: Buck hasn’t temporarily lost his mind to jealousy again and didn’t try to mark his territory because Tommy had taken Eddie to a WBC championship last week. Thank God for small mercies.

Eddie scrolls past them to read the more coherent ones.

OH FUCKKKKKK

ASFHJBCAVKJVCHK

NONONONONOOO

THIS CANT BE HAPPENING

THIS IS LIKE EVERYONES WORST NIGHTMARE

EDDIE

EDMUNDO MIDDLE NAME DIAZ

DO NOT

I REPEAT DO NOT WATCH THE BIDEO

IT WASNT MEANT GOR YOU

IT WAS A MISTAKE!!!!!!

NOT ON PURPOSE

SERIOUSLY DONT OPEN THE VIDEO

it will hurt your fragile relapsed catholic sensibilities and send you into cardiac arrest

IT WAS MEANT FOR TOMMY AND NOT FOR UR PRUDISH EYES

SERIOUSLY SCROLL PAST

SPARE US BOTH THE HUMILIATION I BEG OF YOU

you were the last contact i texted

my big fat thumb must've slipped

shittt the read receipt

welp it's so over...

ig that's done and over with

sorry

when you're done pouring bleach over your eyes

let me know you're still alive so i can sleep at night with a clear conscience knowing you didn't lobotomize yourself or something

again I'M SORRY

A HONEST MISTAKE that's surely mortifying for the both of us but mostly ME

please tell me i didn't irreparably damage our friendship

just so you know tommy’s been laughing for the past 10 minutes. i’m glad SOMEONE is enjoying this shitshow

You owe me an emergency therapy session with Frank

And a screen repair

did you freak out and break your phone

I threw it at the wall

ok drama queen 😂

No. There's nothing funny or dramatic about it

I'm not gonna be able to look you in the face for the foreseeable future

I'll have to ask Gerrard for a transfer

Ravi says the B-shift is very welcoming

Maybe I'll find a new buddy there. One that doesn't send me his nudes unprompted

Hell maybe I should move back to El Paso

This could be a sign from the universe to take matter into my own hands instead of waiting idly for Christopher's forgiveness

you don't believe in signs

Maybe I do now

Maybe your little fuck up was the catalyst needed for change

c'mon man

play it cool

if you get embarrassed then i'll get embarrassed

and if we're both embarrassed then who's flying the plane

Your apologies suck balls

just like me

What the hell Buck

WAY TOO SOON

sorry

shame is an emotion i refuse to feel so i’m just owning it now

ok can we just agree to forget this ever happened

and maybe delete the vid from your cloud

Yeah ok

Way ahead of you

My phone has already been scrubbed clean

Do me a favor and check twice the next time you send Tommy a dick pic

dw lesson learned

so.......

did you watch the full thing or

be honest

it’s okay if you did you can still be straight

Scratch that

Consider our friendship irreparably damaged NOW

I’m blocking you

EDDIE NO

I WAS JOKING TO DIFFUSE THE TENSION

EDDIE!!!!!

[sunboki]

KOREA'S MOST WANTED (DEAD OR ALIVE) : SUNBOKI

🎥 : Christopher Bahng x fem. reader ( with hints of other attraction ((mainly 3racha cause im a whore)) no poly )

TROPE. non-idol au, criminal! au, enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, angst, fluff, implied smut

WORD COUNT. 6.8k & 33 minute read

WARNINGS. smut, blood, guns/weapons, shoot-out, murder, mentions of drugs and poison, descriptive violence, suggestiveness, manipulation, death(not major characters), cursing

PLAYLIST

AUG'S NOTES. a weird spin to a not-quite mafia au but i love the lore.. enjoy. if you decide to read, feedback is always appreciated!!

SYNOPSIS. Eight notoriously wanted criminals work solo. They always have. Except when their dark work and concealed identities are put at risk, they find themselves with no other choice but to work together—and what better place to do so than the back fields of a house in the middle of nowhere? The location was ideal, until you open the doors of your grandparents barn and accidentally meet Korea’s most wanted.

or alternatively

In which stumbling in the wrong place at the wrong time leaves you face to face with some of the most-wanted criminals in all of South Korea.

CRIMINAL #0001 — BAHNG, CHRISTOPHER.

CRIMINAL RECORD

Christopher has been convicted of illegal weapon trafficking on eighteen counts of federal offenses. He is notoriously dangerous. Please proceed with caution.

⭑ REWARD

⎯ CRIMINAL FILES (additional cases)

The only thing illuminating your walk to the barn is your phone light and the hardly helpful moon peeking between heavy clouds.

You’ve done this a billion times, but tonight there’s just something ..unsettling. You can’t put your finger on it.

Shaking the thought from mind, you fiddle with the small lock hitched onto wide, dark red barn doors, untangling rusted chains like routine. That is, until you hear a sound. An unusual sound, an unnerving sound.

By that time you’d already pushed open the doors, and the weight of what sat in front of you—the weight of what was responsible for the sound—made you feel faint.

“Who.. Who are you people?”

Every October you visit your grandparents (or whenever your schedule isn’t jam-packed, but most often in October) when the leaves are deep orange and red, dappling gravel driveways and leaving the once abundant trees bare of their spring greenery.

The weather, though overcast in the autumn season, never stays gray for too long if you wake up early enough. Your grandpa taught you that, how to witness the early morning view before being covered by clouds.

On this occasion, however, you certainly didn’t plan on waking up early, especially not while rooming in your comfortable old bedroom.

Your grandparents house, despite being in the middle of nowhere, was so homey, so familiar. You’d be sure to soak up as much of this easiness as you could before returning back to life, savor the moments the best you could.

“Have you heard?” Your grandmother utters, fingers expertly dicing fruits, gaze glued to the TV.

“Grandma, I just got here, so no I haven’t heard anything,” You laugh, dragging your luggage through the hallway while the drone of the latest news feature serves as background noise. Probably another celebrity split-up, you assume.

Surely, considering the stubborn woman’s frantic waving once you come back into the living room, beckoning you to watch with her.

“Look! They’re wrecking havoc everywhere recently. Folks are calling them ‘Korea’s most wanted.’” Shaking her head repeatedly, she points at the screen displaying a churned building left to nothing but ash.

You hum absentmindedly, listening to the reporter talk.

“Using the title the media has given, this building, once a printing firm, has been dissolved into ashes overnight. The attack is said to have been the doing of ‘The Arsonist’, a member of one of the most wanted people on the radar…”

“If you run into one of them,” Having completely forgotten about the other presence in the room, you flinch. “Call your Grandma, I’ll swat ‘em over the head with my shovel.”

Gesturing with an imaginary shovel in hand, you can’t help but laugh at her silliness, quickly shaking the lingering thought away.

Korea’s most wanted here? Here’s probably the last place they’d show up, too busy massacring the big cities to care about this old house.

Resorting to scurrying onto a kitchen stool, you fill in the nosy old lady on what life has been like, how work has been treating you, and all the other nosy questions your grandmother thinks up slicing apples.

By the time you look out the window, the sky is almost fully dark, until a sudden flash of headlights tells the household grandpa’s back from work, hopping from his rickety blue pickup truck to greet you. 

There’s a smile gracing his wrinkled features, regarding you like you were still eight years old. He’s a man of few words, but when he speaks, everyone listens. Similarly, when he tells you he loves you—something he barely does—the moment, whatever it may be, is special.

Settling in for the night, you help wash dishes and insist the stoic woman takes a seat before she breaks her back leaning over the sink, which she rolls her eyes and ignores no less.

Not like you expected anything else, she’d wash these dishes till the end of time knowing her.

“Y/n, dear, would you mind making sure the barn lamp is shut off? I’m worried it’ll catch fire if I forget.”

Speaking of the end of time, you hadn’t stepped foot in the barn in what felt to be decades, too occupied with the house and town to remember that ramshackle building outside.

Of course you said yes, deciding this was a prime opportunity to not forget in the process of slipping on a sweater to help battle the cold, approaching the barely visible building.

You think you hear someone talking but choose to ignore it, pretending it was the wind or something along those lines. It’s autumn and you’re plenty far away from suburban areas, so most likely an animal lie responsible.

That was, until you pry open the barn doors.

Immediately, a stranger with cat-like features has a serrated dagger held to your throat.

Closing your eyes instinctively, you wait to feel the cold metal breaking skin, hesitantly cracking open an eye to meet the attacker’s chilling stare boring into the side of your face.

He takes a few seconds to exchanges glances with another in the dimly lit space then back to your stock-still frame. Briefly, you feel your phone get pulled from your pocket but don’t budge, worried one wrong movement would automatically have the cold metal slitting your throat.

“Walk. Make the slightest move and nobody finds your body, understood?”

Shakily, you nod, feebly inching forward before getting shoved onto the container your grandpa kept extra tools in, splinters piercing the back of your thighs.

Wonderingly, your eyes flicker to each stranger surrounding you. Counting eight in total, some taller, some shorter, you gulp, outnumbered by a large margin you’re sure would be nearly impossible trying to escape from.

Without exchanging a word, one of the shorter, more muscular men steps forward, seeming to inspect you. His rough grip finds your chin, jerking your head from side to side then up to meet his honeyed brown eyes. They’re surprisingly kind compared to his demeanor.

“She’s pretty. Might earn us a good penny if you want, Bahng. Ain’t that right, sweetheart?” Cocking his brows, you swiftly rip your head out of his hand, wrinkling your nose with disgust.

A frothing dread fills your gut, and you think for a moment letting that man with the dagger kill you off would’ve been a better doom.

“Hands off, Bin. If we wanted to get a price we need her to be in good condition.” A voice from behind this so-called “Bin” responds, and you feel the overwhelming urge to hurl.

They’re talking about selling you, like you’re not even human. A pretty porcelain object available at their disposal.

Good condition? You feel sick. You can’t see the man who replied, but you doubt it’d make your gut feel any more uncomfortable.

“Aw c’mon guys,” Another voice you finally spot to your right interjects, sporting chubbier cheeks and appearing quite out of place in this group. “You’re scaring her, go easy.”

Bin scoffs. “Should she be comfortable? We’re gonna kill her anyway, Jisung. Right, Bahng?”

God. Who is this Bahng guy that’s apparently in charge and why does “Bin” want you dead so badly? Didn’t he just call you pretty, or were you blacking out?

“..Right, Bahng?”

Bin falters, backing up as the face belonging to “Bahng” ushers him to the side.

Bahng, at least in the scarce lighting, is scarily handsome. Dyed hair nearly an auburn shade, a strong jaw, and calculating, dusky brown eyes that appear equally as kind as Bin’s.

You’ve learned to not trust the deceit.

Suddenly, a thought strikes.

Any minute now your grandparents will realize how long you’ve been gone and start to worry.

Your heart drops.

No. Don’t come here, stay in the house. No no no no.

Automatically, words stumble out of your mouth.

“Please- kill me, sell me, I don’t care. My grandparents- they’re gonna come here, I can’t have them here. If they find me here I... Please.” Chest rising and falling unevenly, you continuously glance at the door.

Waiting, waiting.

“Please spare them. I don’t want them to get hurt.”

He doesn’t blink, doesn’t make any expression apparent on that handsome face of his. Observing.

You’re a spectacle, an interesting one at that.

“And if I spare you, what do I get in return, hm?”

You’re caught off guard.

In return? What does he mean in return?

Think. Think. What the hell could someone like him want? He has enough money, you’re sure.

Fine. Make it broad.

“Anything. Anything, I promise.” Pleading, you anxiously shuffling atop the box, swearing to have heard the sound of moving outside. Somewhere behind the two of you someone chokes a laugh. You can’t find it in yourself to care.

Poking his tongue into his cheek thoughtfully, he eventually signals to the others before you’re being escorted through the back door by a not-so gentle Bin and a very much apologetic Jisung, sparing a glance back to the home you’d only seen for one day.

And if what Bin said about killing you was true, you wonder if you’ll ever see it again.

.. .

Ducking into one of the two cars parked directly behind the barn, you’re assigned the passenger seat, accompanied by Bahng who’s driving, Jisung, and a long-haired boy sitting beside him in the backseat.

They’re all strikingly beautiful opposed to the blood you’re sure has stained their hands, especially the one next to Jisung with features resembling that of a prince. Everything about him seems too elegant to do any harm. You know that’s a lie.

Mapping out your surroundings, you shuffle in the leather seat, waiting until all three men get situated to slam the door ajar and run. Second instinct, no thoughts, just survival.

You run, run and run as fast as you can while the thump of shoes echo behind you. Far away, you have to get away. Get away get away get aw— a force slams into you from behind and you go toppling down.

Gasping as the air mercilessly ripped from your lungs returns, your vision adjusts, squirming thanks to the identity keeping you still. Bahng has you trapped below him, breath labored, effortlessly intimidating.

“Let— go of me!” You yell, voice betraying the utter desperation overtaking every fiber of your being.

He holds you down, meeting your eyes without fail as you struggle and shout. Shouting and screaming so loud into the darkness in fact, that the man finally covers your mouth with a hand as you tremble, watery gaze fixated on his. Burning, venomous hatred.

“I’m afraid that isn’t an option, sweetness. So you either walk back to the car or I go through things the hard way. What will it be?”

He thumbs the sweaty strands of hair stuck to your forehead, hand finally pulling off your mouth.

Hypocrite.

“Fuck you.” You spit, and the man’s brows lift, lips pulled into an amused smile as he wipes his cheek.

“Hard way it is.”

Instantaneously, you’re hauled over his shoulder, not straining a bit despite the incessant kicking and pounding of your fists against his shoulder.

And just to prove how much he wholeheartedly deserved that fuck you, he made sure to lock the vehicle twice right in front of your face, receiving an equally as distasteful glare through the windshield in return.

The car ride was quiet, only interrupted by him asking if the air was too cold which you responded to with the middle finger. Jisung giggled.

Wee hours of morning peer through thick clouds, the road briefly illuminated by your headlights, corn stalks for miles lining either side. A barely palpable trace of life noticeable in a church’s steeple in the distance—once stark white, now stained and evidently aged.

Looking in the mirror, you locate the other vehicle tailing, assumed to be carrying the additional boys. Considering where your lone source of communication may be hidden (a.k.a your phone), you strain trying to spot it in your peripheral.

No use. Just you and this shit-hole of a situation.

Either way, what would you even say? “Please help me I’ve been kidnapped by eight of Korea’s most wanted criminals”? Yeah, they’ll definitely believe that.

There’s a hum from the prince-like man.

“This is the perfect place for a murder,” He speaks so nonchalantly, as if he referred to the weather and not killing someone.

Chills spread along your arms.

Jisung chuckles. “You’re right, no traces at all. Either way, even if someone did find them they’d likely already be rotten.”

You’re nauseous.

“Say, do you know how long it takes for a body to rot out here?” He asks, and your dizziness keeps you from realizing he’s referring to you, stomach threatening to spill all of its contents any second now.

And they expect you to know that?

Your silence leads to Jisung earning a smack from his backseat companion, scolding him hushedly.

Bahng stays quiet, one hand holding the wheel and the other splayed on the center console. Occasionally though you’ll see his eyes flit elsewhere, or maybe it’s your imagination.

Car eventually falling mute with a few passengers sleeping, you get close to doing the same before the harsh jerk of the car stirs everyone wide awake, clutching onto their seats.

You’d swerved into a small expanse of corn, wheels crushing the crops beneath them. Instantly the three reach under their seats, instinctively grabbing out pistols and pushing open the doors slowly, bodies crouched low.

Preparing to hide to the best of your ability, a hand on your arm keeps your movement at bay, discovered to belong to Bahng.

“Just keep in mind what Jisung said, by the time anyone finds you you’ll be rotted, pretty thing.” He sends you a sickeningly sweet smile, cocking the hammer of his gun and disappearing out the door where you hear someone shout: “I fucking knew we were being followed!” Prior to the loud ricochet of bullets being fired.

You duck down in the passenger seat, attempting to be as small and forgettable as possible out of sight. That is until a gunshot strikes the side of the car, narrowly bypassing where you’re curled up on the floorboard.

An involuntary scream escapes you, and your palm clamps over your mouth, shuddering and shaking like a leaf.

It’s a natural reaction, shrinking away, too horrified to act. So when your door is violently swung open, you prepare for the worst before recognizing Bin’s face, who legitimately rips you from the seat and drags you away.

Stopping beside a minimal clearing, you observe he isn’t carrying a weapon of any kind, a factor that makes your hopes slightly plummet. Granted, it’s not that you don’t think he’d be capable of defending himself (and you), but his fists against a gun didn’t sound too promising.

Swiftly instructed to not move, he races off, effectively tackling a man to the ground and leaving a pool of blood seeping where he lay.

Except, Bin abruptly evades your vision, leaving you to notice the prince-like boy in his stead, waving his arms and yelling something you strain to recognize.

“Behind you!” He had been shouting.

Your soul fills with dread.

In an instant you brace for impact, ears picking up the whirring of an object against the wind before the crack of a bat makes contact with your attackers head. The man goes down like a sack of bricks.

Bin, holding a nail embedded baseball bat propped on his shoulder, appeared just on time.

He had a streak of blood smeared across his cheek which you guessed belonged to someone else, and his knuckles lay bruised and torn despite the massive shit-eating grin slapped on his face.

“You alright, sweetheart?” He asks, voice hoarse and rough despite never looking more alive. It’s terrifying.

Shaken, you give yourself a once over, hurriedly shaking your head. He barks a laugh.

Gunshots eventually dying off, the nine of you regroup, some suffering minor injuries and others standing untouched.

Among them, the dagger-wielding criminal is one of the untouched. You’re not surprised.

Jisung is cussing wildly, leg ripped up pretty bad while leant against said dagger-wielding criminal, sending his counterpart a sour glare.

“Those motherfuckin’ assholes need ‘ta learn some fuckin’ manners..” Jisung spews curses, lips pulled up in a sneer as the others help him into the bullet-embedded car.

Reversing out of the densely packed foliage, no one dares say a word the entire rest of the drive, preoccupied with going back to their interrupted sleep or blankly gazing into the night.

The destination, appearing to be a company building by its exterior (and the lack of daylight), easily averages the size of an extreme warehouse. You curve into an enormous parking garage, every other space occupied by some multimillion dollar sports car.

Upon walking inside though, you’re left in the main entrance with Jisung while the remainder slip into a separate room.

His leg is bandaged thanks to “Jeongin”, whom, after briefly seeing them in brighter lighting, you guess is the youngest-looking one. Light hair and a smile you’re certain breaks all law-breaking guidelines.

Arrangement of chairs mimicking that of a doctor’s office, you guess the decorum is used to disguise what actually goes on here.

Clearing your throat, you debate on speaking about the question burning a hole through your skull.

“Why do you want me to live?”

Managing to haul himself backwards on a chair, Jisung shrugs.

“Why not? It’d be fun having someone other than those boneheads around.”

Typical Jisung reaction, you assume. This is the same dude bringing up murder like it’s a daily occurrence after all.

“Plus, we’re normally workin’ solo. Some circumstances forced us to work together.” He absentmindedly waved, and you bite the urge to ask about these so-called “circumstances”.

With Jisung, you can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or serious. You have a feeling asking him about it though would only lead to a response along the lines of: “Hey, it adds to the fun, right?” as if murder was a leisurely hobby.

You can’t help but feel baffled with how casually he talks about the additional men. Friends, as if they’re friends. Not like they would be, Jisung said it himself, “circumstances” pulled them together.

However, the danger they’d pose working as a team would be unreal. You didn’t even want to consider the possibility.

Goosebumps crawl upon your forearms.

"Y’know, I used to protect people like you." Han Jisung, whom you now recognized as The Arsonist, tilted his head to the side when he said that.

Strikingly beautiful, just like the others. Soft, round cheeks. Dark, soulful eyes and pursed, puffy lips.

You recall your grandmother telling you some of the prettiest flowers carry the most poison. Now it makes sense.

Blinking, you choose your words rather carefully.

This man, the one who upon first glance looks like he couldn’t harm a fly, burned down a printing firm yesterday. The same man alongside seven other notorious criminals discussing your fate.

Korea’s most wanted.

“Why’d you stop? Protecting people, I mean.” Coming out mumbled, you watch him click his tongue and change posture, not phased whatsoever.

It was a genuine question, considering whatever job he had before —if it came down to protecting— seemed to be something linked to the law. Unusual, for a criminal or his level.

“I got bored,” He yawned, lower lip jutting out.

Talk about a juxtaposition to his psychotic tendencies.

Bored. Han Jisung, The Arsonist, got bored of being a good guy.

It gave you a whole new perspective to insane.

“..You ask a bunch of questions, huh. I guess that makes sense since you might die- no! Not die- well, I’m not sure but- you’ll be fine!”

Wow Jisung. You seriously suck at convincing.

Oh how you wish your grandma would appear with her shovel right about now. Scratch that, you wish she would’ve swatted them over the head much earlier than now.

“Alright, but where will we keep her while Bahng decides on the cover up?” The seven go quiet, and if it wasn’t for the whirring of a fan overhead you would’ve guessed they were telepathically communicating, few sparing hasty glances at each other, waiting for someone to speak up.

Changbin was the one who asked, but he didn’t continue, nor even meet Bahng’s eyes despite his normal, boisterous behavior.

If there was one person they all had a running respect (and fear) of, it would be Bahng. He’d brought up the idea of working together, and he’d be the one leading in result.

Freckle Boy (the name The Hitman had came up with before learning Felix’s’ name) opens his mouth.

“I can—“

“She’ll stay with me.” Bahng interjects, and no one lifts a finger.

Changbin sees the blond’s pinched expression through his peripheral.

“But I have an extra—“

“You heard me, Felix. She stays with me,” He sternly repeats, and the younger deflates, mumbling something to himself after Hyunjin sends him a reassuring nod.

The atmosphere eased up slightly opposed to how suffocating it had been earlier, enough to where the men occupying their individual chairs took deep breaths of air they hadn’t know they’d been holding.

The door opens and they disperse in different directions while Bahng lags behind, speaking to Jeongin about something hushed.

You, on the other hand, are greeted with a rather sympathetic smile from the blond, telling you whatever they talked about wasn’t good.

From your right, Bin clears his throat, effectively giving you an unprecedented heart-attack.

“For the record, we weren’t planning to sell you.”

A grin grows on your face, taking this sweeter opportunity to pick some fun. You’re stuck here anyway, right?

“We weren’t? I think you were.”

He huffs, crossing muscular arms over his chest stubbornly. Behind him, a neighboring coffee-haired man snickers, earning Bin’s slap on the shoulder and a quiet “Yah.. Seungmin..” That completely sabotage any chance of taking him seriously.

“..I wasn’t.”

Mhm, definitely. Like the tips of his ears weren’t blood red.

The whiplash you’re getting from being treated you like a rag doll earlier becomes quite ironic.

Wasting time incessantly teasing the man, it’s not until he’s lead off by Bahng that you quiet down, awkwardly shifting your weight to either heel.

“..So?” You interrupt the silence, only given a jerk of Bahng’s head as a signal to follow. Talk about vague.

Overflowing with endless questions, he finally stops and turns to you, brows furrowed.

Attractive. My god he’s attractive.

“Would you just tell me where we’re-“You’re staying in my room for the time being.”

To say you felt shocked barely brushed the surface of your internal wasp nest, endlessly buzzing and swarming. His room? What the hell was that supposed to mean?

“I mean,” He notes, looking amused now. “Unless you plan on staying in the other rooms with cameras and giving security a show then—“

“Fine.”

Sending you a smug grin, it’s hard not feeling bewildered as he rounds a corner, revealing one, the fact that he has literal guards standing on either side of the double doors, and two, that his “room” is the short story of a penthouse.

Wow.

.. .

Turning off the ignition, Changbin stuffs the keys in his pocket upon slipping inside, scrunching his nose at the sight before him.

“Fuck dude, you’re a tank.” The man groans, eyeing Chris who’s currently doing handstand push-ups on wooden parallettes.

When Chris is nowhere to be found, he’s here, hidden away in this partially abandoned gymnastics studio on the outskirts of Incheon. Small, though with all materials intact.

Occasionally teenagers would come roaming around, having heard of hauntings and gruesome murders they want to stick their noses in. It’s plausible, sure, the murder part at least.

Changbin didn’t believe in hauntings, because no horrific spirit ever dared deter him from enjoying his job, over and over. He didn’t have remorse, he didn’t feel.

Life was easier that way, without emotion driving your decisions.

In fact, he can’t recall the last time being a hitman scared him. Call it crazy, but if you think about it in terms of “eliminating those that shouldn’t be there”, he’s doing the world a favor.

He wouldn’t tell Bahng that for many reasons.

“And your mouth is still as bad as usual.” The older says through gritted teeth, slowly lowering his legs, coated in a sheen of sweat that greasily muss strands of hair.

He barks a laugh. “‘Can’t fix it.”

“That’s for sure,” Chris responds, grabbing the towel The Hitman held out with a thankful pat on the back.

Arranging the equipment back into its designated places, Changbin leans against the doorframe, brows lifted curiously.

“She’s sleeping, if you’re wondering.”

Telepathically, the man answers his unspoken question, referring to you who he imagines is prettily slumped in Chris’ bed.

Prettily. Did he say prettily?

Forget it.

Unknown to both your name and whereabouts, you begrudgingly pull the comforter closer over your head, successfully blocking the sunlight for a few more minutes of sleep. Your entire body is sore, and a numbing buzz has settled in your head, drowning out any cognitive ability to think.

Well, the extra time is amazing until your bladder decides to sabotage you.

Blindly blundering off the mattress, you idly navigate around, blinking a foggy haze from your vision.

Step, step, and then thump! You slam right into something—someone.

Finally granted a clear view, you swear your brain short-circuited.

It’s Bahng, staring down at you with a towel wrapped around his neck while water droplets cling to his skin—to his chest—that you notice is quite bare at the moment.

“Christ— Jesus—“ Slapping a hand over your eyes, you take multiple strides backwards, feet stumbling prior to hands grasping your wrists.

Easing you up right, he kindly leads your sleep-consumed form into the bathroom, big hands momentarily maneuvering your hips to the side on his way out.

Effectively stalling his movements, you silently drag him back closer to you, thumbs reaching up to smoothing his deep eye-bags.

He freezes, words he planned to say cut off.

His eyelids flutter shut in contentment, and in those tender seconds, you stand there, palms delicately cupping his cheeks, relaxing the hard lines of his face whilst steam gives the mirror a bleary cast.

Any other situation and you would’ve admitted yourself into a psych ward, but the alarm clock on his nightstand reading 7:18AM told you whatever you did next was all a lucid dream.

“You don’t sleep much.. do you?” Softly mumbling, he hums against your touch, own hand holding yours against his face.

Bahng cracks a barely there smile.

“Hard sleeping when the world’s after you,” He comments, remark laced with humorless hilarity. You can’t say you disagree.

Although, most good things—all good things—end far too quickly. Because when Changbin bursts through the door, voice choked in his throat, you hesitate your movements.

“.. Just uh, wanted to say the car’s waiting- I mean, the car’s ready for you. Yeah. Bye.” Awkwardly shuffling, he made a direct beeline for the door.

Never in your life did you expect a Hitman to be so awkward. And not just a Hitman, thee Hitman, Bin. Who, although you’d never say it to his face, definitely stuttered.

Unfortunately forced to separate, you’re handed one of his jackets once you managed to convince Bahng to let you come along.

Taking the elevator to the parking garage, an assistant who (you assume) routinely fetches the keys to an otherworldly expensive Lamborghini bows low, greeting either of you with a mandatory please-don’t-hurt-me smile.

You don’t ask where you’re headed, knowing the answer would only lead to more questions instead.

Bahng’s like that, you’ve discovered. Unpredictable to everyone but himself. Private.

Alternatively, compared to what you had imagined (something like a shed or a slaughter-house), he pulled into the gravel driveway of an old home, wooden docks on the roof sticking in strange directions, evidently battered from years of storm turmoil.

Sporting a confused expression yourself, he steps from the scissor doors, ushering you to follow suit.

A bit out of place, you decided. It’s not every day you witness a Lamborghini parked in front of a house like this.

“We’re visiting my grandmother, I visit every week.” He announces, and you could’ve seriously bet money on how uncharacteristic that move was.

This man, the man who ran disappeared at ungodly hours of night with unknown intentions, the man who killed with no remorse, was visiting his grandmother.

First Bin and now Bahng. What a wild card.

Living up to the title, Bahng couldn’t have been more opposing to his usual demeanor, shrugging off his coat and shoes at the doorway and fixing Barley tea for the short woman residing in her rocking chair.

Struggling to unzip his jacket that’s massive size engulfs your frame, you curiously explore, noting the sheer normality.

No weapons, no apparent knowledge of Bahng’s illegal activity patterning the household.

In this house, it’s just a grandmother and her grandson. Not Bahng, but Chris.

The name sounds strange on your tongue.

She wholeheartedly welcomed you in, scolding him for his prominent scars and holding hands that had unforgivable violence wedged between fingernails.

Somehow, watching him felt like betrayal. And although you doubt his grandmother would love him any less despite the gruesome reality, to know so much occurred behind the scenes made things, well, uncomfortable.

You be sure to introduce yourself, spending a good hour and a half entertaining the wrinkled woman before bidding your farewells and returning to familiar stifling tension on the drive home.

Your piling conscious suggests you say something, but you second guess yourself, ultimately garnering the courage after many failed attempts of making small talk once you both returned back to his room.

He’s wearing glasses now, and you swear you’ve never seen someone so unbearably beautiful in your life. Hell, him merely breathing has any comprehensible phrase disappearing instantaneously.

“Have you told anyone about what you do?” You start, causing him to lean over from his place on the side of the mattress, fiddling with something on the nightstand.

You crane to hear his response.

“Sometimes it’s best to lie to keep both parties happy.”

…That’s a no.

“Then, Chris, would you rather be happy living a lie or sad knowing someone’s honest truth?”

Chris.

Though his real name, the words still sound foreign, especially aloud.

He seems to have felt the same, head snapping your direction.

Grinning.

“And what do you know about lying, sweetness?”

“It’s not what I know, it’s what you want to know.” You scoot closer to him, mimicking his cocky smile. “Here’s an example, would you be happy not knowing I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time, or sad hearing that I didn’t plan to tell you?”

A low chuckle.

“Did you learn the manipulation part from Minho?”

“Is it working?”

Eyes flickering back and forth from his lips to his eyes, you find yourself lingering centimeters apart, both intoxicated on each bated breath.

“A little bit,” He whispers, unwavering stare flickering to your parted lips before he pulls the glasses off his face and tilts his head to capture your lips.

You hastily climb onto the bed, fingers tangled in his tousled curls that peer from straight hair.

New, but not. As if you’ve kissed him all your life.

Working down your neck, his warm grip eases your legs apart, transitioning from kneading the flesh of your inner thighs to your ass.

“Oh— fuck.” You sigh out, delicious pressure applied right where you needed him most, stirring a deep wave of pleasure radiating throughout your entire body.

The Gunsman has you wrapped around his finger. A man whose power owns guards that stand in front of his seemingly normal door, a man whose power leaves you helplessly entangled in his every move, neck accessorized in his love bites.

Its wrong. Everything is hopelessly wrong.

You can’t get enough.

.. .

Index dragging across the fabric of sheets, your attention bursts alive, body jarring in a hold, someone else’s hold.

Bahng’s hold.

His head is tucked into your neck, arms hugging your bare back against his equally bare body. Bahng feels like comfort, home.

You never thought you’d be referring to a criminal when you said that.

Adjusting, you manage to roll over, admiring his ever kissable lips puckered in a pout, bed-hair forming strange shapes in the side of his pillow before mesmerizing brown eyes begin fluttering open.

Quickly rolling back around, you attempt at pretending to be asleep to no avail, because Bahng buries his face closer to the nape of your neck, sighing a lengthy groan.

Hands exploring you absentmindedly, he ensures to squeeze your chest at least once, otherwise keeping a tender touch settled on your tummy.

“G’morning…” He grumbles hoarsely, barely awake prior to his phone buzzing on the nightstand and his hushed “fuck” earning a giggle from you.

Caller ID: Hwang Hyunjin, the screen reads.

Without even a proper warning, he’s simultaneously thrown into a shark tank the moment the call’s accepted.

So long for the morning afterglow.

“It’s ready,” The Physic utters, and the soft fizzing of chemicals in the background do nothing to cease his foaming pit of guilt.

Grateful you couldn’t see the tight-lipped expression he burns the wall with, he grimaces, sparing you a longing glance.

So peaceful, so beautiful.

This world truly is cruel.

Rising to his feet, he throws on a white button-up, adorned by one of the many black trench coats lining his closet. Discreet, convenient.

Reminding you to stay in bed till he gets back, he finds his footsteps faltering on the way down to the lab.

Bahng, Christopher Bahng, The Gunsman, is nervous.

You’ve really done something to him.

Although, before he can make a move Felix pries the door ajar, and from how he furiously chews his bottom lip immediately answers Chris’ question.

The final part of their cover-up? Getting you back.

Because everyone, including himself, knew he’d fall in love. And he couldn’t. He couldn’t, wouldn’t dare put you through that.

Wafting fumes invade his nostrils entering (essentially) Hyunjin’s lair, multiple cloths layered in a clear box.

“Chloroform, I messed with it a bit. It’s not concentrated enough to be lethal. It’ll just put her out for a little bit.” He pats the top of the box, tugging medical gloves off ringed fingers.

From across the room, Chris can feel eyes on him.

“And how do you know if it won’t kill her?” The person asks, Changbin asks, critiquing gaze fixated on Chris despite regarding Hyunjin.

“Because I tested it? Since when did you care?” Moodily, The Physic cross his arms.

“Since now.”

“Why? Weren’t you the one who wanted to sell her?”

Chris can smell the uprising tension from a mile away.

“Because I’m allowed to care about someone! Am I not, your fucking highness?” Changbin shouts, but hidden by Hyunjin’s irked facade, Chris notices the slight tug of his lips, the peeking amusement.

Turns out Chris wasn’t the only one falling.

What a twist of events.

Interrupting their face-off, he hoists the moderately heavy box up, curtly nodding to Hyunjin.

Maneuvering around the warehouse back toward your room, he fastens a mask onto his face, spreading a few separate cloths into a smaller container.

Felix and Hyunjin’s doing, Chloroform cloths.

There were a few recommendations. Minho suggested knocking you out and going about, Seungmin with the grand idea of blackmailing you into leaving, and Jisung who wanted to keep you here.

Chloroform it was.

Returning to his bedroom, he finds himself understanding Changbin’s anger the longer he watches you, drifted back asleep, angel-like.

Fuck.

This hurts.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he delicately caresses the skin of your cheek, squinting to marvel, to study. The way your eyebrows furrow, exhaling a big breath. Infatuating.

“Can I take you to my favorite place?” He inquires, and you dazedly roll around, small frown gracing oh so tempting lips, swollen from the night before.

“Your favorite place..?”

Even your voice is infatuating. Dreamy.

Chris hums his reply.

Lifting yourself up, you agree, letting him take care of you, brush your teeth for you, undress you. Things oddly mundane for a person like him to want to do, but oddly sweet all the same.

Not sexual, but intimate. Dearly, dearly intimate.

The drive winds along backroads, slowing to take a right down a barren, rocky road situated between countless trees. In the distance you make out the faint glow of light, a clearing.

Upon breaching the forest, your expectations are instantly blown away.

Sundown, evidence of how long you’d slept (and how long Chris had kept you up), gloriously paints the sky dazzling hues.

No picture could encompass this view.

Putting the car into park, you perch on the hood, legs aimlessly swinging, breeze idly passing by.

Admire.

“I asked Jisung, but now I wanna hear it from you.”

He stays quiet.

“Why did you want me to live?” You mischievously pique, fingers drumming.

Bahng approaches nearer, turning to stand between your legs where you sit.

“I like you,” He nonchalantly responds, and the overwhelming need to push him further, dance over that thin line becomes irresistible.

“Only ‘like’ me?”

Licking his lips, he unexpectedly tilts your head to meet him. Tender, gentle.

Your heart hurts. Because unlike previously, this kiss feels regretful, feels sad.

Your arms, once clutching onto that trademark trenchcoat, wrap around his neck, his finding purchase upon your hips.

Yet, you could tell it wasn’t greed driving him. Your earlier ravenous desire, your lust, was gone.

Instead, he was carving you into his memories, starting with his lips. He’d already done so with his hands, with his body the night before.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, and before you could ask any questions he forces your attention back to his eyes, swimming with an emotion you didn’t know Chris could exhibit.

Hurt.

Inexplicable hurt overwhelm that stare. Creases his always-taut brows.

“Just trust me, please.”

Please.

“Chris,” You hesitate.

There’s been that gnawing sensation ever since getting roped into this circus. Because this was only temporary, undoubtedly headed to an inexplicable conclusion.

You wonder if perhaps this is your end, your end with Bahng, with Chris.

Someone you’ve fallen in love with. So, so fucking hard.

And from the way he’s looking at you, it looks like he has too.

But you trust him. You trust him more than you had ever trusted anyone before, and so you nod.

“Chris, I love..”

Your volume dissolves upon the cloth being held to your face, eyes rolling back into your head as you fall limp into his arms, fingertips still touching his skin.

“..Love ….you.”

He kisses you once more, slower this time, cradling you in his arms.

“I’m so sorry, I love you.”

Speaking softly to avoid his pain betraying him, Bahng carefully situates you into the passenger seat, ignoring the drone of the engine from how rapidly the speedometer climbs. Numb to anything, everything.

The Aventador’s screen alights with a call.

“What,” He rasps, gleaming traffic lights casting red and green shadows across the car’s black interior.

“Is she...?” Felix asks, and Chris eases slightly. Subtle shuffling in the background reveals the others presence, awaiting the bottom line.

“Yeah.”

The freckled boy hums in response, dejection apparent.

Nevertheless, not a peep sounds, unusual for the usually rowdy crowd. Chris can tell some of them walk away, some staying.

Corn stalks ghosting past signify his location.

He hangs up.

He’ll apologize later.

.. .

Waking up inside your grandparents house feels like a fever dream, like your body isn’t your own and when you open your eyes you’ll still be snuggled into Chris’s arms.

But you aren’t, and you’re also violently kicked out of that fantastical daydream when your grandmother shows up, all smiles, no “I’m so relieved to see you’re safe” or “where did you go?” apparent on any of her features.

“Why, you never told me you had a boyfriend!” She smacks your arm and you flinch back, wearing an expression only comprehensible as puzzlement.

Perhaps Chris payed them? Bought their silence and hid from the law in return?

But that’s not your grandparents. They wouldn’t keep their mouths shut about something like this.

So what the hell did he do?

“The handsome young man who drove you here from the airport!” Waddling over to point an accusing finger at the doorway, your head frantically snaps in every direction.

Your suitcases are zipped up, and no evidence of you ever even arriving here shows around the room.

That is until you notice your phone has miraculously returned on your nightstand.

Immediately swiping to scroll through messages, your thumb stops, lingering over a message from an unknown number.

Pausing, you click.

Don’t come looking for me, but if you need me, text this number.

You would’ve found the text eerily creepy if you didn’t have an idea of who sent it.

You do.

Because there’s no one else that says ‘don’t come looking for me’ and ‘if you need me’ in the same sentence other than him.

Bahng.

FIC TAGLIST. @lizzetmv @skzhoes @fylithia @sunshineshouyo @stayconnecteed @starlost-andfound @seo--changbin @lynlyndoll @browniesandsunshine @stay278 @surefornext @pororolifeblog @httpsjuno @d7n3

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

You're the Only Girl for Me - Chapter 25

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

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Authors Note: I changed Airielle's younger brother's name to Benjamin, it was Elijah but... that name is TAINTED now lmao.

August 25th 2021 - Pensacola Fl

Airielle let out a groan and threw her pillow over her head to block out the glaring rays on the sun. After trying and failing to fall back to sleep, she threw the pillow off of her head and sat up in her bed. She let out a yawn as she looked at all of the boxes and totes scattered around one of her parent’s guest rooms. 

Here she was 30 years old and back living with her parents.. What had her life turned into? After coming back home from Turks, she discovered her apartment trashed and her car completely totaled. Christopher hadn’t even tried to hide the fact that he was behind the vandalism. He had left behind a note on her bed that was surrounded by pink roses and white lilies, her favorite bouquet, telling how he was never going to let her go and that her apartment being wrecked was a punishment because of her trip out of the country with Josh. 

Speaking of Josh, she hadn’t seen or talked to Josh since their flight left Turks. After their argument he had stormed back into the villa and pretty much ignored her for the rest of their vacation. Which made things extremely awkward given they still had 2 days left on the island. It also made the sleeping arrangement weird because he didn’t want to intrude on Trin and Jon and he also didn’t want to be in the same room as Airielle so he opted for the couch that was situated on the deck. It wasn’t good for his back, but it beats being around someone who broke his heart 3 times in one year. 

But the most childish thing that he had done so far was switch seats with Trinity on the flight so he wouldn't have to sit next to her. She wasn’t going to lie, it stung but she couldn’t exactly blame him. If the roles were reversed, she wouldn’t want to sit next to him on a 6 hour fight either.  

Deciding that it was time for her to get on with her day, she let out another yawn and made her way to her ensuite bathroom to brush her teeth before making her way downstairs to the kitchen. She frowned at her parents who immediately stopped talking when she walked into the room. 

“Way to be subtle.” She muttered, placing a kiss on her fathers cheek as she slid past him to grab a plate out of the cabinet. Isaac and Tamia Jones shared a look before turning to face their only daughter.

“Have you spoken to the police yet?” Airielle let out a groan as she stacked three pancakes on her plate. 

“Solèy ?” (sunshine) Isaac called out to her when she didn’t answer and Airiele sighed, keeping her focus on her plate. 

“No.” She mumbled. “I haven’t talked to them yet.” Issac kissed his teeth 

“Solèy, you can’t keep letting him get off easy. He destroyed your home.”  Airielle stopped buttering her pancakes and looked up at her dad. 

“Dad, I filed the police report, there is nothing left to do. You and I both know once they find and arrest him, his dad will bail him out.”  Isaac opened his mouth, to most definitely yell at his daughter, but Tamia placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. 

“Honey, you’re gonna be late for work.�� Issac cursed and looked at his watched, seeing that his wife was right. 

“This conversation ain’t over Airielle.” He said, glaring at his daughter, before softening his features, sighing and walking over to place a kiss on her forehead. “I just want you to be safe solèy, You’re my only daughter -” 

“And favorite.” Airielle cut him off. Isaac paused and looked around the kitchen, making sure his youngest, Benjamin, hadn't walked into the kitchen. 

“And my favorite.” He agreed, making Airielle and Tamia laugh. “I just want you to be safe and away from that psychopath. And if he comes here you know imma protect you.” He winked, patting his waistband before placing a kiss on his wife’s lips and leaving the house. Airielle ate her pancakes in silence, even though she could feel her step-mother staring a hole through the side of her face. Airielle sighed before setting her fork down and turning her head to look at Tamia. 

“C’mon let's go to our spot and talk.” Airielle sighed and poured herself a glass of orange juice and grabbed her plate, following Tamia to the sunroom. 

Tamia watched Airielle as she ate and looked out into the backyard. Even though Airielle and her older brothers weren’t her biological kids, she loved them like they were her own. She practically raised Airielle, having met her father when Airielle was only 4 months old. And to see Airielle with so much pain and hurt in her eyes broke her heart.  

“I know you don’t wanna talk about what's going on with Christopher, so we won't” 

“Thank you.” Airielle breathed out, sending Tamia a grateful smile. 

“But, we will talk about you and Josh.” Airielle’s smile dropped and she let out a groan, throwing her head back so it hit the back of the sofa. “Color me surprised when I open up instagram this past weekend and see y’all all cuddled up on some island in Turks? Are y’all back together?” 

“No.” Airielle shook her head vigorously. “I been bought the tickets and I wasn’t gonna go - I actually gave the tickets to Trin & Jon, but the situation happened and.. Six hours later, we were on a beach in Turks.”  Tamia rolled her eyes. “I mean, we had a talk about why we can’t be together.”

“Hold on,” Tamia cut her off. “Why can’t y’all be together?” Airielle blew out a long, exporated breath, before telling Tamia her reasonings for not wanting to get back with Josh. Airielle watched as Tamia’s eyes narrowed into slits when she started to tell her what about Josh and Yara.  “Where the fuck did this Yara bitch come from? And why in the hell would Josh sleep with her? Y’all seemed so into each other last time I seen y’all.”  

Airielle sucked in a deep breath and took her phone out of her robe pocket to check the time. “I have to get ready, I want to go to the dealership and try to get a new car.” Tamia rolled her eyes at her daughter's way of dismissing the question. 

“Airielle..” she chided and  Airielle shrugged and gathered up her plate and cup.

 “Mom, what do you want me to say? We broke up and we’re not getting back together.” Airielle said as she walked out of the sunroom without waiting for Tamia to respond. 

AirielleJones posted on their story!

“Thank you.” Airielle called out to the uber driver as she stepped out of the car and closed the door behind her. She bit her lip as she walked in the dealership. 

"Hey, how can I help you?" A smooth, deep voice called out to her. Airielle couldn’t help but notice how attractive he was—from his intense brown eyes fixed on her to his bright smile that seemed to light up any room he entered.  She quickly cleared her throat and offered him a smile back. 

“Yeah, I’m looking to buy a car.” ‘Well duh’ The voice in her head mocked. ‘Why else would you be in a car dealership?’

Instead of calling her out and further embarrassing her, the guy just held out his hand for her to shake. “I can definitely help you with that. I’m Clifford.” 

She hesitated for a moment, then tentatively placed her hand in his. “Airielle.” 

“Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” 

“Oh, thank you.” She replied back. ‘Do not flirt with this man Airielle!’ The voice chided her. ‘You got enough boy drama to last a lifetime!’  

He bit his lip as he took in her appearance before snapping his eyes back up to hers. “What type of car you looking for?” He asked as he motioned for Airielle to follow him outside to the lot.

Clifford had Airielle out of the dealership in no time. She had left the lot with a brand new 2022 Audi A3 and his phone number programmed into her phone. Did she feel bad about getting another's man number, yes. But Josh had made it perfectly clear in Turks that he was done with her. So she did what any self-respecting woman would do… Move on.  

HEYY.. Hopefully this chapter isn't complete ass.

THANKS TO MY GOOD SIS @paigereeder this chapter actually got done and is not sitting in my docs for the next couple of weeks.

So.. what do y'all think of Clifford? 👀. Think he's here to stay?

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@xmonetsworld @bebesobrielo @kill-the-artiste @wrestlingprincess80 @yana3sworld

@bookuce @that-one-anxious-mango @mersers-moonypadfoot-prongs @sageispunk @amandairene88

@rianasixx @vebner37 @mindairy @trashbin-nie @saintaquarius

@adoreesun @shayaaaaaaa @sayyestoheav3nn @xbriexx

[feminismisstillahatemovement]

WASHINGTON — The FBI source who reported President Biden’s alleged role in a bribery scheme said that a Ukrainian businessman claimed to keep as “insurance” 15 audio recordings of first son Hunter Biden and two of Joe Biden, a Republican senator revealed Monday.

Chuck Grassley (R-Iowa) made the staggering claim in a Senate floor speech after FBI Director Christopher Wray last week allowed House Oversight Committee members to see a redacted informant file about the claim that Hunter and then-Vice President Joe Biden received $5 million apiece to serve the interests of Burisma Holdings owner Mykola Zlochevsky.

“Congress still lacks a full and complete picture with respect to what that document really says. That’s why it’s important that the document be made public without unnecessary redactions for the American people to see,” said Grassley, accusing the bureau of needlessly redacting information about the recordings from the file shared with House lawmakers.

“Let me assist for purposes of transparency,” the 89-year-old went on. “The 1023 [form] produced to that House committee redacted reference that the foreign national who allegedly bribed Joe and Hunter Biden allegedly has audio recordings of his conversations with them. Seventeen total recordings.

“According to the 1023, the foreign national possesses 15 audio recordings of phone calls between him and Hunter Biden,” Grassley continued. “According to the 1023, the foreign national possesses two audio recordings of phone calls between him and then-Vice President Joe Biden. These recordings were allegedly kept as a sort of insurance policy for the foreign national in case he got into a tight spot. The 1023 also indicates that then-Vice President Joe Biden may have been involved in Burisma employing Hunter Biden.”

The senator concluded: “So, as I’ve repeatedly asked since going public with the existence of the 1023, what, if anything, has the Justice Department and FBI done to investigate? The Justice Department and FBI must show their work. They no longer deserve the benefit of the doubt.”

Grassley learned of the informant file this year from a whistleblower and told House Oversight Committee Chairman James Comer (R-Ky.), who issued a subpoena to the FBI. The informant is a longtime paid FBI source.

Grassley said the FBI’s alleged disinterest in the Biden bribery allegation contrasts with its treatment of former President Donald Trump, who on Tuesday will become the first former president arraigned on federal charges for allegedly mishandling classified information after he left office.

“It’s clear that the Justice Department and FBI will use every resource to investigate candidate Trump, President Trump and former President Trump,” Grassley said. “Based on the facts known to Congress and the public, it’s clear that the Justice Department and FBI haven’t nearly had the same laser focus on the Biden family.”

Hunter Biden earned up to $1 million per year from 2014 to 2019 to serve on the board of Burisma, despite having no relevant energy industry experience.

Then-VP Joe Biden met with a Burisma executive at a DC dinner in April 2015, which featured in The Post’s explosive first report on Hunter’s abandoned laptop.

As vice president, Joe Biden also allegedly pushed US support for Ukraine’s natural gas industry during a trip to Kyiv just days after Hunter quietly joined Burisma in April 2014.

(Text source: New York Post)

[kingoftieland]

Super excited to dive into this out-of-print hardcover I tracked down! Here, for the first time, is an in-world exploration of Christopher Nolan's Batman – The Dark Knight Manual: Tools, Weapons, Vehicles & Documents from the Batcave. 📓

Following the destruction of Wayne Manor, Bruce Wayne began to assemble key sketches, diagrams, observations, and other top-secret documents germane to becoming Batman; he then entrusted this manual to his faithful butler, Alfred. Every defining moment is detailed here, charting Wayne's collaborations with Lucius Fox at Wayne Enterprises on the latest cutting-edge technology. Featuring a distressed vintage cover design, this package includes removable documents, photos, case files and more that reveal exactly how Bruce Wayne operates as Gotham's greatest protector.

[brokehorrorfan]

The Universal Classic Monsters Collection will be released on 4K Ultra HD (with Digital) in digibook packaging on October 3 via Universal. Designed by Tristan Eaton, the eight-disc set is limited to 5,500.

It includes 1931's Dracula, 1931’s Frankenstein, 1932’s The Mummy, 1933’s The Invisible Man, 1935’s The Bride of Frankenstein, 1941’s The Wolf Man, 1943’s Phantom of the Opera, and 1954’s Creature from the Black Lagoon.

All eight films are presented in 4K with HDR10. The Spanish version of Dracula is also included. Special features are listed below, where you can also see more of the packaging.

Dracula is directed by Tod Browning (Freaks) and written by Garrett Fort (Frankenstein), based on Bram Stoker’s 1897 novel. Bela Lugosi, David Manners, Helen Chandler, Dwight Frye, and Edward Van Sloan star.

Dracula special features:

Alternate score version by Philip Glass

Dracula (1931) Spanish version directed by George Melford

The Road to Dracula

Lugosi: The Dark Prince

Dracula: The Restoration

Dracula Archives

Monster Tracks

Trailer gallery

Transylvanian vampire Count Dracula bends a naive real estate agent to his will, then takes up residence at a London estate where he sleeps in his coffin by day and searches for potential victims by night.

Frankenstein is directed by James Whale (The Indivisible Man) and written by Garrett Fort (Dracula) and Francis Edward Faragoh (Little Caesar), based on Mary Shelley’s 1818 novel. Colin Clive, Mae Clarke, John Boles, and Boris Karloff star.

Frankenstein special features:

Audio commentary by film historian Rudy Behlmer

Audio commentary by historian Sir Christopher Frayling

The Frankenstein Files: How Hollywood Made A Monster

Karloff: The Gentle Monster

Universal Horror

Frankenstein Archives

Boo!: A Short Film

100 Years of Universal: Restoring the Classics

Monster Tracks

Trailer gallery

Dr. Frankenstein dares to tamper with life and death by creating a human monster out of lifeless body parts.

The Mummy is directed by Karl Freund (Dracula) and written by John L. Balderston (Dracula). Boris Karloff, Zita Johann, David Manners, Edward Van Sloan, and Arthur Byron star.

The Mummy special features:

Audio commentary by film historian Paul M. Jensen

Audio commentary by Rick Baker, Scott Essman, Steve Haberman, Bob Burns, and Brent Armstrong

Mummy Dearest: A Horror Tradition Unearthed

He Who Made Monsters: The Life and Art of Jack Pierce

Unraveling the Legacy of The Mummy

The Mummy Archives

100 Years of Universal: The Carl Laemmle Era

Trailer gallery

An Egyptian mummy searches Cairo for the girl he believes is his long-lost princess.

The Invisible Man is directed by James Whale (Frankenstein) and written by R.C. Sherriff (Goodbye, Mr. Chips), based on H.G. Wells’ 1897 novel. Gloria Stuart, Claude Rains, William Harrigan, Dudley Digges, and Una O'Connor star.

The Invisible Man special features:

Audio commentary by film historian Rudy Behlmer

Now You See Him: The Invisible Man Revealed

Production Photographs

100 Years of Universal: Unforgettable Characters

Trailer gallery

A scientist finds a way of becoming invisible, but in doing so, he becomes murderously insane.

The Bride of Frankenstein is directed by James Whale (Frankenstein) and written by William Hurlbut. Boris Karloff, Colin Clive, Valerie Hobson, and Elsa Lanchester star.

The Bride of Frankenstein special features: 

Audio commentary by film historian Scott MacQueen

She’s Alive! Creating The Bride of Frankenstein

The Bride Of Frankenstein Archive

100 Years of Universal: Restoring the Classics

Trailer gallery

Dr. Frankenstein, goaded by an even madder scientist, builds his monster a mate.

The Wolf Man is directed by George Waggner (Operation Pacific) and written by Curt Siodmak (I Walked with a Zombie). Claude Rains, Warren William, Ralph Bellamy, Patric Knowles, Bela Lugosi, and Lon Chaney Jr. star.

The Wolf Man special features:

Audio commentary by film historian Tom Weaver

Monster by Moonlight

The Wolf Man: From Ancient Curse to Modern Myth

Pure in Heart: The Life and Legacy of Lon Chaney Jr.

He Who Made Monsters: The Life and Art of Jack Pierce

The Wolf Man Archives

100 Years of Universal: The Lot

Trailer gallery

Larry Talbot returns to his father's castle in Wales and meets a beautiful woman. One fateful night, Talbot escorts her to a local carnival where they meet a mysterious gypsy fortune teller.

Phantom of the Opera is directed by Arthur Lubin and written by Eric Taylor (The Ghost of Frankenstein) and Samuel Hoffenstein (Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde). Claude Rains, Nelson Eddy, Susanna Foster, and Edgar Barrier star.

Phantom of the Opera special features:

Audio commentary by film historian Scott MacQueen

The Opera Ghost: A Phantom Unmasked

Production Photographs

100 Years of Universal: The Lot

Theatrical trailer

An acid-scarred composer rises from the Paris sewers to boost his favorite opera understudy’s career.

Creature from the Black Lagoon is directed by Jack Arnold (The Incredible Shrinking Man) and written by Harry Essex and Arthur A. Ross. Richard Carlson, Julia Adams, Richard Denning, Antonio Moreno, Nestor Paiva, and Whit Bissell star.

Creature from the Black Lagoon special features:

Audio commentary by film historian Tom Weaver

Back to the Black Lagoon

Production Photographs

100 Years of Universal: The Lot

Trailer gallery

A group of scientists try to capture a prehistoric creature luring in the depths of the Amazonian jungle and bring it back to civilization for study.

Pre-order Universal Classic Monsters Collection.

[kingsbridgelibraryteens]

Libraries and Librarians on Film: The Night Strangler (1973 / TV Movie)

The Night Strangler was the second TV movie to feature Darren McGavin as Carl Kolchak, the investigative reporter who would go on to be the star of a short-lived but highly influential TV series called Kolchak: The Night Stalker.

The formula of most Kolchak stories goes something like this:

Kolchak is an investigative reporter who's having trouble finding / holding down a job. Sometimes it's because he steps on too many people's toes, and sometimes it's because the cases he investigates are simply unbelievable.

He gets a new case, which seems at first to be ordinary, but it turns out that there's actually something paranormal going on.

He uncovers evidence, but people don't believe him. He yells at his boss, and his boss yells at him.

HOWEVER, he does gain one or more allies along the way. Sometimes they just believe his story, and sometimes they actively help with his investigation, even if that means putting their own lives at risk.

More stepping on toes. More yelling.

The case is solved by Kolchak, who knows that he's right about the vampire / zombie / etc. that was really behind it all. But either nobody believes him, or the people who do believe him can't do anything about it. Kolchak's newspaper story is either suppressed entirely or changed completely.

In case it wasn't obvious, I'm a big fan of the Kolchak movies and TV show, as well as Kolchak's spiritual successors like The X-Files and Fringe.

But why am I singling out this particular story? Because one of Kolchak's allies in The Night Strangler is a smart, curious, and helpful man called Mr. Berry (played by Wally Cox in one of his final roles). Mr. Berry isn't a librarian per se, but he DOES work with archives. He works in the morgue of the Daily Chronicle, which is the newspaper in Seattle that's employing Kolchak as he tries to solve a bizarre series of murders.

Kolchak himself isn't a big fan of research, but he knows that he needs a researcher to help him with this case:

When he meets Mr. Berry, he quickly learns how he feels about research:

[Personal Question: So, should I have "Research. That's where the joy lies." put on my business cards by itself? Or should I also add in the line "This is where the meat is found."???]

ANYWAY, Kolchak visits Mr. Berry multiple times during his investigation, and it's Mr. Berry who first suggests that the current murders are very similar to some murders that took place 21 years earlier ...

And this encourages them to search further back ...

And further back ...

And even FURTHER back ...

By the time that Kolchak has stepped on so many toes that he's been handcuffed by the police, it's Mr. Berry who comes to the rescue with supporting evidence that will show that Kolchak isn't crazy after all:

Which leads us to Mr. Berry's moment of justly-deserved recognition:

Of course, just because Kolchak was right doesn't mean that his story is going to be published. In fact, the real story will never make it to print. Sound familiar?

But on the plus side, the success of these TV movies DID lead to Kolchak's own TV series!

While the New York Public Library doesn't carry any of the Kolchak TV movies / series, Kolchak: The Night Stalker IS included in the book The Greatest Cult Television Shows of All Time by Christopher J. Olson.

If you'd like to immerse yourself in the Kolchak movies and TV episodes, here are some links to help you find more information about them, as well as any renting / streaming / buying options:

The Night Stalker (TV movie): IMDB / JustWatch / Amazon

The Night Strangler (TV movie): IMDB / JustWatch / Amazon

Kolchak: The Night Stalker (TV series): IMDB / JustWatch / Amazon

[arconinternet]

9: The Last Resort (Windows, Tribeca Interactive, 1996)

Featuring the voices of Christopher Reeve, Jim Belushi, Joe Perry and Steven Tyler of Aerosmith, Ellen DeGeneres and Cher, and the art of Mark Ryden. You can download it here as .bin and .cue files, or download it pre-configured to run on modern versions of Windows here.

[metataxy]

Yuri Plisetsky, Wildlife Ambassador Fic #1

Concept: Eight years after YoI, Yurio ends up becoming a spokesperson for bigcat conservation efforts and the World Wildlife Fund. His first fundraising initiative is a calendar featuring all the figure skaters dressed up like endangered species. Yuuri has mixed feelings about his own participation.

(Not posting this to AO3 until I figure out where the hell this is going!)

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

Hi there! My name is Katsuki Yuuri. If you already know me, you’re probably wondering how I got talked into modelling for that nude calendar. If you don’t, let me give you the quick intro. At 30 years old, I’m married to one of the top figure skating coaches in the world, Viktor Nikiforov. He was my coach until I retired last year. He inspired me to skate programs that netted me the gold in the world figure skating championships three years running. These days though, I work alongside him as an assistant coach. We spend half the year training in my hometown of Hasetsu, and the other half Saint Petersburg, Russia, where Vitya grew up.

So far, we have a handful of students, most of them Japanese: my friend Yuuko’s three girls, who are in their junior debut this year, Sonidori Riou, who is debuting in seniors this year, and last, the person who talked me into the nude calendar in the first place, Yuri Plisetsky.

Yes, Yuri Plisetsky. The Yuri Plisetsky who, at age 15, looked more like one of the adorable novices than one of the Senior Mens Singles skaters, and would have thrashed anyone who mentioned it. The same Yuri Plisetsky who gagged every time Viktor kissed me, and couldn’t stand to be in the same room as Christophe Giacometti and his shameless flirtations more than two minutes. The Yuri Plisetsky lauded for skating to ‘On Love: Agape’ as ‘the bodiless embodied, an angel above worldly desire or need’. That Yuri.

I don’t think any of us who knew him back then could have predicted that he’d become an international sex icon. It doesn’t fit with his personality. Despite all the money to be made in sponsorships for more adult brands, he’s never leaned into the image the same way others like Chris Giacometti did. Yuri wears provocative outfits on the ice or to go clubbing, or sometimes to fluster his rival and best friend and on-again, off-again lover, Otabek Altin. He doesn’t wink at his fans or model for lingerie manufacturers like Viktor, and the most skin he’s ever shown in an ad until recently was in a cologne shoot featuring him and the members of a Finnish heavy metal band in leather and too much eyeshadow.

Which was why I was beyond shocked when he knocked on my door at 4 in the morning to tell Viktor and I that we needed to bare all for charity.

Let me back that up a bit though.

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

It started back in March, at the end of the 2024 World Figure Skating Championships in Montréal, Canada.

“What was with that free leg? You need to tighten your core, you almost spun out on that triple axel--” Viktor demanded, picking apart every imperfect element of Yuri’s perfect performance with furious care.

Yuri, at fifteen, would have scowled and rolled his eyes and dismissed all this constructive criticism by pointing out that he had just won the World Championships after all, so did it really matter? At twenty-two, Yuri listened seriously, nodding to his coach and filing away the information somewhere in the back of his mind, probably to be applied when we went to practice next week.

We’ve all changed in the past seven years since that day Viktor swept into my life back in Hasetsu, but Yuri most of all. After winning the Grand Prix Final back in 2015, puberty caught up to him all at once. In the space of a year, he shot up from 5’4” to 5’11”, and now looked down at Viktor from a height of 6’0”. His shoulders and arms broadened, and his waifish physique seemed to rebuild itself along the lines of a Viking warrior. His voice dropped to a rumbling tenor.

His fanclub approved, and became even more rabidly enthusiastic, and I didn’t even think that was possible. The comment threads got longer and had more keysmashes every time a picture of Yura got posted.

There weren’t many pictures from that year—at least, not ones available to the public. Yakov had forced Yuri to take the year off from competitive skating until he’d adjusted to working with a body that had an entirely new centre of gravity. My friends the Nishigoris offered him a job at their rink back in Hasetsu. There, the Nishigori girls had enthusiastically photographed and videorecorded every waking moment of their idol in the first two weeks--right up to the point where Yuri resorted to bribing them with the promise to train them to crush their competition in the prelims on condition that they didn’t post any of the photos they took to social media. When Yuri emerged from Japan to retake the competitive circuit two years later, the eight-year-old Nishigori triplets were sweeping the podium, and Yuri himself was almost unrecognizable except for his animal print clothes.

He never grew out of those. Even now, under his Russia team jacket, his free skate costume was black tigerstriped with gold and red, a mask of red and black streaked across his eyes and the bridge of his nose like warpaint. The contrast made his eyes gleam out green as a cat’s. He’d skated to ‘Eye of the Tiger’ by Survivor, of course. We’d be sorting out the usual bags of plush cats and red and yellow roses when we got back to the hotel rooms, with maybe the odd poodle thrown in tribute to my husband.

Sure enough, when Vitya and I checked in on him a couple of hours later, there were a couple garbage bags full of plushies next to the bed, and a pile of gifts that had been left with the concierge at the desk. Yuri was still in the washroom.

“Yuri! Are you done yet in there? Come spend time with your coaches!”

“Start without me, I’m busy.”

“It’s been two hours—did you have a reaction to your make-up? I have a facial cleansing trick that will fix it—”

“No! Screw you! It’s not a reaction to my make-up!”

“If it is something to do with make-up, I can help—” and Vitya almost fell inward with the door as it opened, stumbling into Yura.

“Geez, old man, do you need a walker already?” Yura huffed, setting Viktor upright. He’d dressed up to check out Montreal’s club scene later with Otabek. The two of them had dated each other on and off for years now. I refused to bet on their relationship, but I knew Viktor and Mila had both gambled on the outcome.

He kept his hair in the dozens of small braids we’d plaited it into earlier this morning, and opted to just weave them all into a single, thick tail down his back. He’d gone simplistic—weathered jeans, white shirt, leather jacket with, yup, a cheetah print faux-fur collar.

“Let’s get this over with,” he groaned, slumping down on the floor. We’d be taking anything appropriate when we visited the Montreal Children’s Hospital with the Leroys tomorrow morning. Yuri used to never bother pre-sorting, but then there was incident of Christmas 2018. Yuri had chucked all the plushies in a Santa bag and pulled out gifts at random to hand to the children. Unfortunately, one of the ‘plushies’ was a bra flung by an overzealous fan.

The little boy loved it. His parents, who were videorecording it, loved it. They’d loved it so much, in fact, that they’d sent the video to the Russian news channels, who had contacted the FFKKR, who had spun the story that Yuri Plisetsky was such a sex symbol, that, sometimes, the people who sorted his gifts (Yuri himself, up until that point) couldn’t screen out all the ‘intimate gestures’. Somehow, the message made things worse. We started donating any bras in good condition to the local woman’s shelter.

So. That was why we were sorting, and also why we’d packed our younger skaters off to explore Montréal, despite the triplets’ eager offers to help.

Viktor happily dumped out the nearest garbage bag and started chucking the ‘loot’ into the appropriate piles.

“Plush cat, plush tiger, plush lion, plush cat—ooh, this one looks like Dima,” he enthused, holding up a black plush poodle that did indeed look like our dog.

“Don’t you have like a hundred of those by now?” groused Yuri.

“And now I have a hundred and one!” Vitya exclaimed.

I wordlessly chucked a pair of knickers into the trash, and then held up a mesh bra in disbelief. Yuri just looked disturbed. Vitya looked… intrigued.

Yuri intercepted his glance and immediately made a face. “No. Just—no. I don’t even want to THINK about what you or the Piggy in that.”

Vitya barked a laugh. “Yura,” he smiled, pulling the bra from my suddenly unsteady fingers and folding it tidily to be placed in the appropriate bag. “Don’t be silly.” Yuri looked at him with not relief, but justifiable suspicion. “As if I would ever get Yuuri lingerie from a department store!”

Eight years haven’t lessened my husband’s knack for making me want to die simultaneously from both sheer attraction and embarrassment.

“Vitya,” I whined.

Viktor smirked, and kissed me, and suddenly, I was almost as impatient as Yuri for this job to be done.

“You haven’t opened any of the big ones yet,” I pointed out, gesturing at the stack of parcels left on the table. Most of them were wrapped. Most were probably more plushies, but there was an absolutely massive parcel that looked like a badly wrapped sleeping bag.

“Yes, open them up!” enthused Viktor, grabbing the oversized package and chucking it at Yura. It fell open as it landed in his lap. A lion skin unrolled, the glass eyes in the stuffed head staring up at a stricken Yuri.

“What the hell!” he swore, flinging it away from him and scrambling up in disgust. “That’s not real, is it?”

Viktor felt the leathered underside and shrugged. “It’s real. My mother has one in her summer house in Venice. I wonder how much they paid for it?”

“How much they paid for it?” steamed Yuri.

“They must know you like cats,” Viktor mused, unhelpfully.

“Cats that are alive!” he screamed.

“There’s a note,” I interjected, before Viktor could antagonize his protegee any further. I handed the envelope to Yuri, giving him the choice whether or not to read it aloud.

“ ‘Dearest Yuri, I love your performances! You’re so inspiring—yada yada—I know you like big cats, so when I shot this lion on safari, I decided I would send it to you?” He clawed at the envelope, producing a picture of a girl in her early twenties posing by a dead and bloodied lion with a rifle in hand. “Oh no. FUCK NO.” He reached for his smartphone in his backpocket.

“Be careful,” Viktor warned. For all the appearance Viktor gave of being completely uninhibited, when it came to public image, he could be terrifying calculative. While he’d stopped curating his own brand so carefully when he’d flown halfway around the world to coach me, he hadn’t lost any of his skills. He’d simply started applying them to people other than himself, which was probably why I was spending half of my retirement modelling for athletic brands.

“Fuck careful,” Yuri spat. He tossed the rug on the floor at the most unattractive angle possible, and snapped a picture so that the head was glaring balefully from the foreground, lolling sideways on the crumpled mess of fur. He typed furiously on his phone, and we heard the whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of the post uploading to Twitter and Instagram and Tumblr and Russian Facebook. I opened my phone, and scrolled down.

[Image of Lion]

No real fan of mine would kill this beautiful big cat and send me its corpse #fuckingmurderers #savethebigcats #wildlife #lions #figureskating

Actually, that response was pretty mild where Yuri was concerned, I thought, but I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The other shoe dropped later that night.

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

We were startled out of a deep sleep at 4 in the morning by a sharp rapping on the door that could only be Yurio. I rolled onto my side and squinted blearily at the baleful red digits on the hotel alarm clock. Vitya wiggled closer to keep his arms about my shoulders.

“Just ignore him, moya lyubov,” he murmured drowsily, hooking his leg over mine and pressing himself against my back. “He’ll give up eventually.”

That didn’t sound like Yurio, but I was too tired to disagree. I closed my eyes.

The rapping got harder. “Open up, you morons!” came the muffled shouting from outside the door.

I groaned. Yurio had gotten drunk then. Since he’d grown, Viktor and Mila had impressed on him that behaviour and language that had been acceptable, even endearing, in a little boy with the face of an angel was liable to get him booked for assault as an adult man. In response, he’d become, at least publicly, quietly polite—modelling himself after my behaviour, Minako claimed. If he had more than two shots of vodka though, the hellion who’d learnt swearwords and sambo on the streets of Moscow made a reappearance. He really was upset about the lionskin. I was too.

“We’ll ask them tomorrow,” came the voice of reason, muffled through the door. I blessed Otabek Altin and all his ancestors for his good sense.

“It’s already tomorrow!” Yurio retorted. The door clicked open, and Yurio stomped into our room, cruelly turning on the lights and chucking one of our keycards on the table as he did so. “Rise and shine, old men,” he hollered.

I glared up at them, eyes all but shut against the sudden brightness. “It’s four in the morning,” I pointed out, unnecessarily. Viktor refused to acknowledge Yurio’s presence at all. He clung tight as a limpet, my long hair caught under his arms. He’d convinced me to grow it out since, “I can’t do the same with mine, Yuuri, because you know what’s happening,” he said, hushed, as though there were nothing more shameful than male-pattern baldness. “You have to do it for both of us. Do it for me, Yuura.”

(And what was I supposed to have done in response? I grew my hair, of course).

“Da. We skate at four in the morning all the time,” Yurio pointed out, coming to Viktor’s side of the bed and shoving him pitilessly. “Move over, old man.” Viktor barely moved, but Yurio crawled into bed alongside him anyways, disregarding his nudity. He’d spent too many off-seasons with us at the onsen to notice it or care. Otabek sat down in the chair by the bed, patiently waiting out his friend’s latest mood. “Look at this.”

He shoved his cellphone in front of my face, and I fumbled for my glasses, scrolling down the screen.

Over the past evening, the number of retweets and replies on Yurio’s post had exploded. He had thousands of new followers. Tens of thousands. I thumbed down. There were the usual posts from Yuri’s Angels, but intermingled with them, messages from the kind of people you almost never saw on a sports account.

--

Amelie Léoncoeur @PrLionheart

Support to @y_plisetsky for speaking out; end the barbaric killing of this vulnerable species! #wildlifeconservation #zoology #endtrophyhunting @UniofOxford

--

Retweet

PETA @peta

Not only is @y_plisetsky an international sex symbol, he’s signalling for change in our attitudes towards wildlife. Remember, real fur = real suffering #endtrophyhunting #wildlifeconservation #icetiger #animalrights

---

Nekogrrl @nekogrrl

CANNOT get over how the whol world is suddenly realizing how PASSIONATE and SENSITIVE our yuri is like wow weve known for YRS he’s not jst a goldwinning sk8r hes also big into humane treatment of animals like he fosters KITTIES and asked fans to donate to animal shelters on his bday loving that everyones learning this now #icetiger #hottestmanalive #yurisangels #letmehaveyurbabies #liongate

---

Retweet

World Wildlife Fund @World_wildlife

Olympic medalist @y_plisetsky speaks out against trophy-hunting!

icetiger #figure-skating #wildlifeconservation #endtrophyhunting #animalrights #icetiger

---

Retweet

Lion Recovery Fund @LionRecovery

The #icetiger of Russia is standing up for other wildcats

#lions #wildlifeconservation #endtrophyhunting

---

Emily O @AngelofPlisetsky

Our Yuri’s ALWAYS loved #bigcats! Remember when he did this back in novices?

[Link to Youtube video of eight-year-old Yuri skating to ‘I just can’t wait to be king’ from Disney’s ‘The Lion King’]

Go Yuri! Donated to WWF for you! XXOO

#liongate #icetiger #figure-skating #ffkkr

---

Retweet

ISU Figure Skating @ISU_Figure

@y_plisetsky the #icetiger of Russia shows his passion for wildlife both on and off the ice! Check out his championship winning performance to ‘Eye of the Tiger’ here!

#figure-skating #Worldfigure #wildlifeconservation

---

Yuuri goggled.

“Tell your son to go away,” Viktor grumbled, somehow cuddling even closer into Yuuri.

“He’s your son at this hour,” Yuuri huffed, shaking his head. “Vitya,” he rubbed his husband’s shoulder. “Come on. You’ll want to see this.”

Obligingly, Viktor pulled himself up.

“It’s good, da?” Yurio demanded as Viktor began to scroll over the texts, gaze sharpening as he considered them. “What did you think of the direct messages?”

“I didn’t read your DMs—”

“The WWF and its partners are asking if you and ‘some of your friends’ will model for their fundraising calendar!” Viktor said delightedly. “Some of its partners include Calvin Klein. And Burberry.”

“Da. Otabek’s in.”

“Then I accept!” Viktor said magnanimously. “For the big cats!”

“What? No. Who wants to look at your naked ass, old man? I wasn’t asking you to model Viktor, I was telling my coach I’m doing it. Whether he likes it or not!”

“I don’t like it, I love it!” Viktor enthused. He reached blindly and accurately across me to his night-table to grab his phone, tucked Yurio’s between us so it couldn’t be taken away, and started scrolling through his own notifications. “Calvin Klein already sent me an email asking if you’d be interested in launching a line of wildlife-inspired lingerie. I know you’ve turned down all their other offers, but they plan to give 10% of their profits to the WWF—”

Yurio grinned fiercely. “I’ll do it! Argue them up to 15% though, I’m worth that much.”

“Da,” Viktor grinned back. There’s little Viktor loves more than negotiating more money out of sponsors than they expected to spend. He turned over to me. “Yuuri,” he crooned, “you’ll help the big cats too, won’t you? For Yurio?”

Yurio pretend to gag, but for all that, he stared at me intently over Viktor’s shoulder. I knew if I didn’t say yes, he’d rage about it for weeks the way he always did when he was disappointed. I could already hear him.

(“Good, piggy! No one wants to see your ugly fat ass anyways! Get lost!”)

If I said yes though, the image of me wearing probably less than my briefs and looking provocatively at the camera would be immortalized for everyone to see. Mari. Minako. My parents. God. It wasn’t as though they hadn’t all seen me naked before, or seen me turning up the eros, but never both at the same time.

My friend and skater and the little brother I’d never had looked increasingly angry the longer I took to answer (and really, we needed to book him with a sports therapist again), Vitya, patient and accepting of whatever my answer would be. I reddened under the scrutiny, and my husband grinned, knowing what my answer would be before I gave it.

“Yeah,” I breathed. “Yeah. For the big cats.”

“For the big cats!” Yurio and Viktor exclaimed, Yurio pumping his fist in the air. The man reclaimed his phone from Viktor, rolling out of our bed and onto his feet with, well, the agility of a cat, despite being drunk. “Come on Otabek! We have to tell the others!”

“The others?” Otabek asked blankly, letting himself be towed along by his erstwhile partner.

“That manwhore Giacometti’s here commentating. His fanclub’s almost as big as mine. If he’s going to be a slut, he might as well use it for something that matters,” we heard Yurio explain as he went out the door.

Vitya turned his eyes to me sleepily. “You don’t need to do it, you know.” He knew how shy I was. I’d been turning down more risqué photoshoots for years, even while Playgirl and Torso had full feature articles on my husband, complete with pull-out posters.

“Mmm. I don’t need to,” I agreed. “But it’s not just for me, it’s for Yura. And the big cats.” I smiled, easing myself back into my husband’s arms, feeling the hard contours of his pectorals against my back, his muscled thigh between my gluts. “Besides,” I murmured, turning my head to look up at him through my lashes, “weren’t you just saying the other day that we should get some photos done professionally?” I raised my hand to stroke the underside of his lightly stubbled jaw. “Did you want to keep those just for yourself?”

Viktor’s eyes dilated, and the sudden pressure below my thighs demonstrated the exact effect of my words on him.

“Or did you want to show the world exactly what belongs to you?” I whispered. His grip tightened, and I smirked. “Hmm? You want them to see what Yuuri Nikiforov looks like, to see what none of them can ever possess… mmm,” I groaned, suddenly silenced by his kiss. He kissed me, long and deep, and then stared into my eyes, like I was the most precious and rare creation in all the world.

“Yes. Yes to all those things. You’re so beautiful, I always want everyone to see it. To worship it. I worship it. I love you, Katsuki Yuuri Nikiforov. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

[rockingreads]

Karl French [Editor]: This is Spinal Tap: The Official Companion (2000)

Tomorrow is November 11, or, as it's known to diehard rock fans around the world (and elsewhere), 'Nigel Tufnel Day,' in recognition of Spinal Tap's influential lead guitarist and autodidact philosopher's custom-made Marshall Amps.

As you know, they "go to eleven" ...

Some may call me obsessive, but I cite the 'mockumentary' starring Christopher Guest, Michael McKean, Harry Shearer, and Rob Reiner with alarming regularity: both in my writings and music industry day-job, and often to blank stares from my younger co-workers.

That's why this official companion for This is Spinal Tap, its ever-expanding surrounding and ensuing lore, edited by Karl French will interest only a peculiar breed of individual that, like Tap's audience, is growing "more selective" with every passing year.

It contains a "Prepilogue" written by McKean (a.k.a. David St. Hubbins), a chronology ("Tap'istory") of the parody band's history, credits and transcripts for the movie and its outtakes, lyrics, discography, and an exhaustive A-Z covering every (ahem!) inch of Tap ephemera.

Frankly, it's the gift that keeps on giving.

At least for idiots like me who regularly insert This is Spinal Tap's tropes, anecdotes, and classic one-liners into their everyday lives, and therefore feel the need to give this little "none-more-black" book pride-of-place on my bookshelf.

However, for most "normal" people, it will understandably reside, along with Spinal Tap itself, in the "where are they now" file.

p.s. -- I unfortunately don't own super-rare, over-priced vinyl copies of Spinal Tap classics like Brain Hammer, Intravenus de Milo, and Shark Sandwich (partly because they shipped Gold and were returned Platinum), but I proudly collect the records displayed here.

Featured Records:

Spinal Tap: This is Spinal Tap (1984)

Spinal Tap: "Hell Hole" (1984)

Spinal Tap: "Christmas with the Devil" (1984)

Buy from: Amazon

[mexcine]

Swipe File #4 -- "Werewolf in a Girls' Dormitory" (1963)

Werewolf in a Girls' Dormitory was a great high-concept horror movie title affixed to the U.S. release of the 1961 Italian-Austrian co-production Lycanthropus. The American distributors put a fair amount of effort into marketing the dubbed version, including 45 rpm records of the new theme song "The Ghoul in School," and a "Werewolf Kit," among other things.

The "key art" for Werewolf in a Girls' Dormitory features a screaming woman and a pretty great drawing of the titular werewolf. The latter image became moderately iconic, showing up frequently in newspaper ads (even for screenings which didn't include Werewolf in a Girls' Dormitory). It was re-used for a Spanish-language re-release of the 1940 Bela Lugosi horror movie The Devil Bat, and -- presumably non-licensed -- it can now be obtained printed on a sofa pillow, a cap, a cellphone case, etc.

The publicity material for the original version Lycanthropus was mostly photo-based and -- while decent -- didn't achieve the same sort of pop culture permanence as the U.S. version. One of the images was re-created for the Italian comic book Vampirissimo, with the werewolf changed to one of two "Vampire Siamese Twins." The other brother seems to have been based on Bela Lugosi and/or Christopher Lee.

[panhead0422-blog]

A tall structure with a circular top featuring vibrant orange, yellow, and red panels stands against a clear blue sky. The underside of the tower is captured from a low angle, emphasizing its height and colorful design. © 2025 By Chris Mercer All Rights Reserved https://pixels.com/profiles/chris-mercer https://www.viewbug.com/member/chrismercerimages Christopher Mercer Art - Fine Art America Christopher Mercer Art - Pixels Original File Name: Legoland Island In The Sky (2017-3-3) (4)

[applecstasy]

Character Fact File: Chris Sawyer

a main character for my original story, which will be posted on Tumblr, Wattpad & AO3

life

Christopher Sawyer was born on the upper east side of New York City on March 10th 2002 to Jillian and Eric Sawyer. His father is a financial adviser on Wall Street and his mother is a CEO of a luxury fashion company. He is an only child, which—along with his emotionally absent parents—led to a lonely childhood. Surrounded by material love rather than nurturing love.

Chris absorbed himself in TV and movies, quickly becoming obsessed with the idea of acting. His mother immediately agreed to idea, signing him up for the best acting lessons possible. His father, however, was initially skeptical. Chris is accepted into multiple roles. His standard of getting everything he wants is slowly built up over the years.

Christopher slowly attends school less and less as his focus is further shifted to his acting career. By high school, he barely attends, graduating from pure bribery. Despite his lack of high school education, he is of average intelligence and can speak high school level French.

Chris permanently moved to Los Angeles in 2019 after constant travel there for acting opportunities. Around 2022, he starts hosting more parties, quickly changing his public appearance to his current, less favorable one. He had always been a little annoying nepo baby, but it got a lot more blatant & known after his lifestyle changes.

His permissive parents have caused him to become a young adult who publicly acts out for the attention of his parents, especially his mother. He has the notion that any attention from his parents is good, yet desperately attempts to please his mother when he is reprimanded. This leads to a cycle of: Chris has a party or other publicized event → his mother calls him & tells him to cut that shit out → he lays low for a week or two. Then repeat. The amount of times his boy has gone to rehab for like.. a week then quit is CRAZY.

He never opens up to people: having two personas: loud &, obnoxious party boy & cold yet charismatic actor. The first one is for parties, the second is for press tours and other interviews. Probably thinks he's nonchalant, is actually a deeply wounded child actor with constant impending crash-outs.

I think he deeply yearns for a romantic relationship but has no idea what that would entail or how he would find one. His mother's reaction to him coming out as bisexual was literally "Aw that's nice sweetie, has filming wrapped up for today? I need to go, bye," THIS BOY HAS NOT EXPERIENCED LOVE AND CARE 💀🙏🔥

Chris uses the material to fill the void left by his childhood. Strong believer of 'money CAN buy happiness' despite the fact it didn't as a child either.

other random facts

he's 175cm (5'9) and 72kg (159lbs)

his favorite drink is black coffee. He tends to drink it to wake up, before he works out (which is one of his favorite activities!)

secretly really intro astrology. he's a pisces sun, aquarius moon and virgo rising, if you're wondering

his MBTI is ESTP

you can probably tell but he is a major angel, probably apart of the 0.01% of Charli XCX listeners on Spotify

he has a eyebrow piercing on his left eyebrow but no tattoos (thank god)

doesn't drive,, which is a blessing to everyone TRUST. He actually still has his driver's licence (I don't even how)

this boy is a NIC ADDICT 💔💔 somebody pass him his double apple lost mary before he crashes OUTTT

loves new years eve (obviously)

he had a cat named Kat as a kid (names Kat himself, what a creative child). he definitely wants another pet but knows his lifestyle is not ample for owning a pet. His favorite domestic animals are tigers

skis even when the slopes are closed (iykyk) but basically in forced recovery for like three (?) months

at the end of the day he's just my little meow meow

[the-world-union]

Voyeur guilty of 13 offences at music festival

A 44-year-old who pleaded guilty to multiple charges of voyeurism at a North Herts music festival has appeared in court for sentencing.

Christopher Bicourt, of Falmouth Road in London, admitted 13 counts of voyeurism at St Albans Magistrates' Court - the offences took place in the village of Newnham - between Baldock and Ashwell - on August 20 this year. The charges against Bicourt related to incidents at the inaugural Warm Up Festival - which featured techno music and a focus on wellness - in Bygrave Woods.

There were 12 counts of recording a person doing a private act without their knowledge or consent, to later view the image for Bicourt's own sexual gratification, and one count of observing a person without their knowledge for the same purpose.

He pleaded guilty on September 6 and was handed a suspended sentence on Wednesday last week - 24 weeks' jail time suspended for two years.

He must comply with certain requirements within the 24-month supervision - these are participation in an accredited programme for 35 days, and attending appointments. He must also pay a victims services surcharge of £128 and £85 in court costs.

He must also sign the sex offenders register for five years and be subject to a sexual harm prevention order for that time. While the order is in force the defendant is subject to the prohibited from capturing still or moving footage of anyone without their prior permission in a public or private place and attending festival with any device capable of recording and storing media files.

He is also prohibited from using or possessing any device capable of accessing the internet or storing images unless he has notified the police within three days of the acquisition of any such device. The device must retain history of internet use, that history isn't deleted and the device must be immediately available for inspection by the police.

Investigator Abby Palmer said: “Chris Bicourt was quickly arrested after one of his victims noticed his suspicious behaviour and alerted the on-site security team. I’d like to start by thanking her for coming forward and her bravery in raising the alarm.

“His vile behaviour is evident from his targeted actions and specialist equipment he was found to be in possession of at the time of his arrest. The actions of Bicourt are deeply disturbing, and understandably left his victims feeling completely violated.

“I would like to take this opportunity to encourage anyone who believes they may have been a victim of any form of sexual abuse to report it to police. Please be assured that you will always be treated with the utmost sensitivity and respect from us.”

Around 3,000 people attended Warm Up Festival for electronic dance music fans in Bygrave Woods from August, 19 to 23.

A statement from Warm Up Festival said: "Warm Up Festival takes the safety and security of event attendees very seriously and as such is contracted with an experienced, licensed security firm.

"The vigilance of officers on duty meant that the perpetrator was identified and detained quickly. The victim was supported by trained welfare staff.

"Unfortunately, in any large gathering there is potential for criminal activity. Hopefully, the arrest and successful prosecution of this individual will send a clear message: we will not tolerate this kind of behaviour at our events.

"Keeping our customers safe is our number one priority, and we will continue to be extra vigilant in monitoring and maintaining a safe environment at the festival."

[investigationreport]

Voyeur guilty of 13 offences at music festival

A 44-year-old who pleaded guilty to multiple charges of voyeurism at a North Herts music festival has appeared in court for sentencing.

Christopher Bicourt, of Falmouth Road in London, admitted 13 counts of voyeurism at St Albans Magistrates' Court - the offences took place in the village of Newnham - between Baldock and Ashwell - on August 20 this year. The charges against Bicourt related to incidents at the inaugural Warm Up Festival - which featured techno music and a focus on wellness - in Bygrave Woods.

There were 12 counts of recording a person doing a private act without their knowledge or consent, to later view the image for Bicourt's own sexual gratification, and one count of observing a person without their knowledge for the same purpose.

He pleaded guilty on September 6 and was handed a suspended sentence on Wednesday last week - 24 weeks' jail time suspended for two years.

He must comply with certain requirements within the 24-month supervision - these are participation in an accredited programme for 35 days, and attending appointments. He must also pay a victims services surcharge of £128 and £85 in court costs.

He must also sign the sex offenders register for five years and be subject to a sexual harm prevention order for that time. While the order is in force the defendant is subject to the prohibited from capturing still or moving footage of anyone without their prior permission in a public or private place and attending festival with any device capable of recording and storing media files.

He is also prohibited from using or possessing any device capable of accessing the internet or storing images unless he has notified the police within three days of the acquisition of any such device. The device must retain history of internet use, that history isn't deleted and the device must be immediately available for inspection by the police.

Investigator Abby Palmer said: “Chris Bicourt was quickly arrested after one of his victims noticed his suspicious behaviour and alerted the on-site security team. I’d like to start by thanking her for coming forward and her bravery in raising the alarm.

“His vile behaviour is evident from his targeted actions and specialist equipment he was found to be in possession of at the time of his arrest. The actions of Bicourt are deeply disturbing, and understandably left his victims feeling completely violated.

“I would like to take this opportunity to encourage anyone who believes they may have been a victim of any form of sexual abuse to report it to police. Please be assured that you will always be treated with the utmost sensitivity and respect from us.”

Around 3,000 people attended Warm Up Festival for electronic dance music fans in Bygrave Woods from August, 19 to 23.

A statement from Warm Up Festival said: "Warm Up Festival takes the safety and security of event attendees very seriously and as such is contracted with an experienced, licensed security firm.

"The vigilance of officers on duty meant that the perpetrator was identified and detained quickly. The victim was supported by trained welfare staff.

"Unfortunately, in any large gathering there is potential for criminal activity. Hopefully, the arrest and successful prosecution of this individual will send a clear message: we will not tolerate this kind of behaviour at our events.

"Keeping our customers safe is our number one priority, and we will continue to be extra vigilant in monitoring and maintaining a safe environment at the festival."

[jossoriopapercraft]

PlayStation 2 – Batman Begins – Save Icon en papercraft

PlayStation 2 – Batman Begins – Save Icon en papercraft La marca del murciélago con textura oxidada Si eres fan de Batman y jugaste en su día al videojuego Batman Begins para PlayStation 2, seguro que recuerdas aquel icono de guardado que aparecía con fuerza en pantalla: la silueta del murciélago. Una figura simple pero cargada de significado, que ahora puedes recrear en forma de papercraft, con una textura oxidada que evoca el paso del tiempo y la dureza de Gotham. 🎮 Un poco sobre el juego Lanzado en 2005, Batman Begins fue un título que acompañó al reinicio cinematográfico de Christopher Nolan. Más que un simple “juego de película”, logró sumergirnos en una Gotham oscura y llena de tensión, usando el sigilo, el miedo y el combate como herramientas fundamentales del Caballero Oscuro. El icono de guardado, inspirado directamente en el logo de Batman, se convirtió en un símbolo recurrente y reconocible en el juego, asociado al progreso del jugador y a los puntos clave de la historia. 📦 Detalles del modelo    Dimensiones: 20 cm de largo (aproximadamente)    Piezas: 38 partes en total    Dificultad: Media, ideal para fans del personaje con algo de experiencia en papercraft    Textura: Estilo óxido metálico, con efecto envejecido que realza su estética urbana y decadente    Formato: Archivo PDO, completamente desarrollado y listo para montar (con posibilidad de optimización si se desea) ✂️ Instrucciones básicas    Descarga el archivo PDO y visualízalo con Pepakura Viewer.    Imprime las piezas en papel grueso (preferiblemente de 180 g o superior).    Recorta cada parte con precisión y dobla cuidadosamente según las marcas.    Ensambla el símbolo uniendo las partes en el orden indicado, formando el clásico murciélago.    Para un acabado espectacular, puedes montarlo sobre una base o enmarcarlo. 🦇 ¿Por qué este símbolo es tan icónico? El logo de Batman ha cambiado con los años, pero siempre ha conservado su fuerza visual: es un emblema de justicia, miedo y resiliencia. En este caso, la textura oxidada añade un aire más crudo, más callejero… como si hubiera sido tallado en las sombras mismas de Gotham. 🛠️ ¿Ideas para mejorar el modelo?    Puedes reducir el número de piezas si buscas una versión más rápida de montar.    Añade luces LED detrás del logo para usarlo como lámpara de ambiente.    Si eres fan del cosplay, este modelo puede servirte como detalle decorativo para una Batcueva casera. 👇 Descarga ahora el icono de guardado de Batman Begins en PS2 en versión papercraft, y añade una pieza única a tu colección de videojuegos, superhéroes o manualidades. 🦇 Porque todo héroe necesita un punto de guardado. 🦇 Papercraft: PlayStation 2 – Batman Begins – Save Icon The Bat-Symbol with Rust Texture If you're a Batman fan and played the Batman Begins video game on PlayStation 2, you'll surely remember the dramatic save icon — the iconic bat silhouette. Now you can build that exact emblem in papercraft form, featuring a rusted metallic texture that adds grit and realism, perfect for fans of the Dark Knight and papercraft alike. 🎮 A Bit About the Game Released in 2005, Batman Begins accompanied Christopher Nolan’s cinematic reboot and delivered a surprisingly immersive gameplay experience. It leaned heavily on stealth, fear tactics, and combat — all while wrapping you in the brooding atmosphere of Gotham. The save icon, shaped like Batman’s emblem, served as a recurring visual cue and a signal of progress — subtle, stylish, and loaded with meaning. 📦 Model Details    Size: Approx. 20 cm long    Parts: 38 carefully designed pieces    Skill Level: Intermediate – perfect for fans with some crafting experience    Texture: Realistic rusted look, evoking industrial Gotham vibes    Format: PDO file (fully unfolded, editable if needed) Enlace: https://tiendajossorio.blogspot.com/2025/04/playstation-2-batman-begins-save-icon.html Video: https://youtu.be/8M_O29f7QkI