#but some games that DONT have that but are dark DONT have age ratings

[im-not-a-sheep]

why dont games show what age rating they areeeeee

[atomicbland]

Just A Mirage

Hello I'm outting myself as the ──★ ˙🍓anon from @ghoulphile. Anyways they've inspired me to fall face first dip my toe back into writing and might as well share the brain rot with the class. This is my first time writing smut or anything relatively like this so any questions comments critques are welcome! I dont bite unless you want me to

pairings: cooper howard x fem!reader rating: 18+ MDNI! warnings: bondage, degradation, pet names, mentions of age gap (obviously), Cooper Howard being a jackass in general, canon typical chem use, smoking AO3 Link

You were tired, thirsty, and hungry. Your rations had been finished earlier that morning though it was not by your hand. The tall ghoul who looked like he had walked right off the set of one of those western movies with his cowboy hat, ragged leather duster, and shotgun strapped to his back had stolen the last of your food and water while you stepped away to relieve yourself. You had come back to him chewing on your stash of jerky while letting his scruffy companion, “Dogmeat”, drink straight from your water flask. You learned quickly that no matter what, he’d treat the dog better than you. He kept you on a leash, his lasso was tied around your waist and tethered to the weapon belt that might as well have been fused into his skin. Anytime you weren’t keeping pace he’d give a rough tug of the rope, causing it to bite into your belly. Argued it’s easier to keep track of you that way. 

While you lamented over the loss of your food and water and debated if hiring the old ghoul was a smart choice something catches your attention stopping you in your tracks. Along the edge of the tree line, you spot the remains of what looked like a house, bigger than any house you’ve come across. The roof and windows were still somewhat intact and something that looked like brick peeked through the vines that had taken over the structure. You felt the bite of the rope at your stomach. 

“Now, I done told you what’ll happen if I gotta tug this damn rope again…” the Ghoul threatened from in front of you.

“I saw someth-”

“You ain’t seen nothin’,” he spat. “A mirage. Just that pretty lil’ head of yours playin’ tricks sweetie.” He tugged the rope again, urging you to move along not even bothering to look in the same direction as you. 

Sweetie. Whenever he called you that you could feel the heat of a thousand rads shoot through your body, making your blood boil. 

“Maybe my mind wouldn’t be playing tricks if I still had my food and water!” You didn’t budge, refusing to play his stupid game. You were in charge, hiring him to escort you to the Old World Wall safely. 

He turned to face you, his eyes hidden by the brim of his hat but his features were twisted into a scowl. “What was that lil lady?” 

He didn’t scare you. You cleared your throat. “I said. I NEED water. You don’t get any caps or vials if I’M dead!” He stays silent, still glaring. A month's supply of vials upon arrival was on the line and he knew it. You point towards the treeline. “I saw a house over there. We're out of rations and it's getting dark. Can we at least set up camp there?” 

His answer is wordless, whistling a command to Dogmeat to run ahead to the house. He gives another tug at the rope, commanding you to follow behind him, a cautious hand at his holster. 

The inside of the house was far nicer than the outside led you to believe. While everything appeared to be overrun by nature the original bones were still there. Holey yet plush couches formed a sitting area around a fire pit that recessed into the tattered wall. The floorboards creaked and moaned under the new weight as the three of you walked around making sure the area was clear. Dusty paintings littered the walls, images nearly impossible to make out in the dim light. 

“Now smoothie,” the Ghoul started, taking a quick break to puff his inhaler, “I’mma take you off yer leash and scope the perimeter ‘fore we hunker down.” 

You nod, happy to have some relief from the scratchy fibers of the rope and to get some sort of break from your freakish travel partner. Not that you didn’t hate him but the way he spoke and stole from you did wear on your nerves. All of the stupid pet names that cowboy gave you did something to you. You couldn’t place it, a warm feeling in the pit of your stomach, a milder feeling of what he did when he’d make a pass at you. And despite how much he annoyed you, you found him strangely attractive. On those sleepless night when you were sure he was sleeping, you’d study his features, imagining his strong hands around you as he pulled your hips down onto his, his cock hitting your core just right making your back arch and pulling the same loud cries of pleasure you had heard him pull from others in the adjacent room of whatever hostel would allow a ghoul and his dog. 

The smell of viscera and tobacco cloud your senses, and you feel a gloved hand around the back of your neck, ripping you back to reality. “And be good for me while I’m gone.” The heat of his breath travels down your neck and straight between your thighs. 

You watch as he slinks away, stopping at the crumbling doorway—a dark shadow masking the top half of his face. “Oh and sweetheart,” he pulls a cigarette from one of the pockets of his duster, lighting it before he continued, “be a doll an’ rangle somethin’ up for dinner. Ain’t much in the mood for ass jerky t’night.” He flashes you a smile from underneath his hat before leaving, Dogmeat happily cantering after him. 

The house is larger than it looks on the inside and despite its current state of ruin, you could see it in all of its glory, like one of those fancy houses you see in the movies. People smiling and laughing around a table piled with food, dressed in the most beautiful clothes that shimmered against the light. Women with beautifully painted faces and clean, perfectly styled hair. Those movies always made you wonder about the world before the bombs, before everyone wanted to kill everyone else, before the fear of radiation. 

You find your way into the kitchen, cracked black and white tiles decorate the floor, dingy teal cabinets matching the Atomic Queen appliances hug the walls. You take care to peek behind every cabinet door checking for any food or water that might have been missed by whoever came through here last. You manage to find some unlabeled booze and canned food tucked behind the remains of some long abandoned animal nest, while it isn’t much at least you’ll be able to eat tonight. In another cabinet you find some Sugar Bombs, the box is dented and beat up but surprisingly unopened, lucky you. 

You move towards the back of the kitchen, finding yourself in a small dark room. The smell of mildew and rot is so strong your stomach would've turned if it wasn't already empty, it's so bad you couldn't bother to examine the shelves that lined the wall. You make a mental note to ask the Ghoul to check for loot, of the two of you, he had the stronger stomach to rifle through damn near anything. Pushing through the door to the other side, fresh air greets you, a welcomed relief to your lungs. The very last dregs of sunlight shine through the windows that made up the roof, tall green trees kiss the glass in a desperate attempt to break free. If it wasn't for the roof you would've sworn you accidentally found your way outside. 

With one hand on the holster of your knife you creep with the brick of the wall at your back, slowly examining the plants in front of you. You recognized a few, Daffodils, Marigolds, even Tato vines. However a majority were new to you;  large flowers the size of your head, and plants that seemed to grow from the roof. You spot some pear and apple trees with the largest fruits you’ve ever seen further into the room. As you found your way to the perpendicular wall, you noticed that it was made of a giant window. You remember seeing building plans for something similar in a pre-war book years ago, a glass house that kept the plants inside at the ideal temperature. For whatever reason the plants in this glass house were thriving on neglect, carrying on with life as if the bombs never dropped. 

BANG! 

The sound makes you drop to the ground, covering your head. Whatever it was you just hope it was coming from the Ghoul. 

Just as you're about to get up, something catches your eye. You crawl towards the brush to get a closer look, little red fruits perched on vines decorated with white flowers cover the dirt by your feet. You pluck one, rolling it between your fingers the skin is rough, yellow dots littering the surface of the red flesh. The sweet scent of the fruit travels to your nose and entices your palate you know better than to put anything in your mouth. Instead, you procure the small tin that you use to store food from your bag and fill it with the mystery fruit. 

BANG! 

Hastily you shove the container back in your bag, whatever was going on outside had you a fair bit more concerned now that you could hear Dogmeat barking wildly. You quickly get up and make your way out of the glass house, through the dark storage room, and past the kitchen. Not stopping until you've collided with a large solid mass, sending a plume of dust into the air as your ass hits the cushion of the couch. 

“You’re ‘sposed to say ‘scuse you after runnin’ into a fella sweetheart.” 

You look up, your eyes meet the dark shadow of the Ghoul's from under his hat. Yellowed teeth show through as he grins wide. You look down to see in his gloved hand are two Rad Rabbits, in the other an unopened can of purified water. Relief washes over you, knowing that your dinner would be more than just Cram and Sugar Bombs. 

“I believe a thank you's in order.” His stupid handsome grin growing even wider. Clearly proud of himself despite him having taken down much harder prey. 

You glare at him before softening, in some way, you feel like this is his way of apologizing for earlier. Any time he pissed you off he would at least make up for it with his actions. Stolen stimpak? Within the next day, you'd find it replaced along with a bag of RadAway. A few bottle caps would find their way into your bag too, when you brought it up to him he'd deny it, telling you to keep a better eye on your shit.

“Thank you,” you pause, it just dawned on you that you didn't know his name. He was the Ghoul, the Cowboy, your escort across the wasteland. But no name to attach to him. You fish for a polite title for him, and if you knew him better you would've punctuated your gratitude with a kiss, yet the older man didn't seem like one for physical contact. “Thank you, Sir.” Is what you land on. 

His smile fades as if your gratitude offends him and he tosses rabbit carcasses into your lap.

“Make sure Dogmeat gets her fair share. She found ‘em after all.” He says, patting the mutt beside him before making his way to the firepit, and lighting another cigarette. 

[silentoathprincess]

i love dmmd but i have seen you reblog about other nitro chiral games, how would you rate them? like which game do you like the most and so on, I've only played dmmd and i love it but seeing your posts makes me want to play those too!! love your blog

thank you anon thats so nice!!! ill try to keep this shortish bc otherwise i WILL infodump forever. and ill try not to spoil anything

dmmd is definitely my favorite! it is kind of an outlier compared to the other n+c games tho. it has a lot more comedic moments and the bright cyberpunk aesthetic is pretty different than the usual nitty gritty nitro chiral vibes. if you havent played reconnect you totally should! it adds so much to the characters (msg me if you cant find a copy online) and im forever trying to get my hands on the mizuki recode route lmao

togainu no chi and slow damage are about even for me. slow damage is the most recent one and might have the best story that n+c has ever written. its the only one without any supernatural elements but i think it makes up for it with compelling plot. its VERY dark but i think that makes getting to the end and figuring out all the mystery of the game v exciting. i DO wish the routes felt more...equal? like theres very clearly a true route and its very clearly the best of the bunch lmao. also give me an ikuina route pls hes sooo unwell <3

tnc is the first n+c game and its showing its age a little (i kinda love the early 2000s emo vibes tho). i think the premise for it is really intriguing! theres some killer world building and really fantastic bad ends (if you're into that sort of thing). the character personalities dont quite hit the same levels of intrigue as dmmd for me but theres not a single one i dislike. theres an extra character in the re-release tnc true blood too but ive never been able to get a copy

i'll be so honest, i did not like sweet pool at ALL when i first played it. theres some fantastic fanart out there thats actually swayed me back around to liking it more but like. i didnt know what i was getting into and i definitely should have read a summary first. i thought the thing about youji shitting meat was a running joke. i was not prepared for it to be like baby meat fetuses and cult omegaverse stuff. i like omegaverse but i wish i had been more prepared. its a low tier game for me tbh

i havent finished lamento yet! it took me years to get it working lmaooo im still in the common route. right now i'd probably put it between tnc/slow damage and sweet pool. its definitely better than sweet pool but its not hitting tnc/slow damage levels for me yet. i like the catboys tho catboys catboys catboys

per usual with n+c games id recommend checking out a warnings guide first just to be safe but let me know if you play any of them or which ones you like! i hope this helped!

[writerscafehub]

MEET THE BARISTA: Stella

@a-lumos-in-the-nox

From one to five stars, how would you rate your writing? (No downplaying yourself!)

4.0, I've gotten better over the years, especially with just sharing over two ish years ago. I'd like to go back and brush up some descriptions but other than that I say it's good! 

What do you think makes your writing stand out from other works?

I say the characters I decide to make each one of my characters are their own person that I can see being real. They are definitely my favorite part of my stories.

Are there any writers that inspire you?

Right now, Brandon Sanderson. I'm reading through his first novels now. The way he uses descriptions to worldbuild is amazing! And I love his characters

And all my friends on the server, the people over there write some incredible stuff!

What’s the fic you’re most proud of?

Stella Archer, I wrote that story in college it's a decade old & I never thought I'd finish it let alone share it! Stella's been with me the longest so you can see how I used to write then vs. now all in one series. 

Which character(s) do you find easiest to write and which do you find most difficult to write?

Easiest to write: George Weasley cause anything goes with him. He's goofy, sweet, confident and a wildcard. That's really fun to play with. 

Hardest/Challenging: Neville Longbottom & Druig. These two are my heads & tails. They are complete opposites. Druig's is inquisitive and there's a depth to him that I can relate too, and hes smart mouth, my favorite kind of guy lol. 

Neville is soft, confident, brave & empathic. There are things i can have Druig do that i can’t do with Neville and vice versa. I could talk about their differences forever but they are still a fun challenge to write. 

Who or what do you find yourself writing about most?

Usually whatever idea I haven't done yet or I want to try. I write a lot about superheroes or powered individuals. Often with my own spin 😏. Friends to lovers mostly. 

Tell us about a WIP you’re excited about!

im working on the ending of Bloom, it's the last character arch for Neville. His eldest will be looking at school brochures and some of his past students will make a groundbreaking medicine for people who have pain caused from curses & his parents being among the ones able to get the medicine. Meaningful things happen & I'm excited to write it!!!

First fandom you ever wrote for?

Harry Potter; 😂 nothing has changed I still love the universe.

Any guilty pleasure trope(s)?

I dont feel guilty about them their all pleasures; so Soulmate AUs, soft dark, Coffee Shop AUs, threesomes, genderbending.

A trope you’ll never, ever write for.

A/B/Os the structure would be all over the place. 

Wildest fic you’ve ever written?

Never Too Late, I put as many of my favorite tropes in there as I could. Soulmate AU, Coffeeshop AU, gross loving couple, old married couple, Tall boi, short girl…etc. And they fucked for a hobby. It was so nuts I made a game out of it in that universe had it's own rules & everything 😂 So much unhinged stuff happens in that fic & I don't regret any of it 😂. 

Favorite pairing to write for? (platonic or romantic!)

OCs x main character. Which is usually an extension of me somehow cause i said so. Even the very few readers stuff i have i always pictured myself. 

Do you listen to anything while you write?

I have a playlist for each story i have & i cycle through thoes whenever i need the vibes 

One-shots or multi-chaptered works?

Both, I like both 

15. Have you ever daydreamed about side adventures/spin-offs from your fic? Tell us about them!

My ficts are day dreams haha. Hmmm I have a bunch of daydreams about Daphne & Charlie spending time with their parents as a family in some of the places they have traveled to when they didn't have kids. That and the adventures of Daphne & Lottie growing up. But I'm really stubborn about aging my OCs kids so most of them stop at a certain age.

16. Is there anything you’ve wanted to write, but you’ve been too scared to try?

Not scared, I just don’t know how to write it. I want to make my own villain somehow but i gotta figure out so many things first. Or the villain's spouse or something, it’s still on the drawing board. I don't do many dark things so it would be a challenge for me. 

What’s the nicest comment you’ve ever received?

All the comments on my first dark oneshot, Sweet Dreams. It was just me playing around with Druig’s powers to a higher level then flooring it. It was fun & the ones of my first series Stella Archer that story is a decade old. So to get comments on that was special 

Have you ever gone outside of your comfort zone for a fic? How did it turn out?

For Between the Shadows I did cause i was trying to portray my OC for that a certain way without making her sound boring. That was a hard fic for me in many, many ways. But it turned out great! I’ve never introduced an OC in a more profound way than I did with Juni and it was refreshing to experiment with that OC. 

Tooth-rotting fluff or merciless angst?

I'm a sucker for both. I’ve written both. 

Do you have any OCs? Tell us about them!

I have 13 fully developed ones and the rest are side ones. But here are some of my favorites!  

Stella Archer-Asgardian Demi-god think of Gaia with all the powers of the elements. She has 4 kids. And married her highschool sweetheart George Weasley. 

Flower- a nymph of mythology origins. Her power is growing flowers and plants from anywhere as long as she has a water source. She carries a pouch of soil around with her for such an occasion. She stayed with her love even though he was cursed by the flying dutchman. 

Ruby Morgan- Charms professor, classic style of dress, her magic specialty is levitation she can make anything levitate with a snap of her fingers. She grew up in France raised by her Dad and her Grandmother. She can read Latin, speak French and loves cats.  

Angus Kohler- Scottish, loves to drink. His magic specialty is tracking. He teaches Care of Magical Creatures. Head of Hufflepuff house. Werewolf, he’s Neville’s best friend and Ruby’s too. Plays the bagpipes at every graduation in full kilt attire that matches Hufflepuff.  

If you could enter the universe of any one of your fics, which would it be and why?

I’d enter Never Too Late cause that OC is the closest to me irl and I basically gave her everything I wanted and didn't skip any details lol. I would gladly love to be in that universe. 

Is there anything you wish your audience knew about your writing or writing process?

Have you ever daydreamed about side adventures/spin-offs from your fic? Tell us about them! My ficts are day dreams haha. Hmmm I have a bunch of daydreams about Daphne & Charlie spending time with their parents as a family in some of the places they have traveled to when they didn't have kids. That and the adventures of Daphne & Lottie growing up. But I'm really stubborn about aging my OCs kids so most of them stop at a certain age. Is there anything you’ve wanted to write, but you’ve been too scared to try?

Copy and paste an excerpt you’re particularly fond of.

From Kissed by the Land; Cursed by the Sea.

In a tavern miles away sat a bard playing a tune and weaving a tale.

Let me tell you a tale about a mortal man forced to sail the reaper of the blue…His eyes as blue as the cursed seas, and hair as black as the night, it's true…

He's fought sirens, an sailors, an swamp monsters too, all while sailing souls lost to the depths, to their final steps…it's true.

The reaper of the blue captured this man, for a century or two. Till it was over. An he returned home, to his dearest its true…

This is the tale of the reaper of the blue, and a man forced to sail it's sails wide and true for a century or two…

Ramble about any fic-related thing you want!

I wanna go back and write Kissed by the Land; CUrsed by the Sea as a darker tale but i have NO idea how but I totally could!!! I just played around with Fairytales in that one. Um my current series Bloom is almost over & I’m thinking of making a spin off of it only for Angus cause I love that man he’s my wildcard in every sense of the word lol. 

I love writing main character x OCs so i have an excuse to run around in all my favorite worlds as different personas!

[oliver-nova]

edit: 9/7/2023

thanks for taking an interest in my page! before you follow, here is a general overview of my page and some stuff i ask you to tag if i follow you

if you have any issue with these, especially my dni list, please block me

if you need anything tagged that isnt tagged, please let me know! i want to make your experience as comfy as possible

this is lengthy, so more after jump!

(general what i post, what i tag, dni list, and what i need tagged included)

what i post

the yakuza games

genshin impact

honkai star rail

obey me

a3!

resident evil

red dead redemption

cute animals

zodiac

graphics

shitposts

cinderella phenomeon

xoxo droplets

the ikemen series

the soul calibur series

wrestling (wrestling only page is @hyo-watanabe)

fanfic (fanfic only page is @kristenssinbin. all reblogs of smuttiness will come from there)

romantic shit

personal shit

digimon

castlevania

persona 5

far cry series

food

flowers

fashion/jewelry

nopixel!! (nopixel sideblog is @nicholas-simone)

twisted wonderland

court of darkness

dead by daylight

the call of duty reboot from 2022 (gaz is kind of a babe) 

aes stuff such as flowers and sunsets

stimboard / stimming gifs / satisfying gifs

my tags

yakuza

genshin

obey me

a3

re

rdr

fave

ref

cinderella

xoxo

ikesen

ikevamp

ikerev

sc

rasslin

rom

shut up kristen

replies

messages

digimon

castle

personal blahness tag retired due to it bringing back bad memories

my edit

my edits

my icons

my gifs

my lockscreens

discourse

sova

hanzo

fc3

fc4

fc5

fc6

p5

fcnd

twst

cod

mw

nopixel

hsr

i tw sensitive content. i either go tw: (sensitive thing) or tw (sensitive thing)

i also try to tag spoiler/spoilers. i do a general rule of after 1 month of me seeing something or it being out for 1 month+ , i don’t spoiler tag then

what i need tagged

insects

spiders

body horror (a little blood is ok because i play m rated games)

the arcana, fuck that stupid fucking game

ships!!! (please tag your ships. i don’t ship anything, but there are some ships that i am super uncomfy with due to age difference and things bringing back bad memories and whatnot)

dni if

fujoshi

pro shipping (especially incest and adult x child ships)

DDlg/CGl(re)/any related age play kink blogs

MAPs/NoMAPs/PEARs/lolicon

maga/conservative

TERFs/Radfems

Bigots/supporters of hateful viewpoints or ideologies (racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, islamophobia, nazism, fatphobic, white supremacy, aphobic etc.)

pro-life

anti BLM

if you see nothing wrong with rpf

anti-vaxxers/anti-mask

thinspo

animal abuse

LGBT-exclusionist

overwatch league blog, its still a v sensitive topic so i dont want to see anything that reminds me of it despite him not being in the league anymore

xqc fan; dude is a piece of shit with a gross fanbase. dude has been banned from like 4 different games and owl because of how awful he is

cg/st/hydra fan; fuck em and the toxic vibes they bring to the np community  

old scu fan; what they (a large chunk of scu) did to jakka re: their chats is super fucking shitty, fuck em

serval x gepard shippers

jing yuan x yanqing shippers

brian knight fans, only because i talk shit about him a lot and it's for your protection, not mine :3

empty or untitled blog - this is always going to lead to at least a block. i will likely report you for being a bot

[nctsworld]

two nights, one you

✩‌ jaemin ‌x‌ ‌reader‌ ‌|‌ fuckboy!jaemin | strangers (who f*ck) to (brief) enemies to lovers | ‌10.9k 

SUMMARY‌ ‌⇾‌ a last-minute one night stand gone awry is extended into two nights when you’re snowed in at the cute (but rude) stranger’s apartment on christmas eve. [loosely based on the movie, two night stand] // part of the x-mas in ncity collection  GENRES ⇾ crack | smut | fluff  WARNINGS‌ ‌⇾‌ ‌lots of bickering and dialogue, smut, oral s*x (f and m receiving), fingering, mentions of alcohol/drinking, swearing, bit of angst before the end, jaemin’s an asshole... or is he? RATING‌ ‌⇾‌ explicit TAGLIST ⇾‌ @infnteen​ 

AUTHOR’S NOTE ⇾ it’s late (and long fsldkm), srysry but here it is! i hope the humour comes out in this and look away if falls flat zzz fingers crossed that i can finish the last two installments for this collection asap! 

⇾ gif created by me, please don’t repost or share without credit!

Maybe it’s because it’s the evening of Christmas Eve Eve and you’re feeling more lonely than usual.

Maybe it’s due to the two glasses of wine you guzzled down in the span of fifteen minutes that get you buzzed.

Maybe it’s your prominent six-month dry spell and you’re in desperate need for some much needed rain in your drought.    

Or maybe it’s just pure impulsiveness.

Regardless of the reasons, you’re aiming to get laid tonight.  

It’s 9:45pm as you make the rounds on Tinder. You’ve used it in the past, searching for a relationship in vain, but haven’t used it much since you broke up with your last partner. Bringing the app alive again, you’re already bombarded by distasteful messages, off-putting one-liners and jokes, and swiping left more than you’d like.

You haven’t had a one-night stand before, but isn’t there anyone on here that is just a little bit attractive, nearby where you are, around your age, and is somewhat chivalrous about the topic besides saying DTF? Maybe you need to lower your standards if you want to get dicked down tonight.

But then, you land on him.

One Na Jaemin, 20 years old, and only four miles away from you.

Scrolling through his profile pictures and Instagram feed, you assume that he’s into photography, is on the athletic side from the various hobbies he partakes in, and he must be at least half-aware of his beauty because there’s the occasional pic that shows off his lean, toned arms, which, if you can be frank, is more flattering than the shirtless ones you constantly see. Oh, and he attends the same university as you.

The cherry on top? His bio is simple and upfront:

“Not up for anything serious, but always down for a good time ;)”

You swipe right without hesitation.

“It’s a Match!” flashes instantly at you. Your mouth swings open in disbelief.  

Usually, you’d wait for your matches to message you and play hard-to-get, but not tonight. Tonight, you’re initiating and leading all the conversations, completely driven by your thirst.  

Messaging Jaemin is a breeze. He types with more than half a brain, and he flirts, but it isn’t overwhelming or repulsive. Segueing the current topic, you drag your bottom lip upward as you send the following message:  

so, hypothetically... if one were to have good time with you would tonight work?

Not even twenty seconds later and he replies with:

-wow, dont you go straight to the point -im impressed -but yeah -tonight works ;)

He’s quick to send his address.

-let me know when ur here and ill come get you out front!

Smacking your lips together, you squeal to yourself in the comfort of your home, excited to meet with him, but then a thought hangs over you—this feels a little too good to be true. Horrible scenarios run through your head, so your fingers dash across your phone’s keyboard:

tbh i haven’t really done this b4 so im kinda new to this is it ok if we video call or smth? gotta make sure you’re real and not a serial killer i’m sure you understand 😛

-for sure for sure -totally get it -ive had my fair share of fake girls and serial killers so i feel u 😛

Grateful for his consideration, you rush to rearrange your hair after you send him a Zoom link, hoping you look decent enough to not have him back off from his initial offer. He appears in the video call on his phone with the front-facing camera on a few seconds after you connect.

“Hi,” you chirp.

A corner of his mouth lifts. “Hey.”  

Okay, he’s definitely cuter in real-time than in his pictures.  

“You know, I’m not gonna lie, but I lowkey expected to see a dick or something,” you joke in an attempt to dispel your nervousness.  

“Same,” he chuckles, running a hand through his black hair.

Oh God, he’s not just cute—he’s devastatingly gorgeous.

“So, this is my place...”

Jaemin moves around with his apartment in the background, revealing his living room first. Envy prods you as you note the brick walls, high ceiling windows, and well-appointed furnishings.

Recalling his address, you ask, “How’d you get a place in the heart of the city?”

“Lucked out,” he shrugs. His phone shakes a bit as he’s still moving. “My friend slash roommate—who is at his girlfriend’s place tonight, so we have the place all to ourselves—his parents own the condo and they gave me a friend discount on the rent.”

He finally stands in one place and turns the light on to reveal a room. “And this is my bedroom.”

Nothing out of the ordinary. A desk table with a gaming set-up, in tow with a gamer chair, and a decently-sized bed beside a nightstand.

“Oh, and here’s my closet.” Jaemin’s on the move again as he opens his closet doors. “Just to make sure you don’t think I hide the skins of my past one-nighters in here.”

A bubbly laugh rises from you. “Okay, I didn’t think of that before, but now you’ve planted the seed in my head. Maybe you hide them in the other rooms.”

“Nah, my roommate would kill me if I did.”

Both of you laugh in unison, and you bob your head with puffed cheeks.  

“Okay, it all seems very promising. I’m going to get ready and I’ll guess I’ll see you in a bit, Jaemin.”

“Sounds good,” Jaemin nods, then winks. Although you’re sitting down, he’s still able to get you weak in the knees. “See you soon.”

You end the call and rush to bundle up for the snow starting to come down outside. A twenty-minute train ride later, you’re at the front door of a rustic, industrial apartment complex. After informing Jaemin you’re outside, you glance up at the snowflakes falling from the dark pink-grey sky, anticipating for what comes next.

Sex with a hot guy, what can go wrong?  

So, you must’ve jinxed it because the sex is...  

Unsatisfying. Finished faster than you’d like it to be. Sadly, overall disappointing. If you had to rate it, three out of five stars, at best.

But hey, he came, and you sort of did, and it wasn’t the worst sex you’ve ever had. It half-quenched your dry spell.

And enough happened that it tired you out, leaving you passed out in the handsome stranger’s bed until morning.

In the morning, your eyes slowly flicker, unused to the foreign, sweet scent engulfing you in your bed. Correction: Jaemin’s bed.

Your eyes flicker faster as you glance through the almost wall-sized window. The snow hasn’t let up from last night. On the contrary, it seems like it’s snowing non-stop. You groan at the thought of going home in this weather.

The bed is without Jaemin’s presence as you reach for your phone on the nightstand. 10:36AM and a few notifications greet you. You rub your eyes and start combing through them, rising upward to sit up on the bed.

“Morning. You’re finally up.”

Peering up from your device, Jaemin’s standing by the door with folded arms. His plain sweater and sweatpants match the colour of his hair. The dazzling smile he gives is so contagious, you’re not even conscious of catching one too.  

“Out you go.”

You blink.

Once, twice, and then you tilt your head as you stare blankly at him, uncertain if you heard him correctly.

After a few moments, because you’re not moving an inch, his smile dissipates and he cocks an eyebrow in expectancy. A serious expression rolls over his face.  

Suddenly, Jaemin strolls to the side of the bed and hitches his thumb towards the door.

You definitely heard him right.

And he’s dead-serious.

You replay the video call from last night, dissecting how you thought he was nice and funny and—

Realization dawns on you.

Why would you expect anything more from a two-faced fuck boy?

Still awestruck by the situation, you’re still solid as a statue, so Jaemin takes matters into his own hands and grasps you by your elbow, casually dragging you from his bed like he’s taking out the trash.  

“What the fuck?!” you screech.

“C’mon, let’s go. Out out.”

“My clothes, though!” you protest in the middle of the hallway. He sighs in frustration, scurries to the bedroom, and returns with a small pile in his arms, then continues to drag you to the front door.  

“Are you always this pleasant with your guests the morning after?” you rage, putting on the rest of your clothes by the door. “You don’t even have the decency to offer me tea or coffee?”

“This was a one-night stand, not a bed and breakfast, sunshine,” he says as he watches you put your shoes on. He’s folding his arms again and leaning against the wall, his attitude dripping with smug. If he wasn’t a stranger, you’d punch it off his face. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were new to this, huh?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

“It means you’re a borderline virgin who needs to toodle-loo, get going and gone because you’re overstaying your welcome as we speak.”

Finishing putting on your coat, you’re fuming as your jaw hangs at the personal jab over your skills in bed. Jaemin swings the door open and shoves you through it.

“But I’ll admit, it was still nice having sex with you!” he chimes with a sickening grin and a hand on the door.  

“Aw, thanks asshole, wish I could say the same,” you sarcastically reply, resting a palm upon your chest.  

He scoffs. “From what I heard last night, I think I can confidently say that you had a great time.”

Flashbacks replay in your mind of your screaming fest from underneath him. Little did Jaemin actually know—

“You know, for someone who I assume has many one-night stands,” you spit with squinted eyes. “I’m surprised you can’t tell when girls fake it.”

You must’ve hit a sore spot because he grinds his teeth and you could almost see the steam coming out of his ears.

Oh yeah, you’re definitely the winner in this fight.

“Okay, you know what, Merry Christmas and fuck you. Have a great life!”

“Fuck you, dickface. Wishing you a miserable Christmas!”

With a bitter smile, you flip him off as he slams the door in your face.

Carrying a basket filled with dirty clothes, Jaemin’s on the way down to the laundry room in the basement of his apartment with his shoulder scrunched up, squeezing his phone to his ear.

“Bro, she had the audacity to say that I didn’t make her come when she was screaming my God damn ear off—”

As he steps down the short flight of stairs and passes by the foyer area by the main entrance to the building, he notices you’re still here.

“Shit, uh, Jeno,” he mumbles. “I’m gonna have to call you back.”

He stuffs his phone into the pocket of his sweats and calls out to you as he strides closer. “Are you resorting to stalking me by my front door now?”

With crossed arms, you peer over your shoulder, eyes full of bitterness.

“Like I wanna be anywhere near you right now,” you grumble. You jerk your head towards the thick, wooden door. “It’s jammed from the snow.”

The laundry carrier shakes his head and places the basket onto the floor. “A little snow never hurt anyone. You’re probably just too weak.”

Stepping aside and holding out an arm, you signal for him to give it a try.

Jaemin twists the handle and, lo and behold, it doesn’t open. His forehead crinkles as he tries again and again, using more force each time.

Glancing through one of the partially frosted windows adjacent to the sides of the door, he notices the snow has piled enormously high, almost to the height of his chest.

“Well, shit.”  

Reluctantly, Jaemin brings you back to his apartment. You’re technically his guest and if he left you in the foyer to freeze, trouble would surely come his way, whether it be in the form of his landlords (also known as his roommate’s parents) or the police.

Without a word, he settles a spoon in a bowl, a carton of milk, and a box of cereal onto the small kitchen table.

At first, you stare at it venomously in rejection, thinking you can easily last a day without any hand-outs from this son of a bitch, but your stomach roars ferociously three seconds later.

As you chew across from him, you enjoy the company of your phone over him, while he does the same but with a cup of coffee in hand.

After finishing your food, you adamantly place your phone down and lean back into the chair, boring holes into his head.

“Why are you such an asshole?” you seethe observantly.

“Why are you such a bitch?” he retorts, not pulling his gaze away from his phone.

“Because you started it,” you say slowly, stating the obvious.

“No, you.”

You sigh defeatedly at his childish behaviour. The weather apps predict the snow will (hopefully) die down by tomorrow morning, thus you’re officially stuck with him for the next twenty-four hours or so. Your hands rake through your hair.

“Whether we like it or not, the snow isn’t going away until tomorrow. Merry Christmas Eve to us, I guess.”

He’s still glued to his phone. You exhale another sigh.

“Since we’re not getting out of this until then, can we just...” You soften your voice. “Start over?”

His eyes are still on the screen, but from the way his shoulders tense and how he stops scrolling, you know he’s considering your proposition.

“At least call a stalemate over this.” You drift your hand in the air, gesturing between you and him.

Blowing out air and shaking his head, he rests his phone onto the table.

“Fine.”

He crosses his arms, imitating you, and the two of you sit there, staring at each other in a long silence.  

One minute, to be exact.

You’re the one to break the silence game by running your hands over your face, letting out a hybrid of a groan and laugh.

“God, the fact that we had sex makes this kinda awkward, huh?”

Jaemin’s exterior melts slightly, letting out a snicker. He shrugs, “Then let’s just pretend that we didn’t have sex.”

“We can’t just pretend that we didn’t have sex,” you say, holding two upturned palms near your face.

“We did it, it’s done. I’ve seen your penis, you kicked me out, and you labelled me a prude—” You dart a finger towards him. “—which I am far from, by the way. All of those are pretty huge things.”

One of the corners of his mouth raises high. “Are you saying my penis is huge?”

“No, the implication of said penis is huge. Wipe that smirk off your face.”

He stretches an arm, holding an imaginary microphone to your face. “Do you deny that my penis is huge?”

Rolling your eyes, you swat his fist away. “What am I, on trial here?”

“Do you plead the fifth then?”

Annoyed, you roll your eyes again. Why do you get the feeling that you’re probably going to be doing this a lot more today? Another feeling tells you that if you don’t answer his question, he’ll probably pester you until you do.

You tilt your head side to side. “It’s... decently sized.”

“Bigger or smaller than average?”

“Perfect...” His eyes light up. “...ly average.” And a frown rolls over.

He squints his eyes accusingly at your sneer. “Are you lying like you did before about faking it?”

You scoff. “I wasn’t lying about faking it, and I’m not lying now about your average sized dick.”

Jaemin releases a disgruntled grumble and lifts his cup to his face. You notice he likes to take his coffee black and bitter, presumably like his heart.

“So, Miss I’m-Not-A-Prude-and-I’ve-Definitely-Had-Sex-Before.” His eyebrows perk up on the word definitely. “What’s your story? Why the last minute one-night stand?”

Shrugging your shoulders to your ears, you reply, “Haven’t had sex in a while.”

“When’s the last time you had sex?” he asks mid-sip.

“Half a year ago,” you respond nonchalantly, perching your chin into your palms.

Jaemin immediately chokes, almost spraying the coffee through his nose.

“Half a year?!” he gasps. It takes him a few hits to his chest to dispel the coughing. “Six months?!”

“Wow, you can count!” you exclaim in a condescending tone. You change the position of your hands so that your chin is now atop of the back of your curled fingers and tilt your head. “Can you also spell?”

“As a premed student, I can assure you that I am capable of doing both,” he says with a slight strain due to the coughing fit. The humble brag brings on another eye roll. Of course he’s a premed student with the attitude he wears.

“It’s just—” He clears his throat and swallows the last bit of coffee stuck in his windpipe. “—The last time I had a dry spell was for like, a month, tops.”

So the fuckboy gets laid way more on the daily than you expect. You’re torn between being envious over how much action he gets in comparison to you, or remorseful, since you’re now just one of the many notches on his bedpost.

No matter, sarcasm is always the best defence mechanism.

“Good for you, Jaemin. I’m sure you’re very proud of that.”

There’s an awkward beat. His head hangs for a moment while his thumbs stroke the sides of his cup. A strange pinch of guilt occurs. Did you overstep an unspoken line? But then he drags himself back to reality in a heartbeat.

Jaemin brings the cup to his mouth again, mumbling, “At least the sex on your part makes more sense now; you’re rusty as fuck.”

Completely aware of what he said, you trash your guilt entirely and narrow your eyes. “What did you just say?”

Following a long sip, he hums, “Mmm, nothing.” Soon after, he stands up with his cup.

“I’m gonna go game now. Feel free to watch Netflix on the TV and stay in the living room.”

As if you had anywhere else to go...  

He begins to walk towards his room as you mutter under your breath, “I’m not a dog.”

“Says the bitch,” he pipes up, taking you by surprise.  

“Thought we had a stalemate?!” you shout, leaning your head forward as you watch him entering his room.  

“Doesn’t mean we’re on peaceful terms!” he sing-shouts.

The flinging of the closed door echoes throughout the apartment.

Regret surges through you. You just had to choose a fuckboy fluent in assholery and end up incidentally being isolated with him during a snow storm on Christmas Eve.

You wonder if you can handle being around him for the next twenty-four hours without killing him first.

During the afternoon, you’re on the living room couch, playing a show as mostly background noise while you’re on your phone. At one point, your phone unsurprisingly begins to die and you tread over to Jaemin’s door to ask for a charger and if you can also take a shower. He’s still annoyed by your existence, but at least he hands you a charger and lets you know where the extra towels are.

Stepping into the living room with the towel in your hand as you dry your hair off, you peer out the large living room window and see nothing but white engulfing the streets and buildings as far as the eye can see.

You pray the snow will eventually stop as soon as possible so you can head back home.

By the middle of the afternoon, Jaemin emerges from his bedroom and shocks you by plopping down on the opposite end of the living room couch from where you’re sitting.

“Bored?” you ask, eyes fixated on the TV screen.

“Nope,” he replies, popping the p as he says it. His slings his arm around the top of the couch.

“Gotta keep an eye on you in case you do something.” Turning away from the screen, he faces you and motions circles with his hand. “You’ve got a little crazy in you, I can feel it.”

You quickly glance over at him, but try to refocus on the TV. “Need I remind you that you’re the crazy one, dragging me out of the apartment right as I woke up.”

That compels him to turn his whole body towards you. “Well, you’re the one who wanted a last-minute one-night stand.”

You match his stance. “As if I’m the first girl in your bed to stay in the morning?”

“Actually, yeah.” He aggressively tilts his head to one side. “Most girls leave before I even get up. The other percentage don’t fight me when I ask for them to go, so it looks like you’re the odd one out.”  

You press your lips together, refusing to admit that maybe he has a point, under the assumption that he’s telling the truth.

Jaemin twists his body back to the screen and adds, “I make it very clear on my profile that I don’t do morning afters, sweetheart.”

And you agree that his profile is clear about his intentions, but that doesn’t mean you can condone his shitty behaviour.

“Well, sorry that I expected just an ounce of respect instead of getting kicked to the curb after you stuck your dick in me,” you grumble, shifting back to the show and crossing your arms.

“Morning afters lead to attachments, and attachments lead to feelings, and feelings lead to relationships,” he says the string of words clinically, as if it’s a mantra that he lives by.

Your eyebrows knit together as you whip your head towards him once more, studying him.

“And what’s so wrong with that?”

Deliberately averting your gaze, Jaemin grates his tongue between his teeth, a slight tsk audibly heard, and his chin juts out. There’s definitely a story behind his ways. He huffs and changes the subject.  

“Seriously?” He holds a hand out. “You’re watching this trashy show?”

Squinting your eyes at him, you could probably interrogate him further, but you decide otherwise.  

“It may be trashy,” you concur, looking at the TV. “But it’s my trashy comfort show.”

Following an over-the-top acted out scene between the show’s main love interests, Jaemin shoots up from the couch.

“Yeah, no, I can’t handle this. Can we either put on something else or game or something?”

“Why don’t you go back to your room to game, Mr. I’m-Not-Bored?”

“Like I said, I gotta keep an eye on you,” he says while bending over in front of the TV, already setting up the Playstation. He tosses you a controller as he strides to his side of the couch again.

He mumbles to himself, “Need to make sure you don’t go crazy from the lack of human interaction.”

Either Jaemin is selfish and only looking out for himself, or he wants to make sure you’re not feeling lonely in a stranger’s home.

Likely the first reason, you deduce—because why would a guy like Jaemin care about a mere one-night stand?

Admittedly, you’re not the best at games, especially at fighting ones. You can comprehend the move lists, but you like to live by button smashing the controller and repeating moves over and over.  

So it’s hilarious when you beat Jaemin every round with your surprisingly fruitful technique.

“Okay, this is bullshit,” Jaemin complains, sticking his tongue out in irritation. His ass is currently being handed to him on a plate again since you’re almost done killing his character off. “You must be lying to me; you have to be a pro player or some shit.”

Jaemin’s health bar is dangerously low as your character jabs his with a sword. He winces out loud and you snicker.

“Why do you think I always lie about everything?! Dude, you have serious trust issues,” you joke before you steal the opportunity to slice his character. One more hit and he’s done for.

“I do not! I just—nooo!”

You rise to your feet and pump your arms in the air, turning in circles in joy over yet another win.

Sulking, Jaemin eyes your little dance from his end on the couch, but as he watches you more, a feeling balloons in his chest. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Finally coming down from your post-win high, you spot an emerging grin from the corner of your eye, making you pause.    

“What?” you eye him suspiciously.

Your suspicion pops the sensation in his chest and, like a fish out of water, his eyes widen and his grin melts away.

“Nothing, uhm.” He ruffles his eyebrows and palms the back of his neck, quickly facing the TV. “Let’s go one more round and then we can switch to another game—”

Suddenly, the TV and surrounding lights switch off. Both of you waver your eyes, anticipating for them to come back on, but they unfortunately don’t.  

Jaemin rushes over to the window. When he swivels his head towards you, his face darkens.

“Looks like it’s at least the whole block. The streetlights are out too.”

Without another word, he dashes to the linen closet and brings back several blankets. He calmly explains that there won’t be heat since it’s connected to the electricity, so it’d be best to keep warm with the extra layers.

Not wanting to scare you, he doesn’t add the fact that due to the huge windows in the apartment, more unnecessary cold air will come in, but you’re already cognizant of it from your own logic and since the remaining heat dissolves rapidly.

You groan and retreat into the massive blanket over your shoulders, turtling your head.

You can’t believe you’re going to fucking die in this asshole’s apartment on Christmas Eve.

On the ends of the couch in your makeshift blanket jackets, both of you attend to your phones for a while.

From what people and the news outlets are saying, it’s not just the block, but the whole city grid is out. You frantically text your friends, giving updates on how you are and half-jokingly telling them that you’re going to die with your dreadful one-night stand. Some time passes and Jaemin tosses his phone  off to one side.  

“Well, since there’s nothing else to do and we should probably conserve our phone batteries—” You glance up at him from your phone and pout. Slowly nodding in agreement, you toss it aside too. “—why don’t we play a game of ‘I’ll-Give-You-Pointers-on-How-to-be-Better-in-Bed’?”

A smile burgeons on his irritatingly handsome face and your eyes roll. At this point, you wonder if the reaction is conditioned into you. “It’ll be my early Christmas gift to you.”

“Wow, so thoughtful, how could I ever thank you?” You drag the blanket closer to your chest in false gratitude.

You think for a serious moment if you really want to go through with this. Hearing Jaemin run his mouth on you unwarranted is already painful, but to give him the go-ahead to do so? Especially criticizing your skills in bed?  

You blow out a sigh, noting the slightly visible cloud. You’re grateful Jaemin has thick, downy blankets.  

Well, if you’re going to die, may as well know what went wrong, right?

“Fine, but if we’re playing this game, we have to say everything honestly and take the criticism we get.” You point a stern finger. “No rebuttals, just acceptance.”

“Wait.” Jaemin crinkles his face in genuine confusion as his hand peeks out from his blanket.

“You have things to criticize about me in bed?”

Your lips tremble before you burst into laughter. Displeasure is on Jaemin’s tight-lipped face as you laugh for a while, almost keeling over in your blanket ball onto the hardwood floor. “How conceited are you, oh, my fucking God?”

He slices his hand through the air. “I’ve never had any complaints—”

“Because you’re too busy focusing on your own orgasm, you selfish dickwad,” you say as your laughter dies down.  

He sits in his snit for a few more moments until he gets over it.

“Fine, fine,” he huffs. Jaemin knows he’s not going to enjoy this, but he’s the one who suggested it. He can’t back out now. “Let’s just get this over with, you go first.”

With your blanket held by your chest, you hop off your end of the couch and shuffle over in front of him where he’s seated. Beaming, you begin.

“Let’s start with foreplay.” Jaemin’s eyes light up with confidence, thinking he’s at least decent with that. You crush his expression as your lips purse and you shake your head.

“Non-existent.”

“What do you mean?! I kissed you as you took off your clothes.”

You stick your free hand out from your blanket, extending your index finger.

“One: you only kissed my lips. You know, there are other parts of me to kiss, like, I don’t know, my neck, my arms, my shoulders.”

You extend another finger. “And, two: it’s weird to not help someone take off their clothes. Like you’re in a super rush to get somewhere or something—”

“We’re fucking!” he cuts in sharply. “This is a one-night stand, not a relationship.”

Closing your eyes and dropping your head, you pinch the bridge of your nose. You sigh in exaggeration.

“Thought we agreed no rebuttals...” you softly sing-say.  

Jaemin’s head sinks a little into his blanket. “Sorry.”

Removing your hand, you shrug. “Maybe there’s some rule that I don’t know about one-night stands, so this could be on me.”

You start to aimlessly tread back and forth in front of him, dragging the blanket along too. “But fuck, foreplay is foreplay for a reason. You work your way up to the heat of the moment and it makes sex much better, regardless if you’re in a relationship with the person or not.”

“Next point.” You stop walking and direct your focus on him. Pointing your finger and looking him dead in the eye, you ask, “Do you know what a vagina is?”

He snorts with a simper. “Uhhh, is this a rhetorical question?”

“No, I’m legit asking,” you say with a raised eyebrow and snarky smile. “Because when you went down on me, all you flicked your tongue at was the outside of it, also called the labia if you didn’t know.”

“I’m premed, of course I—”

“Which is great! But you didn’t go any deeper nor did you go near my clit.”

You thrust your finger again. “Do you also know what that is?”

“Yes...” he groans with the flickering eyelids.

You swipe your arm through the air. “Maybe make use of it, and not only when you go down on girls. Even during sex, touching it is great.”

“And lastly,” you continue. “I’ll be honest here, you have a decent dick.”

Jaemin waggles his finger. “So you were lying before—”

“I wasn’t lying,” you retort firmly. “But anyways, you’ve got the stuff, but why don’t you put it to better use?”

With the following words, you attempt to gesture with your body and execute moves as graphic visuals. Jaemin giggles at the sight.

“Vary the speeds and the angle, don’t just slam it in me and go crazy fast from the get-go. Build up to the climax. Jesus, I couldn’t even get close to coming because you’re like a jackhammer from start to finish.”

When you finally finish, Jaemin’s giggles morph into hollow laughs. Frustration is blatant on your face, pondering if he even absorbed a single word you said.  

After he calms down, he asks, “Are you done?”

You mumble, “Yeah, I think so.”

The two of you switch places. He shuffles onto his feet with his blanket while you sit back on the couch.

Jaemin pulls the blanket across the floor as he ambles. “Okay, your head game is decent—”

“Excuse you, my head game is strong.”

“Uh-uh, rebuttal,” he points out.  

You sigh. Pinching your fingers together, you drag the invisible zipper across your mouth, then wave your hand, allowing him to resume.

“Your head game is decent. You definitely can deepthroat, but—” He mirrors you from before and extends his index finger.

“One: this happened only a few times, but your teeth scraped against my dick, which is why I assumed you were a borderline virgin.”

You fume silently at the accusation, attempting to not speak up with a heap of rebuttals. But he wasn’t wrong—if you teethed on his dick, that’s a classic virgin move.

“But that’s okay, because we already established that you’re just rusty.” Jaemin flashes you a fake comforting smile as he continues to pace. You flash him one back.

“And two—” He holds another finger out. “Don’t be scared to use your hands and stroke me. Give my dick some love. If it’s too wet, just wipe your hands on the bed or something.”

“Okay, duly noted,” you hum. “Next.”

“Don’t be scared to touch me.”

“I touched you so much during—”

He shoots you a glare. You roll your mouth inward, your lips disappearing instantly.

“Your hands were mostly on the sheets, which is hot, but guys like to be felt up too.”

The attractive individual peers up for a second, thinking to himself. “Even hotter when a girl feels herself up during the fucking, but that’s beside the point. Baby steps, just remember to touch the other person.”

Jaemin does a full-stop and faces you.

“And just... don’t fake it.” Distress is evident in his pout. You hate to admit it, but it’s a little cute. He raises an arm and jerks it in the air. “Why do girls fake it?”

“Because guys with egos like you can’t handle criticism,” you reply bluntly.  

“What are we doing, having this conversation, hm?”

“We wouldn’t be having this conversation if it didn’t snow in and keep us here together.” You peel a hand away and gesture to the window. “If I walked out of here this morning, you would’ve just fucked the next girl the same.”

He defends himself, “Faking it just feeds our egos.”

“Yeah, well, if I told you afterwards that I didn’t come, what would you do?”

“Try to make you come in other ways?”

Shaking your head, you scoff. “Guys like you aren’t that considerate.”

“You’re right.” He assents, holding his pointer finger against his chest. “Because guys like me aim to please.”

A brilliant thought leaps in his mind and Jaemin gasps. You can only assume bad things from the wicked smile he sends your way.  

“Why don’t we try it again?”

Perplexed, you squint at him.

“Try what again...?”

“Sex,” he says enthusiastically.

You blankly stare at him.

“You’ve gotta be joking,” you deadpan.

“I mean, there’s nothing else to do and it’ll keep us warm.” 

You continue to stare at him until you groan.

“Oh, my God...” Your blanket droops a bit off your shoulders as you drag your palms across your face. “I cannot believe I’m stuck in this snowstorm with you out of all people...”

Sitting next to you, Jaemin persistently reasons with you. “Think of it also as another learning experience for the future partners we’ll have.”

“Yeah, if we don’t die first!” you shriek.

“We’re not going to die,” Jaemin replies in a mocking tone and a dart of his tongue.  

Outside the window, the snow seems to have slowed down, but not by much.  

God, Jaemin better be fucking right because you want to live to see another day.  

“Fine,” you mutter and match his gaze. “But we have to be vocal throughout the whole thing. Say whatever’s on our mind.”

“Fine,” he agrees to your terms. He produces the same wicked smile again. “But can we film it then? So we can study it after?”

You fire him a death glare that melts his face off, even in the frigid atmosphere.

“I’m joking, I’m joking,” he says, waving his hand.

They say that jokes are half-meant true, but you think Jaemin fully meant it. Still in your blanket jackets, Jaemin snags your free hand and leads you to his room.

“You gotta give me credit for trying, though.”

“No.” You shake your head with an unwilling smile creeping on the edge of your lips. On second thought, maybe the joke was a little funny, but you still stand by your opinion that he’s the most annoying person in the world. “I don’t think I will.”

“Thank God Chenle has so many scented candles...”

On the edge of Jaemin’s bed, huddled by the blanket, you watch him light up several large jars, placing them on his nightstand and desk in hopes to brighten the room. It’s already late afternoon, but one could mistaken it for nighttime with the muddy sky due to the snow.

“Is Chenle your roommate?”

“Yeah,” Jaemin answers with a slight shiver, igniting the last candle near the bedside. He removed his blanket when he went to nab the matches and candles. “His girlfriend gets free ones from work, so she always gives him a shit ton, even though he never uses them.”

With a glowing hue against his face, he blows out the match. He makes his way to you, a cocky grin plastered on him, as he says, “Guess we’re making use of them now, though.”

Before you can even respond, Jaemin gets right down to business—sitting beside you on the mattress, he palms your face and drags you in for a kiss. You softly yelp, but immediately reciprocate.

The cover falls off your body as you reach to touch him, fingers drifting over his solid arms.

You don’t want to stroke his large ego, and maybe it’s because you haven’t had anyone else on you in a while, but Jaemin’s kisses are something else.

The cushiony pair of lips always executes enough pressure against your mouth, increasing and decreasing on command in perfect tandem and timing. His hands hover over your waist and the nape of your neck, fingers sinking into your hot skin.  

His mouth trails downward the side of your neck. You crane your head back, indulging in his caresses as soft moans trickle out.

He gently signals for you to recline back and lay onto the mattress, moving the sea of blankets aside. Inclined on his elbow, almost atop of you, his cool fingers glide under your top layers, his thumb stroking against your stomach.

Pulling away from your body, he tugs on the ends of your clothes. You rise from the bed to better the angle for him to discard of them.

The hairs on your skin are standing on end from the frigid air, but you’re too focused on Jaemin’s mouth migrating over your upper arm and your bra-covered chest to care. Without notice, he stuffs a cup of the bra to one side and takes your bosom into his mouth.

Air’s seized from your lungs and your core contracts from the pleasure. Your fingers tug on Jaemin’s luscious locks and his free hand squeezes your unoccupied breast.    

After a few twirls of his tongue and a gentle drawing of his teeth on the pointed tip, he mumbles hotly into your chest while he thumbs your other nipple, “Foreplay still non-existent?”

“It’s better, I guess,” you sigh with fluttering eyes. His chuckling reverberates against your cleavage, a sign of amusement from your obstinacy. A gasp pierces the room as Jaemin repeats his actions onto the other breast.

He aids you in taking off the rest of your clothes and, obviously aware of your goosebumps and shuddering, tells you to get underneath the blankets while he strips himself.

Under the toasty ocean of layers, despite how both of you are bare-boned and how easy it is to jump into the main act, Jaemin purposefully continues to prolong the foreplay. Side by side, your lips meld endlessly; your legs and hands are intertwined in an amorous pretzel.

Jaemin ensures he doesn’t leave any part of you untouched—the pads of fingers virtually graze over every inch of your body. Each grip and drag of his digits sends you in a frenzy. Your chest is pressed into him and your eyes are blinded with desire.

In the back of your mind, you think about how you were right about foreplay working up to the heat of the moment—literally, because you’re dripping, he’s hard, and you two have embraced so much that you don’t need the blankets anymore.  

On the other hand, you wonder if Jaemin was right about skipping foreplay, because with every whisper of each other’s name, the intimacy rises immensely. You don’t know him, and neither him with you, but you’re both freely drowning in one another in a plane beyond the lust.

Although the room’s beginning to smell of a mix of all the scented candles, Jaemin hones in and drinks in your sweet aroma and your entirety behind his hazy eyes and already tousled hair. All of a sudden, one drag of his fingers over a particular sensitive spot on your body makes you giggle.

“I’m ticklish over there.”

“You mean right—” He drums his fingers over the area again. “—here?”

With a toothy grin, he generates more suffering from you and you begin to lively howl. Soon enough, you beg him to stop.

“You’re such an asshat, c’mon, let me live!”

When he ceases, his head hangs over yours and your gazes connect.

The same feeling blooms in his chest from before in the living room.

He gulps as his eyes waver over your face, unknowingly tracing your beautiful features and etching them into his memory.

Your starry eyes. Your glowing aura. Your everything.

You barely register the change in his expression because he quickly tramples on his moment of weakness by kissing you passionately.

Jaemin whips the blankets aside as he lowers himself between your legs. Your eyes are fixated on him, matching his stare, until he starts to devour you by swiping against your lustrous folds. Your back bows, and, following a few more licks, Jaemin makes a point of his knowledge of the vagina by spreading your lips and ravishing your pussy, tongue penetrating deeply.

Rippled moans release in harmony with your undulating chest. You swear you’re getting more wet, too wet, likely making it overwhelming for Jaemin, but he’s eagerly lapping every drop up.  

“How’s that?” he inquires with a grin, hovering over your trembling nether lips. His mouth is evidently glossy, even under the dim lighting.

“Good,” you pant in the most nonchalant tone you can muster up. “Very good-ahhh—”

Jaemin kindly interrupts you by tonguing your clit as he fingers your sex deeply, shattering your fake indifference.

“Move your tongue up more,” you direct, creasing your eyebrows in despair. He follows your direction, and droning moans ensue.

Jaemin’s immersed in your pleasure, but also adding to his own. The more he laps up your wetness, the more he grinds his length against the bed, aching to be inside of you.

Your desire pulses faster, contracting tighter against his fingers, body winding tensely by the second.

“Fuck, Jaemin,” you whine, leaning your head to one side with a parted mouth. “I’m close.”

He draws back and temporarily replaces his tongue with his thumb.

“Good,” he pants, cocking his head to one side. His eyes are filled with determination. “Because I’m not stopping until you come at least two more times tonight.”

You exhale a light laugh. “That’s ambiti-ohgodohgod—”

His tongue works wonders on your clit once more, so much that he has to brace your bucking hips.

Okay, maybe Jaemin did learn a thing or two and actually listened to what you said during your critique.

But now it’s time to demonstrate to him what you’ve learned.

You don’t need much of a break to catch your breath, nor do you want to immediately freeze due to inactivity, so you pull Jaemin in for an intense kiss, tongue dipping into the remnants of your own nectar, then beckon for him to take your former place on the bed.

Perched on the bottom of your feet, you’re on one side of Jaemin, lackadaisically fisting his prominence. After a few strokes, you gradually swallow his inches, keeping in mind to relax your jaw and to not rush in order to avoid any potential teething. You do this to prove yourself worthy of giving head, but also in spite, because you absolutely do not need Jaemin to brand you a virgin again.  

You read his quiet groans and his long fingers running lazily through your hair as a positive sign and advance further.

Carefully, you rest your tongue beneath the underside of his cock and bob your head, licking him until he’s sopping with your saliva. His grip in your hair grows in strength as his length reaches the end of your throat, his groans becoming more and more drawn-out.

A needy whimper leaves him as you suddenly withdraw. Dribbles of your spit follow, and you wipe it off with the back of your hand.  

“How am I doing?” you glow in a pant, lazily stroking the doused shaft.

He simply nods with half-lidded eyes, barely able to look at you. “Yeah.”

You snicker at him in his breathless position, a prickle of pride running through your spine over the fact that you blew his mind as much as you blew his dick.

“Use your words, Jaemin.”

Teasingly, your fingers curl around his blunt head, soothing the sensitive tip and sending jolts throughout him.

“Fuck—” he pulls his bottom lip upward. “Awesome. You’re doing awesome.”

“Anything to critique?”

“Mm-mm,” he shakes his head restlessly. You revel a bit more in having the upper hand on him a little while longer. You grip him tighter and hasten your speed, leaving him gasping for air.

“Am I still rusty?”

“Nope, nope,” he croaks, voice rising to a whine. “Definitely not rusty.”

“You sure?” His cockiness has transferred over to you.

“Yes, yes—fuck, slow down, please,” Jaemin begs.    

Granting his wish, you abate your rhythm and free his inches from your touch.

You wipe your hands on the sides of the bed while Jaemin rummages through the drawer of his nightstand and hastily rolls over the rubber over himself before he prepares to enter the body beneath his.  

Recalling your advice, Jaemin mindfully starts off slow. You sigh blissfully in sync to his thrusts. He adjust himself, attempting another angle, and you draw in air between your teeth.

“There, there—“

Jaemin’s quick-witted and keeps at it, plunging a bit more vigorously. Out of habit, your hands grasp onto the bedsheets, but you wittingly attach them to his frame. Hands grazing his neck, his firm pecs, and his taut muscles.  

“Touch-touch my stomach,” he orders in a hush.

You hands follow through and feel up the flexed valley of his abs. Feeling up evolves into desperate gripping and even the slight dragging of your nails.

“Your abs are so fucking hot,” you state thoughtlessly, eyes eating up the view alongside his cock disappearing in and out of you. “Jesus, fuck.”

“Yeah?” he rasps with that devilish smirk of his. God, you want to smack it off him, but not right now—not when you’re reaching euphoria. “You’re not just saying that?”

Oh, you’ve definitely stroked his ego now, but there’s no turning back. Truth spills from you on a whim.

“You’re a fucking masterpiece,” you gasp acutely.

You’re starting to wither away, yet, as if they have a life of their own, your hands drift away from him and find a new home atop your breasts.

“You make me feel so good, Jaemin...”

Jaemin’s eyes go wide. His mouth hangs at the lewdness of you touching yourself.

“Fuck, holy shit.”

His gaze doesn’t leave your ecstatic face or humming body for a second as you knead your breasts and tweak your nipples between your fingers. Your back arches further when Jaemin deepens his sweet, fulfilling thrusts. He’s holding himself back, not wanting to end this beautiful deed just yet.

The stimulation bursts over your body, both from your own doing and Jaemin’s.  

You plead, “Faster, please, faster.”

And he complies, but he also rubs your bundle of nerves, causing a tight knot in you to build up and your shallow moans transform into heavy screams. You clasp onto his back and claw at the protruding shoulder blades.  

“I’m-I’m—”

You clench, both with your core and your nails digging into him, but Jaemin’s unrelenting, capturing your second peak for the evening.

Instead of coming after you, he shockingly veers lower and closer to you and curbs his pace.

“Was that real?”

You respond with an exhausted nod. Oddly, the smile he shows this time isn’t arrogant, but warm and teetering the line of tenderness. His lips fuse with yours before they stray towards your neck. The passion stews as he sucks your tits, all the while lunging laxly into you.  

With an obscene pop!, Jaemin removes himself from your nubs.

“Ready for the last round?”

His fast thrusts, hitting you precisely in the best spot, cloud your already weakened logic, deterring you from making any response.    

Perspiration is blatant on both individuals. For him, his forehead glistens gorgeously with his damp hair. For you, the back of your bent knees are gluing together. Your bodies are about to pass out, but you both persevere until the end.

As you convulse and perish together in beautiful agony, coincidentally enough, the bulbs in the room and in the streets leap to radiance.

Together, you collapse onto the bed side by side, panting heavily and laughing.

“Told you we weren’t going to die.”

You turn your head to see Jaemin looking at you with a cheeky grin. In retaliation, you stick your tongue out.

By nighttime, it’s finally stopped snowing outside. However, the streets won’t be cleared until morning, at the very least.

But... you’re surprisingly okay with that.

In a turn of events, the sex inexplicably makes the two of you warm up to each other. There still is targeted banter and tension between you, lingering from before, but it’s less hostile and more playful.

During a fancy Christmas Eve dinner of microwavable pizzas, you poke fun at each other’s majors and discuss your respective hobbies in depth, especially his love for photography. Jaemin even asks if he can take a picture of you, claiming that the kitchen lighting actually looks nice on someone for once.  

“Is that how you collect the memory of your one-night stands? Instead of hanging their skins in your closet, you sweet-talk your way and keep all the photos of them?” you joke, referring to the video call from yesterday night. It feels like an eternity ago, but snowstorms tend to do that.

He chuckles behind the camera as he snaps a photo of you scrunching your face cutely.

“Yeah, but you’re the first one who has clothes on,” he says, glancing down at the photo on the camera roll.  

“Ugh, gross,” you cringe and take a sip of tea.

Jaemin doesn’t add anything further. He leaves out the fact that he never keeps any traces of his one-night stands, that you’re the first girl he’s taken a picture of in a while.  

After a few hours of more talking and even some gaming with one another, sleep is much needed. Jaemin offers an extra toothbrush and a sweater and pair of sweats to sleep in. You’re facing each other on his bed, noses almost touching.  

“It’s been a while since I haven’t had sex with a girl before I slept next to them,” he whispers, adjusting himself comfortably. The side of his face rests on his piled hands. “It’s kinda nice.”

You cover your mouth as you yawn, then lay your hand back under your head, reflecting the same position as Jaemin.

“You know, it might be my sleepiness talking, but maybe you’re not the worst person in the world to be stuck with during a snowstorm.”

A lovely chuckle echoes in your ear. “I’m glad you’ve had a change of heart.”

After a few moments, your eyes are fluttering to a close until he softly calls out your name.

“Hm?” you stir awake, but not by much.

“Do you...?”

Jaemin doesn’t know what’s gotten to him, doesn’t quite understand why the defences he built for so long are crumbling down in only a day of knowing you.  

And yet, something urges him to give it a chance.

Blowing out a shaky sigh, he anxiously intertwines his fingers with yours. You hum softly at the action and a small smile blooms on your face.

“Do you want to go on a date with me sometime?”

“Hm?” His question doesn’t take you aback as much as you would be if you were fully awake. But even in your drowsy state, you have quips in hand. “Jaemin, the notorious fuckboy and serial one-night stander, wants to go on a date?”

“Yeah,” he replies gently, brushing your loose hair out of your face.

Another yawn. “I thought you said you don’t want feelings and relationships and all that shit.”

His fingers trace your pretty jawline and shrugs. “One date doesn’t mean we’re going to be in a relationship, I’m sure you know that.”

You pause for a good two seconds, but the two seconds feel like forever for Jaemin.

“Mmm, fine. One date, just one.” You barely hold up your pointer finger. “And only because it’s Christmas tomorrow. ‘Tis the season to be giving...”

Relief washes over Jaemin in the form of a smile. Embracing the blatant feeling in his chest this time, he plants a light kiss on your nose and wishes you sweet dreams, even though you’ve already fallen soundly asleep.  

Sunlight pours over your eyes on Christmas morning.

Déjà vu peculiarly creeps up on you, but the only thing that’s the same as yesterday is waking up in Jaemin’s bed.

He’s next to you this time, deep in his peaceful slumber, instead of waiting for you to leave by his doorframe. The snow has finally stopped, and you think you hear the faint noises of snow plows outside. You inhale deeply and also notice the faded aroma from all the scented candles from last night.

The scenes of yesterday flicker across your mind. The incredible sex. The talking. The dinner. The interlocking of his fingers with yours.

The date he asked you out on.

You stare at him, watching him sleep with a sense of content.

Turning your body, you routinely check your phone, which is charging beside his. You have a slew of Merry Christmas texts from several chats and a few private messages from your friends.

Your attention falls on Jaemin’s phone when it lights up with a notification, likely texts from his friends and family too.

But that’s not what you’re focusing on.

Your heart sinks at the sight of his lockscreen.

It’s a picture of him and a girl kissing.

A twinge emerges in your chest and twists harder and harder.

Jaemin being a fuckboy, you can respect. People can do whatever they want with their lives.

But to cheat?

That’s unforgivable, and a true sin if there ever was one.

You scramble to dash out of there, careful not to make any noises in fear of waking Jaemin up. However, Jaemin’s sensitive to the sounds of the front door, so he rouses awake. His eyes flit open, noticing how you’re gone. He then sees his phone blowing up and adds two and two together.

With his phone in hand, Jaemin rushes to get on a coat and stuffs his feet into his boots, not giving a shit that he’s wearing his thin pajamas in the coldness. He’s bounding down the flight of stairs and onto the bright, white wonderland of the streets.

He swivels his head and catches sight of you almost past down the block, slowly trekking through the thick snow. Jaemin sprints, as much as he can, and hops towards you.  

He yells your name, making others on the street turn, but you don’t. You continue forward without looking back.

“Wait! I can explain!”

You’re trying to gain speed, but cardio isn’t your friend. Thankfully for Jaemin, it’s a close friend for him.

“I don’t wanna fucking hear it, Jaemin,” you grunt, hearing the rapid crunching of his shoes coming closer. “Get lost.”

“No, listen to me for a second.”

The boyish man grasps you by the arm and turns you around. You throw his arm away from you and he holds his hands in the air, letting you know that he respects your space. He drops his hands and sees that you’re seething, even worse than you were when he kicked you out yesterday.

“How are you going to explain your lockscreen with you kissing your fucking girlfriend?! Hm?”

“Ex,” he pants in clarification. “Ex-girlfriend.”

Your eyebrows mesh together in utter confusion.

“Okay? That doesn’t make me feel any better, knowing that you’re still hung up on your ex.”

Jaemin shakes his head and rakes a hand through his hair. You note the large clouds he exhales and how he’s barely wearing any clothes. A tinge of sympathy passes through you, wanting to give him some of your clothes for extra layers, but you smother that quickly in your state of rage.  

“I’m not hung up on her. Remember you asked me yesterday why I don’t want girls to stay the next morning?”

You cock your head impatiently, as if saying, “Yeah.”

“Well, I don’t want to attach myself to girls. I can’t. I...”

He lowers his head to one side. Shutting his eyes, a long puff emits from his mouth.

“She cheated on me.”

The snow plows in the distance can’t compare to the pumping of your heart in your ears. All the feelings you felt in the last day, but especially in the last fifteen minutes, jumble together in your head, making you feel uneasy and unsure of what to exactly feel or comprehend of the situation.  

But you do know one thing, despite the fact that you two barely know each other, the pained look on his face is real—that this is the untold story behind his ways.  

Jaemin lifts his head and holds out his phone for emphasis. “The lockscreen serves as a constant reminder that dating and feelings will and can fuck me up.”

Carefully, he steps a little closer to you and slowly cups your face in his shaking hands. You don’t pull away nor is there the same anger from moments before, so he daintily runs his thumbs over your cheeks.

“Until you showed me yesterday that maybe I’m willing to give it all another shot. Risk it all for fuck knows what, but you make it look like it’s worth it.”

He continues his ramble after adjusting some of your hair from the ongoing breeze.

“Sure, it’s Christmas today, but I don’t want you to say yes to going on a date with me just because it is. I want you to say yes because maybe you like spending time with me just as much as I like to spend it with you.”

You’re completely disoriented—your eyes are shifting everywhere but his eyes and your lips are quivering with no words coming out. He sighs understandingly. 

“Look, I know you’re probably having second thoughts and you don’t have to give me an answer right now. Think on it for as much time as you need, but I want you to know that I genuinely like you and I want to go on an actual date with you.”

He peels his hand away from your face and raises it into the air as if taking an oath.

“I, Na Jaemin, the notorious fuckboy and serial one-night stander, will devote to monogamy once again if it means I can date you.”

His hands grab yours, kisses the back of them, and then he presses one kiss onto your icy cheek prior to walking away.

“Merry Christmas,” he says with a sad smile. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

Later that evening at your large family’s Christmas party, you take another dreadful gulp of your wine.

It’s the happy holiday season, but why does everyone feel the need to stick their nose in your dating life? Well, really, a lack there of.

“Why are you still single?” Layers of their voices resound the same question in your head. You take another swig.

Potential unsaid answers that you kept to yourself fly around as you swish the drink in your glass.  

Because you choose to be.

Okay, not really, but it’s the easiest answer.  

Because you haven’t found the right guy to get you back in the game.

What does that even mean? What makes the right guy even right?

The right guy? It’s someone who makes you laugh, someone who gives as good as they can take it, someone who wants you just as much as you do.

The cogs move in your head as you take one more sip before you finally come to the conclusion—  

Because you didn’t find the right guy until last night.

Despite the mess of today and yesterday morning, you realize that Jaemin is... actually sort of sweet. Annoying, yes, but he keeps you on your toes. It’s a plus that he’s easy on the eyes, but it’s a bigger plus that he’s even easier to talk to.

And if he can find it in his scorched heart to trust you, you can find it in your heart to trust him too.  

You quickly say your good-byes to your family and let them know you have other plans with friends tonight.

As the Uber rolls up to his apartment building, you realize you probably should’ve messaged him on Tinder, but it’s worth a shot to see if he’s home. Anyways, impulsiveness is a controlling entity, as evident from your Christmas Eve Eve’s adventure.

And in retrospect, perhaps Jaemin was the perfect pick of the crop after all.  

Someone’s entering the building and lets you in behind them. You take the stairs two at a time and hear booming music coming from his floor. At first, you assume it’s from other apartments, but it’s all coming from one—his.

Without a thought, your knuckle taps the door.  

A handsome figure that’s definitely not Jaemin opens the door. Behind him, you see a group of young men scattered around the living room, and some have a few girls tucked under their arms.

The man eyes you up and down with a spark in his eye. He’s not Jaemin, but he surely reminds you of him.

“And who might you be?” he asks.

“Who’s at the door, Jeno?” An unknown male voice hollers in a high pitch from the couch. He’s one of the guys with a girl attached to him.

You blink. “Uhm, I’m—”

“She’s with me!” Jaemin shoves the flirty stranger aside and tugs you by your wrist, making headway to his bedroom. He flips the light switch on and the door clicks shut.

“What are you doing h—”

You cut him off with a kiss.

An innocent one, at first, with hints of alcohol on each other’s lips. Your arms wrap around the other and the passion increases with the mingling of your tongues, each party tasting and confirming the specific drinks you both consumed tonight.  

Jaemin forces himself to pull away and presses his forehead against yours. “Did you just come all the way here to kiss me, or...?”

“Maybe I came over to ask... if I can stay with you for another night?” you playfully ask, fingers intertwining behind the nape of his neck.  

He chuckles heartily. His fingers sink into the sides of your waist. “Is my dick that great? The sex with me that amazing?”

“Mmm, that’s definitely a benefit,” you agree, fluttering your nose against his. “But I want more than that—“ You poke a finger to his chest. “—I want the man behind the dick.”

Your gazes converge, bringing you together as one.

“I want to go on that date with you. I want you, Jaemin.”

He flashes a megawatt smile that could compete with a million Christmas lights, but it fades suddenly and you’re unsure why he seems like he’s about to bawl his eyes out.

“That’s so beautiful, I might cry.” He brings a finger to his eye, pretending to shed a tear.

Oh, yeah—you’re definitely going to need to hire someone to constantly shove your eyeballs back into your sockets if you’re going to date Jaemin.

“Oh, shut up,” you whisper, yanking him in for another kiss.

Three dates later, including a memorable New Year’s Eve, you finally decide to rid of the Tinder app for good.

With his arm around you on his living room couch, Jaemin glances over your shoulder.

“Really? You’re finally deleting your Tinder?”

You snort in disbelief. “That’s gold, coming from the King of Tinder himself. When did you delete?”

He turns to face the television and shrugs coolly.

“Maybe I didn’t.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you,” you nod, eyes still on your phone.

“Nah, I’m kidding, I did.”    

You sharply turn your head.

“No way. When?” you press with narrow eyes.  

A shy smile emerges on Jaemin’s face as he picks his pants over his thighs.

“On the night of Christmas Eve, after you agreed to go on a date with me.”

[m0nstermeathead]

Honest Review Rune Factory 5

From an old fan of the series. I just needed some place to get this off my chest cause I’m really sick of seeing reviews that don't point out the obvious flaws of this game… The gameplay itself is extremely fun and I absolutely love all the monster taming… I’m really glad there were more LGBT+ options in the game as well. I will give them credit for that… But I'm really surprised no one has brought up the problematic romances in the game? I really hope I'm not alone here because the young romantic interests and MC make it hard to enjoy the game… And you can’t use “Well it’s just because the MC is young too” because there are two older looking bachelors for the MC. In fact, I got the game for Murakumo because I loved his design. I’m a simple woman, I enjoy half animal people, but it’s so hard because he just seems really creepy for marrying the MC. 

In a world where child marriage is a real issue it just makes me sad its another game Romanizing child-like characters when they don't have to be. There’s not enough representation as well seeing as there’s so far only one character with dark skin and it’s barely there and she’s a loli… and on top of that the only plus size character has hamster cheeks… :o( I understand this game is also for kids, but the lack of concern for age gaps brings up problematic examples for kids. I know because I remember other forms of media totally brainwashed me when I was a child. I was talking to 20+ year old men like it was totally normal and I was completely taken advantage of. An entire generation of children were… I’m tired of people using that excuse too like kids dont deserve better games? And on top of that, there have been so many games this year that have just been disappointing because as someone who’s in the process of learning how to make games, you can see just how lazy companies have gotten because we as consumers don't seem to hold them accountable at all when we’re the ones buying all this shit. If none of that swayed you, I paid $60.00 for this game and with the quality and low frame-rates I don't consider this a game worth $60.00. Maybe if you get it on sale? But that's also if you’re comfortable with the extremely young cast. I had to rant somewhere, I’m hoping as I learn I can pick up good modding tips so I can just start modding little girls and boys out of games as romantic interests. Especially when the younger women are birthing children right after being married.  He just looks like a man in his 30s marrying someone that’s no older than 16.  And don't get me started on the bachelorettes? 

[queeriboh]

Okay then, what’s your Mokuba deep character analysis? 😗

Also, are you talking DM version or manga version or both lol. I’m assuming DM but idk

omg I definitely didn't expect anyone to actually ask wow!! okay! well personally and like, for my RPverse, I like to blend canon from the manga and anime. like prioritizing manga first and fleshing it out with anime details that dont directly contradict anything. I feel like the s0 manga sets up everyone's characters in such an integral way that without it, the anime versions of the characters all fall a little bit flat and some of their motivations aren't very clear.

but I specifically I was just thinking about Mokuba's character and development in the early manga and how its too important to ignore because it shows just how jaded and corrupted he was by Gouzaburou and Seto's hatred and how much he's willing to grow compared to his brother and step father. like he started out following his brother so closely and blindly that, as an actual child, he poisoned and watched Joey writhing in pain and just laughed, but by the end of the next year, he was going behind Seto's back to try and get help for Joey after he lost to Marik.

( which!! I'm absolutely obsessed with the headcanon of Joey becoming a better brotherly influence in Mokuba's life post canon. to the point I have a very strong headcanon about Mokuba using a Red Eyes centric deck but this post is already long so I won't over explain that rn ))

I think about how he was so ready to be cruel, to be vindictive just to hear his brother praise him once. how he wanted so badly to win their bet and outshine Seto, because that was the only way he could see worth in himself was by making his brother proud.

I 100% believe that Mokuba is the more intelligent Kaiba Brother. he is constantly out performing his brother on all intellectual, strategic, mechanical, and even social aspects for his age, but everyone is so impressed by Seto's new accomplishments that no one notices Mokuba growing and learning at a much faster rate.

I think that if Yami hadn't had his own moment of growth and decided to pull Mokuba out of Seto's holographic penalty game, Mokuba could have become just the most unhinged (and hilarious) villain. but I love that his change in attitude wasn't an immediate 180. like sure he instantly decided to do the right thing and go save Honda, and after Yugi won he told him their origin story and everything. but when they meet again at Duelist Kingdom, Mokuba swears he still hates Yugi, and points a lot of the blame for Pegasus getting the opportunity to even try his evil plan at the fact Yugi put Seto in a coma and, by the way, when IS he going to wake up, Yugi??? I like that he's still got that grudge months later, and that he does finally try and let it go after Yugi saves not only him, but Seto too.

and that kid has ?? so much trauma oh my god. these are all just headcanons but. he's claustrophobic from the capsule monsters penalty game. he thinks about how willing he was to kill someone, and spends nights wondering, what if I'd really done it? he sleeps with a light on after duelist kingdom because waking up in a dark room takes him right back to the dungeon.

okay I rambled a whole lot without really saying anything I think so I'm going to just cjejdjesbwj stop here but s0 makes Mokuba SUCH a fascinating character to me like he's just the perfect blend of unhinged, tragic, and unbelievably hilarious that I spend a lot of time at work thinking about how he's going to grow up. I have like 800 different post canon aus just depending on things like. if he takes over Kaiba Corp and finally focuses on building theme parks for underprivileged children instead of card games and revenge. or does he resent the corporate life eventually and sell the company? or does he destroy it completely?? how much of his own interests, goals, and personality did he sacrifice for his brother and how much of it can he ever get back???

[cometcrystal]

rating (almost) every velma dinkley look

classic velma (several series and movies) - literally ushered in a new age of feminism. there weren’t many women on television that were styled like velma before velma. literally NOTHING bad can be said about this look and that’s why her look hasn’t changed as often as fred and daphne’s 10/10

a pup named scooby doo velma - i watched my first pup episodes today and i literally almost teared up several times from how genuinely fucking adorable this velma is. she’s so goddamn SMALL and canonically partially nonverbal and her friends respect her so much. this is probably my favorite velma of all time. ∞/10

what’s new scooby doo velma - her outfit doesn’t change here from classic velma, but her hair’s a different color and is a bit messier, so i’ve listed her separately for this list. i like the added dimension the messy hair adds to this velma: makes it seem like she’s stayed up until 4am on a wikipedia deep dive. very in character but i like her og hair color better so 9/10

more under the cut

mystery incorporated velma - a lot of people don’t like the bows but tbh i’m a fan for some reason. couldn’t explain why. this also gives us a shorter-sleeved sweater instead of one without rolled up sleeves which is something i just noticed. canonically gay but still gets a lot of in-universe comments about how ugly she is which is just not true and it makes me sad 8/10

scoob! velma - points added for canon latina velma but points taken away for gina rodriguez 5/10

be cools cooby doo velma - you are all SO MEAN to this velma because 1. she’s from be cool 2. she’s one of the first (if not the first) to be voiced by kate micucci and that’s just completely not fair. you all just miss mindy cohn and none of that is kate’s fault she’s just doing the best she can. and this velma is cute as hell anyway im always a fan when characters with glasses just have dots for eyes 10/10

linda cardellini velma pre-possession (scooby doo 2002) - like the icon she’s modeled after, she ushered in a new wave of feminism, this time lesbian-oriented. 100000/10

linda cardellini velma post-possession (scooby doo 2002) - i just don’t like the flippy swoosh hair on velma sorry. this entire outfit choice was the result of an alien’s take on young adult culture and not anything velma picked for herself so 7/10

linda cardellini velma (monsters unleashed) - the wig’s worse and it’s a swoop neck sweater not a turtleneck but its still velma so 1000/10

linda cardellini makeover velma (monsters unleashed) - literally just realized in both 2000s LA movies velma gets a makeover to make her Hotter and i dont like that very much. anyway points given for being extremely attractive ig and points taken away for this being velma trying to impress a man 5/10

hayley kiyoko velma (the mystery begins & curse of the lake monster) - this velma is so much better than yall give her credit for. not only is lesbian jesus hayley kiyoko playing her, but there’s like... 0 het plot in her first movie. it’s all in the 2nd one. and ms kiyoko is giving us an absolute master class in acting. a couple points deducted for the shelma in lake monster but this velma is still extremely good regardless 8/10

sarah gilman velma (daphne and velma) - terf bangs dinkley. really though she’s not THAT bad the only bad part of this velma is her wig and the actress’s FEW awkward acting moments. you guys just hate things made by women for women and girls 8/10

scooby apocalypse velma - ik shelma happens in this series and i haven’t finished it yet but this is still god tier velma. she’s extremely small you just can’t see it in this pic and she’s got an arc fitting to the series’ dark tone where she’s the one who started the apocalypse in the first place iirc and it’s extremely good. 100000/10

shaggy and scooby doo get a clue velma - you can’t see it in this pic but this velma :3s a lot which is a velma staple. 10/10

mystery map velma - have you guys watched this special? you should because velma’s EXTREMELY cute in it. she doesn’t look as much like pup velma as the other charas look like their pup versions but im still a big fan 10/10

where’s my mummy velma - literally the baddest bitch on the planet. in her natural habitat: academic study. and she still has time to be the villain for this movie. 10/10

winter velma (classic) - she doesn’t have time to f*ck around. she just puts on a hat and scarf after daphne gets onto her for not bundling up in the cold. her sleeves are still rolled up and she doesn’t even have tights or anything to cover her legs. she has better things to do than worry about than hypothermia 10/10

winter velma (wnsd) - this winter velma is more practical than the last but retains her pompom hat. LOVE the red boots 10/10

alien invaders velma - LOVE this breezy summer butch lesbian look. just a tshirt and shorts what more do you need really. one of my fav velma looks 10000/10

aloha scooby doo velma - this is basically her alien invaders look but with a lighter top and a lei. get this bread queen 100/10

legend of the vampire velma - people in the discord were hating on this look but tbh i don’t think it’s BAD it’s just not velma. if you put this outfit on daphne it’d work perfectly as a garish rock n roll getup imo. so 5/10 for effort

big top scooby doo velma - oh to be a tiny lesbian in a hideous outfit being lifted by a strongman 10/10

intro animation velma (several movies) - she leedol and she :3 but one point off for blue eyes 9/10 

stage fright intro velma - everything from this intro automatically gets full marks from me 10/10

first frights velma - this made me realize the models in this game are probably designed after the 2000s LA movies 6/10

daphne and velma books velma - i think this is the 2nd velma with swoop bangs instead of bowl bangs (the 1st being hayley kiyoko) and i don’t hate it. i also enjoy hoodie velma 10/10

xbox/ps2/gmod velma - i can only find this tiny image of her and the only thing this image conjures is the high pitched screaming from charborg’s solver squad series 10/10

lego velma - LEGO BOUCE LEGO BOUCE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA 1000000000000000000000/10

lego blowout beach bash velma ft. fred because i forgot him in my fred ratings post - LEGO BOUCE LEGO BOUCE BUT THIS TIME SHES IN A LESBIAN HAWAIIAN SHIRT AND SHES WITH HER BEST FRIEND AND LESBIAN ALLY FRED WHO IS IN A TRANS HAWAIIAN SHIRT HYUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU 100000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000/10

[atsunflower]

Hospital for souls — Tokyo nights.

Rated: SFW

Author note: Man, this one took me ages to write. And I don't even know how I could write this much for the second chapter, this is about 3,2k words. I'm tired because I decided to change lots of things in this chapter and I hope you all like it. Also, feedbacks are much appreciated!

Warnings: This chapter contains cursing, swearing, graphic descriptions of blood, violence and surgical procedures (Kind of inaccurate but only for writting purposes. Don't do it at home, kids). Also, there are slight mentions of anxiety, OCD and PTSD.

Enjoy the reading!

II — Tokyo nights

Previous || Next

You felt anxious.

Everytime you walked through Itachiyama halls, the hairs in your nape would stand and your skin, prickle in fear; a bitter taste would take over your mouth because everything was too much.

"Look, you don't have to worry. Itachiyama wouldn't dare to lay a hand on you because it would mean war." The memory of Suna's voice did nothing to soothe your nerves.

You knew that Inarizaki did not care. If anything, Itachiyama harming you would be like killing two birds with a stone: the Miya would get rid of your existence and then, have a excuse to go after your husband. "They know the twins' intentions, you know. It's not like Sakusa is dumb. Being honest, the guy is the most cautious man I ever saw" you recalled Suna saying it in your wedding's eve.

But one month after the deal, you still felt suffocated.

You opted to lay low and don't wander around the house; Sakusa's men were still suspicious of you and kept sending nasty glares in your direction whenever they saw you.

Since you weren't allowed to work anymore, boredom was killing you. At least, the maids were nice enough — or just too afraid to go against the lady's will — and let you do as you pleased. You then took over some house chores to busy yourself.

Cleaning, tidying and baking.

Sometimes gardening when you needed some fresh air.

"What a shame for Oyabun-sama, his lady is lowering herself to the peasants' level" you would hear some gossip here and there. Not that you cared, though.

"Sakusa-sama" you heard the housekeeper calling, the new name still foreign to your ears.

"Kaede-san? Do you need something?" The old woman wearing a green hakama stood in front of you, accompanied by a girl with dark blond hair.

"This is Kuribayashi Runa, the new maid working here" she said presenting the young woman by her side. The latter politely bowed at you.

"New maid? Why?"

"I'm afraid it's not appropriated the lady take care of house chores. These are strict orders from Komori-sama" her tone was dry. Kaede was never hostile towards you, but you could tell she wasn't fond of your presence either. "Also, remember you're having lunch with oyabun-sama today"

You released a shaky breath, dismissing their presence.

Why yakuza was taking even the smallest things from you?

Prying to the clock on the nightstand, you realized it was past noon and the lunch hasn't been served yet. Sakusa didn't show up either.

After being destitute of your duties, you went for a shower and killed time by reading in your bedroom.

Did something happen? You wondered.

Punctuality was something very fancied in this household and everything inside the mansion functioned like clockwork.

But how come Sakusa didn't show up yet? Why the food isn't set?

"[Name]" The door to your bedroom was open without ceremony, Komori's voice sounding harsh when he called you. The look on his face wasn't amicable either. "Sakusa wants to see you. Now."

The brown haired male did not spare you another glance, turning his back to you. You followed the tall man in an auto-pilot mode, already dreading whatever was going on.

The Kobun was taking you to Sakusa's office.

The large doors always made you feel unsettled; you never were there before. Being called to this room sent shivers down your spine.

Komori knocked the door only to the faint voice of your husband acknowledge your presence. Getting in, you were stunned. The whole mansion held a modern architecture with a minimalist design, and this room was true to Itachiyama's style.

The walls were pristine white and the floorboards were dark and shiny. The furniture held the impersonal style your husband seemed to appreciate and was clean to the eyes. Everything millimetrically positioned, aesthetically appealing.

By the glass wall, Sakusa stood proud. His back facing you, body clad in a black suit. The way he admired the stunning land through the windows held a power you never saw before.

Right now, he looked like a god rulling his own creation.

"Komori, go" his stone cold voice ordered the other male. The kobun did as he was told, leaving you two in this sinister room.

"I don't know if you are too brave ou just too dumb" he didn't turn to face you. The cold tone boomed loud within your ears and you felt cornered.

Forget the god thing. The man in front of you was the demon himself.

"What do you mean?" You asked, brows furrowing when suddenly, his enraged features loomed over you, even from afar.

"Don't fucking play dumb. I've warned you to stay out of my way" his menacing stare made the breath hitch in your throat "Where is the fucking folder?"

"I don't know what are you talking about!" You meekly replied, seeing his body growing close to yours.

"Thats it. You have a death wish." He merely stated "You're the only enemy inside this fucking house"

Without knowing what was going on, you didn't stand a chance to defend yourself. You tried opening your mouth in protest but your brain didn't come up with anything.

"Listen. I don't have the time to play whatever game you and those brothers of yours are planning." Sakusa scowled "In the first opportunity, you get to screw up. Fascinating."

"I don't even know what you're talking about" the cry left your mouth and your body trembled. The man before you grimaced at your outburst. He let out an exasperated breath, still trying to keep his cool.

"Do you expect me to believe you? Fine, I'll play along, then" He sat at the imposing chair behind his desk "The manila folder that was on this desk was stolen. You're the only one inside this house who has reasons to take it."

"It wasn't me! I never entered this room before!" You retorted, anxiety crawling in your skin. He fished his cellphone from his pockets, reading whatever on his screen

"Can't be proven, though it looks like we didn't find anything in your stuff–"

"Wait! You fucking messed with my things?" You cut him off in rage, observing him reaching over for a flask on the wooden surface.

"Well, you messed with mine first." He said while rubbing some hand sanitizer on his palms.

You rolled your eyes at his antics.

"Whatever" and then turned to leave.

"Where are you going?" The sarcastic voice filled your ears, making your steps to halt "As much as I despise it, you won't be out of my sight anytime soon"

God, You trully hated it here.

It was nighttime and true to his words, neither Sakusa nor Komori left you alone for the whole day.

Their presence was unnerving, to say the least, and everytime they talked to each other, you body went stiff.

Their speech wasn't explicit as you thought it would be. Both of them treated the matter as if they were making normal business instead of some yakuza stuff.

It didn't sound violent.

But you knew better.

"Have Fukuroudani made contact yet?" The Oyabun asked.

"Yes. Konoha told me they will be waiting by eleven" Komori peered at his watch "One hour to go. We should get going, then"

Sakusa turned his attention to you.

"Go get changed. We're leaving in ten minutes."

You did as you were told; black would do, you decided. Grabbing a wool coat and a satin scarf, you were ready to go.

Why the hell Tokyo nights were so cold at this time of year?

In the living room, Sakusa and Komori were waiting for you.

"Man, bringing [Name] along will be a pain" the brown haired male said while stretching.

"The stolen docs were about this meeting. We gotta bring her along if Inarizaki tries to do something" The taller one reasoned.

"Ah shit, this is so fucked up. I dont know how you agreed to it" Komori lamented.

Being honest, neither Sakusa did.

"Why do I have to tag along?" Your voice startled them. Your husband scowled at you while Komori opened the front door, both males ignoring your question.

A sleek black car was waiting for you three. Komori took the driver seat and Sakusa sat on passenger's side. You found comfort in the beige leather of the backseat, appreciating the warmth provided by the air conditioned.

"Shouldn't we bring more men with us?" The Kobun asked.

"There's a back up car in downtown. They can reach us in no time if something comes up" Sakusa said while covering his face with a mask "Also, I doubt someone would dare to mess with both Fukurodani and Itachiyama" He spared a glance at you through the rearview mirror.

You sighed. Anxiety didn't let you be for the whole day and now, fear was taking its toll on you.

With your temple resting on the window, you observed the city lights.

You loved Tokyo and how bright it was, although, you loved the suburbs even more; the industrial aesthetic and the narrow streets brought you the comfort you didn't feel in the last three months.

You lived here for your whole life, after all.

It wasn't a surprise when you spotted the building you used to live in.

A surge of homesickness found its place in your guts and your chest constricted in longing.

The drive lasted five more minutes before Komori parked the car by a hangar. When you lived in this neighbourhood, the place was deem abandoned with its vandalized walls and rusty gates. But inside there, you found our the interior was really neat, proving you wrong.

"Sakusa-san, Komori-san!" A blonde male came into view, eyeing you with wariness. "I see you brought your lady tonight. It's a pleasure having you here, miss" the indifferent tone of his voice said otherwise, tough.

You merely noded at him while the heads of Itachiyama greeted the man.

"Shall we start, then?"The blond asked before opening a door to your right. You felt unsettled knowing they wouldn't want your presence there.

"As you wish, Konoha-san" was all Sakusa said while a woman appeared out of nowhere.

"I'm afraid your wife would be pretty bored in our meeting. Yukie here will keep her company for the time being." The man Konoha pointed at the brunette with short hair. Sakusa sent you a hard stare before entering the room.

You both sat on some wooden boxes filled with god knows what. You eyes wandered through the hole place, trying to find something entertaining.

The woman hadn't said anything for a whole eternity before breaking the silence.

"So, Miya-san, huh?" The way she said the damned name tickled you off.

"I'm no Miya"

"Yeah, I know. I've heard of you" Yukie chuckled, looking at you with despise. You cocked a brow ate her.

"Sure you did" She was about to retort before the door was open again.

"Well, it's always a pleasure to make business with Itachiyama. We will see you off, then" Konoha said before reaching for the exit.

It was long past midnight when the meeting ended. The five of you were by the gates, Konoha and Komori doing some chit-chat, when four people appeared out of nowhere, knives in their hands.

"Ara, ara. look at these yakuza big shots" A man with an undercut said, fidgeting with the blade between his fingers. In your periferic vision you saw Yukie running back to the hangar and the three men by your side reaching for the guns by their hips.

Among the other four, a figure seemed familiar to you.

"Kuribayashi Runa" The name left your lips in a whisper. The female let out a mocking laugh and Sakusa frowned at you.

"Explain" Your husband immediatelly demanded, grimacing.

"She is the new maid working in your house. Today was her first day." Runa scoffed at your reply.

"Do I look like a maid to you, bitch?" And then, everything went into slow motion.

The woman came in your direction, holding the knife high in the air whilst you stepped backwards, being cornered by the gate.

You saw the blade glinting under the street lights and saw it aiming for your chest.

But it never came.

A hand pushed you downwards and you fell to the ground along a clattering sound. Sakusa's shadow loomed over you, trying to evade the knife.

By your left, you saw Konoha and Komori fighting the other guys, their guns useless in a hand-to-hand fight.

The adrenaline rushed through your bloodstream, your mind going frantic. It felt like one of those life or death situations you faced in the surgery room.

How can I save someone's life right now?

You saw Sakusa's pistol laying on the ground next to you. He and the woman were a couple of inches from your body.

You knew what you had to do.

With your leg reaching forward, you made her trip. The knife she held was kicked away by your husband.

"Sakusa! Watch out for Komori!" And you threw the gun at him.

A second too late, the bang echoed and an agonizing scream ripped through the night.

By your left, Runa and two of the guys were already running away.

The man Komori fought collapsed to the ground clutching his leg and cursing under his breath.

But the most disturbing sight was the way Komori held his arm, whimpering and cursing while his right hand clutched the knife's handle.

The blade tore his flesh and crossed the limb right next to its joint, in a weird angle.

Yukie came back, carrying a rope and a pistol.

"I sent some of our men to their direction." She said while helping Konoha to restrain the guy who attacked you.

"What the fuck you guys want?" The blond asked before kicking the man in his guts. The latter spat blood, giving a crooked smile at Konoha.

"Johzenji is coming" Was all he said before passing out.

"Yukie, carry him to the basement." He ordered "Since it happened on our territory, we will be investigating the incident. We count with Itachiyama's cooperation and will keep you updated" Konoha bowed at Sakusa, before rushing back to the building.

Komori was still on his knees, head hanging low. A grunt went past his lips and you knew what he was doing.

"Komori! Don't!" But again your shout came too late and the man ripped the knife away from his limb. Blood rushed through his fingers and dampened the suit he wore. "Fuck" you rushed to his side, Sakusa's features going livid.

"We gotta take him to a hospital" you said.

"No!" Komori croaked out, getting a hold of your arm. You knew what he meant, but you also knew what could definetely happen if he ignored the situation.

Sakusa was frozen in front of you two, unsure of what to do. You took a deep breath, mustering up all the courage you had.

"You have to trust me, then" you held the brown haired male by his torso and gave Sakusa a determined glare.

The oyabun noded at you and it was all the assurance you needed before ripping out Komori's blazer and transforming your scarf into a tourniquet.

In your old apartment, you ushered the two males inside, taking them both to your kitchen.

Sakusa sat the Kobun in a chair while you went to another room. A minute later, you brought two metallic cases, some flasks and a first aid box.

In the cupboards you took a flask of alcohol and squeezed it to the table, wipping it with some gauzes.

Positioning Komori's arm over the wooden surface, you sterilized his wounds with povidone and then turned your attention to Sakusa.

"I'll start it now" before proceeding to the sink. Sakusa admired the movements you made while washing your hands "I need you to do the same" and he complied.

The male helped you to put the gloves and mask on and to set your instruments over the table.

Looking at Komori, you realized he passed out in spite of the pain. The blood loss wasn't huge, but you did not knew why he fell unconcious.

You prepared two syringes of anesthesics. Sakusa sent you a weird glare, brows furrowing at you.

"Don't look at me like this. I'm a surgeon you know" and then you did the infusion. "Its not that weird if I have some hospital shit at home".

You opened the cut with a scalpel. Scrutinizing at the wound, you saw the artery was hit.

"Thank god." You let out a breath of relief, realizing the damage was little. It didn't need an anastomosis, so some stiches would do. "The ulnar artery was hit but it won't be too hard to fix. Although, I can't tell if there's a nerve damage" and you started to close the vessel's lesion.

You observed if there was any muscle or tendon damages and proceeded to suture the gashes, making sure the procedure was well done. You then patched it up and imobilized the limb with a makeshift splint, before undoning the tourniquet.

"Let's take him to my bedroom" With that, you both carried the unconcious man to your bed. "I need to check him overnight and– Shit! Your face!" It was just now you realized he had a gash on his cheek.

Sakusa flinched, feeling the blood drying over his skin and dampening the mask he used. He removed the cloth and observed the cut with the front camera of his phone. He frowned at the sight.

"It can get an infection and leave a nasty scar. Do you want me to patch it up?" You offered after checking Komori's blood pressure and his heartbeat.

A please left his lips in a whisper.

You both went back to the kitchen and you used a new set of tools. Holding his face between your gloved hands, you admired his facial features.

Sakusa was pretty.

Almost ethereal with his thin nose, almond eyes and thick brows. In addition, te two moles on his forehead complimented his beauty.

You snapped out of your reverie, getting to work.

"Finished. This kind of suture won't leave a visible scar" you said cutting the thread and reinforcing the stitch with tape.

Your finger lingered a bit longer on the apple of his cheek. Sakusa grabbed your hand and held it for a while before getting away from you and settling himself on your couch. You ignored the ghost of his touch on your skin and went back to check on Komori.

That night, Sakusa realized that no one ever handled him with such care, as if he was made of fine china.

I like that touch, he decided.

❥ taglist: is still open. Send an ask or use the commentary section to let me know if you want to be added!

@ukaiwachin @keekee-732 @chiibichann @shinguchi @captain-shittykawa @fortheloveofbakugo @daisyjaebae @jihoonspout @floodinginstars @fl4mepillar @trash4sportsanime @translucentthoughts @starrystanze @teaanbiss @hqxreader @sunboikyo00 @yskomiii @ly-nia @shadyjinyoung @julimausi1311 @idiot-juice-enthusiast @hyoonx23 @keuromi @differentballooncollection @re-zerohora @onigiriimiya @ayaeushi @wolfiepirate @sekshi-namjas @tomo-uwu @flodaisez @jh-bee @kemochie;

[spacecreatorart]

I finished Kuna’s bio! It’s not too long, though it includes examples of his voicelines. I wasn’t sure if I should post this as a link to his Google Doc or just copy it over but I risked the second one. Let me know if I should try some other format to share my ocs here.

Note!

Kuna is a trans man. I however, am a cis woman. I made him and wrote his backstory consulting my trans friends but I dont know a lot and obviously never had trans experience. If you think the way I tackled the topic could be improved, please let me know how.

Name:  Kuna Title:  Camouflaging bounty hunter Real name:  Daniel Zaremba Gender:  Male Age:  34 Homeworld:  Gaea Nationality:  Polish Legend type:  Recon

Appearance:

Kuna is a tall (183 cm or 6’0’’) man of slender build. He is years after transition operation and grown comfortable with his own body, as well as with his prosthetic arms. So much so, that he likes to show them off and often wears clothing without sleeves. He has a handsome face with a slightly crooked nose and calm blue eyes shadowed by long eyelashes. His light hair is kept in a buzzcut. One long scar is tearing through his right temple, a souvenir from a nasty knife fight.

When in casual, Kuna doesn’t part with his cigarette and sunglasses. He likes to run around in tight pants showing off the shapely long legs, with loose jackets, sweaters and hoodies. 

His battlewear is made out of flexible and resilient material in muted dark green and brown colors. The sleeveless green jacket with a furry collar is his favourite piece of clothing and so he wears it even to his work. The helmet is most important thing. He got it as well as his jumpkit from his uncle, who is a retired pilot. The helmet was severely damaged, so he had it repaired and modified with a new visor display. It usually displays a soundwave that reacts to his voice.

Personality: 

Kuna is usually lighthearted and enthusiastic about life. Daring and determined about anything he sets his eyes on. He loves a good challenge and doesnt turn away from risky plays. For him Apex isn’t anything above a game and a fun way to make money, but at the same time it's a game he takes seriously. He doesn’t underplay human wellbeing and he’s reliable in a fight and dire situations. He can be stubborn at times and quite annoying for it, especially when he makes up his mind about a person. Kuna is a silent and determined kind of angry, letting emotions boil under his surface for it to go all out in one measured action. He can be snappy when annoyed, saying a thing or two too much. He’s addicted to nicotine and the rush of fight and hunt and it seems that he doesn't plan on going on rehab for any of these anywhere soon. 

Favourite weapons: 

Longbow DMR and Prowler

Battle equipment: 

Kuna utilises Cloaking technology that was popular among Pilots of Frontier conflicts. He acquired an upgraded version of it on Black Market, one able to hide a person from human eyes as well as surveillance drones and AI units. 

Kuna’s helmet, next to having the soundwave of his voice displaying, can also show his vitality statistics. If Kuna’s laying unconscious, the helmet will automatically display his heart rate, body temperature and couple other parameters. 

Biography: 

Kuna was assigned female at birth and given name Daria. He didn’t have much of a relationship with either of his parents. His father was a military official, always away from home, and his mother divorced him when he was 6 and made herself a new life somewhere. He was practically raised by his uncle, Seweryn Zaremba, who was a retired pilot. They lived in his small house in a forest. He came out as trans to his uncle at the age of 8 and started using his new name, Daniel. His father didn’t even know his child was trans until two years after his coming out and was shocked to learn his daughter was suddenly a boy, but learned to accept it soon enough. Ever since he grew off the ground, Daniel’s uncle was teaching him how to survive in a forest, how to hunt and fight, letting him train with his old jumpkit, sharing his fighter and military pilot experience with his nephew. 

When Kuna turned 14, his dad has died in action. This marked the beginning of financial troubles for him and his uncle. Seweryn was a veteran unfit for proper work and in need of expensive medication, the money they would earn selling hunted goods wasn’t quite enough. It was years of uncertain life, and hungry winters. One particular desperate winter, Daniel learned about a bandit hiding in their forest who had a bounty on his head. Confident in his and his uncle’s fighting abilities, he wanted to go after him and finally earn some proper money but his uncle refused. Daniel obeyed his decision, but few days later, the bandit, desperate to find food, attacked their household when the boy was away. Seweryn, trying to defend the house, ended up wounded. Furious Kuna went after the criminal and hunted him down, then brought his body to claim the bounty. He used this money to get proper medical treatment for his uncle. The money runned out quickly and Seweryn started needing more medical attention due to his old injuries and progressing age. Kuna turned to bounty hunting more and more often. The part of the planet they lived on was infamous for having a big criminal population and their forests and hills hid many people on the run from the law. He took out or captured many of them, cashing their lives in, making some serious amounts of money. With it, with the abilities and resources he was getting access to, he finally got a transition operation, started getting upgraded tools and started broadening his influence even staying for a few years with a ship that was earning its wage hunting space pirates. He got his prosthetic arms during that time, an accident during one of the attacks almost killed him and lead to amputation. Since their on-board medic did not have access to expensive regeneration technology, he fitted him with prosthetic arms he has since upgraded and grown used to. Now Kuna is an independent bounty hunter. His uncle is still alive but getting older and Kuna still sends him money and even visits him from time to time. He joined the Apex games for money and fame, hoping one day he’d earn enough to not have to worry about it anymore. Until that day comes he plans to enjoy his job wholeheartedly and build himself a name for it.

Abilities: 

Passive ability: 

Walljumper - Kuna, using his specialised arm prosthetics, is able to climb 2x higher than other legends, quite like Revenant, but at any point on his climb, he is able to stick to the wall for about 5 seconds and shoot at the same time as well. When sticking to the wall, he can perform a wall kick, bouncing himself off the wall horizontally. 

Tactical ability: 

Identifier - Kuna throws a small device, that a second after impact sends out a pulse. Kuna and his teammates receive feedback on their hud about the number, identities and gear of people in the area scanned. 

Ultimate ability: 

Cloak - After a 1 second trigger time, Kuna turns invisible for a longer while, blending completely with the background. He can run, open doors, use ziplines  and pick up loot while invisible, as well as use his tactical and passive ability. Actions such as dealing damage or reviving a teammate throw him out of the cloak. If damaged, the camouflage flickers. In the duration of the ultimate, he can still be heard or noticed because of air vibrating around him.

Voice:

Character selection:

“Time to earn our paychecks, I’m counting on that win!”

“Now, relax your shoulders, loosen up a little. It’s just a game yes? We’re still winning it, don't get confused.”

“We’ll see them coming long before they notice us.” 

“Learn your prey, know your opponent.”

“In it for the money and for the thrill, equally, let’s go!” 

“Today’s our day, I can feel it!”

“Here’s the plan. Stick together, shoot the others, collect the prize. Simple enough?”

“Strike them where they least expect it.”

“Czuwaj!” (‘be vigilant’, a type of greeting)

Intro:

“Shove a barrel down their throat and make a million.”

“You want a piece of this? You gotta see me first.”

“I’ll see you down there. You… might not.”

“You can run, but you can’t hide.”

“Hunt them down, one maniac at a time.”

“Take them by the throat, let it be a lesson.”

“See me before I’ll find you and you might get a chance.”

“All I need is a knife and some good ol’ fashioned luck.”

“I’m through playing nice.”

“I’m a name you’ll remember.”

Kill quips:

“Such an easy prey. Try harder next time.”

“Didn’t even see what gott’em.” “Are you sure you’re worth the money they promised?”

“Didn’t see me coming, eh? Next time keep your wits about you.”

“Wybacz kolego, this time I had the upper hand.” (Sorry, mate)

“Pay attention!”

“That was fun, let’s do that again sometime, eh?”

“Hate it when they squirm. Put them out of their misery.” 

‘It’s stupid how much some clever flanking can confuse them.”

“Don’t get too cocky!”

“Sit. Down.”

“I’m having the time of my life!”

Using Abilities:

Tactical Ability “Throwing the device.” “Let’s see who’s hiding there.” “Let me see what they have.” “Searching for hostiles.” “Let’s see if they’re worth the bounty.” “Let’s see if their names are worth anything.” “Hold up, getting intel.”

Ultimate *whispers* “Cloaking” “They won’t see me coming.” “Blending in.” “Znikam!” (I’m disappearing) “Aaaand, I’m gone, just like that.” “Using Cloak”. *singing quietly* “I’m the invisible man”

Gameplay:

Being shot “Cholera, they’re shooting at us!” (Shit)

Skydiving “Woooo! This is the best part!”

First Blood “Myszy harcują, hahaha, someone’s already down.” (‘the mice will play’ part of the polish equivalent of that saying) 

Killed the Champion “Another name’s off the list, who next?” “That one was a big prize!” “Taking away the champion title is a great bounty by itself.”

Grenade nearby “Shit, Granaaaat!” “Granat!”

Hit by EMP “We’ve been hit by EMP! Ahh, my arms feel numb now.” 

Reviving “Don’t you fly away from me now, I still need you here.” “Keep your eyes on me, kolego, you’re getting back in the fight in no time, yes?” (buddy) [to Bloodhound] “Don’t go to your gods just yet, I need you here.”

Becoming kill leader “Now that feels more like usual.” “Now to cash these in.” “I’m very trigger happy today.” [to Bloodhound] “Ha! I’m the kill leader now. What will you say about that, Bloodhound?”

Squadmate becomes kill leader “Ho, ho, kolego, you’re on fire today!” (buddy) “Hey, leave some for the rest of us!” [to Bloodhound] “Hoo, this will be hard to rival with, you’re ahead of your game today!”

Pings:

Let’s go this way “I’ll go check what’s behind that hill.”

Celebrations: “This one was for you, wujku Sewerynie!” (uncle Seweryn) “Gottem! We work well as a team!”

Thank you “Dzięki!” (Thanks) “Oh thank you.” “Much appreciated.”

You’re welcome “Na zdrowie!” (Cheers) “Polecam się na przyszłość!” (indirectly translates to “happy to help you in the future”) “Anytime.” [to Revenant] “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” [to Revenant] “Didn’t expect you to anyway.”

Yes “Noo.. I mean- yeah ;-;” (‘No’ is used when you nod in polish) “Przyjąłem.” (Roger that) “Heard ya.”

No “No way.” “Forget it.” “I don’t think so.”

Fun facts:

Kuna is a polish name for an animal called marten, a weasel like furry little creature.

Kuna is a nickname uncle Seweryn likes to call his nephew, because of how skinny and chaotic he was ever since he was a kid.

When hit by EMP, the visor on Kuna’s helmet goes dark.

[yeoldontknow]

All Quiet

Author’s Note: wahooo! another chanvember event in the books! this is yet another personal journey for me. i call this: an ode to single living lmao. i hope you enjoy! Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Genre: angst; romance; fluff; au Summary: After your breakup, Chanyeol moves out of the house you shared together. It’s fine, until it absolutely isn’t. Over time, you start to miss him - miss him in places and ways you never thought you would. Eventually, you realize you miss home, too - even though you never actually left. Rating: R (just being safe? there’s really nothing awful in here, but some pretty adult themes rear their head) Warnings: mentions of anxiety; dark thoughts in a depressive episode; brief mentions of death (no major characters); heavy angst; a bug in a room (if youre afraid of bugs i suppose); men in bars who dont know when to shut up lmao Word Count: 8K look mom i did it

It’s not like he would have helped in this situation.

You tell yourself this while you breathe, rather erratically, in the center of your kitchen attempting to ease yourself back to a state of calm. In one hand, you clutch the cold handle of your Swiffer while, in the other, you wield the can of raid as though it is a weapon. Chest tight and gaze unwavering, it’s hard to tell when small inconveniences such as this started to insight a deep, slow panic, paralyzing you with fear, leaving room for little else. 

A brief walk through your memory clearly reminds you that, months ago, you would not have responded quite so viscerally - truly, you probably would have laughed, an exasperated sound dripping with disdain for the season or the city or the poor construction of your apartment.

If a lightbulb burst, you would change it with little complaint, standing precariously on your step stool; when the fire alarm started beeping, even after you’d changed the battery, you constructed a tower of books to remove it, calling yourself resourceful; when the popcorn machine erupted into flames, an electric fire sparking in the center of its hot dome, you unplugged it and laughed and laughed, glad to be alive. 

And if you saw a bug, you would handle it - he liked to call it handling, as though it was difficult, as though it was painful, as though something like this could be considered a threat that required strategy and an iron will. You’d always laughed when he did that, all six feet of him cowering behind your small frame, desperately seeking shelter and shielded by the mystery of your majestic stoicism. 

No. Chanyeol would not have helped. In cases like this, he was worse than afraid, endearingly useless, but at least then, you think, you had someone to protect. Someone who was not you. Someone who needed you.

For a long while, you stand still, impassive and frozen, not because of the insect flying around your bedroom but because you think it odd that this is what makes you miss him. For the first time in a long time, you want him here, a thing you never thought you’d crave. Not after everything, and certainly not after...after.

The first time this happened, he was a mess, a disaster - a gentle description given the way he flailed himself off the couch and bumped bruises into his knees from the coffee table. It was the fastest you’d seen him move in ages, across the room in a flash and yelling, stressed beyond reason, before you even had a chance to lower the screen of your laptop.  

You laughed then, the sight of his flailing limbs a form of divine entertainment, endearing in its chaos, bemused and bewildered by the speed of his movements. Words left him, reduced him to vague wails of anguished contempt as he pointed, rather vaguely, in the direction of what he had seen. Even with his extended hand as a general marker of location, you struggled to see what he saw, expecting something more, something large and unwieldy, and something unspeakable. 

In the end, it was small, a tiny thing you would have missed if you had not been so carefully looking. A spider. A house spider. An insect you had grown to expect both within and beyond domestic spaces.

For him, you were brave. Would you have been brave for yourself? It does not matter, not really. You were comfortable, rolling your eyes as you went to grab the dust pan. It was nothing - you told him it was nothing as you walked past him, catching hold of his fingers as he latched onto your hand for support. Even then, you felt you’d never find this annoying, something about watching someone so imposing and so large crumble, so dramatically, was humorous, special. 

Now, you realize it was not humor. It was never humor. It was need.

In the end, the thing you relished most, always with him, was the way he made you feel needed. Wanted. Chanyeol needed you then, at least as badly as you felt, and knew, you needed him. In those moments - in that moment - your love for him finally felt fair, a balance to the improbable scale of need versus want.

Without him, the house is empty. In moments of fear, there is no yelling, no flailing - no display of panic to return to later and laugh about or through, your own expression of panic shock. Lately, you’re slow to react, calm and careful, gentle movements out of the room and a silent exclamation of disgust. More than anything, now, you are aware of the all encompassing quiet - the way you never really let anyone know you need help, not even yourself.

Now, standing in the kitchen, the silence envelopes you, enough to convince yourself there isn’t a problem at all. With the bedroom door shut, you can almost pretend the light isn’t actually on, that nothing is there, that you meant to cook a meal rather than fight a war, distracted and alarmed by something out of the corner of your eye. Now, you can almost pretend it was the quiet that scared you, and little else.

Now, without anyone to need you, you can almost pretend you don’t even need yourself. 

Almost. 

Closing your eyes, you take in a deep breath, existing within the feeling of lack and the feeling of loneliness, the realization that there is nothing here except you and this thing and only one can stay.

You open your eyes. You grip the handle. 

Your steps to the bedroom are quiet, but, at least they are steps. 

Even before you settle on the barstool, you can tell he will come talk to you.

Thursday night and you've been drawn out, head empty and focus dulled as you walk toward the bitter sting of cold gin. You're not really looking for conversation, mostly just looking for noise, the cacophonous hum of others, indistinguishable voices serving to remind you the world is peopled even, if they aren't your people. 

He sees you as you walk in, eyes catching your vacant scan of the room and demanding your attention. For a moment you’re grateful for the reminder that this is a place where you need to be aware and astute, ready to leave or ready to stay, and, conversely, aware that neither option is ideal. 

The point is that he sees you and makes sure that you see him, deftly reminding you that eclipses are always known even if they aren't truly witnessed.

He’s new to the bar, your regular haunt with a broken card reader on the jukebox and the barely there space between the tables. The brown liquor in his cup has put confidence in his spine and false hope in his roaming eyes, a smirk pulling at his lips as he looks and looks and looks, waiting for his voice to be heard. Helen slides you a Gin and Tonic, your usual, offering a welcoming smile before glancing sidelong with a grimace as the heat of his sudden proximity radiates into your shoulder. 

Even before you settle on the barstool, he's ready.

‘They make ‘em strong here,’ he says with a smile, regarding your glass with an expression of feigned interest.

The gravel in his voice is uncomfortable, an itch at the back of your throat that you swallow three times to alleviate, lips pulling into a sneer, scorning the upturned pretentiousness of his syllables. His shoulders roll back to puff out his chest and your thighs tighten around the seat, heels anchoring onto the support bar at the base of the stool, perched and ready to depart. Offering him a curt nod, you study the military edges of his short haircut, deciding, almost immediately, that you will not be here long. 

At this, you smile, aware that people on barstools rarely are. 

A smile he mistakes as an invitation.

Pride cascades over his features and settles in the dark corners beneath his cheek bones, cutting shapes into his expression you wish did not exist. As he settles on the stool next to yours, your stomach drops, the light putting a foreboding glimmer in his eyes, the kind that makes you want to scoff, and to mutter this fucking guy. 

Offering him a once over, a look he reads as interest, smiling wider and feeling encouraged, you confirm he is relatively harmless. Even standing, he’s slightly shorter than you, already balding, soft in all the ways Chanyeol was not, and different enough to make you think it would be might to forget, at least for a little while. 

But he rests his arms on the bar top, still smiling and still feeling like he's tasting the precipice of control, proud that it’s barely seven and celebrating like he’s already found his moment. The new position offers you a glimpse of the hidden strength nestling in the grooves of his knuckles, muscles in the forearm that disappear under his rolled sleeves, and you remember to be careful. Now, you remember that trust is earned, not worn, and so you lean back, pulling out of his orbit just enough to remember you aren't looking for a game tonight, and he cannot make you play.

Emboldened by your silence, he begins to tell you a story, the kind that meanders over ice cubes, breath and lies hot enough to put condensation on the glass. He talks about boxing, a topic you know next to nothing about but enough about men to know it's a tactic, a subject they know you can't argue with because you don't have enough details. But you can always hear it, the gaps in the spaces between the words - Russia, a boat, a large sum of money, the rehearsed pauses and the smile that doesn't seem to fade. Words and more words, demanding that you feel impressed and that you feel special. 

He chose to tell you this story. Aren't you so lucky?

It's when he talks about a scar on his arm that your mind wanders, rather your heart wanders. Thursday's gin was meant to be an escape, but instead you miss Chanyeol and the almost spectacular way he could talk shit - because that's what this is. Shit. Endless nonsense to make you feel interested or curious enough to give him a number, a blowjob, another drink, something that reminds him he's valid and not entirely worthless.

Chanyeol talked shit as a hobby, without any desire to receive and mostly as a means of satire. But even in jest, he was still entertaining, captivating, the best storyteller you ever knew.

On your first date with Chanyeol, he was nervous, shy. He smiled a lot and laughed in all the right places, kept his eyes on you like he was watching the dawn - but then, you never really thought of that night as your first date. 

The night you met, it wasn't that he saved you from a disastrous conversation with a man and his friends and their over eager hands. Rather, he enticed you away, a paradoxically nervous glint in his eye that said he was unsure you wanted his help while protective enough to remind you he was watching, and that you weren't alone. 

Someone, you can't remember who because immediately after Chanyeol spoke they stopped mattering, and, for years, no one else ever mattered again, had mentioned the time they went skydiving in Australia, their malfunctioning parachute, and the way they almost passed out, so close to the ground. 

Several pairs of eyes walked over your skin, waiting for your reaction, your gasp of shock and concern, the euphoria of a near death experience so similar to the ecstasy of orgasm bleeding into a hum of interest. With their eyes on you, you knew it was a trick, and you cocked an eyebrow of polite derision, looking past them for an exit. They did not move, just nodded and continued. You felt Chanyeol behind you, isolated from the circle that had formed but still at the bar, still a body that gave way to a malformed shape that meant he had to be included, regardless. 

'I once almost got a tattoo when I was in Australia.' 

He announced this information like he'd been asked, as though the attention had belonged to him the entire night, the deep thunder of his voice cutting through the deluge of unwanted contact. 

Brow furrowed in confusion, you turned to look at him, placed a protective hand over your drink, just in case, and cocked a wary eyebrow at him. He smiled, warm and inviting, but only at you. His eyes wandered over the thick gaits of the others, skeptical and cautious before the expression disappeared altogether, resting his head on his hand as he leaned casually against the bar.

'Yeah, it was wild,’ he explained, sounding bored. 'The tattoo gun was shaped like an alligator claw, but I think that's because I was under a boardwalk and I'd lost a bet while drunk.' 

Behind you, someone snorted, annoyed. 'That's not true.'

Chanyeol shrugged, nonchalant. 'It was a lucky thing I got sober. Always been kind of afraid of the sea, you know? Love the beach, hate the waves. Anyway, you know that feeling that you're being watched? Like something is lurking behind the corner, watching you, unfurling its claws and waiting for you to turn around, fixing its cold stare on your skin. And you know, right? You just know that if you turn, you'll see it - because you have to, even if you don't want to, just to prove. yourself correct? That you're not crazy?'

'What are you talking about, man?' came another voice, generic and empty of the music Chanyeol naturally carried.

Even as you watched him speak, you knew it was a lie, a jab at all the bullshit tossed around between men who felt like they had something to prove. Even as he spoke, tone dry and words quick, you knew he found the bravado of hyper-masculinity just as amusing as you.

'I'm talking about that space of time between knowing something is wrong and knowing something is fucked up,’ he continued, feigning a passion that made you press your lips together to keep from laughing. ‘That sliver of difference in between. It's fragile there - like, if you look at this napkin and you only look at the napkin, you can almost believe something is lurking behind it and it wants you. It wants to break you. That's the fucked up thing lurking in the distance, the kind of threat that feels good enough to see even if you don't want to.'

'Fuck you,’ someone spat. ‘You're drunk.'

'Anyway,’ he carried on, unaffected as though he hadn’t heard anyone at all. ‘That's why I was under the boardwalk and also why I left. Also, you really don't want to get a tattoo somewhere that smells like a cross between dry fish and burned butter. This guy on the boardwalk was making popcorn at his stall and all I could imagine was the yellow paint as the butter, just five too many pumps and it sticks on your arm long enough that you feel greasy forever.'

Everyone knew it was a lie, but that didn't matter. You really didn't care that it had been so obviously fake, fake enough that you laughed at the insanity of it. All that mattered was that he smiled through it, used words and details so obviously, ridiculously untrue that you believed he was naturally funny, and unafraid to be utterly silly, childlike and bold in all the ways you were not. 

The rest of the night, you watched him, watched him watch you, without any hope your expectation, simply glad that you were smiling. 

He was always like that, creating magic from nothing, holding the world in a story, his hands, his brown eyes and your brown liquor. Chanyeol was always like that, making the world spark just because he could.

'And I went down hard, you know?'

The guy is still talking, talking about boxing and Russia or maybe neither of those things anymore, but. your drink has melted down into cold water, the memory of gin only lingering on your teeth. He keeps talking like he means every word, like it's important that he survived whatever match he was in, no cushion on his fists and his hands still hurt. It's not fun, it's not creative, it's just angry. 

Glancing down at the wet rimmed paper of your napkin, you frown. Thursday brought you here to be alone, not to share another night and another story with Chanyeol, even if it's only in memory. Even if, more than anything, you want to share this with him - want to hear what he'd have to say about Russia and boxing, and how many boat jokes he could fill in between. 

‘Sorry,’ you interrupt abruptly. Hand in your pocket, you pull out your wallet and leave a ten dollar bill. ‘I forgot to change my tampon.’

Leaving the stool is a liberation, a relief that eases the tension in your shoulders. You don't bother another glance at the man whose gaze of disgust lingers at your back. Pushing through the door, you smile.

You were always good at talking shit, too. 

Hell, you learned from the best. 

Home is a lie society likes to sell to the lonely, the needy, and the unsuspecting. 

You tell yourself this - or rather, this thought grips you, holds tight and refuses to leave - as you sit on your couch, the couch you bought from someone else, just to be rid of him, anxious and alone and utterly, completely overwhelmed. The world sells the concept of home - a location, a place, a thing that delivers comfort as though it was never someone who held you, touched, loved you. Home, they will tell you, is a plaque on the wall where your heart should be, a picture frame of smiling faces and, most of all, shelter.

Society tells you home is a thing that does not leave. 

Your home left months ago, left you with a roof, some walls, and a TV too wide for the stand. Biting your lip, you watch as it teeters at the edges, secure but unstable, a memory of the fragility of the things people like to build together. Outside, a car honks. A bus passes. The noise of the world comes in through the loose seal of your closed window and you hear the way life exists, entirely separate from you.

Work was too much - too much and conversely not enough. All of you, down to the very base of your soul, craves the stimulation of a challenge or a conversation full of passion, words shared and knowledge exchanged, something new and something hard, something that fights back. You've been numbed into silence and acceptance, things that never sat well against your skin, leaving you drained of the all things that make you you.

Tonight, you miss the laughter, the way he'd always talk and make you laugh, even against your will. Tonight, you realize you miss him, miss the way he held you, nurtured you, comforted you, even against your will - even before you realize you miss him at all. Your dinner, a frozen pizza, usually so warm and inviting, sits on your coffee table, untouched and uneaten. 

He would have hated this. 

Years into your relationship, he adopted the habit of kissing at your fingers with an erotic smile as he pressed them against his lips, praising the way they smelled of garlic. With your fingers at his lips, he said you smelled of magic and creation, a kitchen witch that had possessed his heart. Always, he'd approach you from behind, wrap his arms around your waist and watch you cook - studying the care and the gentleness and the way you unfurl when surrounded by food, bringing it to life. 

Tonight, your meal is lonely. And Chanyeol always knew something was wrong when you didn't want to cook, having learned the aggression and the disheartened angst that came with putting something in the oven, a meal that existed without love. Nights like this, he would cook for you instead, making you laugh and making you smile - making something.

Without him, you wonder what you've made since. 

You certainly haven't made a home. When you keep still, while not altogether keeping calm, you let your mind wander to the empty expanse of the future, an extension of this moment that seems to bleed onward into eternity. Nothing is here. No one pays enough attention to your light footsteps, coming and going of you too erratic to truly form a pattern. When you are sick, it is just you. When you are hurt, it is just you. And when you die, likely, it will be just you - found only when the smell seems to linger.

Glancing around the walls, you remember the act of picking your apartment together, the eager way he suggested you move in - with fire on his lips and light in his eyes - and the unfathomable way the broker's fees seemed to unmake you, broken instead. Defeated, you told him you wanted him to do it, that one more call and one more unfulfilled wish would convince you to stay in your own apartment until time had healed the wounds of your pride. 

Sometimes, you think you made a home in the way he came alive with excitement, delighted to do something, to be in control and in command, not out of greed but out of the pleasure of being alive with you. In just under a week, he'd found the apartment, always so much more optimistic and prepared for the battle of negotiation than you ever had been. When he called, his words came fast, almost negotiating you into being convinced, announcing, victoriously, that he'd found it. 

By the time you arrived, he wasn't calling it home, he wasn't calling it good - he was calling it ours. 

Pushing through the door, one look at his face, at the jovial delight and the urge to make something igniting his soul, you decided quickly it would be, if only because he decided to share something with you, anything at all. The kitchen lacked a dishwasher, but with his hands at your hips and his lips at your neck, the enthusiasm he poured into your veins assured you that he'd help - you would not be alone. 

He'd do the dishes, he'd kiss your hands, wear the tight, yellow gloves to keep his skin soft, and let the smell of soap and passion replace the stoicism of mechanized convenience. 

Somehow, the tangibility of him felt better, more real. Special, because it was him. 

Neither of you wanted to admit it, but the first night in the space was uncomfortable, sharing a new bed rather than a bed, feeling lost and feeling unsure. You missed your apartment, the way it was yours, something that belonged to just you; he missed the freedom of coming home or not coming home at all, unattached and unfettered. Between the sheets, you were scared to let your skin touch, wondering if you had rushed into romance beyond rushing into real estate. 

Chanyeol was always more brave than you were - not confident, not assured, just courageous, curling over your body to pull you to his chest, demanding your closeness. He stole your lips the same way he stole your breath, kissing and kissing until you believed all that ever mattered was your complete and total possession of his heart.

'It will be okay,' he said, hope still lingering in his voice, turned then into a vice rather than a virtue. 'I promise it will be better in the morning.'

'Maybe it will be better when we paint,' you mused, unsure a morning could make anything really better, the sunlight only serving to remind you of all the ways you could never make a space feel full.

That morning, you woke to the smell of pancakes, sugar and butter and Chanyeol, fresh from a shower, the steam still lingering in the en suite bathroom.

You walked out into the kitchen and saw him, hair a mess and old boxers worn to a state of tattered, faded grey. He made one pancake at a time, the fry pan too small for such large circles, all your useful kitchen supplies still residing in unmarked boxes. Leaning on the frame, you watched him, the long line of his spine, the way the sun caught his skin, the gold of it making the universe shimmer, he your Midas, as he looked at you and smiled. The trust in his eyes taught you to believe - that it is not the lungs that breathe, but the soul; that you could float if you wanted to, but it was choice that kept you rooted to the earth, the choice to be next to him. 

That home was a place that smelled like him, always and forever.

When he looked away, the edge of it all turned, felt yourself hanging on the lack of words, the nausea that lingered in between, ready for this - that chilling moment when there was nothing left to say. You'd found home and found Chanyeol, a new space without anything that spoke of yours, and the emptiness learning to take hold.

But it never came, just shifted. Into his skin and his kisses, and the way he brought you pleasure even when he wasn't touching you. Always, you would hear him. 

You could always count on him for words.

Reaching over to the coffee table, you flip over your phone, pressing the home button to illuminate the screen. Some texts, a few emails, no sound. His name doesn’t show up - you weren’t expecting it to, but the lack of it hurts, years and years flashing through your mind when his name was the first on your screen, his picture the first you saw.

Now, it’s the moon. Now, you want to call him, to fill the gap with anything, even if it’s anger.

You could always count on him for words.

Now, alone, trapped in the marrow of absence, you find yourself wondering.

Can you count on yourself?

You start to sing. It sounds empty.

But, at least now, there is sound, even if it is hollow. 

Fifteen hours into your drive, with only thirty more from home, the flat tire defeats you. Something about this torn rubber breaks you in a way that harsh words and colds stares never could, a shame pressed upon your shoulders that makes you feel despondent and ignorant. 

Standing on the side of the road, you eye the flat with an empty stare, willing it to fix itself. Images run through your mind, the memory of greasy hands and sore backs from kneeling at such an odd angle - the rain, the mud, the cell phone light, and the way the sky opened up to gift you the stars. Once upon a time, you knew how to do this - someone taught you when you were sixteen; someone showed you when you were twenty-eight, and so you know the knowledge exists within you. You've done this before.

But then, the memories turn, and you realize those experiences weren't yours, they were shared. It was always him turning the jack, him pulling at the bolts, always Chanyeol. 

Tipping your head back, you close your eyes and release a hissed sigh through your clenched teeth. The road on either side is empty, unusual for a stretch so close to the city, your decision to go home on a weeknight nowhere close to a holiday leaving you abandoned. Above you, the bruising of the sky as it turns to night seems to haunt you, the moon taking on a gleam of deceit, one that says your failure is being watched with keen interest. Not an hour before, you had marveled at this purple and pink and golden shade, smiled to yourself at the luxury of witnessing the beauty that comes from simplicity. 

An hour ago, you were glad and finally learning how to feel it - learning how to feel okay with being alone.

Now, the world around you is quiet, empty of life apart from the crows that wander over the yellow lines, hungry and searching and waiting. Chanyeol's voice resonates in your ear, whispered words from a conversation long ago.

'The most difficult jobs are the most rewarding,' he said, showing you how to fix an air conditioning vent. 'We have to earn our independence.' 

You need him. 

The feeling of it hits you in the center of your chest, weighing you down as you turn and bring yourself to the ground, back resting against your car. This is no longer a missing, this is need. You're too dark, too serious, too frustrated, too proud to see the humor or the joy in this situation. Once, you thought maybe you were, that you could be, but that person left with him, the ghost of that shell holding his hand tightly as he walked out the door. 

His contact information looks strange without the heart and puppy emojis on either side, somehow off-center and wrong. For a while, you stare at his name until the letters start to become unrecognizable, until you think his name has been spelled wrong since the moment you changed it, unsure you know how to read it at all. Your finger hesitates over the call button as though it lingers over his skin, like he can feel you through the glass and choosing to let your souls touch means choosing to let yourself get hurt again. 

Looking up, you realize the sky has started to darken and, now, you don't really have the choice to be selfish. 

Chanyeol answers on what must be the first ring, his voice confused and sluggish in contrast to his quick response. ‘Hello?’

He still sounds like honey. He still sounds like power. He still sounds like yours.

The deep richness of his voice pulls the air from your lungs and puts wetness in your eyes, and you bite your lip to keep your voice stable. ‘Chanyeol.’

‘What’s wrong?’ He was always too aware, too observant, to hide from, seeing straight through to your heart like it was his to bare. ‘Are you okay?’

Six months into dating, your grandmother passed away and, for some reason, it was understood that he would go with you to the funeral. The bitterness of the news hurt, but the knowledge that he was the first person you chose to call, that he had become the thing you needed more than you needed silence and space to grieve, cut through the dull ache of loss and replaced it, just partially, with change. It was understood, then, that this was something more serious than dating, than exclusive interest, than sex and the morning, sometimes even the night, after. Calling him meant you were making space for him, allowing him the room and the opportunity to ache with you.

Even then, so early into your relationship, he heard your voice and he knew. 

Tonight, he uses the same tone, the same speed of recognition and care, and you exhale thickly, the heat of your tears lingering on your cheeks. How strange, you think, to feel truly seen.

‘I’m okay,' you lie.

‘No, you’re not,' he presses, stern and adamant. 'What happened?’

Releasing a bitter laugh, you look down between your legs, sheepish. This should not hurt as much as death and grief, but then that's precisely what this is. For months, you've been mourning the loss of him. 

‘I got a flat tire,' you murmur. 

Chanyeol releases a sigh of relief, and when he speaks you can hear the smirk that pulls at his lips. ‘Where are you?’

Picturing that smile puts the sun in your chest, and immediately you regret calling him. How stupid, you think, to just want to see him smile. ‘Don’t come. I can do it myself.’

‘Where are you,' he repeats, this time not as a question.

Raising your gaze, you stare at the mile marker, the last sliver of dying light illuminating the numbers. Still, you don't speak, waiting for this mistake to pass, finding you luxuriate in the sound of his even breathing.

But Chanyeol speaks first, voice soft and gentle, sweet in all the ways that made your heart learn to crave him. ‘Please let me help you.’

And without hesitation, you reply. ‘I’m at mile marker 67 on I-95 North.'

You hear him gathering his keys, the metallic jingle making your chest lurch, haunted by the sound of his keys at the apartment door. 

‘I’ll be there soon,' he says, hanging up before you can protest.

The white light of his Mercedes headlights put a halo around his head as he approaches, not twenty minutes later in a pair of sweatpants and your favourite hoodie. On sight, you grimace, wondering if he wore this on purpose, to remind or tease you, forcing you to recall all the times he ran his hands over your skin, hidden under the cloth, cupping your breasts and whispering into your neck I love it when when when you wear this. 

But then, you remember that this was his favourite hoodie, too, the one he wore when he needed comfort the most. 

In this light, all you can see are the tips of his ears, comically pronounced thanks to his backwards cap, and his smile, warm and affectionate and understanding. 

He says nothing as he takes the jack from your hand, your grip on the metal tight enough to be a lifeline, his own strong fingers easing it from your grasp with a tenderness he used to reserve for your spine. Your fingers touch as he does this, the electric current of contact running up your arm and making you shiver, still there, ever present, refusing to vanish no matter the distance of time or geography. Chanyeol keeps still, jaw set and arms tense, a sign he felt it too but refuses to give himself away, more obvious just from his concentrated effort. 

Nudging at your shoulder, he guides you closer to the hood as he settles on the ground, getting to work without complaint. You keep your eyes on him as he moves, on his hands and the barely there curve of his ass beneath his oversized sweats - two sizes too big for his lean frame and still not large enough for one of your thighs. With him in such close proximity, your heart starts to race again, like it always did, your brow furrowing in the recollection that this was always your heart rate. With Chanyeol, you always felt excited, enthralled, awake - hands warm and blood hot, teetering on the prospect of a fever that only his touch could keep at bay. 

With him so close, you remember the constant state of craving that seemed to consume you, the love in your spirit suddenly dusted off - not dead, just dormant - and reminding how it really feels to need someone. Crossing your arms over your chest, you swallow thickly, hoping to combat the lump that's settled in your throat.

To your chagrin, he changes it in less than five minutes, surely some kind of record, carrying the flat to your trunk as though it is weightless. 

Staring straight ahead, you look out at the field, the sparse trees, the new dark sky, and sigh. ‘Don’t you realize what a problem this is?’

‘What is?’ he questions, the slam of your trunk echoing over his words. He comes to stand beside you, leaning against your car with his hands in his pockets. 'That you can’t change a tire? Trust me, I’m deeply aware. What would you have done if I wasn’t here?’

‘No -' Shaking your head, your protest comes quickly, without thought, only to cut yourself off, realizing he's partially correct. ‘I mean, yeah true, but I meant that you’re still the first person I call in a crisis. When I need someone, I’m calling you.’ 

Your gaze lingers on the softness of his cheeks before you find the small freckle on the bridge of his nose, so trained to look for it even without the light to put it on display. Biting your lip, you sigh, refusing to let yourself get distracted. ‘You’re still my emergency contact.’

Dropping his chin to his chest, Chanyeol regards his feet for a moment, pensive as he takes in your words. With a hum, musical and rich, a sound that belongs solely to him, he looks at you once more, resolute. ‘I don’t see that as a problem. You should think about why you still want to call me. Really,' he presses, 'think about why you still trust me.’

‘Yes, exactly!’ you exclaim. ‘I still trust you even after you left me!’

A hollow laugh bursts from his chest as his eyes go wide, regarding you defiantly. ‘You were never careful with blame or accusations,' he mumbles, shaking his head as he looks everywhere but your face.

You scoff. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

Turning his gaze back to you, the heat and ferocity of his expression makes you step back, just a bit, startled by the intensity. ‘You really want to talk about this here? Now?’

Refusing to back down, just like always, just like you always couldn't with him, you roll your shoulders back, standing tall. ‘We’re alone, aren’t we? I struggle to see the difference between here and home. The location and setting for our arguments was never an issue.' 

‘Fine,' he bites out, impassioned and embittered. 'Yes. I left, but you didn’t give me much of a choice.' Angling himself towards you, he pulls his hand from his pocket and presses his fingers to his chest, emphatic. 'I left, but I still love you.’

‘Jesus, Chanyeol,' you chuckle, looking past him into the shadows, feeling bereft. It hurts to see him so wounded, just as visceral and difficult as it always was, likely always will be.

‘What?' he snaps. 'Too uncomfortable for you? Too honest?’

Mimicking his pose, you turn to face him, matching his intensity. ‘No,' you sneer, aware that the sound is cruel. Immediately, you grimace, backpedaling from brutality of your tone, never really able to be hurtful with him. At least, not intentionally. ‘I just struggle to understand why you’d leave if you still love me. Why didn’t you try to make it work? I loved you with all of me.’

Chanyeol's expression morphs from one of combative disbelief to one of pained dejection, all at once appearing lost and small and so like the boy you promised to never let go of. 

‘You never let me love you,' he tries, an urgency tucked between his words that makes your heart sink. 'It always caused you pain to let me in, like loving me hurt you.’

Tears burn at your eyes in the wake of his words, the house of cards you'd constructed out of your memories together neither collapsing nor tearing, simply changing from red to blue, taking a new shape and a new colour, his perception casting shadows over the world you'd built. 

The words you said, when you were happy and in love and it was easy, collide with the words you yelled, when you were hurt and jealous and scared, and all you can remember, on either end, was a love you felt into your bones - a love that always made you feel like you were breaking. Loving Chanyeol, from the moment you met him until the moment you watched him leave felt like learning to love an earthquake, breaking yourself open to fit him inside. In love, the tectonic shift of your soul was merely collateral for way he made you feel - everything, all the beauty and the horror of it, everything more visceral than you'd ever experienced it before.

In love, he found you scared, aware that if it ever ended, there would be nothing left of you, all the good parts of your heart shattering to a raw, sharp edge of sorrow.

‘Because it always ends like this, Chanyeol!’ Even as you speak, you know you’re pleading with him, but for what you cannot be sure. Forgiveness? Maybe. Understanding? You never had to ask. Perhaps, you think, just for him to tell you he was scared, too. ‘It always ends in pain!’

Unable to stop himself, moved beyond any semblance of control, he steps closer to you with both hands outstretched, making to cup your face, to make you listen, before he remembers himself, dropping them awkwardly to your arms. He grips your biceps, touch gentle and eyes wide, searching your face, bold and, just like always, courageous. 

‘But it wasn’t hurting in the moment!’ he exclaims, his grip tightening on your arms before he loosens, eyes dropping to his hands hold you. ‘You rushed us here,’ he finishes, tone soft.

‘Every time…’ Your words drift into nothingness as your close your eyes, recalling every argument, the hours you spent awake or alone, afraid of losing him and afraid of losing yourself. Chest tight, your breath comes in shallow inhales, your hands coming to rest over his, the warmth in his skin helping you ground. ‘It felt like you were asking for my soul.’

‘Did you ever think maybe,’ he begins, gentle and kind, inching closer still as he pulls you to him, his affection a gravitational pull drawing you to him. ‘You already had mine? It would have balanced us out.’ 

Opening your eyes, you cast him a pained expression, knowing, down to his core, he was always too independent to love you the way he said he did. ‘That’s too much.’ You shake your head, weakly protesting his words. ‘What about you? Sometimes you wouldn’t come home until dawn, needing the space, and I got that -’

He cuts you off. ‘You are the only person who gets that, and you know it.’

‘Let me finish,’ you press, falling back into the ease of softness you always provided him, feeling like, finally, you are home. ‘We are both too independent to give one another our souls. That’s too much of your heart for one person to hold.’

Without hesitation, he pulls you directly to his chest, moving his hands away from yours and to your face, emphatic and devastatingly present. 

‘You aren’t listening, my love,’ he murmurs. ‘I found myself in you. I had myself and I had you,’ he explains, smiling as though he understands a secret you can only just touch, tangentially and at arm’s length.

He keeps smiling even as he finishes speaking, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. The intimacy of it sends your hands to his chest, ready to push him away but halting upon contact, feeling his heart beat like thunder against his sternum. 

‘Chanyeol…’ you mumble, a protest that splinters on impact.

He lets one hand walk down your face, your neck, lowering to the small of your back as he tucks you against him, protective and nurturing. Forehead unmoved and nose touching yours, he smirks. ‘Stop me,’ he challenges, knowing, even now, even when you’re not really his, you will not.

Sliding your arms around his chest, you let yourself hold him, aware, even as your heart begins to adorn itself in feathers, that this is a bad idea. ‘Chemistry was never our problem. You know that.’

‘I know,’ he agrees, a million words living and dying between you both, all unspoken while still understood, his thumb gliding gingerly over your cheekbone. ‘And you know I’m a glutton.’

‘One day,’ you whisper, leaning up into the warm cascade of his breath over your lips, mouth and soul suddenly ravenous for him, ‘you’re going to love someone more than me.’

‘Don’t tell me what to do.’ This close, his words are embers of a dying breath, and your eyes flutter short, ready to kiss their ashes. ‘And I know,’ he continues, quieter still, ‘you will never love anyone as much as you love me.’

The familiar fog of his adoration clouds your mind, limbs heavy and skin tightening, parched and longing for his touch, your words jumbled together into a single breath. ‘Were bad at this, Chanyeol. You know it.’

‘You’re learning it.’ Chanyeol doesn’t need further explanation to know you mean love - learning to love and live and crumble beneath the wait of yearning for another person. ‘Me? I’m great at loving you, and shit at it with anyone else.’

Unable to hold back any longer, your mouths come together in a kiss that makes your hands fist into his hoodie, pulling at his shoulder blades. Chanyeol hums into your mouth, slanting over your lips with a possessive growl, hard and deep as he runs his tongue over your bottom lip. Whimpering, you open for him, never truly able to deny him access to the things he craves most, always offering him more and more, satisfied only when you have your fill of one another. 

It’s almost innocent the way he kisses you first with his soul and then with his mouth, tongue sliding against yours as a reminder that he means it - rough enough and powerful enough to make it clear he was not moving on, never wanting to move on, waiting for you three steps ahead. It’s not innocent, the way he moans into you, hands needy and fingers rough, pressing into your back to ground you, possess you, swallowing your breath and demanding you never leave again. 

When you separate, his pupils are dilated, lips pink and swollen as he struggles to come down. The tips of your fingers starting to tingle, head empty and heart full.

‘Where do we go from here?’ he manages, the delicate hopefulness of his words much like crystal in a storm. 

Closing your eyes, you let the burn of his optimism eclipse against your skin, illuminating the deep navy of the sky in a way the sun never could. It’s rare, you know, for people like you to have second chances - to kiss the sun twice and come away unharmed, wearing only your callous, self-inflicted wounds. It’s rare to be let in, and only now, watching Chanyeol breathe into the totality of his fear, do you realize you let him in long before you accepted that you did. 

And with a smile, you reach up, cupping his cheek and feeling your blood race at the way he nuzzles into your touch. Sometimes, you think, it’s easy. Other times, it’s a torment. And that, you realize, is the only way to make a life.

‘How about we start with home?’

[whatisgoingonpaul]

Guess who put themselves though lost boys: the tribe. Last night and craves death? That’s right me.

Ohhhh to see without my eyes would be glorious. It is the most dated thing I’ve seen in my life and not in a good way. I cant even remember half the charecters and am having to look at the wiki if that tells you anything.

So no spoiler warning because - seriously do not watch it.

So dated-

As a 2000s kid, early 2000s movies are not something I look back at fondly as ‘adult’ movies at that time is mainly party’s , big tittie , curse and crude humor. This movie so desperately wanted to get in the cool kids club aka Rated R so they said fuck 13 times in the opening scene alone. Also dated by the really really shitty editing, and the “OH DUDE WE CAN USE LIKE DIGITAL EFFECTS WHAT UPPP” and shakey camera work. Also half the people are dressed like the worst end of the 90s/ early 2000s with the spike hair and fuck boy attitude. Movies from the 80s in my mind, yea they are dated but if they don’t rely heavily on references, tech , or common practice at the time it doesn’t come across as dated.

Takes the basic aspects but makes them bad-

So they try to imitate like small basic things from the first movie which we take shots of the town.... which is a run down sushi place and some chubby kids and emos that’s your “strange” people guys. Also the main vampire takes a lot of David bullshit and they whoop occasionally because “that’s what the other guys did.” Edgar also rehashes a lot of what we know. Also there is a sex scene to cry little sister because “THEY HAD IT IN THE FIRST MOVIE TAKE PEOPLE SWEATING.” Except they could not afford to use the og song and it’s a cover that sounds... like something else again I get whiplash to the early 2000s please end me. There is also more shots of the ocean and random cuts then substance in the movie

Charecters-

Ohhhhh how forgettable. How forgettable. I had to look up the main charecters names. So everyone’s like a good mid 20s or they at least look like their slowly trucking along to being 30 that’s another thing about early 2000s movie “please believe this grown ass man is a teen.” Like the og movie, the actors were in their early 20s for the boys but you would still believe they were actually teens; there’s a age where you can still play a teen for a while. I say this as they are clearly all adults and yet nichole is a 17 year old GIRL! Who they have drink and seduce one charecter before genuinely having sex with another. 17. So our main characters are Chris(??) and Nichole EMERSON. Do they ever explain their parents or relationship to the name? NOPE. I implied maybe star and Micheal but they both look WAY to old to be their kids at least Chris unless he’s supposed to be like 19 even then I will laugh in your face. So Evan creepy desperate emo here to die except he almost does twice but he lives.... yay. Shane and his Tribe( I said it I said the thing!) also did I mention.... they aren’t bikers.... there surfers! (Who have bikes later in the film...) so in the opening scene he’s “Some jackass from Santa Carla” is this ever explained in the movie? No. If you read rein of the frogs like I had HE WAS A SURF NAZI WHO SURVIVED(well... in a way)It’s a shame because he was one of the few charecters I enjoyed.... and was kinda really cute. Long hair , bit of a beard, scruffy looking(I have a type ok-) so if you didn’t read the comic he doesn’t really get any explaination or reason but apparently he used to be a surfer , one of the best before he dodged. Ok? Apparently Emerson was to, ok? The others don’t really get much past the one being called a adrenaline junkie like he is. I like the crazy motherfucker. Something else I found absolutely hysterical is that the two main others are obessed with their cameras always filming mainly women and their game. Their game? To literally shank each other and jump around and laugh and record them gushing blood, a particular favorite scene of mine is at the party the tall black one, Erik??? I think stabs the best buddy and twists, this mf literally- his intensines fall out and his other organs “DUDE WHAT THE FUCK I WAS GONNA GET LAID DONT FILM ME-.” He picks them up off the ground and walks inside so nonshalantly- girls are screaming and panicking and the other two are laughing their asses off. Did I mention these vampires, young vampires at that as even Shane is like maybe only in his 40s/30s but looks a young 20, throw ragers? Because it’s 2008 babyyyy. Nicole is the usual “I want to see my hair flow in the wind and talk romantically about death.” Aka what Dracula Adaptations do to Lucy westenra to make her major vampire bait, and naturally Shane took it. The best charecter is probably Edgar as he was constistantly halarious though out the whole film until he started quipping. There was also a mid credit scene with SAM FUCKING EMERSON PLAID BY COREY I SHIT YOU NOT. He’s a vampire. Why? Something happened between them and it has to do with Alan to. This I need explained to me right fucking now. Oh wait no the best charecter is the guy dressed up as the oiled up sax player.

Vampire inconsistency-

So new info;

-doesn’t spesifically have to be a stake or wooden just in the heart.

Inconsistent-

Apparently garlic does work now boys, despite the fact that it was very clearly stated by Paul in the first film that it wouldn’t (Edgar was there for that you think he’d remember-) however Garlic bolo took my soul.

There’s inconsistency in how vampires look in this film alone contradicts itself. Like. So lost boys established the basics

Yellow eyes, long nails, fangs, bad breath , the face bone shift.

This one has a cheap supernatural lookin’ ass black eye effect and some fangs. Except when they don’t and it’s yellow eyes and fangs also with no facial effect except no it’s full facial makeup with black eyes and veins. Except no it’s full facial prosthetic more like the first film but with veins , black eyes , Dracula slit nose and SHARK TEETH(it really is like super natural vampires JFC.) like there is 4 different ways they look in this movie alone wtf. Also Shane, a full vampire; the head, can go outside at sundown/twilight if he has sunglasses. Good to know.

WHAT IS THISSSSS LMFAOOOOO

Also where does this movie even take place? As it is Damn well not Santa Carla and they make sure you know that.

Also we end on a “kids are doing drugs aren’t you” haha aunt so stupid joke. LAUGH.

Again seriously sams a vampire. Not explained but illuded to, Presumably edgars fault. Considering he is a grown ass man as well it was likely recent, probably tragic. You would think Sam would be just as angsty as his bro but no he’s all dark and angry and again did I mention it’s the ACTUAL FUCKING ACTOR?

[huntsman-ash]

RWBY V8E4 LiveThoughts

And were back at it again, this week with turkey and Italian preserved sausage as a snack! Lets see what RT has for us this week.

Oh, 20 minutes. Are they normally this long?

Oh, wait, the openings almost 2 minutes long. Thats more like it.

And now to Robyn and Qrow. Seems Robyns actually liking Qrow a little bit now. 

Guess the cells aren’t secured if a fly got into Schnee’s. This a “Fly on Mike Pence’s face” reference?

Qrow sounds more growly again. Did he get smacked back two seasons by Clover dying?

If by “darkness” you mean “Tyrian” then, yes. Also dude, its Clover. He was shit anyway. All the Aces are shit. Dont feel too bad about him.

And he’s got a point too. If Clover had thought with his head instead of his dick (yes, Im sure they were gonna fuck, Fair Games totally a thing), he probably wouldnt be dead now, and Tyrian would be the one with the sword through his chest.

But of course this is RWBY and V7/8 so things cant go their ways.

Ouch. Deep thoughts of Qrow. And some interesting stuff from Robyn too. I still think I’d prefer hopeandharmonizing’s Briar, though.

Marrows glare gives me life. Hare’s just a moron right now though, but thats no real surprise. She’s immature emotionally.  Honestly, shes...kind of like a less bad version of our current President. Always has to be the best at everything, fastest, leader, whatever.

Thats probably why this is grating on her so much. Even though shes TECHNICALLY the Ace’s leader now (I think? Seemed like she was Clovers lieutenant, so by rate of succession she’s in command now)

A glance at the little floating control pad... “Clerance access only”. Okay, that...seems weird. Shouldnt it say something like authorized personell only? Maybe it means access by clerance only or something.

Then Robyn’s name, and then process ID 4591-27. No idea what thats useful for but its there.

Also Marrow seems to be the only competent member of the Aces rn. 

Ah now we get to see some of the hills around Atlas. For those of you who have seen my headcanons on the Hunter-Killers and their base of operations, Fortress Academy, its out in these hills somewhere.

The music sounds like a boss fight.

The screen on Ren’s hoverbike reads “HVB Rhino” and “HD5800″ I can only assume HVB stands for “hoverbike” and Rhino must be its name, like how the dropships are Mantas. No clue what the number is. 

Also apparently the cold in Solitas is so bad it corrupts machinery?

Ahh, good, some action. Lets see what we get now. Ohh, teamwork. And again, signs that aura allows you to move faster and farther than a normal human

Heh, it really is like a boss fight, like the chase scene at the end of the first Viking level in For Honor.

Oh, and it can call for reenforcements literally out of nowhere? Or is the whole tundra of Solitas just CRAWLING with Grimm?

Yes, yes it did just call for backup, Yang. Maybe these are all forward scouts and ambush units from the Grimmstorm. They did say its the biggest...

Another banger from Casey Lee Williams...

What the hell happened in Solitas to cause this geography? Seriously, its a line of bridges over a gap in two cliffs...that cant be natrual, not that equal in distance.

Man, those bikes didnt even last half an episode...I guess thats fair, they are facing obsurd odds. Or maybe they just want Yang to be the only one with a bike.

And there goes the dropwall. Woops.

Also you can just kinda see it but they bounce off the rock and thats why they slow down. Useful.

Also this part with them falling off the edge reminds me of the ending cutscene of Halo 4s Forerunner level, where Chief flies out of a portal and almost goes sailing off a cliff in a Ghost.  Except here, the bike stays on the land and THEY go off the cliff.

I paused at just the right time cause YANGS FACE XD

Holy shit what are Ren’s weapons cables MADE OF? The one atop him is holding him AND the weight of his two teammates. And the one below has both Jaune and Yang. No sign of slippage or breackage at all. 

Ahhh there’s the whaleship (Monstra? Fuck it Im gonna keep calling it the whaleship). So yeah my headcanon now is the mountain its right next too is Menachite, where Fortress is. 

Oh hey back to the Schnee manor of all things! Does...this mean military invasion of the Schnee grounds. Hey Whitley. Lesbians are here. 

Someone make a video cut of Weiss banging on the door to the “Knock knock open up the door its real!” part of that one song.

Hehehehhe. Nice Weiss.

Also convenient about the house staff. Good thing RT doesnt need to animate them or Willow now...

I hope the staff took some of the silverware and some paintings on the way out.

Why is MAY the one carrying Nora.

Ah so now they’re stuck out there with no cell service. Hehe.

Ah okay so the cold in Solitas DOES eat aura. Good, my headcanon still kind of stands. 

I wonder, does wearing proper cold weather clothing (like bundled up stuff) help? Or does it cut right through...

Why is JAUNE the one hauling the bike? Isnt Yang the strongest? Or maybe they take turns.

Ahhh inter-team talking. Also, outpost. Hmm. Atlas one? Overrun if I had to guess. Unless he saw Fortress. Which I doubt.

I do love the circling shot here, with the light on Yang’s hair and the shadows on Ren. Its...really artistic and emotional. GREAT WORK RT. 

Rens got points. And hes saying stuff I myself have been saying for ages, which is good. I wonder why this is how Ren is now...working with the Ace Ops? Being afraid of loosing Nora? No one tell him what happened last episode.

Also, Jaune’s hair seems to have gotten less crazy in recent episodes. It looks less like a banana and more like a close tactical cut.

Yangs got a point.

Ahhh and now we get to see the inside of the whale. 

SALEM FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP SHOWING THE FUCK OFF. SERIOUSLY. WE GET IT. 

...this is gonna be a really criingy torture section, isnt it.

Someones gonna take that “hound didnt break you” line in the WRONG direction 

It is amusing the only thing holding Oscar down is the Hound actually. 

Ah so they’re still searching the remains of Beacon.

Also I like how Salem calls them “her forces” as if its anything but a random bunch of expendable monsters. Like, bruh, you cant search anything with THAT.

Ignoring the boring chat between these two, notice how the Hound’s shoulder literally flexes and shifts when Salem touched it. I dont think this thing is solid at all aside from the head and the bone claws...the whole thing is just amorphous Grimm material that can adapt to whatever situation it requires. A specialist unit. A...Hunter hunter.

Yo what the fuck was that. Magic? Huh. Did we actually SEE magic for once in the show? Only took us 8 FUCKING SEASONS...

Doesnt seem to be anything but an energy blast/pain never firing though. I assume his auras still gone, cause its completely singed his shirt, but it didnt do much else.

...Im not impressed.

She really needs to stop touching his face, its creeping me out.

HAHA SHE CANT DO IT HERSELF SHE HAS TO RELY ON HAZEL BEATING THE SHIT OUT OF HIM. I think we know where she stands now, doesnt she...say what you will about her letting Hazel have his vengeance (which is very valid, even he admits hit), but me? I think she A) cant actually beat up on Ozma herself because she still cares and B) shes almost out of magic too. Its weakened as the Gods have been gone and shes been forced to rely on the Grimm and on pawns. Basically, once she and Oz are both gone? That’s it for magic. Remnant will belong to the Grimm...and to technology. 

At which point without Oz around to hold them back Atlas is going to go fucking BONKERS and basically ensure the Grimm get pushed back into a corner and then finally permenantly STAMPED OUT.

More Whale insides. Seems like most of its empty grandious spaces. Or possibly muscle? Hard to tell. Either way theres a lot of open air in there...with tight corridors. If you fired a thermobaric warehead into one of the chambers the resulting blastc could possibly blow the doors off and send a raging fireball through the entire thing...Hmm. Filing that away for later.

NEO IS SO SHORT ITS FUNNY TO ME. I know its just positioning BUT SHE LOOKS EVEN SHORTER IN THIS SHOT THAN USUAL.

More note on the Hound; the “flesh” around its right shoulder spike actually sinks down when it stops moving. Its neck shifts and moves too, like the material isnt solid, but recirculating.

I also dont see any eyes. And it looks like it has some kind of...forehead mouth? Def looks like teeth down the ridge of its spine.

Oh boy yeah that...whole thing is basically melting in on itself.

I wont lie; hearing Cinder get berated by CORTANA (and yes, I still hear Cortana in Salem, espeically now that the two characters are kind of one and the same, both megalomaniacal leaders of giant armies, bar the fact that one of them is about a TRILLION times more dangerous than the other because one of them has access to Guardian Custodies and the other one is...well kind of lame and has to have beefy dudes beat up on small children etc) is pleasing to me. 

Get fucked, Cinder.

And THERE is Cortana again too.

Neo Marry Popins’s Ya’lling is fucking CUTE. And I love her little smirk.

Wait the whale’s that close?

..oh my...hold on.

...thats it. THATS ATLAS’S AIR FLEET!?!

12 AIRSHIPS? 12? EXCUSE ME!?

ARE YOU LEGITAMETLY TELLING ME THE BIGGEST MILITARY ON REMNANT HAS FEWER AIRSHIPS THAN THE SMALLEST NAVY ON EARTH HAS FRIGATES? YOUR FUCKING KIDDING ME RIGHT? THERE HAS TO BE MORE SOMEWHERE. THIS IS A JOKE, A STRAIGHT UP FUCKING JOKE.

...

No, thats...thats it. Thats Atlas’s airfleet. 12 tiny vessels. I swear it was bigger last season...

...HA! HAHA! HA! Oh, Ironwood, and Atlas as a whole...you deserve everything your about to get. I hope you die SCREAMING, and that when your bodies fall bleeding and shattered to Mantle, the people down there will realize that, no. You cant just assume Hunters will do all the work for you

THIS IS REMNANT. ITS KILL OR BE KILLED. YOU EITHER MAKE A FORCE POWERFUL ENOUGH THAT THE GRIMM RUN FROM YOU  OR YOU DIE INSTEAD. ATLAS FAILED. NOW THEY SUFFER.

Emerald stop simpin.

Also that is...the SHITTEST outpost...I have ever seen in my life. My overall thought process of Atlas is...sinking even LOWER than before. 

Though it seems more like a waystation. Bed, Dust, some dudes coat on it. Dead heater. Its probably a rest spot for Specialists out in the tundra.

Ren does the emo sit. Lol. Yang even says it. Brood himself to death.

Alright whats this now...something forcing itself out of the tundra?

And thats it for today! Cool ass concept art at the end there too. 

[arcticdementor]

In the David Fincher produced, 2017 Netflix series, Mindhunter, two FBI special agents travel the country interviewing serial killers in the 1970’s. The series, based on the non-fiction book “Mindhunter: Inside the FBI’s Elite Serial Crime Unit” by John Douglas, chronicles the beginnings of advanced criminal profiling techniques developed by the FBI in response to a number of high profile, and gruesome crimes carried out during the era, beginning with the Manson Family murders of 1968. Throughout the show the fictional special agents Holden Ford and Bill Tench meet with frequent resistance from other law enforcement personnel as they attempt to unravel the minds of the serial killers they meet. Everyone from their bosses in the agency to the local police officers they encounter along the way express extreme discomfort at the thought of empathizing or attempting to understand the killers Ford and Tench interrogate. These men are just evil. There’s nothing more to it. Nothing can be learned from them. No insight can be gained. They’re simply, purely evil, and attempting to say anything more on the subject is an affront to the victims, their families, and to human decency and capital-J Justice in general.

Fictionalized though the series may be, in our own time, in the era of mass shootings, one doesn’t have to go far to find similar responses to this uniquely contemporary category of violent crime. Media coverage of the killers oozes sensationalized language that depicts them as dark, evil, twisted, vile, abhorrent, insane. The public, in internet comment forms across social media, offer up their thoughts and prayers, and inevitably, the discussion devolves into a debate on the second amendment and the merits of gun control as politicians and journalists quickly move to steer the national conversation to more politically fruitful areas in order to amass momentum in passing various pieces of long desired legislation targeting gun owners or the NRA. The killers themselves, their personalities, their motivations, their worldviews, the experiences that shape them, every time quickly slip through the cracks of the conversation and are forgotten long before their respective cases are ever brought to trial.

…

Over the course of hundreds of hours beginning in 1959, Ted Kaczynski, the future unabomber, participated in an intense psychological experiment conduced at Harvard by Dr. Henry A Murray. During World War II, Murray had worked for the Office of Strategic Services in developing personality assessment techniques designed to test potential recruits on how well they would endure interrogation and torture by the enemy. At Harvard, Murray went on to further develop his method, transforming it from a diagnostic assessment of mental anti-fragility, into the basis of a radical personality modifying procedure he hoped could be used to forcibly evolve human consciousness in order to prevent the nuclear annihilation he feared was inevitable in light of mankind’s petty national prejudices and self-interest during the period of the Cold War. Kaczynski was among his unwitting test subjects, and though his personal, radical Luddite beliefs would ultimately diverge from the kind of technocratic globalism Murray intended to inculcate in Kaczynski, in a strange way, Murray was also more successful than he could have possibly anticipated.

…

No case provides better evidence of this possibility than that of Adam Lanza, the 2012 Sandy Hook shooter. After years of denied requests, more than 1,000 pages of evidence relating to the Lanza case were finally released to the Hartford Courant in December of 2018. Lanza, who killed himself following the attack, left behind no manifesto. He had even taken the precaution of smashing his devices’ hard drives prior to the shooting. In the end hundreds of pages worth of Lanza’s writings were ultimately recovered by the police, and it’s only from these scattered fragments that his beliefs and opinions emerge. Like Holmes in the weeks and months leading to the Aurora massacre, Lanza was no stranger to psychiatric evaluation. Throughout Lanza’s entire life, from the age of 3, when he was first diagnosed with speech and developmental problems, he knew little else but the offices of therapists and counselors and psychiatrists. A rotating cast of mental health professionals drifted in and out of his life. They all recognized the so-called ‘warning signs’ all too well, but even with a lifetime’s worth of treatment, they completely and utterly failed to prevent his transformation into mass murderer.

…

Lanza goes even further, and characterizes the years of psychiatric treatment he received since childhood explicitly as abusive: “I was molested at least a dozen times by a few different adults when I was a child. It wasn’t my decision at all: I was coerced into it… What do each of the adults have in common? They were doctors, and each of them were sanctioned by my parents to do it. This happens to virtually every child without their input into the matter: Their parents sanction it.”

…

The United States spends more per capita on primary and secondary education than almost any other country. As of 2014 the U.S. is in the top 5, below only Switzerland, Norway and Austria. Despite this however, year after year, a majority of Americans report dissatisfaction with the quality of K-12 education in their country. Alternative education remains a persistent source of controversy within the public consciousness. Private schools, charter schools, school vouchers, homeschooling, all are topics that filter in and out of the national political conversation. Democrats, on the whole, maintain an unyielding support for the compulsory nature of public education in America, while practices like Homeschooling are largely written off as the exclusive province of religious fundamentalists and political separatists. The same goes for the diverting of public resources to charter schools by means of a tax exemption or credit. The argument that has formed over time to circumvent these controversial alternatives boils down to a single word: Socialization.

Public schools not only educate students in facts and skills, the argument goes, but also serve to socialize children by serving as a microcosm of the pluralistic, diverse society in which these students will one day have to live and contribute to. A private, all male school, for instance, will fail to prepare its students for the modern workplace, where they’ll have to cooperate and even take orders from female colleagues or superiors. Likewise, desegregation busing is required to ensure students experience a sufficiently diverse environment. When it comes to a wide variety of controversies in public education, the socialization argument continues to form the backbone of liberal resistance to conservative attacks on the public schooling monopoly.At the same time, as liberals defend the practice and theory of socialization, the scourge of bullying has, on-again off again, served as a cause célèbre among many of the same people. Since 2010, October has become National Bullying Prevention Month, a campaign by the non-profit PACER organization in coordination with companies like CNN and Facebook, among others. Television shows and documentaries have tackled the subject, and celebrities like Ellen regularly champion anti-bullying causes. But what is bullying but the core of Socialization? In a sense the two can almost be considered synonymous. Bullying is, after all, the school of hard knocks which children undergo to learn the complex, unspoken rules of social game playing. Socialization is about instilling conformity, and bullying remains the core experience for many children in learning about all the ways the deviate from the norm. When children are unresponsive to bullying, that’s when things are kicked up to the teachers and administrators and school counselors, and that same unpliability and unresponsiveness is re-conceptualized by well-meaning adults as developmental disorders.

In 1975 Autism was diagnosed in children at a rate of 1 in every 5,000. Today that number has soared to nearly 1 in 100. This has ignited a public controversy over the source or cause of what by every definition deserves to be called an public health epidemic. 75% of children diagnosed with Autism today are boys. There’s no need to go searching for a cause. Vaccines aren’t behind the explosion in Autism rates. Teachers and school psychologists are. School psychology today is a booming industry, one which the US Department of Labor identifies as having some of the best employment opportunities across the entire field of psychology. 75% of school psychologists are women, with an average age of 46. It is this same group of people most empowered to conduct psychological monitoring of children across the country, and over the last 30 years, they have come to classify a larger and larger percentage of young boys as having developmental issues, to the point where it’s not clear whether there is anything wrong with these children at all, or if school psychologists have simply written off a wider and wider range of behaviors which they find problematic or incomprehensible as constituting autism.

…

In 2013, a Texas teenager named Justin Carter was locked up for threatening a school shooting. Whether or not the threat was legitimate is another matter entirely. In a bout of online shit talking over League of Legends Carter wrote “Oh yeah, I’m real messed up in the head, I’m going to go shoot up a school full of kids and eat their still, beating hearts…” in response to a quip by a fellow gamer calling him crazy. He quickly rejoined: “lol jk,” likely realizing the fact he could get himself in trouble saying such things. Whether or not it was a good idea for him to make such a comment is immaterial, what matters is the violent, disproportionate response that followed. A Canadian woman, thousands of miles away, reported Carter. He was arrested and locked in jail. Bond was set at half a million dollars, which his family couldn’t afford to pay. He languished in jail, was assaulted by fellow inmates, and then locked up in solitary confinement for his own safety. After 4 months in jail an anonymous donor paid to have Carter released on behalf of his family. The state dragged out the matter for years, delaying the trial as long as possible on tenuous grounds. In the interim Carter was banned from using a computer. It wasn’t until spring of 2018 that a plea agreement was finally reached and Carter was let off with time served.

This is the paranoid system which today we entrust with rescuing at-risk young boys. This is what stands between us and more school shootings. Never mind the fact that as this system has grown, it has only led to a rise in mass shootings. Maybe the real cause of such cases is not guns, or a failure to identify and treat students, maybe the cause is these same students, following a protracted process of isolation and attempted psychological modification, learning to play the part the system has assigned to them, that of the security threat. When schools spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on active shooter drills and security systems, isn’t it just wasted money until someone comes along and gives them an excuse to use it? The complicated apparatus of psychological surveillance and socialization that prevails among schools today is, like the TSA checkpoint at the airport, nothing more than an elaborate piece of (psychological) security theater, and theaters require drama, and more importantly, villains. People like Adam Lanza and James Holmes are certainly killers of the very worst kind, guilty of evil, but on a larger scale, their evil is a only a reflection of our own, of the perverse societal mechanisms we’ve developed to give ourselves piece of mind, regardless of the children that must be fed to the machinery for it to function.

[oliver-nova]

edit: 1/8/2023

thanks for taking an interest in my page! before you follow, here is a general overview of my page and some stuff i ask you to tag if i follow you

if you have any issue with these, especially my dni list, please block me

if you need anything tagged that isnt tagged, please let me know! i want to make your experience as comfy as possible

this is lengthy, so more after jump!

(general what i post, what i tag, dni list, and what i need tagged included)

what i post

the yakuza games

genshin impact

obey me

a3!

resident evil

red dead redemption

cute animals

zodiac

graphics

shitposts

cinderella phenomeon

xoxo droplets

the ikemen series

the soul calibur series

wrestling (wrestling only page is @hyo-watanabe)

fanfic (fanfic only page is @kristenssinbin. all reblogs of smuttiness will come from there)

romantic shit

personal shit

digimon

castlevania

persona 5

far cry series

food

flowers

fashion/jewelry

nopixel!! (nopixel sideblog is @nicholas-simone)

twisted wonderland

court of darkness

dead by daylight

the call of duty reboot from 2022 (gaz is kind of a babe) 

my tags

yakuza

genshin

obey me

a3

re

rdr

fave

ref

cinderella

xoxo

ikesen

ikevamp

ikerev

sc

rasslin

rom

shut up kristen

replies

messages

digimon

castle

personal blahness

my edit

my edits

my icons

my gifs

my lockscreens

discourse

sova

hanzo

fc3

fc4

fc5

fc6

p5

fcnd

twst

cod

mw

nopixel

i tw sensitive content. i either go tw: (sensitive thing) or tw (sensitive thing)

i also tag spoiler/spoilers. i do a general rule of after 1 month of me seeing something, i don’t spoiler tag then

what i need tagged

insects

spiders

body horror (a little blood is ok because i play m rated games)

the arcana, fuck that stupid fucking game

ships!!! (please tag your ships. i don’t ship anything, but there are some ships that i am super uncomfy with due to age difference and whatnot)

dni if

fujoshi

pro shipping (especially incest and adult x child ships)

DDlg/CGl(re)/any related age play kink blogs

MAPs/NoMAPs/PEARs/lolicon

maga/conservative

TERFs/Radfems

Bigots/supporters of hateful viewpoints or ideologies (racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, islamophobia, nazism, fatphobic, white supremacy, aphobic etc.)

pro-life

anti BLM

if you see nothing wrong with rpf

anti-vaxxers/anti-mask

thinspo

animal abuse

LGBT-exclusionist

overwatch league blog, its still a v sensitive topic so i dont want to see anything that reminds me of it despite him not being in the league anymore

under 16 (i’m over 30, its just kinda creepy and i swear a lot)

xqc fan; dude is a piece of shit with a gross fanbase. dude has been banned from like 4 different games and owl because of how awful he is

cg/st/hydra fan; fuck em and the toxic vibes they bring to the np community  

scu fan; what they (a large chunk of scu) did to jakka re: their chats is super fucking shitty, fuck em