#what are the best panels in bleach?

[platinumz0nvrmre]

what are the best panels in bleach?

obviously the best panel in chapter 7 is the only action shot, chad protecting the delinquents and parakeet from the falling beam goes so hard and deserves the best spot

the runners up

i just like how in the manga ichigos canon nickname is strawberry

[thepersonperson]

Thoughts on the tragedy of Gojo Satoru and narrative cruelty towards him as of JJK 261.

Some notes before we start.

1) This originally was going to be an analysis about how Gojo is Megumi's dad. Then JJK 261 came out and shattered my heart into millions of pieces.

2) This analysis will briefly deal with suicide.

3) The light novels are canon and provide critical insight to characters and their motivations. I would go as far to say they're the equivalent of Bleach's CFYOW for JJK. I will be citing the official translation from my own copies. There is a fan translation (Book 1 & Book 2), but the syntax is a bit clunky to read. Either version is fine, I just highly encourage reading them.

4) I will be mainly using the TCB scans for the manga because of their accessibility. 

5) Read the light novels.

(Click pictures for captions/citations.)

Preface

Umineko no Naku Koro ni (When the Seagulls Cry) is a visual novel about a person who is fundamentally misunderstood by those around them. They desperately want to be loved without being perceived, believing themself to be unworthy due to trauma and immutable characteristics given to them at birth. Instead of telling anyone these feelings directly, they play games akin to torture. They torment the ones they love over and over in hopes they'll see through their actions and understand them.

"Without love it cannot be seen."

If you've ever heard of Umineko, you've probably seen this quote. It's the lens in which you are supposed to view the contents of the novel in order to understand the heart behind the actions.

Keep this all in mind as I attempt to answer the following question:

What's wrong with Gojo Satoru?

Short Answer: Being the Strongest. He never got over the trauma inflicted by Toji that was worsened by Geto. And because he's the Strongest, he never sought help for these problems. I’m not going to explain why this is the case here—we’re just accepting this as canon for this analysis. How this trauma manifests and affects his interpersonal relationships is the focus here.

Regardless of trauma, Gojo Satoru is a fascinating character in that he is simultaneously a egotistical arrogant dickhead and a deeply caring individual. He's not one or the other, he is both at the same time at all times. Allow me to explain how he pulls this off.

2 Birds 1 Stone

Gojo Satoru is a 2 birds and 1 stone kind of guy. What I mean by this is that Gojo will do 1 thing and have 2 reasons behind it. The reasons often seem contradictory which leads fans and characters to have a polarized view of Gojo based on how they feel about him. If you hate Gojo, you will only see the bad/selfish reason. If you adore Gojo uncritically, you will only see the good/selfless reason.

This is why without love, it (Gojo's heart) cannot be seen.

I will now provide examples of this 2 birds 1 stone action.

Ijichi Kiyotaka

Ijichi and Gojo’s relationship is the best to start with because it teaches you how to read Gojo’s words vs his actions/results. We all know Gojo is very blunt in an rude way. This is at its extreme when he’s with Ijichi as seen in the following panels.

Gojo straight up tells Ijichi he’s useless as a sorcerer in a way that makes him cry. It’s definitely bullying, but it’s not to torment Ijichi even though it seems that way. Ijichi comes to understand Gojo was just trying to make sure he wouldn’t die. This particular scene took place right after Haibara died, Nanami quit, and Geto defected. The harshness is how Gojo is choosing to say “Hey I care about your life, but don’t get too close to me, I can’t handle that.”

Gojo was even kind enough to offer a productive alternative that let him participate in Jujutsu society without risking his life—driving a car and putting up veils.

Still, Gojo’s bullying of him is a lot. It makes Ijichi doubt that Gojo even likes him. Gojo has to spell it out that he trusts Ijichi the most. Ijichi being weak means he cannot betray Gojo like Geto did, therefore Gojo can fully trust him. Still, Gojo is aware his weakness is other people, so as The Strongest, he can’t let him in all the way. This leads to him showing affection/care in the most insane ways possible. (It’s not really a surprise people don’t understand him when he uses this plausible deniability model.)

ENTER: JJK Thorny Road at Dawn, Chapter 3 Asakusabashi Elegy

As stated in CFYOW, Gojo is aware of Ijichi’s stress and went out of his way to help him deal with it.

Not only does he recognize the stress and notice he hasn't taken time off for it, but he also pinpoints the reason so well that it moves Ijichi to tears. (Summary of Pages 75-77: He feels guilty for failing Yuji twice. Gojo assures him it’s not his fault and flicks him on the forehead.)

But! Gojo can’t be too affectionate. The very next day he piles a good deal of work on Ijichi’s desk he is aware will be stressing him the fudge out. (See Pages 78-79 for full context.)

It should go without saying that treating Ijichi like this is not ok. My point here is to demonstrate that despite being a massive asshole, Gojo does care.

So what did we learn here?

1) Gojo is aware of people’s emotional problems to some extent.

(IDing Ijichi’s stress source accurately.)

2) Gojo is aware he is unable to deal with emotional problems on his own so he enlists outside help.

(Having Shoko and alcohol help cheer Ijichi up while he talks to him.)

3) Gojo’s bluntness and flippant behavior is both rude and serves a purpose for the recipient.

(Gojo bullying Ijichi to keep him out of harm’s way.)

4) Gojo packages his affections with cruelty to keep people at a distance.

(Gojo flicking Ijichi on the head while telling him to take it easy. Taking Ijichi for a night out and then burdening him with extra work the next day.)

5) Other people do not understand Gojo and misread his intent all the time.

(It took Ijichi about 10 years to realize Gojo cares deeply about him.)

Nanami Kento

ENTER: JJK Summer of Ashes, Autumn of Dust, Chapter 2: Resurrection Doll

This chapter is so good at fully fleshing out the Gojo Nanami dynamic that I will not be using manga citations for most of this part. Please read it. Or listen to the official audio drama which has been fan translated.

Gojo spends the first half of this chapter messing with Nanami, forcing him to try unique foods and drinks and generally enjoy himself. You know the typical purposeful Gojo bullying. (See Pages 33-38)

Then it gets rather serious when they arrive at their mission’s destination. They have to deal with a grieving mother. Gojo is blunt. Nanami is comforting. (See Pages 47-50)

What’s interesting about this interaction is how Gojo reflects on it. He acknowledges how bad he is at dealing with attachment issues that come from grief.

Gojo and Nanami find the culprit and the both of them are quite pissed at how he’s exploiting grief to make a profit. They kind of let him be tortured by the curses that eat his body for a bit before killing him. Gojo makes Nanami do it because he can make him die a human death. (See Pages 50-57)

Even after he has expressed hatred of his man for preying on grieving parents, Gojo still ultimately wants this person to have a proper death. This captures the duality of his inhumanity (torture) and humanity (merciful death) quite well.

The following bar scene ties this all together nicely. (See Pages 58-60 for full context.)

I want to note that it is constantly drawing attention to the sentimentality the both of them feel as they converse about how this particular mission messed with them.

As stated in CFYOW, Gojo believes adults treat their stress with alcohol and conversation. And yet, he denies himself the alcohol.

Gojo denying himself this stress relief seems to be a combination of him being too wary to let down Limitless and not believing he needs it. He's the Strongest and he has to be the Strongest at all times, otherwise someone like Toji will get him.

As stated in CFYOW, Gojo recognizes his students will face trauma similar to himself and Nanami and that as adults they must look out for them.

What's so heartbreaking about this interaction is how Nanami is painfully aware Gojo isn't following his own advice of stress relief and says nothing. In a way it almost reads like Gojo, who knows people see him as a giant child, is asking Nanami to help him too in the most roundabout way possible.

As stated in CFYOW, Gojo deliberately paired Yuji with Nanami because he recognizes he is unfit to keep him emotionally stable. (Also note he refuses to have Yuji’s humanity denied as Sukuna’s Vessel. His concerns are explicitly about Yuji as a kid and nothing else.)

Not only is this for Yuji’s benefit, but for Nanami’s as well.

As we know, Nanami and Gojo have one thing common: they lost their best friends because they couldn’t be there for them. This guilt motivates both their actions as adults. Using that connection through shared grief, Gojo is trying to help Nanami heal from that wound with Yuji.

Why Yuji? Nanami’s best friend, Haibara, was a cheerful, friendly boy with a big heart—just like Yuji. He may not be able to replace Haibara, but that familiarity helps Nanami move on. We know this worked because Nanami dies without regrets thanks to Yuji. (All while seeing Haibara too.)

This is called the Nanago Bible for good reason. We have Gojo being an absolute annoying dick to him and then doting on him so targetedly it kind of makes your head spin. Just like Ijichi, Gojo cares but he’s got to bully you first before he shows it. (Totally sane and healthy behavior. /s)

That's why this hurts so much.

This is so cruel. Gojo does all this for Nanami only to be misunderstood by him in the end, and learn that everyone else is the same way.

However, Nanami still cares for him. Like Gojo, Nanami doesn't show affection unless he's being kind of mean. The best example of this is Yuji calling him Nanamin. And to be honest, his whole stern father dynamic with Yuji.

Nanami puts on a show here. He pretends this is pissing him off but he ultimately accepts it.

We've already established that Gojo is unable to fully understand other people. Nanami calling him a pervert/weirdo/self-satisfier was affection and Gojo too misunderstands him. So we're left with that panel of Gojo looking very hurt.

Iori Utahime

Similar to Ijichi, Gojo trusts Utahime because she is weak. And just like Ijichi, Gojo doesn’t say “I trust you won’t betray me like Geto”, he says this:

Not ignoring the misogynistic stint to his bullying of Utahime, Gojo has been doing this for so long that Utahime flat out hates him. It’s in her official character description. And Gojo is unaware of this because he can't read people well. But you want to know what else is? Her love of sports. (Baseball is one she's really into.)

After the disaster that was the first half of the Goodwill Event, Gojo makes the second half enjoyable for the students and Utahime specifically. 2 birds and 1 stone. Baseball means kids get to enjoy their youth and Utahime gets to have fun with something she genuinely enjoys. And Gojo gets to piss off Principal Yaga and Gakuganji as a treat.

Hopefully you can see the pattern now. Gojo cares for people while also being an absolute menace to keep them at a distance for what he believes to be their own good. And still he craves a direct connection with them. All of it is him failing to cope with Toji and Geto in a healthy way and being The Strongest.

Gojo's Heart

Now that we've established how to read Gojo's actions and words, let's take a look at his heart. What kind of person is Gojo Satoru really under all the posturing?

Other People

Though Gojo likes to act like he's above it all, other people are his weakness. This is not limited to other sorcerers, but the non-sorcerers as well. His attachment to people is so strong that it has been used by each major villain as an exploit. Toji used Gojo's fondness towards Riko to catch him by surprise, both Geto and Kenjaku used his sense of duty towards complete strangers to trap him, and Sukuna used Megumi to throw him off guard.

The Hidden Inventory and Shibuya Incident arcs in particular echo each other in set up and outcome—Kenjaku's plan being a finessed version of Toji's. Gojo panics over Riko and strangers potentially dying with the same expression as his weakness is exploited until he comes up with a solution on the spot. And these solutions ultimately fail to stop the villain from obtaining their goals. The difference between them is how Gojo follows up on the collateral damage. Post-Geto fallout, he starts more directly checking in on the people he potentially hurt.

The follow-up with Ijichi about Shibuya is illuminating. It reiterates that unconsciously Gojo created a domain on the fly that wouldn't be lethal to strangers, and it reveals that his cursed energy itself is hellbent on protecting others. What this indicates is that Gojo's soul is devoted to others. If he didn't care, none of this would be possible.

That being said, Nanami also isn't wrong to call Gojo a Jujutsu Pervert. Gojo does very much get off on fighting to the point where he starts disconnecting from other emotions. Just as the Hidden Inventory and Shibuya Incident showcased how much Gojo cares for other people, the same arcs showcased how unhinged Gojo is when left to his own devices.

He's both caring and a freak at the same time. Polarizing behavior included.

Gojo’s Students

Gojo cares a lot about his students, their enjoyment of life, and their futures. He also wants to change Jujutsu society without senseless bloodshed so he goes out of his way to recruit strong children with potential as his allies (Megumi, Yuta, Yuji, Hikari). Some may think he’s only using the youth for his own purposes. Others may think he just wants to help troubled youths. But it’s both. Gojo is doing both of these things. And boy does he feel immense guilt over it when it goes poorly. See how he handles Yuji "dying".

It should be noted that he still tries to maintain his jokey persona with Shoko and Ijichi while he genuinely gets upset. And he does this by bullying the tar out of Ijichi. (It's really no wonder the poor thing thought Gojo hated him.)

As stated in CFYOW, JJK Summer of Ashes, Autumn of Dust, Chapter 4: Ijichi at Work, Gojo’s style of care is one that is focused on helping the children handle the emotions he couldn’t at their age. (See Pages 116-118 for full context.)

Gojo basically finds children who are like himself and tries to make sure they don’t wind up like him. This is how he has chosen to cope with his trauma.

You could read this as manipulative and selfish if you find Gojo unbearable. It did turn out poorly in the end. But remember how he forced Nanami to speak of Yuji as a person and not a vessel. And how Gojo discusses with him the fragile hearts of youth and how he wants to prepare them for grief. Gojo is anticipating Jujutsu society ruining their lives and acting preemptively.

Gojo also postures in front of the students. As their pillar of stability, he pretends everything is ok because he's the adult in charge. Look at how quickly he buries his grief when they notice something is up.

And each time he does this, it works. He definitely believes what he says and that does make him annoying. However, the students feel secure because he's promising to take responsibility. When he fails them, he blames himself and no one else. That's the attitude of someone that cares despite most of his students not seeing through his arrogance.

Geto Suguru

It's not up for debate that Gojo was in love with Geto. Gojo 100% was gay for Geto. What is up for debate is whether or not the two of them ever acted on it when they had the chance. I lean towards the interpretation that this love was never realized in life. (Gege is a huge fan of yaoi that ends in tragedy.)

I want to make it very clear, after reading the contents of JJK 261, I believe Geto is the one who failed Gojo the most. He had a fundamental misunderstanding of his best friend so bad that he abandoned him and was shocked that Gojo still loved him in the end. It took him until the afterlife to see that all Gojo wanted was him.

Gojo checking in on him wasn't enough, Gojo not killing him for 10 years even though he could've wasn't enough, Gojo saying something that caused Geto to blush before he killed him wasn't enough, Gojo dying and immediately greeting him first wasn't enough. This is when he finally understands.

Before not denying the fact Geto saw Gojo as a self-satisfying Jujutsu pervert who cared about no one else.

Geto was too consumed by his own trauma and hang-ups to see Gojo with love. He wound up doing the exact same thing he killed non-sorcerers for; putting all the burden of their relationship on the strongest and expecting him to do all the work.

And yet somehow Geto was able to find the love Gojo also deserved. He made a family and was surrounded by people who openly loved him and even understood him. It makes me a little bitter.

At one point Geto did understand Gojo a lot. Enough to be his moral center and sense his suffering. He even accepted Gojo's awful personality when everyone else wouldn't. Since their breakup, Gojo has been mourning him. Every little thing Geto told him to do while they were together is something Gojo incorporated into his life.

Using the personal pronouns "Boku" and "Watashi" over "Ore" to be more polite? Done. Not killing ordinary people, even if they suck, because that would be pointless? Done. Even to the point where he spares most curse users or rehabilitates them. He takes care of Geto's family even after he's dead. Looking after the weak because he's strong? Done until it kills him.

Gojo is chasing after a Geto that no longer exists. These little rituals keep that ghost alive. And they turn out to be super beneficial to other people so let's make it another 2 birds and 1 stone that hides the fact he's grieving.

Gojo's Guts

In summary, Gojo does care about other people despite treating them in bizarre and unpleasant ways that aren’t ok. He may be using them as a way to work through his own trauma, but he is also determined to see that they live better lives than himself. 2 birds, 1 stone.

His status as The Strongest isolated him so severely that he was doomed to being misunderstood by everyone he loved. Both because of how Gojo treats them and how they treat his power. (Limitless being the metaphorical and literal barrier between himself and others.)

Gojo wants to give love and be loved but is denied it at every turn. His heart is that of a pathetic sopping-wet cat that pretends it's completely dry.

Narrative Cruelty

The narrative ire for Gojo Satoru cannot be overstated. This person sums it up the best.

After JJK 261, it has become abundantly clear to me that Gojo was intending to die the moment he made the date December 24th (the most romantic day in Japan and the death date of Geto Suguru). He has all this grief and guilt and truly believes that no one living will ever understand or care about him in the way he wants. The only one Gojo believes will understand him is Geto and he wants to be with him. (And that didn't pan out well either.)

Gojo is also refusing to burden the students with being a monster even though they're offering. As an adult he is in the right to do his damndest to make sure the minors in his care don't become as broken as him. He knows being a monster sucks and his whole goal is to put an end to that.

Plus, he blames himself entirely for this situation in the first place. He's taking responsibility by killing the elders to ensure that when he dies, his students don't pay for it. In a way he's correct, failing to kill Geto properly because he loved him is why they're here now. Kenjaku exploited that love to seal him and Gojo knows it.

The Gojo vs Sukuna fight was Gojo effectively committing suicide to be with his one and only love who fundamentally misunderstood him in life and barely understands him even in death. And ironically, the one who kills him is the first and only person relate directly to his suffering and acknowledge him as himself. Sukuna frees Gojo from the title of Strongest and leaves him as Gojo Satoru, appreciating him as the one who cleared his skies.

This is so unbearably cruel it makes my stomach twist just thinking about it.

It's why I want Gojo so desperately to come back to life. I want him to experience love and know that he is loved. I want him to come to terms with his grief and work through it. But we don't get that. He dies and is surrounded by people that barely understand him while claiming to have no regrets.

What's the point of this narrative ire?

Japanese society is largely Buddhist. Detachment, a kind of Stoicism, is a tenant of Buddhism. Emotions are to be let go of. Ideally when they arise, you don’t cling to or bury them. A version of this idea from Zen Buddhism manifests in Japanese culture as a mantra known as Suffering in Silence or Gaman. In summary, if you're hurting, you hide it. That's the proper thing to do. It leans much more towards repression of emotions instead of their release/detachment.

JJK deliberately draws inspiration from Buddhist teachings and imagery so I'm assuming Gojo Satoru being the poster child for Suffering in Silence is intentional. Taking everyone's burdens and pretending it's all ok because he's the strongest and that's what you're supposed to do.

He took on most of the burden for protecting Amanai Riko and they both died for it.

He took on the burden of being stronger, going on missions for both Nanami and Geto while they grieved until they both left him.

He took on the burden of raising Megumi and Tsumiki and look at what happened to both of them.

He took on the burden of every student no questions asked, money food, dealing with higher ups, etc and all but 2 of them treat him kindly.

He took on the burden of killing Geto, which Principal Yaga forced onto him when he was 17 and it came back to bite him 11 years later in Shibuya where he took on the burden of dealing with that veil.

This is a cautionary tale demonstrating just how much this kind of mindset can ruin your life. JJK has always been a massive critique of Japanese societal standards. And despite Gojo rebelling against it, the toxic ideas a part of his upbringing are ones he can't let go of for himself. He believes he can't be fixed, so he paves the way for the future generation with all his body and soul.

That's why this is so cruel.

In life Gojo was treated like an object by everyone around him. His clan saw him as a tool for their glory and pushed everything onto him. The higher ups, Yaga, Nanami wanted to push everything onto him and they did when they could. You can say whatever mean thing you want to him because he can clearly handle it. You can assign whatever mission or task because he's reliable as the strongest but not as a person. He gave his life for others and even his body, only to be scorned by those very ones he's helping. (Think back to how he forced Nanami to speak of Yuji as a person and not a vessel. He doesn't want any of his students to be dehumanized like himself.)

Yuta is only person who stopped to ask if Gojo was ok. He's the only one that noticed his status as a monster was eating him alive. He's the only one who had a problem with everyone talking about Gojo's body like a tool. And to help him be less lonely he asked for explicit permission to be the one to desecrate it.

Gojo doesn't want his students to give up their humanity and be lonely or give their lives to win. He's ok with them taking risks if it means they survive (see Megumi). And from what it looks like, Yuta will be the only one to fully understand him (obtaining his memories and all) and then die as the result of it.

So in a cruel twist of irony, Gojo will have one person know him fully as a monster and they will likely die as the result of it, further justifying his self-isolation in the first place. It's a game he always loses no matter how he plays.

Sukuna wasn't really wrong when he called Kashimo greedy for wanting Love and Strength. With how their society is structured, they really can't have both.

Note: I'm leaving Yuji out of this because he had no idea this was the plan and always saw Gojo as his teacher first, aka a person. This is also his general reaction to Gojo going things alone.

There's still more...

I also want to note Shoko's reaction here is another instance of Gojo not understanding those around him. From her first official character profile it's noted that Shoko has finally quit smoking for 5 years because Utahime asked her to.

Now what is Shoko doing in that panel and during the entire fight? Smoking. She's just mirroring Gojo's own behavior towards her. Pretending everything is ok and saying nothing of her true feelings. After getting blown off emotionally by both Geto and Gojo as a teenager, Shoko gave up on reaching them.

Gojo did this to her for over a decade and she's doing it back to him. Not because they want to me mean to each other, they just don't know how else to deal with their own trauma. To an extent the other students are doing the same. They're just being like their Sensei.

Gojo went out on a suicide mission believing only Yuta and Yuji cared about him in life as a person. (Megumi's getting his own post and believe me it's not fun.) The 2 most empathetic characters were able to let him know they saw his heart. With love it was seen. Other people cared and didn't show it or they flat out treated him like an object. Gojo is both at fault and not at fault for this.

It hurts me a lot and it's very cruel, but I think this has severed its purpose. If you don't tell people how you feel, they'll never know. Emotions will eat you from the inside out and no one will notice because on the surface you look ok. There aren't a lot of people like Yuta who will take the time to look for your heart, so it's better to outright show it. Don't put off grief, it will consume you.

Gege Akutami...when I get you...

Another prominent theme of Umineko is how poorly readers treat the creators of the story they are experiencing. Often times fans will say and wish horrible things on the author when the story they like doesn't go the way they want it to. You're free to feel upset by how this story's direction and critique it to your hearts content, but please remember Gege is a person too. Don't do to Gege what everyone else has done to Gojo.

Remember: "Without love, it cannot be seen."

However JJK ultimately concludes, I make you this promise.

"This game story will not have a happy ending."

[ghostofwriting]

Kildare Split Part One: Angel

Chapter One: Angel

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Note: Thank you all for commenting, liking, reblogging, and interacting with the KS smau's! I really appreciate you all and thought that I would give you a little treat for being so nice. I can't sleep so here is part one of Kildare Split's story, more specifically y/n and Rafe's. Hope you have fun getting to read about the behind-the-scenes. This is absolutely not edited.

Warnings: none, bad writing, Rafe being mean.

Word Count: 3,710

Synopsis: Everyone has noticed that there's been a shift in how Kildare Split acts around each other. Rafe and Y/N used to be so close, they were always pictured together, and always shared stories of each other and for the last few years, there has been nothing from them. A behind-the-scenes look at what went down between everyone's favorite band.

The audience claps as the interviewer closes out the interview. The four of them stand up and start shaking hands with the man. One of the Jimmys or Seth or maybe even Jack. She doesn’t know. She just wants to leave. She’s so tired. It’s been such a long day of pretending. 

Y/n’s the first one to make it backstage, she breathes deeply, her back against a wooden panel. 

“Hey, you okay?” a voice comes from behind her. She puts on a smile and nods her head. 

“Yeah, Top. Fine.” He nods and gives her a half smile. 

Things aren’t the same as they used to be. They haven’t been the same in so long. Two years? Maybe three. Everything is such a blur. Time mending together. Touring helps a lot. It helps time pass, and it helps distract her. Being on stage helps too, that’s the only moment that she can pretend that everything is okay and believe it. She can look at Rafe and smile at him and it feels like before. 

Topper leaves her alone, he goes back to the guys, hanging back with them as they talk to their manager. She walks into the dressing room, gathering her stuff and waiting for Sarah to text her that they’re ready to go. 

Rafe walks into the room, alone. 

“Good job tonight.” He doesn’t look at her. He just starts shoving his belongings into a tote, grabbing some extra snacks that the show provided them. 

She’s so angry. Even still. Even after all this time. She wants to scream at him, beg him to explain himself but she can’t. So she stays quiet. 

“This has to stop.” He says, pausing his actions, still not looking at her. 

She looks at the back of his head. His hair starting to grow out from when he buzzed it, bleached from his album shoot. 

She wants to speak but she can’t. It’s like the anger chokes her up, this ball of fire stuck in her throat and she can’t get a word out because all that will come out is lava. She wants to hurt him. Wants him to feel a fraction of what she felt. And even then, she doesn’t even know if she’s in the right. Two years later and she’s still mad at him, even if she shouldn’t be. 

Sarah tried telling her to talk to him, to work it all out for the sake of the band. From her perspective, the band hasn’t suffered. The band is doing better than ever and she thinks that she deserves an award for not killing Rafe on stage. 

Sometimes she wishes she could put everything behind her and just try and be his friend again. They may never be best friends again, but she could speak to him at least. She thinks she’s civil with him though. He’s not dead so that says something. 

Rafe just sighs and sits on the counter, pulling out his phone. He’s probably texting her. His girlfriend. No, the fiance. The one he cheated on her with. Or well, sort of.

+++

Rafe and y/n met when they were 10 years old. She was friends with Sarah and always went over to her house. She thought of Sarah as her best friend until she met Rafe. Maybe it was love at first sight or a little kid crush but she grew attached. She would not leave him alone. Luckily for her, Rafe was the same way. He always followed her around, asking her to play when he saw her on the beach, at school, or if their parents ran into each other at the grocery store. 

They became inseparable and soon they added two new faces to their duo. Topper and Barry. It was early on that they knew what they wanted to do with their lives. They would put on shows for whoever wanted to watch. They would sing at the top of their lungs and smash around on every surface they could find. 

Soon after, y/n had asked her mom to put her in guitar lessons. She picked it up quickly but she always enjoyed singing more. She had bragged to Rafe about how fun her vocal lessons were and he convinced his father that he wanted to join too. It was contagious because soon enough, Topper and Barry had each claimed an instrument that they practiced every day after school for hours. They drove their parents insane. 

Rafe said that they couldn’t have two guitar players in the band and Topper refused to drop lead guitar so y/n did. Rafe was mad at Topper first but y/n reassured him that she could pick up bass quickly. They became Kildare Split on a blisteringly hot summer day in Barry’s garage. Sarah, John B, and JJ watching their rehearsal. After that, they played shows whenever they could. Dive bars, small fairs around town, and busking outside venues where established bands were playing. 

It took them from the ages of 12 to 17 to get discovered but they never let up. When they finally got signed to their label, y/n remembers crying in Rafe’s arms. She was so happy, their dreams were coming true and she was doing it with her best friends. 

Little did she know that everything would fall apart so fast. 

Childhood is pretty much lost when you’re playing stingy bars full of drunk people and drugs at 12 years old. She thought that it would get better once they had protection from managers and label heads. She was wrong. It almost became worse. Drugs were everywhere. At 17 getting drugs offered to you by a 50-year-old man who controls your entire career is pretty terrifying. She didn’t think she could say no. The boys didn’t think they could say no. It was intense. Some of them made it out better than others, and the others, well, that’s the downfall of fame at such a young age. 

There was an entire year where she probably spent half of it high out of her mind. She went from doing it out of fear of losing her career to craving it, needing it. Rafe was the same way. Topper had tried to help them both but they were too far gone. She remembers going on talk shows, but not which talk shows or who they talked to or what they talked about. She looks back on those days and feels a pit in her stomach. Losing such a big chunk of her young adult life that she can’t relive hurts. 

That’s when it all started. She was high and drunk, and Rafe was high and drunk and one thing led to another. They had never crossed that line before. After her initial crush went away, she had never thought of Rafe that way. When it happened, it felt like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over her head. She woke up the next day and immediately regretted it. She apologized to Rafe, told him that it could never happen again and bolted. 

That’s when she cleaned her act up. She couldn’t risk their relationship, for their friendship and the band. 

One thing she should have known is that Rafe didn’t care. He wanted her and he was going to have her. And who was she to shove all her bottled-up feelings back in their little box? Who was she to deny him?

So they start their little song and dance. At first, they keep it hidden from everyone. If Topper and Barry were to find out, they would be so incredibly upset and they would tell them to stop. 

She can’t stop. She doesn’t want to stop. Not as long as Rafe wants her. 

She gets clean and she tries to help Rafe get clean too. He relapses time and time again, crawling back to her, asking for another chance. She’s been there, she knows how hard it is to get clean so of course she gives him all the chances he asks for. 

They hook up on and off for a year. They never become anything official because Rafe isn’t in the headspace to be in a relationship. He needs to focus on himself and she wants to help him and if he needs her to be his friend, that’s what she’ll be. 

“You’re friends with benefits with my brother,” Sarah says stunned. Topper and Barry had found out and ran to her to get her to talk some sense into Rafe and y/n. 

“It’s not like that.” Sarah looks at her incredulously. 

“Are you or are you not fucking my brother?” y/n doesn’t know how to respond so she stays quiet. Sarah is scary when she’s mad.

“It’s not because he’s my brother, y/n. It’s because of what he means to you.” y/n shakes her head, smiling softly. 

“Sarah, I promise you, it’s okay. Rafe and I have an agreement.” Sarah sighs and looks at her with concern.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt.” She should’ve taken Sarah’s advice. She should have put a stop to everything that minute everyone found out. She was too far gone for him though, she couldn’t leave him, not when he needed her. 

Everyone warned her. Everyone told her that it would end badly. 

“I just want you to know that if he does something, those boys will choose him. You’re the odd variable y/n, know that.” Cleo had said to her one night when they were in the tour bus, the boys off on a run. 

“I am just as important to them as Rafe is.” Or she had thought. 

On one stupid drunken night she tells Rafe that she loves him. He gapes at her not knowing what to say. 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything.” She understands, of course, she does. It’s not like that between them. 

The doesn’t stop her from crying in Barry’s arms about it. She hiccups and sobs into his chest about how much she loves him and how he will never look at her that way. Barry just listens and holds her. She falls asleep in his arms. She feels so safe with him. Her best friend. 

Shit hits the fan all at once and so fast. 

Sarah sits her down one night after a show. Her adrenaline is still pumping, she wants to go jump around with the guys and run laps around the venue. 

“Sar, can we do this later?”

“This can’t wait.” The tone in her voice brings her back down to earth. It’s serious. 

“What’s wrong?” y/n knows it’s about Rafe before Sarah opens her mouth. She feels it, there’s a shift in whatever the hell universe she’s been living in. Her face feels hot, her ears are ringing, and she feels like she starts to shake. 

“Rafe is seeing someone.” Of course, he is. She’s y/n she’s just his friend.

A friend that he sleeps with. A friend that has stayed up all night with him as he detoxed. A friend who drove him to and from meetings, that drove him to rehab and told everyone that he was on vacation. She was the person that he would run to when any little thing went wrong, she held him as he cried about their career not going anywhere and having to go back to work for his dad. She let him sob in her arms about all the shit that they have been through during the lift-off of their career. She was there for him, always for him and he promised her. He promised that he would always be there for her that it was only her. That he only ever wanted her and when he got his shit together they could be together. He told her that he wasn’t sleeping around. He didn’t have time for girlfriends, he didn’t have time to put in the work on a relationship because he could barely put the work into himself. He told her that she was the only one he was ending his nights with and waking up in the mornings with. He promised her the world and it was all just a lie. 

Just as fast as her body starts shaking, it relaxes, she takes a deep breath and looks at Sarah, the look of concern still on her face. 

“Who?” she asks lowly. 

“This painter, named Sofia.” The name rings a bell. She thinks she’s seen her call Rafe a few times. 

“That’s okay. We weren’t dating.” Sarah’s concern grows so y/n smiles at her. 

“Let’s go back out there.”

“Do you want me to call Cleo?” Sarah asks. 

“I’m good, Sar.”

And she is. Or at least she’s trying to be good. She has no right to be angry. They weren’t dating. He doesn’t owe her anything. 

They walk into the room where the guys are playing video games. Waiting for the fans to leave the venue before it’s safe for them to leave. 

“Hey! Great show tonight angel!” Rafe says looking away from the screen at her. She gives him a short smile, her face pensive. 

Cleo’s words ring in her head, those boys will choose him those boys will choose him those boys will choose him.

She knows all three of them like the back of her hand. Topper's lip quivers when he lies. Barry doesn’t look you in the eyes. And Rafe, Rafe’s ears turn red. 

She has to know if the two boys, men, that she grew up with and calls her family, would keep that from her. 

“So who’s Sofia?” She watches as all three of them tense. She’s looking between Barry and Topper but she sees Rafe turn to look at Sarah with anger between his brows from her peripherals. 

She looks for the cues and hopes that she can’t find them. It’s hard to miss when Barry doesn’t look up from his controller but is frozen, quiet. She looks at Topper, his mouth open, trying to find something to say.

“I don’t know, some person we commissioned probably.” She can’t help the breathy sob that escapes her lips when she sees the quiver on Topper’s. 

She swallows hard, she turns to Rafe, shaking her head at him and backing away. 

“You’re a liar. You’re a fucking liar. All of you are.” She backs into the hallway, her eyes still floating from one to the other. 

“y/n-” Topper moves towards her but she holds her hand out and cuts him off.

“No. Stay away from me. I never- I-” she chokes on a sob. “ I never would have done this to you. Don’t talk to me, don’t follow me, just stay away from me.” She turns on her feet and books it out of the room and hallway, she hears Rafe chewing Sarah out but doesn’t stay long enough to hear what Sarah says. 

Things are awkward, to say the least from then on. She stayed in her bunk and silently cried herself to sleep. She wants to go to him, ask him what she could have done, ask him what happened and when he knew he wanted to stop things with her. He doesn’t come to see her that night, or the next night or the night after that. 

At first, she thought it was because he was giving her time to cool off but on the third night of complete silence from him, she walks into the dressing room of their show in Nashville and a pretty girl with short hair sits on the couch. 

“Hi, I’m Sofia. You must be y/n.” She extends her hand out and y/n takes it. 

“Nice to meet you.” y/n says. 

“You too, sorry about how things went down.” Y/n scrunches up her nose, her head tilting. 

“What?” She asks.

“I mean, I knew he had to choose eventually, he just didn’t get the chance to tell you.” She feels like she’s going to throw up. She wasn’t planning on hating Sofia, but she knew. Sofia knew that y/n existed and she still kept on seeing him. 

She walks out of the room. 

That same night, everything changed. If he had just apologized, if he had told her that he fucked up and he was too drugged up to think clearly, she would have forgiven him. That’s not what happened. 

She runs into Rafe in the lunch area and can’t hold in all her feelings. She needs to know what he’s thinking and wants to ask him to explain himself. 

“Rafe?” He doesn’t acknowledge her. 

“Can we please talk?”

“God Y/n, I don’t want to fucking talk. I’m so goddamn tired of you moping around this place like you have any right.” He explodes at her, his face red. 

“What?” She’s shocked, he’s never talked to her like this. 

“You’re just some girl I fucked okay? I needed to get off and you were always there. You were just a fuck. I don’t care about you like that.” He pauses. His words sank into her like knives. 

“I’m going to get clean for her. Sofia, she’s worth it.” He walks out of the room without saying anything else to her. She feels her eyes start to water, chills running up and down her body.

How could he be so cruel? How could her best friend of so many years say he doesn’t care about her? How could he disregard her feelings and belittle her to be just someone he fucked? She thought they were friends. She believed that they would come out of this situation unscathed but he didn’t even see her as a person. 

The people she thought cared about her most in the world, didn’t care about her at all. They all chose someone else. They didn’t choose her. 

She had never felt so alone in her entire life. And for the first time since they started their journey as a band, she wondered if any of it had been worth it. 

+++

“I don’t think it can stop.” It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him directly and not on stage or in an interview in years. 

“What do you mean?”

“I’m going to move out of LA, back home probably or New York with Cleo and Pope.”

“y/n.” It’s not Rafe’s voice saying her name, it’s Barry from behind her. She turns around and looks at him, looks past him and Topper, and then back at Rafe.”

“I think we all know this has been building up and it’s getting really hard to pretend all the time so um-yeah I’m going to go, I need a break after the tour’s over.” She gulps down the ball building in her throat. She needs to get through this. She hates putting the band on the back burner and hates that she’s to blame.

“What are you talking about?” Rafe asks her, getting off the counter.

“It’s just a break. I think we should announce a prolonged hiatus and just do our own thing for a bit.”

“We have an entire third album to record,” Rafe says incredulously.

“I’ll keep writing and you can send me the vocals you want me to lay down. It’ll be fine.”

“You’re breaking up the band over some stupid grudge?” Rafe asks. 

“That’s not what I’m saying. I just need some time.” It’s not a grudge.

“You have got to be kidding me, y/n, come on. I know how much you love touring and making music.”

“I do,” her voice breaks, “I just need time away from all of you.”

“You need a break from us? What did we do?” Barry pipes in.

“You left me alone. You let him,” she points at Rafe, “belittle me and make me feel like nothing. You isolated me for two years.” Rafe scoffs. 

“You did that yourself.” He sounds hurt more than he does angry. He’s different now. He’s better in a way. He hasn’t apologized to her but he’s good now. He’s clean. He got clean for Sofia. Because she was worth it and y/n wasn’t. 

“Because I was hurt, Rafe! You broke my heart. I fucking told you that I loved you, I was honest with my feelings for you and you never said anything back and then you told me you didn’t care about me!”

“I wasn’t in my right mind.” The tears are still gathering in her eyes but she refuses to let them fall. 

“If you had just apologized to me, this wouldn’t have happened but you said some nasty shit and never looked back and I was just so alone.”

“Do you know what it’s like to have no one to talk to on tour for months on end? That’s what I have had to go through for years because I don’t trust any of you! Because you hurt me and never apologized.”

“I’m sorry. I know it’s late but I’m sorry.” Topper is the one that speaks up. 

“Thank you, but it’s too late. I need some time. I need to heal so that the band can continue because I don’t think I can do this for much longer if I stay.” Topper nods, agreeing with her. She gives him a thankful smile and breathes in deep. 

“Okay, so we finish the tour, and a week or so later we announce that we’re going on a break. We’ll still write and record and we can even release the album but I won’t be doing press for it.” She looks at all three of them and nods. There’s a finality to her words. No room for argument. 

“And you have your solo album to figure out and do press for, maybe you can even tour it. You’ll be fine.” She says to Rafe, more words than she had said to him directly in a long time.

“I’ll see you all soon.” With that, she walks out of the talk show’s dressing room, towards the exit of the building. She was going to finish up this tour. She could do that and then she could rest.

[syoddeye]

the warren, part six - natural

price x f!reader | 5.9k words | series page | ao3 tags: background ghoap, italicized flashbacks, skinny dipping, bathing, cunninglinus, vaginal fingering, breeding kink, darkfic. a/n: fireworks followed by fireworks. shout out to early and the arrangement. mdni banner by @/cafekitsune. 🔪

This must be what it feels like to open a tomb.

Fetid air sweeps over your cheeks. Warm and stagnant, smelling of earth and metal.

The room is maybe eight by ten feet and sinks another six down to an unfinished floor of exposed dirt and rock. Thin pipes run from under the floorboards and into the wall, disappearing further underground. An empty, dusty stack of wooden shelves stands bolted to the cement walls. You’d think it’s an old root cellar—if it weren’t for the door.

Four paneled. Old and weathered yet sturdy looking. You don’t dare hop into the pit to test the heavy lock affixed to it; no way you could climb out.

You take a photo, shut the hidden hatch, and smooth the rug over it.

It’s nothing. Has to be. Kate would’ve told you about it if it mattered. You haul the couch over it anyway and tuck into bed with a knife. In the small hours, you decide to call the landlady at breakfast, perhaps Phil too, for good measure.

~~

“Oh, that? Old storm cellar.” Kate sounds amused, as if your trepidation is a cute joke. “The Warrens were originally from Tornado Alley. Hated storms. Brought that hate with them.”

“Where does the door lead?”

“A storage room. I emptied it.”

You lean against the counter, staring at the rug with your thumb caught between your teeth in thought. Since your arrival, you’ve seen two storms of note. Thunder and lightning, but nothing like the furies that roll over the Great Lakes, the ones that rattled the shutters and windows or leaked from cracks in the ceiling. Certainly no tornadoes. You, of all people, know what it is to carry a fear. A hatred.

“Everything alright?”

You fish for reassurance. “Yes. I feel silly, that’s all.”

The hook goes ignored. “Mhm.” 

“Guess I’ll move the couch back.” You laugh, apologize for troubling her, and leave the couch where it sits.

You don’t call Phil. You’d sound ridiculous.

Later, you sneak some extra work in, at least you try to. A mechanical whir putters then skips. You swear a wisp of smoke leaks from the disk drive. The old laptop that could, no more. Rendered a fossil, unresponsive to your troubleshooting. Frustration burns your belly, whittling your patience to naught. It fractures at the ring of your phone.

“Yes?” You snap, instantly searing yourself with the white-hot brand of guilt. “I’m so sorry, hello?”

John chuckles. “Bad time?”

“John. Oh, no. I–I’m not scheduled today, am I?”

“No, you’re alright. Shop’s slow, so I thought I’d check in.” He pauses. “If you’re busy, I can chat later.”

“I’m not. Unexpectedly so,” you shove your laptop off your lap, rising from bed. You stretch and pace to the kitchen. “Mind if I keep you company? See the kittens?” Best clear your head.

“I’d be delighted.”

~~

The kittens are feral. You know this, yet their instinctive rejection smarts. From a sun-bleached lawn chair, you watch them tussle and spar in the shade of John’s building. Their mother, the first time you’ve seen her, lounges on the welcome mat. She’s a proud creature. Big and gray like a storm cloud.

You haven’t come around to John’s understanding concerning the cats. The queen tolerates one of her kittens, nearly too old to nurse, as it tries to latch. You wonder if the baby’s a female. If she, like her mother, will fall pregnant in a few months. If she’ll end up with an unseasonably late litter, born to frost and snow rather than wildflowers and sunlight.

“Beautiful thing,” John observes, emerging from the garage with an ice-cold soda. He slots it in your hand and plants himself in the chair beside you. “Mama and her babies.”

“It’s something.”

“They’ll be off on their own soon. They’ll do fine.”

“And if not?” If one of the area’s predators doesn’t get to them, the road awaits.

“Then that’s that. Nature takes its course.”

You hate that he’s not wrong. Falling prey to a beast or an accident is simply what happens to creatures like the kittens. You chew your lip, thinking of how immutable that truth might’ve been once, but now? With the means to prevent all the unnecessary heartache? Knowing John’s attitude on man’s interference, you don’t voice it. Knowing your own.

You catch him staring. There’s something in the way his eyes linger. A quiet intensity that betrays the hunger he’s set aside for your benefit. Unspoken but raw. Crude. It claws at you as much as it does him.

Later, in the shower, you reacquaint yourself with your softer parts. You rouse a lovely pressure but fumble. It slips through your fingers and down the drain with the water.

~~

Your first inventory trip to Ponderosa arrives. The ride is more pleasant than the last, and John shoos you away to the library when you try to help at the town depot. He warns you it’s a lot of dull conversation and lifting, so you slink off.

The whole town’s decorated for the Fourth. Its two hotels are bursting at the seams, sidewalk patios filled with folk. A shuttle to a resort ten minutes away stops in front of the coffee shop, making the decision to delay your visit for you.

The Ponderosa Public Library is cozy and welcoming. The gleaming white stone floor of the entrance lends a hallowedness. Phil Graves’s drawl drifts through your head at the sight of a local history display positioned near the front, but the honeyed voice of the librarian hooks your attention. Draped in a floor-length cardigan, the kindly older woman eagerly waves you in. She’s thrilled to register you with a temporary card when you inquire.

“I can count on one hand how many visitors have signed up this summer. Two!” She laughs. “Your name?”

~~~

In the pre-dawn stillness of the desert, the landscape is a vast, empty stretch painted in muted hues of gray and indigo. Hints of morning light graze the earth and highway, devoid of traffic aside from the occasional tumbleweed. The openness feels expansive yet intimate. Alien, yet familiar. Desolation and your lonely home of some years. Where life makes the best of it. The most stability you’ve ever known.

You arrive in town five minutes past seven.

Passing the gas station, you keep your head down and ring hand displayed to let the synthetic gemstone reflect the sun. It doesn’t stop one trucker from leaning out of his cab with an appreciative whistle.

The library’s office light is on, so you knock on the staff entrance. Robin lets you in thirty seconds later, chattering on about a game show. You clean the bathrooms while she prepares the rest of the branch to open. You finish with minutes to spare and settle at the boxy computer that keeps your back to a wall.

The usual patrons file and out in as you send a dozen inquiry emails to writing gigs and delete rejections. You write a father of the bride speech for $50, your biggest job yet. Every sentence is a penny, and pennies add up. You’ll have enough for the car, gas, and computer in a few months. Everything is planned out and locked safely away in your head, except for one detail.

You traipse slowly along the geography shelf, hand poised like a dowsing rod, waiting for a feeling. Your fingers brush a spine and shiver. Idaho Cities and Townships. Paging to the index, you trace your finger down the list like you’re looking for the right scripture in church. The psalm to sing. Something pulls your finger to a place called Grouse Bay. It burrows under your skin and nails. Hope. 

~~~

You revere librarians. They’re the only people you’ve met who never pry, lest it be to help you. Jeanne, the librarian of this particular branch, leaves you to peruse without hovering. The bangles on her arms clink together like a bell on a cat. She minds herself until you approach the checkout with a short stack.

“Excellent choices, sweetie. These’ll keep you plenty company.” She scans them, apprising you of the upcoming fireworks, but abruptly pauses. Her eyes stare past you. “Are you expecting a handsome fella? A Brawny Man lookalike?”

From outside, John waves with a smile. You return both. “I am.”

She whistles low and slides the books to you with a knowing look. “I take it back. He’ll be plenty of company.”

Outside, John hooks a finger in your tote the moment you’re within reach and peers inside. Nosy. 

“A couple of romances, nothing you’d like.”

“That so? You don’t think I’d like…The Arrangement?” 

You bat at his hand, clutching your haul and tilting away as you walk. “I highly doubt it.”

A waggish grin lights up his face. If the man on the front cover of that particular text bears a resemblance to him, it’s pure coincidence.

On the ride home, his hand inches over your thigh. You let it rest and take another long shower.

You still can’t scratch the itch.

~~

Despite John’s preparations, the Fourth of July cleans the grocer out of booze, cigarettes, and just about everything else. The store shuts after lunch, and he talks you into a boat ride. 

“I didn’t know you owned a boat.”

“I don’t,” He hefts a cooler onto the tailgate, the last stash of crusher beer inside. “Kate does. Nik just patched her up.”

“Wish he’d fix my car.” Nikolai mentioned the part was delayed two weeks and blamed a train derailment further West. 

Kate’s home is an aging two-story half a mile down the lakeside road. Two juniper trees bracket the entrance, with twin rows of bluebells and dogbane lining the path. Her Ranger sits under a carport, flanked by a muddy ATV and an old Bronco.

You shoulder your bag and walk to the rear of John’s truck, studying the unfamiliar vehicles. “Who else is joining us?”

“Hello, rabbit.” A gruff voice purrs. Outdoors, Simon looks larger than life with no fixture or frame to duck. His muscles bulge under a black t-shirt, the skin on his arms more bronzed than his face. However, as he steps directly behind you, leaning over you to grab the cooler, you see faint tan lines around his eyes.

You whip around to face the cab, trying to not look so obvious with your failed escape attempt, and see John’s mouth flatten. Simon’s chest brushes and bumps your back, pelvis ghosting your hip as he effortlessly hauls the packed cooler over your head. The smell of burnt rubber, oil, and sweat is fleeting but intense.

“How’s the boat?” John slams his door. You flinch and hastily close the rear gate. 

“Glorified sardine tin.” Simon clears his throat and spits, then jerks his head. “C’mon.”

You follow in silence, crossing the road and descending a creaky staircase built into the slope of the hillside leading to the lake. Kate’s boat is bigger than you imagined, a double-decker pontoon. She and Nik stand at the mooring fixed to an aluminum dock, and as you step onto the last shallow flight, a man emerges from the cabin.

His grin is a crescent set on a chiseled jaw and hard to look away from. He isn’t as tall as Simon, but cuts just as imposing of a figure with wide shoulders and thick arms. He bounds closer, greeting the three of you like an excitable dog. Simon passes by, mumbling something that makes the man straighten and lock on to you with eyes an unnerving shade of blue, cynoid. Nothing like John’s.

John gently nudges you ahead and supplies your name. “And this is Soap. He’s Simon’s partner.”

Partner. That’s not as comforting as you want it to be. “Soap?”

An accent wraps around his words, catching you off guard. “Aye. Soap. Heard a lot about ye.”

“Good things I hope?”

He leans, voice dropping into a conspiratorial but genial whisper. “Plenty. Though if ye got a naughty streak, I won’t tell.”

The breeze off the lake doesn’t abate the heat his compliment evokes. A whiff of acetone blends with mint wafts off him, but it’s his nostrils that flare. He’s sniffing you. “I don’t–”

“Soap!” Simon barks.

“Chat later.” He whispers, then answers Simon’s call, disappearing with his counterpart.

A bit dazed, you greet Kate, and she steers you aboard. John unmoors the boat with Nik muttering in his ear, and you’re shown the prime seat at the bow. Kate takes the helm, and within minutes, the pontoon putters away from shore to join the dozens of vessels dotting the lake. Simon and Soap return with armfuls of bottles and cans, someone turns the satellite radio on, and John fits himself to your side. You don’t know the last time you celebrated the Fourth, and here you are, toasting two Brits, a Scot, and a Russian. If there’s a punchline, you hope to find it.

A flask eventually appears. You refuse, watching Soap’s mouth pucker in disgust and Nikolai drinking deep like it’s water. John squeezes your shoulder, his arm draping over you with his thigh pressed to yours.

He murmurs, “Why don’t you go see Kate? Get some girl talk in?” 

Kate doesn’t seem the type for girl talk, but how the others seem to hold their breath at John’s suggestion propels you to your feet.

You find Kate atop the upper deck, sprawled with a book and a cigarette dangling out of her mouth. The boat rides the wake of passing speedboats, forcing you to crawl and sit cross-legged. You barely hear the men below save for another toast.

“Too much for you, huh?” Kate asks, taking a drag.

It’s a conscious decision to not mention girl talk. “Yep. They’re…a lot.”

She snorts and lets the conversation wither early on the vine, probably for the best. She is your landlord.

Basking in the sun, you drink your warming beer and watch the water. Listen to the whoops and hollers across the lake.

When your father moved you across state lines to a ramshackle home perched atop a steep hill, you often crept onto the roof to do just this. They called that lake an unsalted sea, vast and untamed. Choppy with whitecaps and an unfathomable shade of blue, always darker than the sky above. You lived in fear of it, listening dutifully when your father carped on your morbid fascination. He banned you from trekking to its shores.

As a child, he suffered visions of you getting swept up by a rogue wave. You believed him, wanting him to care. As a teenager, you wondered if it was his way of protecting you from the men who prowled the docks, the boogeymen in the dark. His tacit acknowledgment of your growing older. Now, a thousand miles and a lifetime away, you know it’s because he simply didn’t want another prisoner to escape.

The first man whose love you wanted tried to trap you with water. The second dragged you to a desert. Looking down at John, your stomach twists. The third time’s a charm. He’s not like them.

“Rabbit.” Soap’s shaggy head pokes over the deck’s edge. “Mind if I join?”

Kate turns a page, you scoot, and Soap hoists himself up.

“So. You and John. What’s that like?” He laughs at your wince. “C’mon. Dinnae be shy. Been a minute since someone’s turned his head.”

“It’s…new.”

“New. Aye. Steamy? At eachother like–”

“Christ,” Kate grumbles, suddenly rocking up to a seated position, simultaneously stubbing out her cigarette as she slides to the edge. “I don’t need to hear this.”

Soap snickers. “Dinnae mind her.”

Sensing a sliver of an opening, you redirect. “John said you and Simon were partners. How long have you been together?”

“Years, I reckon. Hard to picture life before him. I was a mess. Workin’ at his shop’s done me good.”

“Oh, I thought you were partner partners.”

He grins. “No, yer not mistaken. We’re partners in business an’ bed.” 

With a gentle dig, his elbow finds your ribs, and you feign an affable chuckle into your drink. The cheap beer’s too tepid to stomach, but you swallow, hide a grimace and push on. “What brought you here?”

Soap rolls his shoulders and finally casts his gaze elsewhere. “Wanted to see the world. I was an artist. I fucked off from home at sixteen an’ never returned. Wandered for years. Traveled all over.”

Sixteen. Incomprehensible. Not that eighteen was much better, but you weren’t alone. 

“And you stopped here?” You came to Grouse Bay to hide. Picked it at random. To think someone else did the same seems kismet.

“I ken. Ye probably think I’m daft. Of all the places I’ve seen, how come fuckin’ Idaho? Of all places? I dinnae. Set its hooks in me.” He glances at Simon. “Love’s got a way of changing people, aye? Transformin’ them. It could be ye, putting down roots next.”

The comment nips your soft underbelly. You pivot again. “Did you paint? Do you still create art?”

Soap turns. “Nae so much anymore. I mostly draw. Dipped my toes into painting, but too much to carry. The art I make nowadays…It’s gruesome.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Taxidermy. ‘S what Simon and I do,” His eyebrows shoot up, teeth flashing in a puckish smile. “Ye didnae ken?”

Revulsion tightens your throat. “I didn’t.”

He bites his lower lip, clearly eager to fan your disgust like a fire. A hairbreadth of control keeps his mouth shut long enough to rethink it. Instead, his focus drifts once more to his partner. 

Despite the acidity lapping at your throat, curiosity opens your mouth. “Do you know how Simon came to Grouse Bay?”

Soap’s lips press tightly together, enough to sap their color, then bend into a brief scowl. Without warning, he stands and rips his shirt off in one smooth movement. He tosses it, crows a complaint about the heat, and doesn’t look over the upper deck before launching off the pontoon.

Howls of laughter erupt, but surprise tethers you in place until John calls your name. Apparently, a sunset dip is tradition.

Ducking into the cabin under the premise of changing, you whisper to Kate, “I don’t have a swimsuit. John didn’t tell me about swimming.”

“He must’ve,” Kate quarters a lemon on the tiny counter and tucks a wedge into the bottle’s narrow mouth. She shoves it through with a thumb and licks the pad. “Nobody will bat an eye if you go in your underwear.”

“I’m not–that’s too–”

“You’re shy. That’ll pass. I’ll tell John you need his shirt.” She’s gone before you can argue.

A short eternity squeezes into less than a minute. John appears in the doorway, and beyond him, you hear Nikolai’s deep laugh.

“Kate says you’re shy.”

“I’m not shy.”

“Well, I’ve come to give you this just in case.” 

You thought you’d see John shirtless for the first time under different circumstances. Not in a cramped boat cabin, surrounded by his drunk friends. Your chest tightens. All the muscle you’ve only glimpsed and imagined is there in front of you. A torso sculpted by labor and practicality, rugged with scars and fat cushioning his stomach. And, to your delight, decently hirsute. His hand drops to his belt.

“Shirt’s yours. Need me to turn around?”

It feels more intimate than any kiss he’s given you, and it seems a test. You muster your nerve, set aside caution, and peel off your dress.

“Blue and white. Festive.”

“And you’re in green.”

He kicks off his jeans with a shrug. “Not my birthplace, and not for long.”

Standing at the stern, you entertain second and third thoughts, toying with the shirt’s hem. John waits in the water, expectant. You catch a flash of white—he’s nude. Toward the bow, you hear the others. They’re all nude.

“What about Kate?” You ask, voice warbling with uncertainty. 

“Kate never joins. She watches.”

“Watches?”

“For other boats. Voyeurs. Threats.”

You feel stupid for asking.

The shock of the cold water hits like a full-body slap, stealing your breath and sending a sharp jolt through your limbs. Arms wrap around you as you surface, and the scruff of John’s beard scrapes the juncture of your neck, chin pushing the wet shirt aside to briefly suck your neck. It’s sudden, it’s a lot, knowing what’s behind your back—

“John!” You sputter indignantly, giggling nervously as his broad hands slide to squeeze your hips. 

“Gimme a second.” He noses your wet skin and plants a few kisses before relinquishing his hold. “Sorry, sweetheart. Hard to keep my hands off you when you look so good.”

Sufficiently flustered, you promptly forgive him. “It’s fine. Just not in front of the others, please.”

“Right,” he chuckles and pinches your bottom as he paddles past. “She’s shy.”

Affronted, you swim after him.

As much as you hate to admit, Kate was right—your shyness melts with the sun’s slow descent. You spend the rest of the daylight in and out of the water, racing the men and learning to automatically avert your eyes from their frankly proud nakedness. By the time evening falls, you’re worn out, dressed, and idle as you munch on a sandwich Kate packed. It feels surreal. The entire day. Breathtakingly normal despite the skinny dipping.

Not weird, just different.

Eventually, everyone finds their place for the fireworks. You nestle into John’s side, swapping your towel for a blanket. He’s still bare-chested, shirt drying over an empty seat. It’s natural, resting your head on his shoulder. Fits perfectly. Simon, Soap, and Nikolai climb to the roof. Kate reclines in the captain’s chair. Beneath the cotton weave, John’s hand strokes your knee, and the other rests across your shoulders. The conversations lull as the whole lake seems to hold its breath.

Flashes of red and white burst overhead, their reflections shimmering over the rippling, dark water. Blue sparks spill in glittering arcs, lighting the night sky in meteoric explosions. Cheers from across the lake erupt alongside them. John’s hold doesn’t lax. For nearly an hour, he keeps you close, palm searing your skin. Your attention strays from the show, instead admiring his crow’s feet, the mole on his nose, and the silver woven into his beard. The fireworks cast a glow, making him look almost ethereal. Not angelic, otherworldly. The lines and marks on his skin map to places you’ve never been. Never thought you’d go.

The sky returns to an unbroken, inky black, the scent of sulfur settling in a fog. Kate ferries you to land, and you disembark ahead of John with his keys. In the drive, you pop the tailgate and then load your things into the passenger seat. 

“Bunny.”

You turn to see Soap hauling the cooler, huffing and puffing a bit. The thing’s empty, so he must’ve hurried up the stairs. He crosses the road, tossing his burden into the truck. 

“Bunny?”

He shakes his head. “Must’ve misheard. Said ‘bonnie’. Endearment of sorts. Listen, I was hopin’ to get another chance to speak with ye. You’re a good time when you let loose.”

“Thank you. I haven’t in a while. Felt nice.”

“I can tell. Simon said ye were wound tight. He frighten ye?”

To the core of your being. A congenital fear. You swallow it. “No.”

“Really? Big fella scares me.” Soap pitches his voice low. He casually stretches and grips the window crank, effectively caging you into the wedge of the door. His nostrils widen like earlier, pupils dilating in the light. “Now. Need ye to tell me somethin’. Been eatin’ me all day, and I cannae be a dog and put my nose wherever I’d like. Gotta be good.”

Instantly, ropes harness your thoughts, prepared to draw and quarter them into the bleakest parts of imagination. The desert, the inland sea. 

The plastic handle creaks under his grip as he forces the words out between his teeth. “Did ye find—”

“Johnny.” Simon. Soap immediately reels backward, tugged by an invisible thread. 

“Here, sir!”

Sir? Johnny? 

“ATV. Now.” 

Soap doesn’t so much as spare a parting glance, obediently scurrying to the four-wheeler. You stare, dumbfounded, and jump when the driver-side door creaks. John smiles wryly, his shirt adorning his neck like a damp scarf. The trail of hair disappearing into his waistband is a momentary distraction from the brute stalking beyond the windshield. Simon’s scarred flesh is a beacon in the moonlight. His heavy brow focused solely on the man perched atop his vehicle. You hear him seething, growling under his breath at Soap—Johnny—and John’s door shuts.

“C’mon, sweetheart. They’re alright.” He coaxes you into the cab, patting your knee with a sigh. “Lover’s quarrel. Simon’s a jealous man.”

“Jealous,” you echo, gawking at the two men outside. “Of me?” 

“Don’t sound so surprised.” John starts the truck and lowers his window. He leans out some as Nik and Kate share a smoke at the end of her walk. “Night, Kate. Nikolai.”

Nikolai leers behind his cigarette, gesturing with it in your direction. A few words of Russian escape with the smoke, a throaty laugh on their heels. Kate looks impassive. Bored. Her house disappears in the rearview. A restiveness itches under your skin, exacerbated by the quiet crackling of the radio. Your head’s a crowded place. The silence’s a good place to unburden it.

“So. Soap’s real name is Johnny?”

John chuckles. “Nobody but Simon calls him that, but you didn’t think it was Soap, did you?”

“I’m assuming it’s to keep things less confusing.”

“Correct. I actually employed him for a spell, when he arrived. Earned the name ‘Soap’ on account of his mouth. Needless to say, his career in retail was brief. Kept flirtin’ with the customers.”

“And he got with Simon?” 

“Simon swept him off his feet.”

You scoff. “That’s difficult to believe.”

“Simon has his ways.”

Nothing in your short, tense encounters suggests Simon to be a man capable of love or romance. You doubt it is uncharitable to think so, either. Ferine and rude, calculated and off-putting. Everything he does aims to disarm by making the very air around him feel heavy and wrong, whereas Soap seems keen to impress upon you his friendliness, conveying himself as human conciliation. ‘Opposites attract’ has limits. 

Yet.

“Soap said love has a way of changing people.”

John hums in agreement. “Most powerful force there is.”

Can’t argue with that. Force for good or otherwise, though—that you may dispute.

You don’t tell him to, but he shuts the truck off in the drive. Cats scatter as he escorts you, voicing their displeasure at your late arrival. Under the exterior light, you fumble with your keys, his gaze heavy on your cheek. In the time it takes to turn the lock, you berate yourself. Plead with a jury close to hanging.

It’s swimming all over again. Are you shy? Timid? Are you allowing the long, creeping reach of your abandoned husband to touch you before you let John try? The verdict passes your lips.

“Won’t you come in?”

“It’s late.”

“Please come in.”

It takes two invitations to coax John Price into the cabin and a third to the shower. 

A shuddering sigh of relief comes with removing your underwear and dress. The freedom from wet cotton eclipses the nervousness that makes your skin prickle with goosebumps. The urge to cover yourself in front of the man who is not your husband sings loud, nearly shrieking when he brushes his knuckles down your arm and gently turns you around. He starts the water, returning to press his front to your back, the slight tackiness of lakewater and sweat melding you together. His fingertips run a track from your flanks to the sides of your breasts, a hum buzzing into the skin of your shoulder when you grasp the counter.

When Dusty—No. No. He’s not here. John is. 

You banish the venomous guilt that tries to unseat your want and let John tug you into the shower to wash the day off.

He’s hard for most of it, his swollen cock skimming your hips and ass, glancing over your belly, and nearly driving the strength from your legs. He seems unfazed, reverent, and single-minded in his self-imposed task. It’s embarrassing, the way you squirm and fidget at every touch. Difficult to tell if it’s arousal or the unfamiliarity of intimacy.

John takes your place under the spray and chuckles softly when you finally look down. His fingers scrub through his body hair to the thatch at his cock’s root. You suck in a breath. He’s proportional—thick, heavy, and flushed. Hangs between the two of you, untouched, but you know it would burn your hand. Your tongue. The dizzying rush from that last thought alone reassures you because you don’t remember the last time you knelt because you wanted to.

Neither of you dress. Both of you barely dry. He insists on a light, hovering at the bedside lamp until you nod. When he climbs onto the bed, murmuring little nothings, your blood’s roaring in your ears, drowning out his encouragement. He opens your legs for a good look, but he might as well wrench open your ribcage. 

“Quite the sight.” John whispers. His palms slide from your knees to your upper thighs, the rough pads of his thumbs stroking where your thighs meet your pelvis. 

You imagine fastening an anchor to your brain, then a lure. Stay here, stay focused. 

“Yeah?”

His eyes flick to yours, narrowing as he reads into the single word. “Yeah. Beautiful.” He slowly slides and sinks to kiss your thighs, positioning himself between your legs. His shoulders stretch them further, and an arm snakes around and pulls you closer all too easily, hand groping a greedy handful. His breath hits where it’s wet, coarse hair tickling skin.

The first contact rips a sharp breath from you, which he immediately meets with a hum that buzzes to the base of your spine. The fingers on your thighs brush soothingly as he continues, jaw pressing further. His mouth latches, tongue dipping lower and in, laving along your entrance before circling to your clit. Each stroke and circuit deliberate, adjusting to the sounds spilling uninhibited from your mouth. Your hands reach and thread into his hair with a moan.

He groans softly into your flesh, nosing the fat above your sex, chuckling when your hips pitch. His hand travels up your quivering inner thigh to ease a finger in, pulling away to sink it into the first knuckle with a wet sound. 

“Look at you.” John sounds wrecked, beard and chin drenched in spit and slick, tongue licking the excess from his lip. Eyes boring into you with that look again. Unmasked hunger, barely tethered. The one you touched yourself to in the shower.

“Smelled you all day, smelled this,” He emphasizes with a pump of his finger, kissing your clit at the strangled, small noise you make. “Leaking into your pants, even after a swim. Nearly laid you out right there, during the fireworks.” 

A filthy whine erupts at the thought. You picture it vividly. John tearing your dress off of you, hauling you to the floor of the boat. Nik and Kate and Simon and Soap—all of them watching John mount you, ignoring the spectacle for a different show. Would any of them intervene? Would you want them to?

You clench at the thought, and he smirks.

He introduces a second finger alongside the first, hushing your reedy whimpers at the stretch. “The needy thing knew I was near. Knew that I could scent her crying out for me. Poor thing, neglected and mistreated. Needed a man to fuss over her.”

Your face grows somehow hotter. Not enough that you’re naked and under him, he needs to strip you bare and sweetly flay you alive. “John—”

He cuts you off, tutting. “Don’t be embarrassed—it’s natural for a man to want his mate.”

His fingers plunge to the webbing, ratcheting up to earnestly fuck you now that he’s teased you into incoherency. “Never gonna leave you lonely,” he rasps, tucking his mouth back over your pearled clit. 

Every year, the lake ice cracks and fractures with the arrival of spring. This is no different.

Muscles flexing and fluttering, dimly aware of the praises he murmurs against your cunt, you shatter. 

He doesn’t withdraw his fingers until you score his scalp and beg, and even then they slide over your slit, cupping the slippery folds of your pussy. He kisses and wipes his cum-soaked whiskers over your spasming thighs and stomach, his free hand planting beside you. John looms, pleased but not quite sated. 

He pets your cunt and waits for the worst of your trembling to cease. “Perfect,” he affirms, giving it a wet pat. He grunts, then abruptly knocks your legs open a second time with a knee, removing his hand to slick his cock.

Your eyes bulge, vision clearing in an instant at the view. Sat ignored for too long, his cock flushes a deeper shade of red, precome clinging to it like wax and seeping into his hair. He wraps his hand around the thick of himself, shuddering, eyes screwing shut as he strokes.

You think your orgasm might’ve knocked something loose. You reach a shaking hand and touch his knee. 

“J-John? I-I can’t…I can’t, not yet.” You are selfishness incarnate, asking him to quash his hunger once more. 

His eyes snap open. His pupils drill into you, flitting between your twitching cunt, his cockhead, and your face. Stygian and starving. 

“I’m sorry. Please.” 

He swallows, chest heaving with his unwhetted appetite, its festering close to spoiling. For a moment, fear poleaxes you into the mattress when he shuffles on his knees closer anyway, knees pushing under your thighs. 

“Not yet? That’s…okay,” John breathes raggedly. He nods, fisting his cock faster. His free hand glides from the valley of your breasts to your stomach, tracing a circle. “We’ll get there, sweetheart…Can I…?” 

Biting your lip, you nod.

He sighs, hips bucking slightly. “You’ll be taking my cock in no time. No tears, now. Wipe ‘em off.”

You obey immediately, not having realized you’d started crying, and see his cock jump in his hand at that.

John chuckles a little brokenly, struggling to speak through gritted teeth. “Soon, I can feel it. Gonna empty that head of yours, weed out what’s holding you back, and fill you, fuck, here.” His fingers press over your womb, and he jerks forward. Hot ropes of come shoot out, coating his fingers and your skin. He rocks into his fist a few more times, the motions stuttering, until leisurely sinking back to his haunches. 

After he withdraws and returns to clean you up, wiping the sweat off your brow before the cum on your belly, he tucks the both of you into bed. He turns off the lamp and claims the side closest to the door. He spoons you with his heartbeat to your spine.

Staring into the night beyond the window, you apologize again.

“I want to. I really want to.”

“I know, darl. I know.” He kisses your shoulder. “What did I say? We’ll get there.”

He falls asleep wrapped around you. You, however, lie awake trying to remember what it is to share a bed with someone willingly. With someone who wants you. 

Eventually, you wriggle out a hand and grab your phone, dimming its brightness all the way down. You haven’t checked it since work and swipe to your messages. A text from an unknown number sits at the top of your notifications.

>> F741 >> hold

[whosyuno]

hotel paradise (m) | ft. jung jaehyun

summary you visit an exclusive brothel to satisfy your needs. cw smut, praise, humiliation, toy play, light choking, squirting word count 3.1k a/n i'm thinking of turning this into a smut series featuring different members of nct hehe! chap two three

It’s only when you’ve spent half the night burrowing your vibrator between your thighs and it decided to die right before you’ve reached your climax, that you decided to take up your colleague’s suggestion. 

Fresh out of a break-up, you had moved to Seoul a few months back. The money here was better anyways and you wanted to forget all about your ex. All your highschool friends that had moved to Seoul always talked about how Seoul was the It-Place. Where the people were wild and parties were wilder. You thought you were finally going to find people that brought the much needed excitement and thrill you desired, particularly in your bedroom. Your ex-boyfriend, although your highschool sweetheart, wasn’t the best in bed and most of his attempts had left you feeling unsatisfied and yearning for more… fun.

Of course, nothing ever turned out the way you wanted and, now, six months into your stay in Seoul, you’ve never had anyone approach you, much less touch you. But when one of your colleagues-turned-friends caught wind of your little situation, she had casually introduced you to “just the place to get your needs sorted”. 

So that’s how, at 2:38AM on a Saturday, you found yourself standing before an unassuming building, its exterior the same dark maroon bricks as the surrounding buildings with a panel of frosted glass doors facing you. The light from within shone into the street, illuminating the empty night, if not for the lingering drunkards from the parties before. 

You glanced down at your phone, at an invitation message, as you took a moment to steel your resolve. You tried to push out the thoughts of doubt out of your head. In any case, if Hotel Paradise was exclusive enough to require an invitation by an existing member, then that must be a green flag, right?

You were immediately greeted by a bleach-blond haired lady when you walked through the doors. She looked neat and tidy, which calmed your anxieties about this being a sketchy brothel just a little. 

“Welcome to Hotel Paradise, I’m Taeyeon, what can I do for you?” she said, with a perfected customer service smile. 

You showed her your invitation message, and she made quick work in creating a membership for you in the system. 

“Any requests for tonight?” she asked and gestured towards the plaques in front of you.

Your cheeks were quick to turn pink at her direct question. You glanced over at the plaques on the surface of the reception desk. Laminated behind plastic, they detailed a list of 20 boys, with photos and a short list of their strengths. Amidst your fluster, you quickly pointed at the first one that caught your attention. Jung Jaehyun, Toy Play, Praise and Humiliation. 

“Okay,” she said as her freshly manicured fingers ran across her keyboard, “looks like he’s free currently. Is there anything else you’d like?”

You shook your head, mortified to share any more of your kinks with a stranger - kinks that you didn’t even share with your ex. 

It took a moment before Taeyeon motioned you to go up the spiral stairs behind the counter. Second room to your left, she mentioned. You swallowed your saliva, before walking into the room. 

The room was quite spacious, with egg-white paint coating the walls, a neatly made king-sized bed in the middle and a decent bathroom attached. If it wasn't for the row of sex toys placed on the table at the foot of the bed, you could have fooled anyone into thinking it was a room in any respectable hotel. 

“My, my, what a lovely guest,” the man in the middle of the room came to greet you. 

Immediately, you were captivated by his looks. You had picked him, for the most part, due to his photo. But looking at him in person was a whole other experience. His fluffy brown hair was carelessly tossed backwards with a few stray strands perfectly framing his face. His almond-shaped eyes were pressed into crescents and only god knew how hard you’d fall for his dazzling smile.

His hands reached over and removed the little shoulder bag that you had brought with you. And in a smooth motion, his arm slipped around your waist as he guided you to sit on the bed.  It was only now, sitting in front of Jaehyun, that you’d wished you had spent just a little more time in choosing a more appropriate outfit. In a rush to satisfy your needs and to save on laundry efforts, you had put on your office wear - a neat powder blue blouse tucked into wide legged black trousers - the same one that had worn to the office on Friday.

“Busy day, huh?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear before resting his hand on your jawline. 

You nodded; your cheeks flushed against his warm touch. Your attention was entirely drawn in by him and his effortless charm.

“I’ll reward you for working hard,” he said before gently kissing you. 

His lips, soft and plump, pressed against yours softly, as if testing out the waters. Once, then twice. And another. When your arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him closer, his tongue skillfully parted your lips and darted into your mouth. He tasted like cool mint, and you caught a whiff of his sandalwood cologne. The intensity and fervour of the kiss only increased with each passing moment. Lust ignited a flame within you that spread across your body. 

He used his body weight and pushed you down on the bed, with one knee between your legs to balance. His hand wandered around your body, caressing your breast, your waist and your butt before his fingers made quick work of your pants’ button and zipper. He slid the trousers off and, with a little kick from you, threw the pants across the room. 

His lips then left yours for a moment, and it drew out a whine that you had never heard yourself make. It pleased him to hear your voice. You watched as a simple make out transformed the sweet and charming man into a lustful one. His once inviting smile morphed into a thirsty smirk, his lips were swollen, and his eyes burned with desire. 

He left the bed for a moment, picking up your trousers and a small vibrator from the table before returning to you. He used the trousers as a makeshift rope to tie both your wrists to the bedpost and before dropping down between your legs.

“You look so pretty from down here,” he said as he placed the small vibrator against your clothed clit. 

He moved it up and down, along your slit, taking in your moans of pleasure. He watched your every effort to push yourself closer to climax: how you’d buck your hips when the vibe hitted the right spot, how your moans got louder and less restrained and how your hands struggled against the bedpost. 

“Please, please, please,” you cried out, “please let me cum- oh my god, I’m so close.” 

Everything you did only pleased him further. 

“You’re such a little slut, aren’t you?” He slid the vibrator away from your clit, “Already cumming for a stranger you’ve barely met?” 

Your hips bucked and adjusted, hoping to feel the vibrator again, “Please, please.” 

You whined and moaned but all he did was watch. His control was immaculate, he’d place the vibrator against your clit and just as you were about to cum, he’d take it off. Then he did it again. And again. 

“Say it,” he said, “Let me hear it. What are you?” 

A blush of mortification coloured your cheeks, no one had ever called you a slut.

“I’m…” You struggled to get the words out. 

Jaehyun punished your hesitation by pushing the vibrator against your clit again. 

You whined and were reminded of the reward at the end of the sentence, “I’m a slut. I’m a slut just for you.” 

Pleased with your words and your desperation, Jaehyun finally let you cum, “That’s right, cum for me, slut. You’re such a good slut for me.”

He watched as the ecstasy ebbed through your body, your hips bucking high before crashing down against the bed, your fingers digging into your palms and your lips carelessly spewing out ‘thank you’s and ‘oh my god’s. 

“That felt good, right?” 

You nodded, albeit a little tired from that singular orgasm. It’s not an exaggeration to say that no one had made you feel the way his touch did. Forcing you to brand yourself as a slut sparked a new thrill for yourself. Everything he did only drew you into his lust-driven heaven. 

He let you rest for a brief moment, as he swapped out the small vibrator for a vibrating dildo this time. 

Watching Jaehyun put the dildo in his hands, you perked up with more energy. 

By now, your cotton panties had been drenched in your juices. So, Jaehyun slipped them off to reveal your pussy. It’s been awhile since you’ve shaved, it wasn’t like you had anyone to show them to. This was an impromptu decision you had made. You immediately shut your legs up together, hiding them in embarrassment.

Jaehyun responded by softly prying your legs open, “no need for shyness now, kitten.” 

His words were charming and comforting, which gave you just that little boost of confidence that you had needed. You opened your legs again.

This time, a newfound hunger engulfed Jaehyun at the sight of your glistening core.  

He was quick to abandon his initial plan, lowering himself between your legs before burying himself into your thighs. Like a parched lion, his tongue was quick to lap up your juices. 

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he mumbled against your core, the vibration created a new sensation and drew out a soft mewl from you.

His tongue moved skillfully, each motion methodical and purposeful. He alternated between licking up and down your wet heat and swirling his tongue around your swollen clit. Either way, your head was dizzy with arousal. Your hips grinded against his face, searching for another release. Explicit words mixed with his name and your pleas carelessly tumbled out of your lips. Try as you might, you could barely contain your voice.

You hadn’t noticed it, but in the midst of your pleasure, Jaehyun had managed to push a singular finger into your core. His initial finger worked slower than his mouth, it’s only when a second finger thrusted into you that you felt him. The new sensation added to the maddening haze.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whined, your body stiffening in anticipation. 

“Cum,” his command was firm, “cum for me, my pretty little slut.” 

The release was instantaneous, arousal flooded your system and your entire body quaked with pleasure. You almost saw white with that release. Your body heaved with a singular motion, crashing down into the bed. But Jaehyun didn’t let you rest; he was quick to replace his fingers with the vibrating dildo that he had chosen previously. A gasp escaped your lips, feeling yourself stretch around the foreign object. He turned it out and began pumping it into you. He ignored your pleas, revelling in the dishevelled sight of you. Office drone turned into a moaning mess. A twisted pleasure coursed through your body, a tinge of pain from sensitivity mixed with the dildo drilling into your g-spot. You begged him to stop, he didn’t. Your body buckled under the overstimulation; you were sure you were going to die if he didn’t stop. 

You caught a glimpse of his wicked smirk, taking pride in his work. 

Then, you fell from the cusp of your pleasure. A stream of clear liquid squirted from between your legs and onto Jaehyun’s face. Your eyes widened when you came to it, the first time that you had ever squirted. The pink flush on your cheeks reddened with more embarrassment. But before you had the time to apologise and explain that you didn’t intend on squirting all over him, he spoke first.

“Look at you, squirting all over me,” Jaehyun said, discarding the dildo, “I barely did anything, you know.” 

His velvety voice sent shivers down your spine. Your humiliation grew under the weight of his words, and the truth of the situation. He was a stranger that you’ve barely met, and here you were cumming so easily at his every touch. His eyes, filled with great desire, burned into yours, and that thrill you felt under his gaze only further cemented the truth. You were acting like a complete slut for him. 

You watched as he removed his jeans, then boxers. The sight of his member had your mouth salivating over it. You didn’t know you were such a slut. You could feel the growing heat between your legs as your mind conjured up images of his dick drilling into you. A foreign desire to just let him devour you arose. A strange impatience took over your mind whilst watching him slip on a condom. 

“Why?” he crawled back on the bed, hovering over your body, “Like what you see?” 

He didn’t wait for your reply, instead choosing to immediately thrust into you. A loud gasp escaped your throat. He felt bigger than you’d imagined. You were sure that he would split your body in half if he was any bigger and was grateful that he gave you a moment to adjust to his size. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he growled. He adjusted himself, with one hand holding on to the bedframe for balance, and the other rested around your neck. 

“Stop giving me such erotic looks, whore,” a twisted grin spread across his handsome face, “it only makes me want to mess you up even more.” 

His hips moved with practiced ease, each thrust deep and impactful and drew out loud gasps from you. He started rocking his hips quicker and sloppier, his hand tightening along the sides of your neck. You’ve never been choked before, but that new stimulation drove you crazy. The slight almost-drunk dizziness from the asphyxiation only intensified every one of Jaehyun’s thrust. 

“Oh?” he panted out with amusement, “You like getting choked, don’t you?”

He watched as your eyes rolled back and how your face scrunched with pleasure under his touch. The constant stream of melody that was your voice devolved from words and pleas into incoherent mewls and moans. 

“You’re squeezing me so tight. Expected nothing less from my favourite slut.”

His hips moved with increasing impatience, as the both of you chased the highs of an orgasm. His grip on your neck only tightened, drawing small crescents into your skin. He grunted and groaned with less of the control he seemed to have. 

“You look so fucking beautiful,” he said and you doubted, with what little sanity remained within you. 

Your hair was completely messed up, from your constant squirming. The baby hair along your hairline had been stuck on your face with your sweat. You’re pretty certain your make-up - just a touch of eyeliner and nude lipstick - had all been smudged by sweat and tears. If anything, you’re sure you looked like a messed-up whore. 

Still, Jaehyun leaned down and connected your lips with fervour. His warm tongue darted quickly between your lips and danced with yours, sucking and twirling your tongue. His thrusts didn’t slow down, and instead continuously rammed into your sweet little spot. 

At this moment, you were completely intoxicated by his touches. He studied you well though, knowing that you were on the edge of your orgasm. 

“Aw, are you about to cum?” he said with mocking sympathy, “You’re gonna cum on a stranger’s dick?”

You felt your ears turn red at his questions. The shame and guilt all twisting into a strange pleasure. You weren’t used to this, but you craved it more. 

“I’ll allow it,” he said, “you look so pretty cumming. Cum for me, slut.” 

There’s a disconnect between his words, a sort-of whiplash. One moment he called you pretty, another he was completely condescending. And yet, you liked it. You liked being his little slut. You liked looking pretty for him. And most of all, you liked obeying him. 

That desire to obey, however, fell short of Jaehyun’s expectations. A twisted anger filling his eyes as his hand punished your neck with an even tighter grip - you were barely gasping for air at this point. 

“I said, cum for me,” he growled before spitting in your face. 

The warm spit against your cheek swirled with the hypnotising haze of being choked and gave you the push you need to slip into a mindblowing orgasm. Your entire body spasmed in pleasure as desperate moans left your lips. Your toes curled tight, and your fingers scratched the bedpost. The orgasm lasted a solid a few seconds, but the waves of oxytocin still washed over you as you basked in the afterglow, serving as minor orgasms. 

But Jaehyun wasn’t a man of patience, especially not when you laid under him, completely writhing with pleasure with a look of complete daze. Your still-spasming core squeezed his dick tight and coupled with a few sloppy thrusts were enough to send him into an orgasm as well. 

He moaned and stiffened, his orgasm translated into deep and impactful thrusts as he rode out his orgasm. Your body was at a complete subservience to his orgasm, with Jaehyun not caring about your verbal protests from the overstimulation nor the way your hips and legs were shaking.

It took him a few moments, before he came crashing down on the bed next to you panting. The lust-driven demon seemed to disappear at an instance as a sweet smile replaced his previous smirk. 

“Satisfied?” 

You nodded shyly. He helped you out of the makeshift knot, finally freeing you. Your wrists were left with red marks, to which he apologised with a dimpled smile. 

“It’s fine,” you assured him, “I… liked it.” 

After all, your wrists would be evidence of this experience. 

Later on, he was quick to attend to your every need - bringing you water, tissues to clean up, and a fresh set of bathrobes - and insisted that you sleep in the room, at least until the sun was up, promising to not touch you unless you wanted him to. You almost let yourself be deluded into thinking that this was anything but professionalism from a staff of Hotel Paradise.

In the morning, before you left for home, Jaehyun parted with words that would haunt you for the week to come. 

“I hope to see you again. I really do.” 

[hyuuukais]

⋆.˚𖦹°‧✮‧°𖦹˚.⋆ ERROR 404

pairing ~ yang jeongin x fem reader

synopsis ~ y/n starts getting messages from an unknown number after buying a used phone for cheap. as she finds out more about the boy she's talking to, it turns out there's much more to this than a wrong number --- he died, and she's talking to his spirit, yet he has no idea what happened to him. will y/n have what it takes to solve the mystery of his death? or will the boy's spirit remained trapped in his phone?

warnings ~ gen, anxiety

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

CH 5 ~ FAMILY TIES (wc: 2.3k, 2 screenshots)

"There," Jeongin directs you to a house on your right. It's a modest house with dark blue paneling and a neat front yard. As you pull up to the curb, you catch a glimpse of a woman ushering two children back inside, abandoning a soccer ball by the door.

"Cute. You grew up here?" You ask, parking the car.

"Yeah, but like everything else I don't remember much," Jeongin leans forward in his seat to get a better look at the house. "I don't think it was always blue though, that's new. And they cut a tree down from other there," He points to one corner of the yard and you see a short stump. "Other than that, nothing."

"So why are we here then?" You take your hands off the wheel and place them in your lap. "There's gotta be some kind of emotional connection to this place, something important that happened."

"Isn't growing up there exactly that?"

"Well, yeah, but take the other memories into consideration," You say and turn your body to face Jeongin. "That park, anything could have happened there, but your brain decided the most important thing was meeting Hyunjin. Then again at the lake, the first night of having your own car and celebrating that. Even then you mentioned another event that took place there, the party, so why not that? So many things probably happened at that lake just like in this home, but we're here for a specific memory."

"Wow, you've really put thought into this." The corner of Jeongin's mouth quirks up as he faces you. "Maybe you should be a detective."

"I'll stick to the flower shop," You laugh.

For a while it's like this, the two of you chatting in the car waiting for something to happen. Morning turns to noon to late afternoon before anything happens, the sun hanging low in the sky. You point it out to Jeongin when you see it; two little boys have exited a pale yellow house and are making their way down the sidewalk in your direction. Stepping out into the sticky heat of late summer, you and Jeongin follow them all the way to the corner of the street before they stop.

They look to be about thirteen here, Hyunjin wrapping an arm around Jeongin's shoulders as they walk side by side. When they stop, his arm drops and they face each other. Hyunjin is slightly taller than Jeongin and has already started killing his hair with bleach, fiddling with the edge of the yellow tank top he's wearing. Jeongin sighs and crosses his arms with a frown on his face, Hyunjin matching the mood with a pout.

"So this is it?" Hyunjin asks, voice quiet.

"Yeah," Jeongin replies. "I guess so."

"You're leaving me."

"I have to."

"Come live with me," Hyunjin jokes. "Then you won't have to. Convince your parents by saying you don't want to switch schools or something."

"You know I can't do that," Jeongin looks away uncomfortably.

"I wouldn't make you live with me," Hyunjin's head drops. "With him."

"You could come with me-"

"No, I can't, you know that," Hyunjin crosses his arms. "It's stupid you're moving right out of our district, you should still be allowed to stay." He kicks a rock with the toe of his shoe, looking away embarrassed. "Don't make a new best friend."

"What?" Jeongin almost looks offended. "I could never! You know you'll be my best friend for life, always, even if I died! My ghost would haunt your ass."

Present-day Jeongin snorts at this.

With a pinky promise, you watch the two boys make a pact to stay close friends no matter what happens between them. They'll star in their first movie together side by side, they'll always support each other; they'll do everything together and never leave. A car pulls up and honks and Hyunjin waves goodbye to Jeongin, entering the vehicle. As it drives away, Hyunjin is looking out with fingertips barely touching the glass. Little Jeongin is gone, leaving you in silence.

"You know, I've been wondering why this neighbourhood has felt so familiar," You say quietly. "My mother was buried just down the road."

The car is silent, Jeongin placing his hand right next to yours on the compartment, just a hair away. Even with him not touching you directly, you can feel his energy coming off on you. It's different, the way you can feel him without feeling drained; it almost makes you want to take the risk and extend your pinky, closing the distance between you. When you look at him, the setting sun has created a warm glow around him, but accentuating his ghostly-ness. This is both the most alive and dead you've seen him, pale skin and eye bags, orange glow and soft eyes.

You start the car, fully intent on driving home, but your body seems to direct the vehicle the opposite way. As you pass the cemetery you slow down, making a full stop right outside the entrance. In the corner of your eye, you can see Jeongin looking at you, but you can't face him. This is big; walking into this place could change so many things for you, and you don't even know where you'd start with your mom. You've never met her, what if she doesn't recognize you? What if she's not there? What if-

"Y/n, stop thinking so much," Jeongin teases lightly, trying to bring up the mood. "We don't have to go today, or at all even."

"I want to," You finally look at him. "But there's so much I don't know about her and that she doesn't know about me. This could change everything I've ever thought about her."

"Don't you want to know who she was? Not who you think she is?" He asks.

Yes, of course you do. Without answering, you step out of the car and brace yourself for the wind; it's picked up a lot since leaving. Leaves blow off the trees that line the pathway in, some getting caught in your hair as you walk. The air is crisp and cold, goosebumps forming on your arms and the back of your neck. Whether that's actually from the coolness or from the atmosphere, you don't know for sure.

In your peripheral vision, you spot the odd spirit here and there. Most are lingering by graves, presumably their own, wandering back and forth, or sitting on the stone benches sprinkled around. One reaches out for you as you pass a bench, her frail, wrinkled fingers grazing your wrist, but Jeongin shifts over and gently pushes her away. She simply curls into herself, and you think you can hear crying as you get further away; your skin burns where she touched you.

"Up there." You point to a large structure with named boxes in straight lines. Your mother was cremated, but still laid to rest with the rest of her family. Underneath her box are two empty ones and a man's name. Before you can read the name, someone is calling out for you from behind.

Turning around, you spot a young woman not much older than you crouched down by a bush, a bright flower in her hand. She drops the flower, shock written all over her face and tears welling in her eyes. Standing up straight, she eagerly walks toward you, but Jeongin stands in her way as a warning.

"Sorry, I'm not used to the living," She laughs, leaning to the side so you can see her; Jeongin's back is obscuring most of your sight.

"That's okay," You squeak, stepping out from Jeongin. You're a lot more nervous seeing her now, especially noticing just how alike you look. "I'm-"

"Y/n," She exhales. "Don't think I'd recognize my own daughter? C'mon. But..." Her eyebrows furrow, looking around as if someone's missing. "Your brother, where is he?"

Brother?

You stare at her, mouth agape and unable to form words. Glancing back to the stone behind you, it dawns on you that there are two empty boxes underneath your mother, not one. Which means...

"I have a brother?"

"You-" Her eyebrows somehow knit together further, the flower clutched so tightly in her palm you doubt any petals could be salvaged. "You didn't know? How do you not know? Your father-"

"I'm adopted," You admit shyly, avoiding her eyes, but you can hear her scoff.

"That motherfucker."

Jeongin snorts and whispers, "Definitely related."

Your mother opens her mouth to speak again, but she's stopped short when something catches her attention to the side. When you follow her sight, you can see a man in the far distance staring her down. Suddenly, the air is tight with tension and fear, like all the spirits around you are wary of him. He doesn't come closer, but he raises something sharp and you finally recognize him as the man in the boat. The bottle isn't at his neck this time, but rather pointed at your mother. His head is tilted in a sinister way, only part of his face visible from behind his extended hand, but his features are both sharp and soft at the same time.

"We should get out of here," Jeongin says, his own voice tight with anxiety.

"But-" You try to protest.

"No, he's right honey," Your mother spares a glance toward you. "You need to leave, just promise me- promise me you'll find your brother?"

"I-I promise."

Wasting no time, Jeongin encourages you in front of him without tearing his eyes away from the man. The further you go, the blurrier he becomes, and soon enough the man is completely out of sight. Who is he, and why were all those ghosts so scared?

Back in the car, you take a chance to breathe before starting it up. With shaky hands, you turn on the ignition and prepare to drive away, but something bangs on your car window loudly, causing you to jump, almost enough to hit your head. You yelp when you see the man outside, the closest he's been to you since the first sighting. There's a distinctive mole under one of his narrowed eyes, his slender fingers pressed up against the window. Without thinking twice, you speed off and don't stop until you're outside of your home.

Jeongin is trying to speak to you, but you're dizzy and can't make out any words he's saying, the world around you spinning like crazy. A raging headache is beginning to form behind your eyes, placing your head between your legs and trying to control yourself. Anxiety threatens to sweep you under its strong waves, but with every breath you can feel yourself settling down. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three...

"I need to contact Minho," You say, voice weak.

"Let's get you inside first." Jeongin exits, rounding the front of your car and opening your door. "Can you stand?"

"I don't know," You admit. "But if you touch me, especially when I'm already feeling like shit..."

"I know," Jeongin sighs, frustrated.

Placing one hand on the open door and the other on your seat, you push up and cling to the vehicle, a wave of nausea hitting you. Once it passes, you take a step away and allow Jeongin to close the car door. You wonder what this looks like to others; can they see the actions he makes, or does it appear different to them? Stumbling to your front door, you enter quickly, feeling uneasy so exposed outside.

The warmth of your house hits you like a weighted blanket, sleepiness overtaking you making it hard to undress. Trudging upstairs, you half expect Jeongin to be gone when you enter your room, but he's still watching over you. Walking over to your closet, you throw the first comfy clothes you see onto your bed and flop down. It's too much to move- your whole body feels as though there's a ton of bricks weighing you down. With sluggish eyes, you see Jeongin looking out the window to the right of your bed, opening it just a crack to let some cool air in. The breeze prickles at your skin, but it's nice.

"Jeongin."

"Yeah?" He turns his head toward your sleepy figure.

"Can we take a risk?" You mumble, gauging his reaction. His eyebrows raise and he looks down, stretching away from the window.

"What kind of risk?" He asks, trying to keep his voice light.

"Help me get dressed," You say, almost wanting to cry from your exhaustion. "I'm so fucking tired."

Rolling onto your back with your head still in his direction, you watch him consider his options. Slowly, he makes his way toward you and picks up the sweatshirt you abandoned at the bottom of your bed. Hesitantly, the tips of his fingers meet your upper arm. Nothing happens, no sick feelings or passing out; only you and him and the surprising warmth of his touch. When he realizes you're okay, he continues to lift you up into a sitting position, teasing you for your groans. Lifting your shirt gently, he looks away red in the face and feels for the sweatshirt, finding it close by and bringing it over your head. Next, he helps you out of your jeans and slips the matching sweatpants up your legs, his hands pausing at your hips.

He's holding his breath, and you're more awake than ever as you make eye contact with him. You realize the position you're in with him overtop of you, his face oddly close to yours, enough for your breath to mingle. His eyes dart down your face, back up to your eyes, and away from you shyly. Taking his face in your hands, you thumb his cheekbones and run your fingers down his jawline. Touching someone has never felt so natural for you, so real and safe. Either your eyes are deceiving you, or he's getting closer and closer and-

Your phone buzzes. "Minho."

notes ~ this may or may not be unedited for the most part, so apologies for any mistakes i am simply too eepy

taglist ~ @chaeryred @toplinelix @channie-143 @bloomingstay @sona1800

@dollschan @defnotfertilizedtoesw @thisisnotjacinta @kayleigh-28 @kayleefriedchicken

@lailac13 @linocvp1d @ilov3jeong1n @mooseung @kkamismom12

reply or send an ask to be added (18+)^^^ green means i can't tag you

[sionisjaune]

Neighbour AU + Mutual pining (mickcedes or brocedes please) 💙

[Trope mash up prompts] This might have to become a series, because I got 1k into this and realized I hadn't even gotten to the mutual pining! But here you go, mickcedes monaco neighbours AU:

After breaking up with his girlfriend of four years, Mick musters the courage to ask Seb for his realtor so he can get the hell out of his sister’s place. Gina is awesome—the best sister Mick could ask for—but it’s clear that she’s become somewhat peeved after six weeks of taking care of her older brother.

Seb’s realtor is a terrifying blonde woman named Britta, and when Mick meets her for coffee—black for Britta and a cappuccino for Mick—she pulls up a map of Europe on her phone, holds it out to Mick and says, “Where do you want to go?” 

Mick swallows. He has the force of his family’s bank account behind him, which really means he could go anywhere. He pictures himself in the UK, in Greece, in Norway, in a beautiful island cottage in Croatia and says, “I’ve always wanted to live in Monaco.” 

“Monaco,” says Britta, tilting her head in consideration. “We can do Monaco.” 

-

Three days later, Britta texts Mick a plane ticket to Nice, the receipt for a rental car, and a link to tour a residential high rise virtually. Mick opens the link and flips through images of a sun-drenched condo on the sixth floor. He’s not much of a designer, but he imagines a dining room table beside the french doors that open onto the balcony, a flatscreen on the wall of the living room, and family photos on the mantel. 

He could live with it, he thinks. I like it, he texts Britta. 

-

Britta holds open the door for Mick, awfully gentlemanly, and nods at the doorman like she’s already met him. The lobby is bright and modern, and a plaque made from sun-bleached driftwood reads BIENVENUE on the front desk. 

The elevator ride to the sixth floor is uneventful, Britta and Mick leaning against opposite walls. The floor numbers tick upwards on the LED panel above the door. Britta tucks her hands behind her back and assesses Mick coolly. 

“You know,” she says, conversationally. “If Sebastian ever treats you unfairly, you can tell me, and I’ll sort him out. He can be a selfish little man when he isn’t thinking straight.” 

“Thanks,” Mick squeaks, willing the elevator doors to open. It’s difficult to categorize anything Seb does as unfair when Mick still has stars in his eyes looking at him. It’s Sebastian Vettel, his dad’s protege. 

“I’m serious,” says Britta, fiercely. 

As if sensing Mick’s discomfort, the elevator jolts to a halt, and a ding signals their arrival at the sixth floor. Britta makes an after you kind of gesture, and Mick slips out of the elevator. 

-

When Mick and Britta are done touring the apartment, Mick accepts Britta’s offer to show him around the city. He’s been here before on family vacations, but not since… Well, that doesn’t bear thinking about. 

Britta locks the door to the apartment behind them, and Mick turns around to stride towards the elevator, and runs smack into another body carrying a box of something green.

“Desole,” says Mick, mustering disused French. He shoots an arm out to help the stranger balance his box of what looks like—asparagus and artichokes and various varieties of leafy greens.

“Pas grave,” says the stranger, clutching his box of produce to his chest. Mick pulls back, and the stranger transfers the box to one arm, using his freed hand to sweep the hair out of his eyes. 

The stranger is bright blonde with fine wrinkles at the corners of turquoise eyes like he’s older than his otherwise smooth features suggest. He’s dressed in linen from head to toe, a pair of designer sandals on his feet that Mick only recognizes from his mother’s beach wardrobe. 

Britta snorts behind him. The stranger looks past Mick and wrinkles his nose at her. 

The awkward encounter is over in a matter of seconds, and the stranger is brushing past Mick, presumably to get to his apartment, while Britta ushers Mick towards the elevator. Mick shakes his head clear while Britta pushes the button for the lobby. 

“Do you know him?” Mick asks. 

“Ha,” says Britta, a thin smile growing on her jaw. “Sebastian does. That’s Nico Rosberg, an angel investor in the sustainable energy sector. He lives in Monaco with his husband, a designer.” 

“Rosberg as in Keke Rosberg?” says Mick. 

“That’s the one,” says Britta.

-

A month later, Mick finds himself on a plane to Nice for the second time, his most important belongings crammed in a mountain of suitcases and stowed with the rest of the luggage. Seb offered to fly with him and help Mick set up, but Mick felt somewhat guilty for stealing Britta for so long and wanted to prove to no one in particular that he could make the move by himself. 

He retrieves his new keys from the front desk, and after an afternoon he has most of the important things assembled, which is to say a toaster, an espresso machine and a bedframe. He opens his laptop and half-heartedly scrolls through an online furniture store, but gives up on the third page of bespoke credenzas. He doesn’t even know where he would put a credenza. 

In the end, he wraps himself up in the one sheet he bothered to bring with him and passes out on top of the mattress. 

-

Mick wakes to a knock on his door. He experiences a fleeting thought that he’s still staying with his sister, and it’s her boyfriend knocking on the door to take her out for breakfast before he realizes he’s in his new apartment in Monaco and Gina is thousands of kilometres away. He flings the sheet off his torso, still wearing yesterday’s t-shirt and joggers, and slogs through the apartment to answer the door. 

When Mick tugs the door open, Nico Rosberg is standing on the other side, a basket of greens once again clutched in his hands. Another man, with a deeper complexion, stylish facial hair, and a face stacked with piercings, stands at his shoulder, looking somewhat bored. 

“Hi?” says Mick, uncertain. 

“Hello neighbour!” says Nico Rosberg, foisting the basket on Mick. “We wondered when you’d move in. I’m Nico, and this is my partner Lewis. We live two doors down.” Nico gestures vaguely at the other end of the hallway. “Lewis, say hello,” he sing-songs. 

“Hey, man,” says Lewis. 

“Uh,” says Mick, struggling under his new armful of kale and other vegetables. “Thanks? Can I…” he glances backwards into the apartment and notes the kitchen, which is empty of everything but the toaster and coffee machine. “Invite you in for coffee?”

Nico laughs ebulliently. “Of course not. We wouldn’t dream of taking advantage of your hospitality when you’ve just moved in. If you need anything from us, though, just knock.” He grins flatly at Mick, lips closed. Something about it reminds Mick of Britta. 

“Thanks,” says Mick. “I’ll just…” he breaks off. 

“Great,” says Nico, still smiling his flat smile. “Wonderful to meet you. I’m sure we’ll be seeing you around.” 

Nico spins on his heel, links his arm through Lewis’s and tugs him down the hall. Mick blinks, steadying himself, and nudges the door closed with his foot, hauling the basket of produce into the kitchen. He sets it on the counter and pulls back to scrutinize it. What the fuck is he going to do with 10 kilos of kale?

[thesilliestrovingalive]

Updated: September 23, 2024

Reworked Character #5: Trevor Spacey

POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING: Viewer discretion is advised due to references to child abuse, neglect, suicide, death, crime, and drug addiction.

Real name: Yeong-Gi Kwak

Alias: Chill Blade of Security

Occupation: Sergeant of the P.F. Squad

Retirement plans: Become a security programmer

Special skills: Proficiency in security programming and computer hacking, repurposing stolen enemy technology, psychological manipulation, taekwondo, and knifemanship

Hobbies: Helping Marco with technological issues and computer programming, doing graffiti on abandoned buildings, creating anti-virus programs, hacking into people’s accounts to see what they’re up to, and playing darts and video games

Likes: Marco’s heroism and superior computer skills, tinkering with security software while listening to music that has grabbed his attention, the nunchucks that once belonged to a former friend named Haneul, his two combat knives, and Nadia (his best friend)

Dislikes: Being called “Trevor Spicy” and “old” due to the frequent misspelling of his last name and his bleached hair, laughing so much to the point he’s coughing and wheezing, people making fun of his graffiti art, faulty security software, and boredom

Favourite food: Samgyeopsal

Favourite drink: Slushies

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Gender: Male

Age: 13 (in 2022), 19 (in 2028), 21 (in 2030), 23 (in 2032), 25 (in 2034), 32 (in 2041), 34 (in 2043), 35 (in 2044), and 38 (in 2047)

Blood type: AB-

Weight: 148 lbs. (67 kg)

Design: He's a 5' 9" (175.26 cm) Korean ectomorph with a lanky build, a weak musculature, sloping shoulders, warm ivory skin, dark brown eyes, nails painted a silver-grey, and a black mole beneath the left corner of his lip. He has a jet-black undercut hairstyle, featuring icy blonde hair on top with nearly middle-parted bangs that fall over his left eye, covering it partially. On his back, he has a large tattoo depicting a fiery Jindo dog chasing a golden pheasant in orbit around the moon. His lower right leg was amputated due to gangrene caused by the use of the opioid Krokodil, and has since been replaced with a bronze-hued prosthetic. He bears several scars: a curved scar on his left cheek; an X-shaped pair on his chest; a jagged stab wound on the top of his right hand; a long scar running down the length of his left upper arm; and a series of parallel scars on his right forearm.

Trevor's military gear consists of a metal dog tag necklace with his name, a scarlet bandana worn around his neck, bronze-plated goggles with orange-tinted lenses, and glaucous fingerless gloves. He wears a ruddy blue sweater with two deep pockets, cerulean wool lining, a bronze zipper, silver-striped cuffs, and an embroidered logo of the P.F. Squad on the back, which he occasionally ties around his waist. He wears baggy Cambridge blue army cargo pants, tucked into his Russian violet paratrooper boots, which have hidden knives and are held up by a glaucous belt. He also wears a sleeveless reddish-black shirt with a mock neck and a bust mesh panel, sheathes for his two combat knives, and a gun holster for his handgun.

He carries around a bag of THC-infused red box gummies, flavoured like raspberry, a gift from Ralf after their victorious battle against the Invaders, symbolising their newfound friendship. The pockets of Trevor's sweater carry a gourd-shaped jade charm necklace believed to capture fortune and health, and a photograph of him and Nadia. He also carries around a metallic pink-purple lighter and a plastic bag that contains six weed joints. A claw hammer is concealed in the right pocket of his cargo pants, while the left pocket is occupied by a sound-cancelling, bluetooth headset and his black cellphone with a metallic blue case.

Over his shirt, he wears a Soldier Plate Carrier System (SPCS) with a MultiCam pattern, which carries his walkie-talkie and ammo for other firearms. A black bandolier is wrapped above his belt, holding onto the ammunition for his handgun. He carries a Cambridge blue load-bearing backpack containing camping equipment, tactical explosives, portable ammo boxes, a canteen full of water, seven cans of spray paint in different colours, a wide range of hacking tools such as the Flipper Zero and O.MG cables, and nunchucks. He has a collection of piercings, including: sapphire wire hook earrings; black industrial piercings; dark blue tragus piercings; a shiny silver barbell nose bridge piercing; a bold black horizontal eyebrow piercing on his left side; a metallic purple frog eyes tongue piercing; and a dainty gold hoop vertical labret piercing.

Personality: He's a stoic existentialist who focuses on what he can control, accepts what lies beyond his grasp, and believes in the power of individual free will to shape the course of one's life. He's a highly intelligent, cunning, and resourceful man who’s confident in his knife skills and computer knowledge, but can come across as overconfident at times. Despite Trevor’s easy-going demeanour and calm smile, he’s watchful, and his jovial nature often serves as a facade to conceal his underlying anxiety. He's easily amazed and intrigued by the wonders of nature, unexpected revelations, explosions, and impressive feats performed by his friends and comrades such as effortlessly hacking into an entire military mainframe. When discussing his interests or sharing fascinating experiences, he becomes quite talkative.

Trevor is an ambivert capable of being ruthless, intensely serious, and unsettling when the situation demands it. He's a skilled manipulator, able to turn enemies into allies in desperate situations by exploiting their morals and convincing them they're in the wrong. When manipulating others, he also instills fear through physical and psychological torment, such as breaking their fingers with a hammer or threatening to kill a loved one in front of them. However, he's unexpectedly stubborn when it comes to protecting those he cares about and the lives of innocent people. He holds immense respect for Marco, whom he regards as a role model for excellence in computer science, and enjoys assisting him with investigations and tech projects. He enjoys tagging along with Tarma, Marco, Eri, and Ralf because he regards them as role models, skilled fighters, and experts in their respective fields of expertise.

He has a playful and mischievous streak, evident in his habit of licking his combat knives and taunting those he considers “morally weak” and “blindly stupid”. Unlike most people, he's willing to forgive his enemies when he realises they're suffering and have an opportunity to redeem themselves. Trevor is surprisingly internet savvy and enjoys using internet slang in both his online and offline conversations with most of his friends, often finding humour in it. Whenever someone he admires, like Marco, calls him "old”, he feels a pang of emptiness inside and becomes noticeably melancholic. On the other hand, when people jokingly refer to him as "Trevor Spicy”, he seems unimpressed, responding with either the silent treatment or a blunt "bug off" accompanied by a deadpan expression. However, he's perplexed by his popularity among women, who admire his physique and exceptional computer skills.

He occasionally participates in Nadia's antics, adding a touch of dramatic flair to them, but will draw the line when her schemes exceed his comfort zone. He’s often disappointed and shocked by Nadia's actions and words, frequently expressing his distaste and uncertainty. When he's extremely bored, he becomes lethargic and sleepy, making it challenging for him to muster interest in anything until the feeling passes. Trevor cherishes Nadia's friendship, admiring her confidence, optimism, understated intelligence, and playful humour, which helps him unwind and find gratitude in his life. He's driven to protect and understand Nadia, fearing that losing her would leave her confused and hurt. Nadia's charm has captivated him, but he's uncertain whether his feelings are rooted in platonic affection or romance as he's still grappling with the complexities of true love.

He holds an extreme disdain for illegal substances and champions the responsible and lawful use of substances. If he notices that one of his friends or comrades is struggling with a drug addiction, he'll go out of his way to provide them with comfort and try to help them break away from that addiction. Due to his upbringing, he struggles with golden child syndrome, but he has made significant progress in overcoming its challenges, thanks in large part to the support of friends like Fio. He's struggling to come to terms with the loss of Haneul, his first true friend, who not only taught him essential survival skills but also introduced him to the world of graffiti art and fostered his passion for security programming and hacking. He's extremely allergic to felines, so he regards domestic cats as “diabolical little buggers” and makes every effort to avoid them. He hates how Perifa often likes to bug him for cuddles and how Marco is a "cat magnet", which attracts cats that exacerbate his allergies.

Backstory: Yeong-Gi Kwak was born on June 25, 2009 in Seogwipo, Jeju Island, South Korea. He is the eldest of four siblings: his twin sister, Eun-Gyeong; his younger brother, Il-Seong; and his youngest brother, Seok-Jin. His father is a businessman who owns a computer software company, and his mother is a medical engineer. His parents, who were workaholics, put a lot of pressure on him and his siblings to be high achievers, believing that more effort and hard work would lead to a successful career. However, they were quick to forgive the faults of Yeong-Gi and Eun-Gyeong, allowing them to get away with more than their two younger brothers. As the oldest children in the family, his parents put a lot of pressure on him and his twin sister to set a good example and be proper role models for their two younger brothers.

This parenting style fed into Yeong-Gi's and Eun-Gyeong's need to consistently achieve, satisfying their perfectionistic and people-pleasing tendencies. Nevertheless, it also stirred an inflated sense of self in both, with Eun-Gyeong exhibiting signs of narcissistic personality disorder and Yeong-Gi experiencing a great deal of guilt on behalf of his two younger brothers. In contrast, Il-Seong was often scapegoated, frequently blamed for things he didn't do and severely punished by his parents, who would often lock him in the basement for hours. Meanwhile, Seok-Jin was neglected, retreating from his dysfunctional family by spending time alone in his room drawing or going to the park to play by himself. Yeong-Gi made a concerted effort to support Il-Seong and Seok-Jin, which undoubtedly brought some comfort and solace into their lives.

At the age of 3, Yeong-Gi received his first computer from his parents as a gift of appreciation. By the time he turned 7 years old, he had already developed a comprehensive understanding of binary codes and computer languages. During his summer breaks from school, he spent most of his time creating anti-virus programs, which often served as his homework assignments.

However, his dedication to his work left him with little time to spend with his two younger brothers, Il-Seong and Seok-Jin; however, he did manage to sneak in some time to read books on psychology, listen to K-pop, and play video games with Eun-Gyeong. His parents heavily encouraged his efforts, as he strove to make a positive impact on his school. Ultimately, his hard work paid off, as the school he formerly attended continued to utilise his sophisticated anti-virus programs to combat growing threats from the Internet.

By the time he enrolled in secondary school, his twin sister, Eun-Gyeong, mysteriously vanished. She was last seen with her friends near a shopping mall. Although their relationship was complicated due to her narcissistic tendencies and disrespect towards their younger brothers, Yeong-Gi still cared deeply for her. He had often tried to help her, teaching her the value of humility and assisting her with homework she struggled to understand. He was utterly devastated when his parents announced her disappearance, and it made headlines in the news. A part of him felt lost that day, and the family's desperate search efforts ultimately proved futile. Despite their best efforts, Eun-Gyeong was never found by the authorities and remains missing to this day.

Despite the tragic disappearance of his sister, Yeong-Gi continued to excel in all his classes, but the pressure on him to become successful and be a role model intensified. As he finished grade 10 and summer break began, tragedy struck again when Il-Seong took his own life, sending Yeong-Gi spiralling into an identity crisis. He ran away from home and sought solace with Feodosiy, a Russian transfer student he had befriended in grade 9.

Feodosiy introduced him to his street gang and offered him his first dose of the opioid Krokodil, which Yeong-Gi accepted without hesitation. He became a delinquent, rebelling against his parents and their mistreatment of him and his siblings, but at the cost of becoming addicted to Krokodil. He bleached his hair an icy blonde, adopted the alias Trevor Spacey, and got a tattoo from Feodosiy's right-hand man, Haneul.

For three months, he lived with Feodosiy and his street gang, surviving by stealing essentials and inhabiting a rundown apartment. During this time, he engaged in various criminal activities, including theft, mugging, drug dealing, extortion, and arson. With Haneul's guidance, he honed his knifemanship skills and mastered the art of taekwondo. However, his Krokodil addiction spiralled out of control, leading to a near-fatal overdose, which led to the subsequent amputation of his lower right leg. This traumatic experience forever deterred him from using street drugs.

After being discharged from the hospital with Feodosiy's gang members' help, he returned to a life of crime, although at a reduced level, as he adjusted to his prosthetic leg. He eventually abandoned his delinquency after accidentally killing a junkie behind a restaurant. Haunted by the incident, he remembered gazing at his reflection in a seedy restaurant's mirror, realising he had gone too far. The deep-seated fear of arrest drove him to the brink of madness, and he decided to eliminate Feodosiy, who had dragged him into crime.

After orchestrating the demise of Feodosiy and his cohorts, he scrubbed himself clean in the bathroom of the rundown apartment where Feodosiy had been staying. He then returned home, where his parents, relieved to see him, sensed the guilt and shame etched on his face for mistreating their children. Seok-Jin was also relieved to see him come home, fearing that he would never return. He confessed to them about his experiences, but kept his murders and certain crimes a secret.

He returned to high school, completing his remaining years successfully, embracing his new identity. Upon coming home from his graduation ceremony, he noticed a flyer seeking recruits for the Regular Army. He expressed interest to his parents, who were initially hesitant but eventually agreed with Seok-Jin's support. Leveraging his expertise in psychological manipulation, knifemanship, and computer languages, he joined as a military scout in the Regular Army.

After enlisting, he befriended Nadia, a scientist and soldier for the Amadeus Syndicate, and thwarted a computer virus that Marco had inadvertently released. After being off street drugs for a long time, he discovered marijuana was legal in Canada and decided to try it. This led to him developing a mild marijuana habit, which helped calm his nerves and cope with past trauma. During a mission to counter a cyber attack on European governmental forces, he earned Marco's respect due to his exceptional computer skills in hacking and security programming. As a result, he was invited to join the prestigious Peregrine Falcons Squad, where he rose to the rank of Sergeant.

[exstasyplague]

My analysis/view on SatoSugu ☆

Some disclaimers: I am a fanfic author and I do personally ship the two yet I will try to keep my thoughts as objective as possible for the sake of this post. I will include my perosnal points of view as well but 'll keep them separated from the "canon facts." Contains manga spoilers.

Are they gay?

This is a funny question yet it's the best way to start in my opinion. Short answer: they don't fit inside a label. I think the best word to describe their bond is intimate. Emotionally, it's at a place in the middle of love and appreciation and I don't think this balance is constant, sometimes it might have leaned more to one side, sometimes more to another. From an emotional point of view, they could very well be in a platonic situation.

The physical aspect is not a detrimental side for either of them in regards to one another. What makes their connection so special is the fact that it happened before Gojo Satoru became officially the strongest, before he was burdened with so many things. However, he was never free. The beginning of his very existence caused a deep disturbance within the Jujutsu world. For Satoru there was never a childhood, there was never a normal life, only a path of emptiness.

Gege is good at making his characters. Especially the villains/ good guys parallels. Just how Yuji came to the realization that he is Mahito and Mahito is him, the same parallel is drawn between Gojo and Sukuna, only Sukuna is what Gojo would've been without Geto. Both the strongest sorcerers, the difference is that Satoru got surrounded by love and his mentality evolved from "the weak ones are pathetic, I don't want to look after them" to "I will push everybody up along with me through teaching and have pupils even stronger than me, allies."

Back in highschool, Gojo was young and somewhat arrogant. His power was like a blanket for him; despite not understanding Geto's philosophical things and not agreeing with them, Gojo also, unintentionally, gave a meaning to the things happening to him "I am the strongest."

Even in the current ongoing fight (Sukuna vs Goatjo), the panels sometimes speak about love, but not in the way we would normally think; it's about the feelings of the strongest, different from the perception of average folks like us. Nurture vs Destruction.

Gojo had the power of being evil without any repercussions. Being the strongest, nothing could hurt him. He always showed his compassion towards Riko through small gestures, such as staying more at the beach, teasing her etc. Him wanting to go on a killing rampage under the pretext of 'not feeling anything' was Gojo's way of showing his disgust at the fact that hundreds of people were celebrating the death of an innocent girl. Being the strongest didn't matter. She was dead.His conviction shattered. However, he had so much trust in Geto's morality and mentality that he followed his advice. That is the kind of person he was for him. Even in Jjk 0, Suguru said that he didn't think Satoru would have any trust left for him— he did.

The only one who could understand him, speak with him, treat him like a human. His one and only. Gojo liked the fact that they were the strongest together because he also had someone to lean on.

In the manga, Naoya, the head of a powerful branch of the Zen'in clan talks about Toji. He said that as a child, he expected him to be a miserable man since he had 0 cursed energy yet when he saw how powerful and proud he was he got scared of him. He mentions that the only one being able to understand Toji was Gojo.

Only... Gojo is stronger. Toji couldn't understand him, he called him a monster. He got drowned in petty feelings characteristic to what Sukuna would call weakness and got himself killed.

Gege also mentioned in an interview that he wanted to give his characters abilities similar to Bankai (Gege legit started making manga because of Bleach, what a God) Bankai is a reflection of the soul in Bleach projected onto the swords of the Shinigami. Same with Domain Expansions in JJK. Gojo's literally repels everybody around him, it's called Infinite Void and it shows the way in which he looks at the world and views himself. Untouchable. Out of reach. An overflow of information.

Even if Bleach is a pretty stereotypical Shonen creation (don't get me wrong, I love it but the plot is pretty basic) when the protag. Ichigo was fighting against the main big powerful villain, Aizen, he said that he could feel Aizen's sword wavering with loneliness. This very concept applies to the powerful peaks of Jujutsu Kaisen. The path of power is lonely. Kenjaku himself said that Gojo is truly in his element when he is fighting on his own, the ones around him can become a liability really quickly. This of course, when it's about fights where he has to put in some efforts. That's why nobody is interfering with his Sukuna duel.

Satoru started being truly alone after Suguru left.

Another waver of his conviction. But this time, not only about not being strong enough. He didn't do enough. Ever since Gojo unlocked his techniques and became powerful, he wasn't allowed to be human anymore. He had to do mission after mission, take over the missions unfinished by others, he was expected to do everything and be the saviour of the Jujutsu World. With Suguru, he was human. Yet, just as Suguru said 'it was a busy summer'. No more space for one another.

Geto was also strong. A special grade. He too became lonely.

For Sugru, having a meaning was fundamental. His cursed technique was a constant reminder of how awful non-sorceres are. He would eat their malice, who tasted like a cloth wiped in puke and shit and whereas he understood Satoru, nobody understood him. He himself said that nobody has any idea just how bad curses taste.

When Itadori was eating Sukuna's fingers in the beginning, he would choke, cough complain a lot. Geto had over 2000 curses. He had exorcised and ingested again and again and again. The only humanity around him was Satoru, his best friend. And that got taken away by the Jujutsu world and he remained alone with his own despair. He went on his own path, feeling useless and misunderstood, still viewing Satoru as a friend but also as a term of comparison. He got left without meaning and so he forged himself a new one. He became really similar to Sukuna, with no regard for the ones beneath him, the monkeys. But also, ironically enough, Suguru stopped being the strongest. He viewed himself as weak. He doomed himself. He wanted to feel necessary— he was desperate. He thought he was saving the Jujutsu world.

They were probably meant for tragedy. And that's the sad part. Satoru would've outgrown him regardless but maybe Suguru wouldn't have chosen such a radical path. Toji's existence, an anomaly, broke the flow of their fate. (approx quote from manga) That's why he is more relevant to the story than people believe. Sure, he is sexy as fuck but Toji is literally the beginning and the end of an era, he is everything.

Gojo's second waver pushed him to become a teacher. He had grown and chose a smart path, preserving the youths, the future; no more mass murder. Suguru remained stagnant with his hatred and eventually died. For him, I'd say his life stoped the moment Riko died. His potential as a sorcerer came to a plateau. Everything came to an end so it was only a matter of time before his body died as well.

Back on Gojo's humanity. The funny thing is that this point was proven by the readers of the manga themselves, lol. When Satoru got sealed, he got shat on hardcore. Like, you can't imagine. Reddit and Discord servers were eating his ass up worse than they do now with Sukuna for using Mahoraga. Gojo got blamed for Nanami and Kugisaki (rip my angels, still praying for Nobara), he got blamed for Sukuna taking over Megumi and probably he blames himself too— what "mistake" did he make? Showing humanity when being met with the corpse of his best friend, his only catalyst, his only balance, the only one to ever make him feel normal and give him his Blue Spring, the most beautiful moments of his life. And Kenjaku knew that Suguru's corpse was the only thing to make Satoru waver. In the manga it's clearly stated that despite more than one minute having passed in his mind, physically he stood still for 6 seconds. Even his most regretfull, sorrowful crisis lasted him an inhumane amount of time.

And Gojo too, was the only thing that caused the remaints of Suguru's soul to attempt strangling Kenjaku. (which he admits has never happened before. and suguru is dead— gojo literally triggered the residues of his soul). That's what I mean by intimate.

Even if the concept of soul is often spoken about, their souls are connected. That's how much they mean for eachother.

Perosnally I find this relationship to be perfectly beautiful as it is, without any flaunt of erotica needed, kudos to Gege. I still enjoy writing angst and smut based on their dynamic tho XD. And I don't agree with the ones calling them straight and being so eager to deny them or resume this deep connection to just friends. Like sure, they are not gay-gay but they are... linked. More than friends, more than family. Gege themself said so when speaking about them. I think it's a very clear statement.

If you like the way I think and view characters, check my fics, lol. Much love <33 exstasyplague on A03.

[wyrmmaster]

I decided to watch a bit of the new Bleach anime as a "might as well" type deal. I got like 10 minutes in before I closed it and was like "I am not getting back into Bleach".

So then I reread Bleach over the past few days.

It holds up pretty well. I was a bit surprised at how just being able to hit "next chapter" on a cliffhanger really takes the edge off a lot of the more meandering and frustrating parts. The first half was still pretty great. The more iconic fights are still absolutely bangers (Grimmjow and Ulquiorra in particular), a lot of the plot is less ass-pull than "huh, actually, that kinda makes sense if you think about it" because you just read the ~context like an hour ago as opposed to a year. The emotional beats are still decently impactful. Also, watching Kubo's art improve over a 15 year period in a couple days was fascinating. I enjoyed myself.

The main takeaway though, what I actually got from the whole thing:

This one?

Still Best Girl. It's not close. Teenage me was right and I still Absolutely Would The Antelope.

Adult Nel has like 100 panels total screentime but it doesn't matter, bro. Someone mentions Bleach and I think of Ichigo first but .0002 seconds later it's the 3 on Nel's back. I got to the point in the Hollow World arc where her kid form shows up with her dumbass servants and was just kind of vibrating waiting for The Thing

to happen. This is AFTER Ulquiorra nearly kills Ichigo (effortlessly) and sends him into complete despair by showing he's only #4, and being pushed to his absolute limit by #6 who was actually playing fair and being amicable. It was obvious she was a bit more important than just Random Child simply because she was an arrancar but #3? Even after the (ostensible) power increase of the 10 from her time it was a wild jump

The past visions of her being arrogant and superior to the weak ass misogynistic loser Nnotria (along with that arrogance being her downfall because she refused to take him seriously on principle - him working with Szayelaporro was Entirely out of her scope of what he was willing or able to do). The instant mood swings from cold and in control to Ichigo Must Be Tackle Hugged. Her absolutely dunking on present-day Nnoitra is still legendary despite the outcome because she was weakened from the get-go and if she'd been slightly more ruthless to what she still saw as a weakling she'd have ended it before her time ran out

Then 380 chapters later she finally reappears and is just her usual goofy affectionate self with a side of casually Asserting Dominance on Grimmjow for telling her what to do. Queen shit. Deserved so much more spotlight.

The funny part is Kubo seems to agree. Apparently he's spent the post manga years simping for her, making her co-ruler of the hollows with Harribel despite the latter being the top dog previously (and implicitly stating if Grimmjow fucked around he'd find out), making her super important to the politics of the setting by being the one the shinigami want to use to make a peace deal with the hollows, and even giving an alt of her a second stage of her Resurrección (that fucks)

Buddy even retroactively declared her the curviest woman in the series over Rangiku and says his swimsuit alts of her in Brave Soul are the greatest swimsuit art to exist.

... He might not even have been using marketing hyperbole.

[kayo-min]

Anime Expo 2023 | BLEACH TYBW panel

Wow, what an experience! It was such a huge honor to be part of this panel by being on the stage with other cosplayers, Viz staff, and Ichigo's JP voice actor, Masakazu Morita!!

I wanted to write about my experience with it in case anyone is interested!

One of my best friends and I were cosplaying Rukia and Orihime (in a shihakusho) this day and we got in line early that was outside for the Bleach panel. As the line moved, we got stopped by Viz Media staff who handed us these numbers (7 and 8) and told us to enter to be part of the "Bankai Contest". At first, all of my friends and I thought it was a raffle because they first mentioned that we can win prizes. But when they told us that we get up on stage, I got nervous and was so hesitant that I almost said no, but thanks to my silly friends peer pressuring encouraging me, I chose to take it, thinking that if I changed my mind later I could just not go up.

The panel started and after about 3/4 of Morita's Q&A, there was a brief pause and the cosplayers who were given numbers were asked to come up to the front for the Bankai/Cosplay contest (There was a total of 11 of us). I thought, "Okay, I'll come up, I'm nervous as hell, but maybe I just stand there. I don't have my glasses on so I won't be able to see the audience's faces or see the sheer amount of people there, right?"

But we were told that the contest is more so who gives the best "Bankai!" shout and Morita will be the judge, and I was like oh no, I have to use my voice?! My mind was racing with how I should deliver my "bankai", trying to get a sense of how Rukia would say it. (Because well, we haven't heard it yet, but soon!)

At this point I think I astral projected because it was truly an out-of-body experience. After my silly and cringe "bankai" I stood next to my friend and the other cosplayers, as depicted in the photo above, while my brain and body were processing the shock of everything.

The Tosen cosplayer accidentally got chosen as being part of the Top 3 but to be fair he was really good so it wouldn't be surprising if he got chosen anyway! Morita then had to choose another cosplayer but when he said "Rukia", I physically turned my body slightly away from him because my brain was like DO NOT PERCEIVE ME, there are 3 Rukia's up here so surely I wouldn't be perceived, but he came up to me and picked me, and I was pretty much dying inside. ;;w;;

The winner out of the Top 3 was chosen out of audience applause, and the Tosen cosplayer won! The prizes were an autographed poster from Morita for each cosplayer, and the Top 3 received Bleach merchandise in a Bleach tote bag.

I didn't even realize I got 2nd place, I only found out about it when my friends told me after the panel ended LOL

Afterward, the panel showed 3 scene previews from Season 2 and they were phenomenal! Anime-only (new) scenes, the visuals, the sound design, it was so good! The cosplayers got front-row seats so my eyes got to drink it all up >:)

Sorry if this was too long of a post, but this was my experience at the Bleach TYBW panel at AX this year! It was absolutely crazy but a lot of fun, and it's crazier to think that I almost refused the number to get up on stage. Thank you so much for reading!!~

[platinumz0nvrmre]

what are the best panels in bleach? (these posts will be very image heavy sorry)

there are a lot of good panels in bleach chapter one for example

these two are the most comedic

and these sons of the most serious (obviously including rukia)

but undeniably the best panel in chapter one has to be this

ichigos power stance against the hollow

he just chopped off its arm, something an experienced soul reaper like rukia couldn’t even accomplish and this man is NON UNION (abridged joke)

the power in the stance here is undeniable making it the best in this chapter

[recurring-polynya]

So, a thing that is happening at my house right now is that the youngest Polynya decided she wanted to start watching Bleach. That's too much to unpack right now, the upshot is, I am rewatching Bleach. Yesterday, we got to the parakeet episodes, and I was enchanted by this little exchange here, as Chad is getting ready to throw Rukia at Shrieker:

As I'm sure you all know, I adore the peculiarities of Soul Society speech, particularly early in the series. The first place my brain went was @littleeyesofpallas 's post about how the four gates of the Seireitei correspond to the Four Auspicious Beasts. In this case, "the direction of the tiger" would be west, which is...not left, although I suppose if you were being a little dumb about it, you could say from the POV of the view, north is up, west is to the left? Feels like a stretch.

After a little googling, I found out that the "direction of the tiger" could mean a number of things. In kung fu, tigers are associated with forward movement. While I could certainly see the shinigami combat styles including that kind of terminology (not that we've seen any evidence of it), it does not seem like a particularly good way of telling someone how to aim. (Also, all the websites I found on this topic were mildly shady western kung fu schools, so please take that with the appropriate grain of salt)

I also saw a few astrology references, which at first didn't seem right, but what meant was using the animals of the Chinese zodiac as clock directions. This system was used in Edo era timekeeping, and I half-joking posited before that they use this system in Soul Society. In this case, the hour of the tiger is 3:00-5:00 a.m.. Keep in mind that this system segments the day into 24 segments, not 12, so 3-5am is roughly where 8 o'clock would be on a western clock (there's a diagram in that time-keeping post), which could reasonably be interpreted as "left", I think, if you consider "noon" to be "forward", although it seems like it would be a lot further left than the animation indicates. (Edit: I guess this is still west, if you were to line it up with a compass, which obviously makes sense, but I think it's more common to use clock directions for relative direction where as compass directions are by definitely absolute directions)

I didn't mention it, but the first thing I actually did after watching the episode was to dig out the manga panel.

It doesn't mention the direction of the tiger thing at all, so I assumed that there was some localization going on in one or the translations, although I have no way of knowing which. It does use clock directions, though (although 1 o'clock is neither 3-5am, nor is it left).

Anyway, my best working theory at the moment is that Rukia is giving directions in zodiac animal-based clock time, which the anime subs and Viz have chosen to localize in slightly different ways.

The reason I put that clip in as a video instead of a gif is so the audio would be included. I would love it if anyone who speaks Japanese, or anyone who has the manga raws wanted to weigh in further.

[lesbiansanemi]

Okay, I was going to at least read through the first volumes in their entirety before typing any of this up and analyzing it, but the parallels between these two series is so insane already. I have so much to say about just the first chapters of each work, so here's my first rambling about the Jujutsu Kaisen and Bleach parallels (also sorry about the wonky ass angles and shadows, I'm just taking pics of my physical volumes for this)

The parallels between Bleach and Jujutsu Kaisen are honestly fascinating, but for me, the most interesting one, is how Ichigo and Yuuji exist as protagonists. Despite having such similar circumstances, and such a similar world, they are developing in opposite directions, and have an almost inversed story line to one another, and these first two chapters of the series set all of that up brilliantly.

Initially, when I considered the similarities and parallels between both stories, I thought they might be superficial. But reading and comparing these two chapters side by side, all the connections were so interesting to me! Not just in the writing and storytelling itself, but even in the set up of the pages and manga panels!

The very first pages of both series are setting up such a similar concept, and even mirror each other visually

These first panels were what made me consider the parallels not just between Yuuji and Ichigo, but Megumi and Rukia as well, which I hadn't thought about until now. I have a lot of thoughts on them, but I want to do a separate post centric on them later (specifically, a lot of comparisons of the Kuchikis and Zenins). But in this first chapter, Megumi and Rukia both serve as the catalyst for our protagonists.

Of course, this is a very popular and standard shounen trope. Our MC will meet someone involved in a different world, and this character will, in one way or another, drag them into it.

However, I think the Megumi and Rukia parallels run far deeper than that, and it's partially due to the drastic similarities of Ichigo and Yuuji.

Both Yuuji and Ichigo make a decision to irreversibly change themselves because Megumi and Rukia save their lives at the expense of themselves, thus putting Yuuji and Ichigo in the position to save them (and the innocent bystanders that were the initial victims of the fight)

Both of them decided to sacrifice themselves to save a stranger, who ultimately would become their best friend.

However, this well meaning decision is what sets off the inciting incident of both series: Yuuji eating Sukuna's finger, and Ichigo becoming a Shinigami

But despite the similarities between these two events, this is where the tone of the series shifts. This is where the inverse between Ichigo and Yuuji becomes more clear, as well as the inverse between Megumi and Rukia

Rukia offers to bring Ichigo into her world by imbuing him with her powers.

Megumi begs Yuuji not to eat Sukuna's finger.

These first few pages of the series set up Yuuji and Ichigo's respective journeys. Ichigo meeting Rukia, and getting involved in her life ultimately led to him growing and developing as a person, and ending his story happy and surrounded by friends and family. Of course, we don't know how Jujutsu Kaisen will end, but given the current events of the manga, it seems very likely that Yuuji is going to end up broken and alone.

Which is a very interesting comparison to consider, even beyond the similarities of their origins! Ichigo began his story already fairly jaded, depressed, and angry (not that the series explored this with the depth it should have, but it was touched upon), while Yuuji began the series a happy, hopeful person. Even their introductory scenes are so starkly different, with Ichigo being involved in violence already (albeit for an admirable reason with defending a dead little girl's memorial) while Yuuji is laughing and having fun at school, a picture perfect example of the average teen.

Yuuji and Ichigo are developing in opposite directions, and their origins alluded to that in all their similarities.

This is further hammered in with the ways their transformations are framed in Megumi and Rukia's eyes.

Yuuji's is seen as something disgusting and horrifying, which makes sense, considering his body has been taken over by an entity like Sukuna (and though we don't know it just yet in Bleach, this is another parallel between them, but I'll get into the similarities between Sukuna and Ichigo's Hollow later). Regardless, his change is framed as something negative, and Sukuna hammers home quickly that this is not a positive development for Yuuji.

Whereas Ichigo....

Is framed in a heroic sense with his transformation into a Shinigami. Yes, Rukia is shocked and confused by the extent of his change and his power, but she's not scared. She's not horrified. If anything, she is in awe of what he's become.

This is once more just setting up and solidifying the eventual fates Yuuji and Ichigo will face. Both of our protagonists are born from such a similar event, but are careening towards something so fundamentally different from one another. It's something that's honestly fascinating to consider!

And both chapters end off with this, a declaration of Ichigo and Yuuji having left their humanity behind (something that is discussed quite a few times in both series later on! Whether they can be considered human or not anymore)

Idk! Like I said! I knew the series had a lot of similarities, just based on general plot, but I didn't realize just how they paralleled each other so much until I was literally reading them side by side. It's so neat to me! Especially as I've mentioned multiple times now, the series are working with such similar plot points and beginning from nearly the same place, they will end up somewhere so incredibly different.

And these were just things to analyze in this first chapter! I genuinely can't wait to continue reading the series together like this, and dig into so many other characters and plot points I want to compare, as well as continue comparing Ichigo and Yuuji's development and circumstances!

[chiisana-sukima]

ive actually been thinking about it a lot since i posted that and i agree with you that general rape culture is part of the reason people don't notice that sam gets sexually assaulted

like the scenes that are cut and dry sexual assault scenes (no magic. no hell. no magic potion shit) usually portray the woman like a black widow/femme fatale type i.e meg in nightmare and we're so used to seeing those scenes that they don't even register because its the idea that women get their power from sex and being attractive ya know?

so i do think it's less that male victims are played as jokes since most of the time i think the scenes are played pretty straight (for the most part, they guy in tall tales is a big exception and there are sooooo many rape jokes but actual scenes, we usually see sam and dean as not enjoying these things and the audience are meant to root for them to get away so) and more that we're just used to the idea that this is the way women *can* intimidate men ya know?

(also feel free not to answer if you dont feel comfortable <3)

Yup, I think everything you said here is 100% true, and that there are other factors at play too that fit under the "rape culture" umbrella.

You absolutely will not believe some of the insane, hardcore rape apology shit people will say to me in defense of pretend SA in a silly TV show, even after they know I'm a survivor. Because of the demographic of spn Tumblr fandom, most of these conversation partners are liberal women or AFAB nbs. And apparently honestly unaware what they're saying is deeply offensive and horrifying. Some of them are legitimately Sam fans. And to make matters even more tragic, often they are survivors themselves.

Mostly I think we are all--all genders included--afraid. Afraid we could lose control of our bodies, our relationships, our home inside the vessel where we store our Self. It makes us so defensive that to have someone talk about it without subterfuge is seen as a threat rather than an act of human fellowship.

And then as one big part of the defense against that fear, we often emotionally accept--even if intellectually we know it's not true--the pervasive lie that strong, upstanding people can't be raped, and especially that men can't be raped unless there is something so fundamentally wrong with them that they no longer count as part of the social category "men". And we accept the converse lie too; that good people can't rape, and therefore if someone isn't 100% irredeemable the sexual assault alleged by their victim can't really have happened. I see this in fandom with both on-screen and off-screen SA, with SA jokes, and across male and female perpetrators.

A couple examples under the cut. The cut is there in case you aren't a masochist and don't like the feeling of needing eyeball bleach.

SA happens because you're a bad person:

Tbf to OP, post one is liveblogging 12x02, where we don't know immediately that it's SA. Otoh they felt no need to liveblog the reveal that Sam wasn't in fact a dirty whore who was fucking his torturer because he's just that slutty. And the later post on why Sam gets sexually assaulted so often, is not substantially different reasoning

Or maybe it's not SA at all. Because you're a bad person and also crazy (italics at the beginning are a quote from me):

It's not rape if I like the rapist, plus bonus you made me do it because you're a bad person:

And the all time, best ever, gold metal winners, from Mark P and Sebastian Roche:

Video of the panel is gone, but there is contemporaneous liveblogging:

This is from a con in January 2015. Sooooo right after O Brother Where Art Thou when Lucifer made the rape joke/threat while Sam cried. Could totally have been consensual though, because Lucifer isn't as bad as people make him out to be, dontchaknow. And Mark P is a nice guy who respects women (lol), so obviously it wasn't a rape joke. He would never. (┛`д´)┛彡┻━┻

[bigjumpervibes]

Bleach Celebration 2023 - Day 8 - Hope / Vacation / In Remembrance

Finishing with my favourite little scoundrel in hell 💖

Gin was my first favourite character in Bleach when I started watching / reading in the early 2000’s, just an insane vibe off this guy (he just tied up Kenpachi in the first few panels he was introduced? Like, what? And then the arrancar encyclopaedia sections? MULTIFACETED 👏)

I imagine he’s watching this all go down with a cocktail in hand 🏖️🍹

I also found the best reference for this pose of just a guy having a good time, it made me smile

Reference Below:

Look at this wonderful guy

Link: https://www.istockphoto.com/photo/mature-tourist-toasting-with-a-cocktail-sitting-on-a-beach-chair-and-greeting-with-gm1327653562-411952928