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silkspunweb · 4 months

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A Gift from Santa

w.c.: 4.2k

it's just delusional fluff. husband!nanami x reader, papamin in his glory. a very late christmas fic.

a/n: As President of the Haitchverse Fanclub, thank you for all you do for us fellow kento/hiromi lovers @pseudowho ❤️

School days were coming to a stop as the days ended sooner, the air was frostier, and the holidays got closer. You mentally scolded yourself for not ending class earlier this week so the kids could finally get some time off when you hear Itadori think aloud, "Ah, we only have a few days of school left before the holiday break, huh."

"Hmm? Oh yeah," Kugisaki responded, "I was going to do some Christmas shopping."

"You're going to do it at peak Christmas shopping time??"

"Why not? Might as well get some shopping done for a new year wardrobe!" She snickered.

Noticing your curiosity, Fushiguro turned to you and asked, "What about you, Mrs. Nanami?"

"Me?"

"Yeah! What do you and Nanamin plan on doing for Christmas?" Itadori perked at the idea of his favorite teacher and favorite mentor doing mundane holiday things.

You responded without thinking much about the question, "I think we're going to work on dinner together and have some family over." Though, as soon as those words came out, there was a sense of deflation in the air.

"Ah, I see." They all shared a look, then Itadori spoke up, "I think this is my first time spending it without Grandpa."

"Now that you mention it, this is my first time spending it in Tokyo," Kugisaki shrugged.

"Usually, my sister plans dinner for us," Fushiguro said.

You could almost hear the lonely sigh they gave out as they tightly tugged their lips into a curt smile. Your heart went out to these kids. 'They're still so young. They shouldn't be spending Christmas by themselves in their dorms.' You frowned, trying to think of ways to spend time with them without making them think it was out of pity. There must be something their teacher can do. After all, what's closest to a parent figure than a teacher? Perhaps this was something your husband could solve.

Your husband. That's it. You quickly packed your bag, waving the kids off as they said their goodbyes and left the room. 'Would Kento oppose this?' You wondered, 'Nah, surely even he can't be that callous.' You headed straight for the door before pausing, "Ah, but he's definitely going to mock me for this."

You got home before Kento and sent him a quick message that you'd be preparing dinner. It was a little crazy, that idea of yours, but the craziest part would be if Ken would actually play along in your schemes (as he would call it).

"You know, you shouldn't poke your nose where it doesn't belong." You remembered him telling you that right before you took up the position to fill in as Gojo's substitute. "You're only going to get attached to them, Darling." Psh, what did he know? Only just about everything about you.

"I'm not going to get attached, Ken, I'm just doing a favor for an old friend. Besides, those kids are going to join us on the battlefield someday, maybe even tomorrow. They need someone to guide them properly, especially when Gojo's not around." You grumbled on the drive home, peering at him from the corner of your eyes as he chuckled.

"Sure love, whatever you say." He remained focused on the street before him, "Ten dollars says you do, though."

"Nanami Kento," you faked a gasp," are you making a bet with me right now?"

"Nothing wrong with a little indulgence, is there?" You turned to him with a raised brow. There was a playful glint to his eye; he knew what he was doing here, baiting you into these childish games. There was no real prize here; the money would stay where it belonged, but he got the right to say he won.

You scoffed to yourself, 'No one would believe me if I said that my husband would partake in stupid bets like this.' You rolled your eyes at him, "Alright, ten if you win. But if I win, I want to change the color of our bedroom."

He raised a brow at you, "What's wrong with our bedroom color?"

"Nothing's wrong with it, our new room color is just going to be a reminder of my new victory."

"You're a little too confident here, don't you think," he chuckled.

Damn him. Damn him, damn him, damn him. How dare he be right about everything. You felt the embarrassment on your face as you mixed the curry roux in the pot. Ugh, he was going to be so smug when he heard your stupid plans.

You could back down now, there was no reason you couldn't. Hell, maybe if it was a month ago, you wouldn't even think a second thought about these kids. But Kento, he just had to be good with children. You didn't think much of it when he came to pick you up from your mission with the kids last month. You didn't think much of it when he asked you and the kids if you guys ate yet. You didn't think much of it when he invited them to join you guys for dinner at home, seeing that it was late at night. You didn't think much of it when he offered them the couch and the spare bedrooms. You didn't think much of it when he told Itadori to eat his vegetables, handed Kugisaki a spare hair tie, and gave his seat to Fushiguro at the dinner table. You didn't think much of it when he told them to go relax, cool off, and that he would handle the dishes. But man, you saw the fond look in his eyes when he dropped them off at their dorm the next morning. You saw how happy he was to have them around, to occupy the spaces of your shared home, to relax and share a meal with these kids at the dinner table. Call it camaraderie, mentor-mentee relationship, or authoritative affections. Call it whatever you want, but Kento was meant to be a dad.

You smiled at the pot of curry in front of you. You knew he was going to mock you, but you couldn't help but wish that you were making this dinner for five right now instead of two. You knew that even though he was going to tease the hell out of you for feeling this way, the feelings were mutual and he wanted them around too. So, you sucked in a deep breath when you heard his car pull up in the driveway, turned off the stove, and made towards the door to welcome him in.

You opened the door before he could even pull out his keys, throwing yourself into his arms as he walked in.

He leaned in, putting his face into the crook of your neck, “Well hello to you, too.” He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, taking in the little things that made his home whole.

“Welcome home,” you pressed your face into his chest, unwilling to let him see the look of defeat evident in your eyes.

He pulled away to look at you, your eyes downcasted and a slight puff in your cheeks. “What sort of trouble did you get into this time?” He mused.

“I need your help, Kento.” He quirked a brow at you as you suddenly helped him take off his winter coat and scarf. “There's something bothering me at school.” A light tug to loosen his tie, “It's been killing me all day,” another tug, “and I just don't know what to do.” You glared at the offending piece of fabric as if it was the cause of your demise. “Will you help me?”

“That depends,” he hummed, “what's got you so worked up that you need my help at school?” You gave out an exaggerated sigh, walking back into the kitchen to plate him his dinner. He followed, washing his hands and setting up the table. “Is this about the kids?” He doesn't even look at you, knowing you'd do anything to deny it. It was childish, you both knew it, but you couldn't help the heat creeping up your back. How does he always know? There was a pause, then another. You placed two plates onto the dinner table, sitting down without another word, red staining your cheeks as you flushed in embarrassment. He sat down and chuckled, “I'm right, aren't I?” You scrunched your nose at him, debating to deny it or admit your grievances. “Darling,” he reached his hand across the table for you to meet his in the middle, “is this about the kids?”

Another deep sigh, “Yes Kento, it's about the kids.” You rolled your eyes, slipping him a ten dollar bill across the table.

He chuckled, “You know that's not what I wanted in the first place.”

“Ken, really?” You frowned at him, placing one hand on top of his. His brows quirked up, making you run your other hand through your hair. “Alright, alright. You were right. I grew attached to the kids. I said I wouldn't, but I did. You warned me and you told me so. Now stop being a butt head, and help me with this.”

“I was going to tell you to say, ‘please,’ but this'll do too,” he gave a gentle squeeze. “Now, what did you have in mind?”

“I need you to dress as Santa.”

“No.”

“But—

“Absolutely not.”

“Ken—”

“Nope.” He met your offending glare with indifference on his own face. “Why on Earth would I dress as Santa.”

“It's for the experience.”

“You think I should experience wearing red velvet and a—”

“No, not for you! The experience is for them.” His face deadpanned. “I'm serious, I think you should dress as Santa, like when dads pretend to be Santa for their—”

“They're not our kids.”

“You don't mean that.”

“Of all things you want me to do—”

“It'd make a fond memory for them!”

“To put me in a big red coat and that ugly—”

“You wouldn't even have to wear the beard!” He gave you a pointed look. “Okay, the beard would help a lot, but Ken—”

“No.” You opened your mouth in protest, “Absolutely not.” A pout formed on your face, cheeks starting to puff in frustration. He gave out a big sigh, “I'll get them gifts to open for Christmas. Won't that suffice?” He poked one of your inflated cheeks. “We can even head over to celebrate with them if it'll make you happy.” You refused to look at him at this point, disappointed in his lack of enthusiasm for your plans.

Getting up to clear your dinner, you grumbled as you walked past him to the sink, “They don't have anyone to go home to like we do. I just want to give them something happy to remember.” Your words hung uncomfortably in the air as he stared down at what was left of his dinner. He heard the tap turn on, then off. You left him to simmer in his thoughts. Another big sigh as he ran a hand through his hair, he quietly pulled out his phone and made some orders online.

“They're not our kids.” Why did he say that? He knew you saw how happy he was whenever the kids were over for dinner.

“You don't mean that.” You were right. He didn't mean it. He loved every minute of it when the kids stayed over, even if dinner time was rowdier and messier than usual. Even if he had to give up some of his comfort and private space to have these kids around. Even when he had to scold them for something as miniscule as eating their vegetables out of his work hours, for goodness sake. “I just want to give them something happy to remember.” He frowned. This could've been a happy memory for you, too. After all, it was just one day, probably not even the entire day in a stupid red suit. So what if he thought it was ugly, that dumb suit could've really made his wife happy. He groaned, opening his phone once again to make another impulsive purchase. He may have won your little bet, but it seems like you won something else after all. Even if you didn't know it yet.

After he cleared his own plates, he made his way to get ready for bed so he could return to you. He walked through the bedroom door, disappointed to find you facing the other way. You weren't even sparing a glance at your husband nor making any cheeky comments about how wet he looked and how low that towel hung around his waist. Nothing, zilch. He sighed again, throwing on a pair of checkered pajama bottoms before making his way next to you. He had his arm over your waist, testing the waters, and a little glad that you hadn't shaken him off.

“Good night,” you grumbled.

He pressed his own “good night” into the crown of your head.

You woke up a little earlier than usual with your husband's arms around you tighter than it was last night. With one arm across your chest and the other around your waist, he had your hips flush against his. It was so pleasant, you almost forgot why you had your back facing him to begin with. You blinked the sleep away, mentally at war with yourself to either stay or to forcefully peel away from his embrace. You shouldn't, ‘He doesn't deserve it,’ you pouted. ‘Even if I reaaaallly want to, I should be firm about this.’ You tried to reason yourself as you felt him shift from behind, only pulling you in closer, tighter. His face was in your hair, his puffs of breath tempting you to go back to sleep. You mentally screamed, ‘Damn him! I need to— ugh. It's so comfortable.’ You wanted to cry. This was the ideal morning, but you had to get up now if you wanted to work on setting up the classroom for the kids. Time was of the essence, and since somebody denied you of some good, fun Christmas spirits, you just had to make up for the non-participating party's lack of enthusiasm.

You willed yourself to pull away from your husband as you slipped out of the comforter, not making it far before he had his arm around you again. “Stay.” You didn't realize he had sat up when you tried to sneak off. If not for the arm that wound around your belly, you would've mistaken his low morning voice for something else. It was something akin to dark chocolate and warmed honey, running deep and slow; it woke you up in the morning. You wanted to whine at how unfair he was being. How affectionate and cuddly for someone so stern and callous last night. You shook your head and quickly pulled yourself out of his arms and into the shower.

‘I have to stay strong,’ you repeated to yourself under the freezing water. After getting dressed, you went to the kitchen where you found your distracting husband in just his checkered pajama bottoms. ‘Oh, dear lord, I am not your strongest soldier.’ He gave a soft smile, his hair sticking to one way and the other. You wanted to run your hand through it so bad, but if you got any closer, you might not leave as early as you had hoped.

“G’morning.” There he goes again. Him and his stupid, perfect face, and his stupid, perfect— “I made you tea and breakfast.” Oh no.

You forced yourself to grab the coffee pot instead, “No thanks, I plan on leaving to work earlier today.” You didn't even bother with the cream and sugar, needing the bitter taste to jolt you out of this domestically inviting scene. Nope, nope, nope. You grabbed a piece of toast, gave him a quick peck on the cheek for good morning, and rushed to the door before he could stop you from leaving again. He blinked at the whirlwind that was his wife, frowning when you slammed the door. The door opened again, “I'll be a little late today! Don't wait up!” His frown deepened at the second door slam. Knowing you, you were probably going to set up some lights and a small tree in the classroom or at the dorms just to make it a little more festive for the kids at school.

“I must've really messed up,” he scratched the back of his neck, “No use in moping about it now.” He sighed and eyed the unwanted cup, then went to check his phone.

You were quieter than usual for the next couple of days, not so much as being upset with him, but more distracted with your thoughts. You already had the lights up to the kids’ surprise that one morning and promised them that the tree will have more ornaments the next day. They tried to wave you off, saying, “No need ma'am, you already do enough for us,” and “Really, we're fine, it's just Christmas.” You hushed them, something about ‘the presents are already wrapped’ and you ‘already mailed Santa for them’. You knew they were old enough not to believe in some merry folklore, but you wanted them to look forward to something this week. You checked your phone to see if the surprise was going to arrive on time.

‘Today's Wednesday, and the package is going to come tonight. Then break starts…Friday?’ Your brows furrowed, ‘Would I have time to get dinner for them too? Ugh, I should've told Kento to prepare food instead of wearing a Santa suit or something. That would've been smarter. Ah! What about the second years? Did I buy their gifts yet?’ The day ended, leaving only two days left for you to prepare, so you hurried home to think of gift ideas for the others. ‘Socks are only cool when you're in college and realize you need to appreciate useful things, like parents who provide socks,’ you scoffed to yourself. ‘What would high schoolers even like? Are CD albums still cool? But what do they listen to? Do they even listen to TommyHeavenly6 or L’Arc-en-Ciel? Oh god, am I outdated now? Are Scandal still cool??? Ah, focus! Now’s not the time. What would these kids like for Christmas?”

You pulled up into your driveway, making your way to your front door, brows still furrowed as you nearly walked into your husband, “Oomph.”

“Welcome home,” he said warmly, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he helped you out of your work shoes. “How was work?”

You eyed him momentarily before speaking, “It's going well, I think. The kids are…Well, they're losing focus now that break is just two days away, so it's hard to get them focused on the lesson. Itadori nearly ran into the door this morning because he forgot about doors.” You chuckled fondly, “Though I suppose that's my fault for putting up all those Christmas decorations. I probably got them excited and whatnot.” You tiptoed ever so slightly to kiss him on the cheek, “What did you do today?”

“Had a mission that ended early, so I made dinner,” he said. It wasn't a total lie, he did make dinner, but instead of a mission, he actually drove around town, picking up what you missed on your not-so-secret Christmas plans list. He knew it wasn't going to fully make up for his harsh words, but you were going to appreciate it either way.

Dinner went smoothly. Better actually, now that you were both hip to hip at the sink, washing dishes together. You two were back to your usual routine; he connected Bluetooth to your phone, and you got to play music that made you nostalgic for your teen years again. He rolled his eyes when you blew sudsy bubbles at him, “Real mature,” he hip bumped you before flicking water onto your glasses. His heart swelled seeing you look at him, like it was his first time again, seeing how your smile widened the slightest of increments or how your eyes darkened a little more with mirth. With another nudge, he insisted you showered and got ready for bed, “I can handle the rest,” he waved you away.

After you showered, you went to bed, tucking yourself underneath his chin, and pressed a kiss to his sternum for “good night.” He could've melted right there and then under your touch, but instead held you close, hoping the next few days were going to be to be easier for the both of you.

Thursday went by fast, and all of a sudden it was Friday. ‘D-Day’ as you'd called it in your head. ‘Kento’s gonna be at work, so he probably won't make it to see the kids open their gifts.’ You frowned as you remembered the shaky handwritten cards you wrote for the second years, embarrassed that you had to stick to gift cards in the end. Nothing wrong with gift cards, but you would've liked to be as personal with their gifts as you were with the first years.

It was a bit before lunch that you decided to give them a short break, and quickly made your way to the bathroom to change into your outfit. It was a silly oversized red coat, and you realized why Kento had been so stubborn about wearing such a thing. You laughed at yourself in the mirror, ‘Okay, I get it, it is ugly.’ You made a beeline for the staff room, imagining Kento’s reaction to you and the hideous outfit, but nothing could've prepared you for what you saw next. Your husband, the love of your life, the most stubborn man on Earth, stood before you in the same exact outfit. You could've sworn you were in the soda can commercial with how cold and stiff his face was.

“Kento.”

“Yes?”

“What on Earth are you wearing?”

“I could say the same to you,” he raised an eyebrow, eyeing you up and down.

“I thought you didn't want to,” you trailed off, not sure if you should be pointing and laughing or crying over your husband in those ridiculous clothes.

“I didn't.”

“Then why are you—”

“You were right.” You stared at him with your mouth wide open, “The beard does help a lot.” He offered a taut smile and you jumped into his arms, happy enough that you could have married this man a second time.

“I can't believe you,” you buried your face into his neck, “you silly, silly man.”

He let out what sounded like a small laugh, “Let's go before I change my mind about this outfit.” He gave you a peck on the forehead and went to pick up the bags off the table.

“You got them gifts???” He raised his eyebrow once more, opening the bag to show you the contents. Your face fell at the trays of food, “Really??”

“Hey, these kids are big eaters, and besides, you left food off your list.”

“Ah! You saw that?” You flushed, unable to contain the smile growing wider on your face.

“Of course I saw it, it was the only thing you looked at all week,” he rolled his eyes, taking your hand in his free one as you both walked back to the classroom.

“What did I do to deserve you?”

“Dunno, but next time, how about you don't reject my—”

A water bottle fell to the floor when the door opened.

“Na-nanamin?”

“Why are there two Santas?”

There was a camera shutter click. “I'll send this to you guys later,” Kugisaki smiled.

“But seriously, what are you two wearing?”

Kento sighed, “There was a little mix up. Mrs. Claus here almost left some of the gifts back at home, so I'm here to deliver the rest of the presents.”

You smiled at him before turning to them, “You should go call for the second years, tell them to come inside for lunch.”

The kids immediately rushed outside to bring the upperclassmen in. Something about, “Hurry up,” “Food’s here,” and “Forget the food, hurry before he changes out of those clothes!”

No one understood why Kento was dressed as Santa. After all, he wasn't technically their teacher. Sure, they’d had dinner with him a few times, but did that really warrant buying them presents and helping them celebrate with a Christmas meal? Or maybe he lost a bet? No, Nanamin would never take part in bets. Then what was it? They weren't exactly sure. All they knew was that the way he smiled at his wife was the same as when he sat at the dinner table with them at home. The Nanamis sure love Christmas, they joked. You watched all five kids lean in towards your husband as Kugisaki whipped her phone out for a selfie with Santa. It reminded you that you ought to capture the moment while Kento was still willing to participate. With another click of a shutter, you took the picture of your smiling husband and your kids.

“Darling,” he gave you a warning glare.

“Oh, c’mon Santa, lighten up,” Maki joked and the others giggled.

You poked his side, “Yeah, Santa, who knows when I'll get to see you like this again.”

Nothing could have prepared you for his response; he gave you another flat look, then replied, “Probably when we have our own kids.”

credits to @cafekitsune for the beautiful Christmas banner

#jjk x reader #jjk fluff #nanami x reader #nanami fluff #papamin ♡#everyone needs to read pseudowho's work #gotta post this before someone takes my crown title #thanks to my best friend too cuz she's been pushing me to write and post for years now but she's not on here so it's hard to tag her #thank you to the two who supported me ❤️#and thank you for those of you who are reading ❤️#stay warm and safe :)#silk spun tales

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katsigian · 3 months

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── ⁺⭒*˖₊☽ ⁺˖ ᴏᴄ ᴀꜱꜱᴏᴄɪᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ˖⁺ ☾₊˖*⭒⁺ ──

I was tagged to fill out some OC associations by @cetra thank you! ♡ this took me a while to get to, I apologize, but I had a lot of fun filling it out!

─── ⁺ ᴀɴɪᴍᴀʟ: ꜱɴᴏᴡ ʟᴇᴏᴘᴀʀᴅꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴠɪᴘᴇʀꜱ. ᴀɴɪᴍᴀʟꜱ ᴋɴᴏᴡɴ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ꜱɴᴇᴀᴋʏ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴀᴄʜ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ. ꜱɴᴏᴡ ʟᴇᴏᴘᴀʀᴅ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴜʀᴠɪᴠᴇ ɪɴ ʜᴀʀꜱʜ ᴄʟɪᴍᴀᴛᴇꜱ, ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴛᴇɴᴅᴇɴᴄʏ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴ ᴀʟᴏɴᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴀʟ ᴛᴀʟᴇɴᴛ ᴀᴛ ʜᴜɴᴛɪɴɢ.

─── ⁺ ᴄᴏʟᴏʀꜱ: ᴠᴇʟᴠᴇᴛ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ, ᴡᴀʀᴍ ɢᴏʟᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ᴡᴇᴅᴅɪɴɢ ʀɪɴɢ, ꜱᴏꜰᴛ ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛɪɴɢ ɢʀᴇᴇɴ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴘɪɴᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʟᴏᴡɪɴɢ ᴘɪɴᴋ ᴏꜰ ɴᴇᴏɴ ꜱɪɢɴꜱ.

─── ⁺ ᴍᴏɴᴛʜ: ᴠᴀʟᴇɴ ʟɪᴋᴇꜱ ᴀᴜɢᴜꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ. ʟᴏᴛꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴛᴏʀᴍꜱ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʏꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ʟᴏɴɢ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴꜱᴀɴᴇʟʏ ʜᴏᴛ ʙᴜᴛ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴏʟɪɴɢ ᴏꜰꜰ ʏᴇᴛ.

─── ⁺ ᴘʟᴀɴᴛꜱ: ꜱɴᴀᴋᴇ ᴘʟᴀɴᴛꜱ, ᴇᴠᴇʀɢʀᴇᴇɴ ᴛʀᴇᴇꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇʟʟᴇʙᴏʀᴇ ʙʟᴏꜱꜱᴏᴍꜱ.

─── ⁺ ɴᴜᴍʙᴇʀꜱ: 8, 18, 98 (ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛʟʏ ʀᴜꜱꜱɪᴀɴ ᴀɴᴅ ɢʀᴇᴡ ᴜᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜᴘᴇʀꜱᴛɪᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ 8'ꜱ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ʟᴜᴄᴋ).

─── ⁺ ꜱᴏɴɢꜱ: ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴇɴᴅᴇʀ ʙʏ ʟᴏʀᴅ ʜᴜʀᴏɴ, ʙᴇʟʟꜱ ɪɴ ꜱᴀɴᴛᴀ ꜰᴇ ʙʏ ʜᴀʟꜱᴇʏ, ᴜɴꜱᴀɪɴᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ꜱʟɪᴘᴋɴᴏᴛ, ᴄʀᴀᴠɪɴɢ ʙʏ ʏᴍɪʀ, ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ʜᴏɴᴇʏ ʙʏ ᴛʜʀɪᴄᴇ, ɪᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ + ꜱᴜɴʟɪɢʜᴛ + ɴꜰᴡᴍʙ ʙʏ ʜᴏᴢɪᴇʀ, ᴀqᴜᴀ ʀᴇɢɪᴀ ʙʏ ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘ ᴛᴏᴋᴇɴ, ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ ʙʏ ʀɪᴀʏᴀ, ʙᴏɴᴇꜱ ʙʏ ᴅxʀᴋ, ɪᴍᴍᴀᴄᴜʟᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ ᴠɪꜱxɢᴇ, ʟɪᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʙʏ ᴋᴏʀᴅʜᴇʟʟ, ʙᴀᴅ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ʙʏ ᴊᴀᴄᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀᴇᴛᴛ (ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ꜱᴏ ᴍᴀɴʏ, ɪ'ᴍ ꜱᴏʀʀʏ. ᴀɴ ᴇᴀꜱɪᴇʀ ᴏᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʙᴇ ᴀ ʟɪɴᴋ ᴛᴏ ʜɪꜱ ᴘʟᴀʏʟɪꜱᴛ).

─── ⁺ ꜱᴍᴇʟʟꜱ: ᴇᴠᴇʀɢʀᴇᴇɴ ᴘɪɴᴇ, ᴠᴀɴɪʟʟᴀ, ʟᴀᴠᴇɴᴅᴇʀ, ʟᴇᴀᴛʜᴇʀ, ᴠᴇᴛɪᴠᴇʀ, ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ᴄʜᴇʀʀʏ, ᴍᴜꜱᴋ, ᴀᴍʙᴇʀ, ᴛᴏʙᴀᴄᴄᴏ, ᴄɪɢᴀʀᴇᴛᴛᴇ ꜱᴍᴏᴋᴇ, ɢᴜɴ ᴏɪʟ, ɢᴜɴᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ.

─── ⁺ ɢᴇᴍꜱᴛᴏɴᴇꜱ: ʏᴇʟʟᴏᴡ ᴄɪᴛʀɪɴᴇ, ᴍᴏᴏɴꜱᴛᴏɴᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ᴀɢᴀᴛᴇ. ᴄɪᴛʀɪɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴏᴏɴꜱᴛᴏɴᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ʜᴏᴡ ɪ ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ʜɪꜱ ᴇʏᴇꜱ- ᴄɪᴛʀɪɴᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʜɪꜱ ᴜꜱᴜᴀʟ ʏᴇʟʟᴏᴡ ᴛᴏɴᴇ, ᴍᴏᴏɴꜱᴛᴏɴᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇʏ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇʏ ꜱʜɪɴᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ - ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ᴀɢᴀᴛᴇ ɪꜱ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏꜰ ʜɪꜱ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟ ꜰᴀᴠᴏᴜʀɪᴛᴇ ꜱᴛᴏɴᴇꜱ. Qᴜᴀʀᴛᴢ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ɪᴛ.

─── ⁺ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴀʏ: ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴇᴀʀʟʏ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜɴ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴘᴇᴇᴋꜱ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏʀɪᴢᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴀʀʟʏ ᴇᴠᴇɴɪɴɢ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ'ꜱ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ʟɪɢʜᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴋʏ ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛʀᴇᴇᴛʟɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴡᴀʀᴍ ᴏᴜᴛ.

─── ⁺ ꜱᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ: ʟᴀᴛᴇ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ. ᴠᴀʟᴇɴ ʟɪᴋᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴅᴀʏꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴠᴇɴɪɴɢꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛ ᴛᴇᴍᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ. ʜᴇ ɢᴏᴇꜱ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ꜱᴏᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ꜱɪɴᴄᴇ ʜɪꜱ ᴍᴏᴏᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀᴀʟʟ ɪꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ʜɪɢʜᴇʀ.

─── ⁺ ꜰᴏᴏᴅ: ᴠᴀʟᴇɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇꜱ ᴄᴀʀʙ ʜᴇᴀᴠʏ ᴅɪꜱʜᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋꜰᴀꜱᴛꜱ. ʟᴏᴛꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴀꜱᴛᴀ, ᴘʟᴇɴᴛʏ ᴏꜰ ᴇɢɢꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴀᴄᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰʀᴇɴᴄʜ ᴛᴏᴀꜱᴛ. ʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏꜱ ᴀʟʟ ᴋɪɴᴅꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴇᴀꜱᴛ ᴀꜱɪᴀɴ ᴄᴜɪꜱɪɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʏᴘɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ᴘɪᴄᴋꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡʜᴇɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʜᴇ ɢᴏᴇꜱ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴇᴀᴛ. ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏꜱ ɴᴏᴏᴅʟᴇ ʙᴏᴡʟꜱ. ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋꜰᴀꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ, ʜᴇ'ʟʟ ɴᴏʀᴍᴀʟʟʏ ᴄᴏᴏᴋ ᴛʜᴏꜱᴇ ʜɪᴍꜱᴇʟꜰ; ʜᴇ'ꜱ ɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴠᴇʀʏ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴀᴛ ɪᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ʜɪᴍꜱᴇʟꜰ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋꜰᴀꜱᴛ ꜰᴏᴏᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴅɪɴɴᴇʀ ꜱɪᴍᴘʟʏ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ʜᴇ ꜰᴇᴇʟꜱ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪᴛ.

─── ⁺ ᴅʀɪɴᴋꜱ: ᴇꜱᴘʀᴇꜱꜱᴏ ꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ, ʟᴀᴛᴛᴇꜱ, ɪᴄᴇᴅ ʟᴇᴍᴏɴᴀᴅᴇ, ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ʜᴇʀʙʏ ɢɪɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴠᴏᴅᴋᴀ. ᴀ ʜᴏᴍᴇᴍᴀᴅᴇ ɢɪɴɢᴇʀ-ʜᴏɴᴇʏ-ʟᴇᴍᴏɴ ᴛᴇᴀ ɪꜰ ʜᴇ'ꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴏᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ɪᴛ (ʀᴇᴀᴅ: ɪꜱ ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ᴜɴᴡᴇʟʟ).

─── ⁺ ᴇʟᴇᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ: ᴍᴏꜱᴛʟʏ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ. ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ꜱᴀʟᴛʏ, ɢʀᴇᴇɴ-ɪꜱʜ ᴏᴄᴇᴀɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴜʀʙᴜʟᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀᴠᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ꜱᴇᴀ. ᴄᴏʟᴅ, ʀᴇꜰʀᴇꜱʜɪɴɢ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜꜱ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ.

─── ⁺ ꜱᴇᴀꜱᴏɴɪɴɢꜱ: ʀᴏᴄᴋ ꜱᴀʟᴛ, ʀᴏꜱᴇᴍᴀʀʏ, ᴡʜɪᴛᴇ ᴘᴇᴘᴘᴇʀ, ʀᴇᴅ ᴄʜɪʟɪ ꜰʟᴀᴋᴇꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴀꜱɪʟ.

─── ⁺ ᴡᴇᴀᴘᴏɴꜱ: ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ'ꜱ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ; ʜɪꜱ ᴏᴡɴ ꜰɪꜱᴛꜱ, ʜɪꜱ ꜰᴀɴɢꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ʜɪꜱ ʜᴀɴᴅɢᴜɴ. ᴠᴀʟᴇɴ ɪꜱ ᴠᴇʀʏ ꜱᴋɪʟʟᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴄᴏᴍʙᴀᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ɪꜱ ᴄᴏɴꜰɪᴅᴇɴᴛ ɪɴ ʜɪꜱ ʜᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀɴᴅ ᴀʙɪʟɪᴛɪᴇꜱ ᴀɢᴀɪɴꜱᴛ ᴀʟᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ. ᴀꜱ ᴀ ᴅᴀʏᴡᴀʟᴋᴇʀ, ʜɪꜱ ꜰᴀɴɢꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴅᴇꜱɪɢɴᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘɪᴇʀᴄɪɴɢ, ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴜꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ɪɴ ꜰɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ꜱᴜᴘᴇʀɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴀʟꜱ. ʟᴀꜱᴛʟʏ, ʜɪꜱ ʜᴀɴᴅɢᴜɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴄᴜꜱᴛᴏᴍɪᴢᴇᴅ ʜɪᴍꜱᴇʟꜰ - ᴀ ᴠɪᴘᴇʀ ᴛʀ88 ʙʏ ᴀɴᴛɪɢᴏɴᴇ ɪɴᴅᴜꜱᴛʀɪᴇꜱ (ᴀɴ ᴀʀᴍꜱ ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀɴʏ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅʙᴜɪʟᴅɪɴɢ ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴜɴ ɪꜱ ᴍᴏᴅᴇʟᴇᴅ ᴏꜰꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴛᴛɪ ᴘɪᴛ ᴠɪᴘᴇʀ)

─── ⁺ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇꜱ: ɪɴ ʜɪꜱ ʜᴏᴍᴇ, ᴀ ᴘᴇɴᴛʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ ꜱᴜɪᴛᴇ, ᴄᴜʀʟᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴅ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ʜɪꜱ ʜᴜꜱʙᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪɴᴅᴏᴡꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴏᴘᴇɴ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰʀᴇꜱʜ, ᴄᴏᴏʟ ᴀɪʀ. ᴀʟᴛᴇʀɴᴀᴛɪᴠᴇʟʏ, ᴀ ꜱᴇᴇᴅʏ, ɢʀᴜɴɢʏ ᴄᴀɢᴇ ꜰɪɢʜᴛɪɴɢ ʀɪɴɢ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʜᴇ ᴄᴀɴ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʀᴏᴡᴅꜱ' ᴄʜᴇᴇʀꜱ ɪɴ ʜɪꜱ ᴄʜᴇꜱᴛ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴅʀᴇɴᴄʜᴇᴅ ɪɴ ɴᴇᴏɴ. ᴀ ᴛʜɪʀᴅ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴏʟ, ʟᴀɪᴅ-ʙᴀᴄᴋ, ᴇᴄᴄᴇɴᴛʀɪᴄ ʙᴀʀ/ʀᴇꜱᴛᴀᴜʀᴀɴᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴇᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏᴢʏ ʙᴏᴏᴛʜꜱ.

─── ⁺ ꜱᴋʏ: ᴛʜᴏꜱᴇ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ꜱᴜɴꜱᴇᴛꜱ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴋʏ ɪꜱ ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴀɴ ɪɴᴅɪɢᴏ ʙʟᴜᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ᴘᴇᴀᴄʜʏ ᴏʀᴀɴɢᴇ, ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ᴅᴏᴛᴛᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴄʟᴏᴜᴅꜱ. ᴀʟᴛᴇʀɴᴀᴛɪᴠᴇʟʏ, ᴛʜᴏꜱᴇ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ꜱᴛᴏʀᴍꜱ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴋʏ ɪꜱ ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʟʟ ꜱᴏʀᴛꜱ ᴏꜰ ɢʀᴇʏ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴀɪɴᴛʟʏ ɢʀᴇᴇɴ-ɪꜱʜ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʀᴏɪʟɪɴɢ ᴄʟᴏᴜᴅꜱ.

─── ⁺ ᴡᴇᴀᴛʜᴇʀ: ᴀʟᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴀᴍᴇ ᴀꜱ ᴀʙᴏᴠᴇ ᴅʜᴅᴊꜱʜ 😅 ᴅᴀʀᴋ, ʀᴜᴍʙʟɪɴɢ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ᴛʜᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴏʀᴍꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴀʀᴍ, ɢᴇɴᴛʟᴇ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ꜱᴜɴ.

─── ⁺ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄᴀʟ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ: ɪ'ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ꜱᴜʀᴇ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ɪ'ᴅ ᴀꜱꜱᴏᴄɪᴀᴛᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜɪᴍ 😅 likely something to do with water or the ocean or maybe darkness.

─── ⁺ ᴄᴀɴᴅʏ: ᴄɪɴɴᴀᴍᴏɴ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ʜɪꜱ ꜰᴀᴠᴏᴜʀɪᴛᴇ. ʙᴜᴛ ʜᴇ ᴀʟꜱᴏ ʟɪᴋᴇꜱ ꜱᴏᴜʀ ɢᴜᴍᴍʏ ᴘᴇᴀᴄʜᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀʀᴀᴍᴇʟꜱ. ᴛʏᴘɪᴄᴀʟ ᴏʟᴅ ᴍᴀɴ ᴄᴀɴᴅɪᴇꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴛ. ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ʜᴇ ᴄᴀɴ ᴍᴇꜱꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴜꜱɪɴɢ ʜɪꜱ ᴛᴏɴɢᴜᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴜᴄʜ. ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀꜱ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ꜱᴏʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴜʟᴛᴇʀɪᴏʀ ᴍᴇᴀɴɪɴɢ.

─── ⁺ ʜᴏʙʙɪᴇꜱ: ᴠᴀʟᴇɴ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏꜱ ꜱᴜʀꜰɪɴɢ/ꜱᴡɪᴍᴍɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇᴀʀʙʏ ᴏᴄᴇᴀɴ, ᴛʀᴀɪɴɪɴɢ/ꜱᴘᴀʀʀɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴍᴀʀᴛɪᴀʟ ᴀʀᴛꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ꜰɪxɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ/ʀɪᴅɪɴɢ ʜɪꜱ ᴍᴏᴛᴏʀᴄʏᴄʟᴇ. ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ʜᴏʙʙɪᴇꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴏꜰ ʜɪꜱ ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴘʟᴀɴᴛꜱ, ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ ꜱʜᴏᴘᴘɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜɪꜱ ʟᴏᴠᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ꜰɪxɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ ʜɪꜱ ꜰɪʀᴇᴀʀᴍꜱ.

─── ⁺ ᴀʀᴛꜱᴛʏʟᴇ: ʙᴀʀᴏqᴜᴇ-ᴇʀᴀ ᴘᴀɪɴᴛɪɴɢꜱ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴏꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴍʙʀᴀɴᴅᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀʀᴀᴠᴀɢɢɪᴏ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʟᴘʜᴏɴꜱᴇ ᴍᴜᴄʜᴀ ꜱᴛʏʟᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴀʀᴛ ɴᴏᴜᴠᴇᴀᴜ. ᴠᴀʟᴇɴ ʜᴇᴀᴠɪʟʏ ꜱᴛᴜᴅɪᴇᴅ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ᴀʀᴛɪꜱᴛꜱ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ɪɴ ʜɪɢʜ ꜱᴄʜᴏᴏʟ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴀᴅ ᴘʟᴀɴꜱ ᴛᴏ ɢᴏ ᴛᴏ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴛʏ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀʀᴛ ʜɪꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴏʀ ᴀʀᴄʜɪᴛᴇᴄᴛᴜʀᴀʟ ᴅᴇꜱɪɢɴ.

─── ⁺ ꜰᴇᴀʀ: ᴅᴀʀᴋ, ᴍᴜʀᴋʏ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ. ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ꜱʟᴏᴜɢʜ ᴏʀ ᴍᴀʀꜱʜ ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ꜱᴛᴀɢɴᴀɴᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅɪʀᴛʏ. ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɪɢʜᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴠᴀʟᴇɴ'ꜱ ᴀɴxɪᴇᴛʏ ʀɪꜱᴇ.

─── ⁺ ᴄʟᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪᴛᴇᴍ: ᴛᴀᴄᴛɪᴄᴀʟ ɢᴇᴀʀ ꜱᴜᴄʜ ᴀꜱ ᴛᴀᴄ ᴠᴇꜱᴛꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴏʟꜱᴛᴇʀꜱ. ʜᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ꜱᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴄʟᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ᴜꜱᴇꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ᴡᴏʀᴋ, ᴍᴏꜱᴛʟʏ ɴᴇᴜᴛʀᴀʟ ᴄᴏʟᴏᴜʀꜱ, ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴘᴀᴛᴄʜᴇꜱ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʜɪꜱ ᴡᴏʀᴋ. ᴀʟꜱᴏ ᴄᴏᴍꜰʏ, ᴜᴛɪʟɪᴛᴀʀɪᴀɴ ʟᴇɪꜱᴜʀᴇ ᴡᴇᴀʀ. ʟᴇᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴘᴀɴᴛꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱʜᴇᴇʀ ꜱʜɪʀᴛꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴀʟꜰ ᴏᴘᴇɴ ʙᴜᴛᴛᴏɴ ᴅᴏᴡɴꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ.

─── ⁺ ᴍʏᴛʜᴏʟᴏɢɪᴄᴀʟ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ: ᴀ ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ, ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴜʀꜱᴇ. ʜᴇ ɪꜱ ᴏɴᴇ. ᴀ ᴅᴀʏᴡᴀʟᴋᴇʀ, ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ.

─── ⁺ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ᴇᴍᴏᴊɪꜱ: 😏☀️🫦

─── ⁺ ᴄᴇʟᴇꜱᴛɪᴀʟ ʙᴏᴅʏ: ᴛʜᴇ ᴏʀɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ɢᴇᴍɪɴɪ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴛᴇʟʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ, ꜱᴀᴛᴜʀɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴏɴ.

─── ⁺ ꜱᴛᴀʀ ꜱɪɢɴꜱ: ᴀʀɪᴇꜱ ꜱᴜɴ, ꜱᴄᴏʀᴘɪᴏ ᴍᴏᴏɴ, ꜱᴀɢɪᴛᴛᴀʀɪᴜꜱ ʀɪꜱɪɴɢ

Taglist ♡ if you'd like to be removed or added, just lmk! As always, there's no pressure to fill these out or share your results! Also, while Valen is cyberpunk based, you can do this for any OCs in any settings, if you'd like to ♡ @rindemption @noirapocalypto @westealtoys @quickhacked @cloudofbutterflies92 @opaleyedprince @mercymaker @yharnams @nightbloodbix @galvus @envergothash @skelior @peaches-n-screem @spicyraeman @feykiller @florbelles @aceghosts @nokstella @devilbrakers @aelyosos @dani-the-goblin @elvenbeard @dickytwister @kharonion @hibernationsuit @hiddenbeks @jerichoes @aggravateddurian @hummingbirdsage @cove-holdens @vanoefucks @seluned @onehornedbeast @molochka-koshka @carlosoliveiraa @baldurians @thefrostyshepard @balverine2077 @ratsstick @ancunine @ronqueesha @wormskul @vivanightcity @cyberholic77 @lilacmox @strafethesesinners @vincentmatthews @jaydenborn @sh00kspeared

#thank you again for the tag and so sorry that it took me so long <3 #i just like making things look pretty half of the fun for me is formatting these posts #that's just my own personal preference and you don't have to do the same if you don't wanna ♡ i wouldn't force others to do the same #anyways hope y'all like it bye mwah #cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #masc v #male v #cyberpunk oc #vampire oc #daywalker oc #oc moodboard #tag games 💌#⠀- ̗̀ ⸨ 𝔳𝔞𝔩𝔢𝔫 𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔩𝔞𝔴 ⸩⁺☀︎⭒๋#⠀- ̗̀ ⸨ 𝔳𝔞𝔩𝔢𝔫//𝔞𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔱𝔦𝔠 ⸩⁺☀︎⭒๋

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