#.... my cult member is moving up the unspoken ranks i made up while making this cult.....

[just-null-cult]

i have come here to personally thank you for giving me more than i asked for 🙏🏻 i am utterly grateful like IDJFKDKKFODOD 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️ it made me so happy the last doodle has my heart he is so cute i will eat him

also there is a DROUGHT out there for us noritoshi fans like im living on CRUMBS its insane and omg dont even talk to me abt how it feels like to be a kashimo and ino lover (altho they are getting a bit more love now) my nori is still underrated :/ sooo hence im asking ur hand in friendship and in exchange i promise to share my hcs with you abt nori my sweet lil meow meow we're in this together 💪🏻💪🏻

also since its October, do you think he likes horror movies? i feel like he can withstand gory movies but its the jumpscares that get him and he wont tell u he's scared when u watch one with jumpscares owkfkdkd imagine him hiding his face against ur shoulder or something 😭😭😭 (i used to do that with my dad when we watched horror movies and i used to be like im not scared😤😤 when he asked if i was lmfao thats where this hc stemmed from)

N. NORITOSHI HIDING IN YOUR SHOULDER OR SUPPRESSING HIS REACTIONS TO THE JUMPSCARES....... WAS IT AN INVOLUNTARY REACTION TO USE YOU TO HIDE??????? WAS IT BUILT UP TRUST????? DID HE GROW USED TO HOLDING ONTO YOU WHEN HE GETS SURPRISED BECAUSE HE WANTS TO MAKE SURE HE HAS HIS VALUABLES SAFE????????? WAS IT A MOMENT WHERE HIS MIND JUST INSTINCTIVELY GRABBED THE FIRST THING HE WANTED TO PROTECT/BE PROTECTED BY???????? OH MY FUCK.

he's probably used to gore and gritty stuff like that since he sees it often being a jujutsu sorcerer and all. not to mention his technique is literally blood. maybe he's desensitized to gore films, the most you'll get from him is a disgusted scowl.

BUT DID YOU SEE HOW QUICK HIS EYE OPENED WHEN HANAMI SHOWED UP BEHIND HIM. YOURE SO FUCKING FR ABT JUMPSCARES. Noritoshi is that guy who wouldn't scream or yelp but gasp really loudly and jump out of his skin.

i feel like they get him most in horror because of the music building up anticipation. if its one of those fake outs where the jumpscare comes a bit after, he's fucked UP. It makes him instantly miffed, as he tries to regain his composure. He swears he's not usually like this, it got him by surprise is all..!

Noritoshi is the type that'd only watch a horror movie if the story is rich and complex. He's the type of guy to like open endings that make you think.. if it's a guilty pleasure movie where all the protags make stupid decisions, he gets annoyed right off the bat.

He's groaning and complaining about how imbecile the characters are, but would still watch it with you because you personally invited him. If he's lucky you could fall asleep on his shoulder or [insert movie cliche here] how could he pass that up? But Noritoshi wouldn't be able to focus on you if he gets twice as annoyed because its a bad movie + jumpscares. it still startles him, but the movie is so terrible, he's embarrassed it got him, especially in front of you!!!

if you get involved and you tell him to quiet down, Noritoshi would shift his focus towards you. like that awkward guy who thinks he's being smooth and lowkey about how he cuddles up next to you. He wants to be the tough guy who's shoulder you can hide in, and he is!! just not.. with jumpscares.......

#noritoshi #noritoshi x reader #kamo noritoshi #kamo noritoshi x reader #noritoshi kamo #noritoshi kamo x reader #merry october #sO SORRY THIS WAS SO LATE AGAIN WDYM OCTOBERS ALMOST OVER FUKC SO THESE OCTOBER POSTS WILL LEAK INTO NOVEMBER. AHA. #FAM I WAS SPITBALLIN SO HARD W THE WRITING BUT FUCK IT OH MY GOD I LOVED THAT #ty back for the cat noritoshi idea btw. ill love you forever #the way i fell off my chair and scrambled to read the rest of this ask was insane. friendship.? im so awkward but i'll be here for u homie #i love noritoshi headcanons.. #i eat them up like candy... #.... my cult member is moving up the unspoken ranks i made up while making this cult..... #as for ino and kashimo. i dont know much about them. #but i like the bits i do know! i like ino's energy.... he reminds me of an excitable puppy from what ive seen.. #i may draw more characters if i grow obsessed. i mean infatuated. or if they make noritoshi look good. #or if you do a damn good job at convincing me #but unfortunately. i was persuaded into a blood pact with my second in command to wait for the anime to finish then watch it with him then. #back to nori though. we are definitely together in this. i fucking understand the drought. pinterest keeps giving me geto #and yes. hes good too. BUT NOT THE MEOW MEOW I'M SCAVANGING FOR #THATS NOT MY STUCK UP BABYGIRL WHO'D SCOWL AT ME FOR PRONOUNCING WORCESTERSHIRE SAUCE WRONG.... #btw peep the orange for pumpkins or something #happy halloween my awesome cult

[vertigokrp-blog1]

SUBMITTED FOR YOUR APPROVAL:

The case of one Song Hanbin, youth lost in the depths of countryside quaintness and simple delights. A 27-year-old spending days in the small suburbs of Muhan as a spiritual guide to Muhan’s cult leader, an upstanding citizen like many others in town. An unremarkable little story that takes odd turns when you take a second look. Because, in Muhan, nothing as it seems. In Muhan, you must trust no one.

        Song Hanbin is one with the vertigo.

CONTENT WARNING.

Religious themes, mentions of cults.

THE STORY.

he’s an enigma, a shroud of mist in the distance, all the questions and none of the answers. where his life has been prior to muhan is a hot controversy, his answer changing every time someone asks, and few ever know what he’s done the day before, much less what he did years before. some speculate he came from old money, had inherited a business, a name, and sold it all to live very comfortably in the countryside. some whisper that he’s a foreigner who possessed a genie in a bottle - how else did someone so young earn such devoted acolytes, wealth, credibility if not by the influence of a djinn? all of it was ridiculous, all of it it was true by the very nature of rumors, but here was the truest truth: he was born knowing the taste of dirt. how it felt on his hands and between his toes when he dug at the ground for scraps and roots to eat and bones to suck on, what it was like to sleep like a dog. he was a boy forsaken, a boy who learned how to run before he could walk. hanbin’s family was no better, they’d all been born neglected, forced to become scavengers to survive, and they were some of the many invisible undesirables of the forgotten shantytowns in the countryside of korea. while other children spent their days in the sun, hanbin and his siblings traveled from street corner to street corner, pickpocketing slim pickings and selling their meager bounty to buy their meal for the day, teaching themselves to make it last just short of a week. it was a miserable existence, being born to die in the gutter, and so dismal that he could not even imagine a better future to hope for. with hanbin, and all nameless street urchins, there were no false suppositions, no daydreams, no ambition, no sights beyond what was in front of him - only resigned acceptance.

supposedly.

but resilience was an unspoken virtue - no one cared for an urchin with an iron will until he was already rich - then it was a story to be retold over cocktails and hors d'oeuvres; nothing like a tale of poverty to whet one’s appetite. but he’d never give them the satisfaction of knowing how desperately his grubby little heart hoped to possess something all his own, not to sell for food, but a single trinket of sentiment, to reaffirm his humanity, that he wasn’t just born to die. it was this pride that spurred him to abandon the only family he’s ever known, hitchhiking his way to the city - dirty wealth was easier to come by in the thick of neon lights and velveteen pleasure rather than pastoral destitution. the work he did could not be spoken about in polite company, but he built up his own income, had the self restraint not to blow it on something short-term or shallow - he hated the work. made his skin crawl with the acid he imagined pouring on himself, and he was sure to to put it behind him as quickly as he could - he left abruptly, as good as a shapeshifting nomad - his image of himself in the city didn’t suit him, and so he adopted another one. a pious one - a man on a pilgrimage, a saint, a prophet with literal visions of the lord himself. but prophets were ignored in the big city - there were dozens of them on every street corner panhandling for some generosity, and if hanbin wanted to make his mark, it would be in the countryside, the rural towns and sleepy villages that time forgot that he’d have to supplant himself as savior. he went first to his home village and met with his family once more, telling them and his neighbors within the village that he’d left to go on a pilgrimage of sorts to a monastery where he’d experienced a religion conversion and epiphany and touted himself as a holy man.

they were skeptical - but when his prayers starter bringing them answers, curing their ailments, kept storms at bay, they began to believe in miracles - they began to believe in him. perhaps the healing was really the power of prayer - or perhaps leaving their health to another power led them to relax and get the rest they needed. perhaps it was the single unmarked pill he’d offer at the end of the prayer (oftentimes simply over the counter acetaminophen or ibuprofen or diphenhydramine he’d brought from the city). perhaps the storms’ changing paths was merely coincidence. it didn’t matter. their belief in him gave him power, gave him clout, and he traveled the countryside like this, a nomadic prophet, performing prayers and miracles, gathering acolytes and believers - it’s a strange power, that of a holy man, to grab a throng by their hearts and feel them twist between his fingers.  but it’s not enough. the common lore that floats around muhan now is that hanbin had found his way to busan where it was known that a very prominent political figure - some say the mayor, some say a council member - had a child sick from a terrible  illness and had heard of the holy man traipsing across the countryside working miracles and, out of desperation and perhaps thoroughness, invited him to come pray with him, for the child. the story goes that the next day, the child is healed, the politician is grateful, and hanbin is lauded. the politician rewards him with wealth beyond imagine, his modern day genie, and he invests wisely and, perhaps with divine intervention, grows into something great. his path takes him to muhan, drawn to the rumors and sleepy small town intrigue where he would be a giant of a man, and he supplants himself into the prestigious community, nestling himself into a role that was carved for him. this was how the story went and ended, neat and tidy and predictable, and it was the story he told in polite company, to outsiders, to waitresses who asked and to the wandering eyes who found him.

how he came to be father hanbin.

THE TWIST.

but neat stories are better known as fairy tales. there was no magic genie, no politician - he’d come to busan as a man with a wealth of reputation and acolytes, but not much else, certainly not tangible wealth that would open the doors he truly wanted - religious clout, as romantic as it was, would never hold up to money. he’d heard of a rather peculiar cult of tycoons and heirs and ceos who worshipped a golden devil in busan and envied them furiously - for as long as there was a step for him to climb, a door closed to him, he could never be satisfied.

there’s a man who he knows to carry the key he seeks. the spiritual guide to the cult leader, obscenely rich and nefarious, a wicked man but no more wicked than hanbin, and perhaps that was his flaw. finding him on his way home was easy, dispatching was easier - hanbin still remembers the frantic beating of a pulse fighting for air and life beneath his fingers, how very much like ripe fruit the poor man resembled with his face turning blue, then purple, then blue again before he went slack in hanbin’s hands. how hard it’d been storming something awful the night he dumped the body into the nakdong river, how it’d surely dump the corpse into the south sea before the night was over. then luck struck twice - the spiritual guide was old-fashioned enough to keep a cache of solid gold in his home under lock and key - the literal key to wealth was on his person, which hanbin had snatched before dumping it. how fortuitous. it was easy still to stage it as if the man had taken his treasure and ran off into the night - he was no angel, after all, he knew it and the community he served knew it well - his disappearance raised little hubbub and was forgotten within a month.

hanbin, however, was savvy enough to waltz into the cult so soon after their key figure disappeared. he took his time, invested his newfound wealth and built it to be greater than anything he’d ever seen - this much, at least, was true. attracted organic attention with shows of philanthropy across busan until he was impossible to ignore.

“i’ve heard he’s some tech genius who’s sold his company at twenty-four. he’s retired now, isn’t that right? so young, my goodness.”

“i heard he’s a millionaire who’s a born again christian. invests his money real smart and donates the extra to the poor.”

“he’s a prophet alright. at least when it comes to stocks. maybe it’s divine wisdom. maybe god’s a millionaire too.”

it’s a year before he approaches the cult - or rather, they approach him - under guise, of course, and through implicit words and half codes. but their intent - or rather, their invitation is clear.

it’s another two years before he rises through the ranks as spiritual guide and makes the move to muhan - truly his holiness has granted him his prosperity. same practice - different deity.

#vo: profile