#live and don’t become a plot device

[prismkat]

They should invent a squid game character who won’t die in season 3

[nylqnder]

FALLING FOR YOU WILL SMITH

pairing: will smith x marleau!daughter!reader

summary: a visit to the guest house, in an attempt to comfort will after a grueling loss, brings you two closer together than ever.

warnings: friends to lovers, pretty detailed make out scene, talks of being insecure

wc: 2.02k

notes: !!IMPORTANT!! i absolutely do not agree with the politics of the marleau family, they are simply being used as a plot device in this. pretend for the sake of this that the family are not bigots.

The house is silent except for the distant hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of old wood settling in the night. Shadows stretch long and languid across the hallway, cast by the dim glow of the streetlamp filtering through the curtains. You move with practiced stealth, each step careful. Years of navigating this house have taught you exactly which floorboards creak under a footstep, which door hinges squeak in protest when nudged too far. Even still, your breath stills in your chest as you slip past your parent's bedroom door, past your brothers' rooms, your heart beating a steady rhythm of anticipation. The guest house isn’t far — just across the backyard — but trying to tiptoe in absolute silence past your parents' bedroom door and past your brothers' doors makes it feel like an eternity away.

Will had looked wrecked when he came home. The Sharks game had been brutal, a 7-2 loss to Florida, and not even his highlight-reel goal could shift the dejection that settled over him like a heavy coat. You saw it in his posture the moment he stepped off the rink: the slump of his shoulders, the tight line of his mouth, the way he avoided the gaze of everyone in the locker room. You had seen it in the post-game debrief he always did with your dad, his fingers tapping an anxious rhythm against his thigh. You didn’t have to ask to know what was running through his mind. You felt like you knew his thoughts as though they were your own.

It wasn’t always like this. When Will first moved in, things had been awkward. He was polite — too polite. He made his bed with military precision, thanked your mom after every meal, and practically sprinted out of the room whenever he sensed he might be intruding on family time. You weren’t sure if it was out of respect or if he was just trying to survive in an unfamiliar house. Either way, it took weeks before he loosened up, before the sharp edges of his formality softened into something more comfortable.

Somewhere along the way, he had become your closest friend. He was the person you whispered late-night confessions to, the one who could tell when you needed someone to listen rather than someone to talk. And it went both ways. You had spent hours sprawled across the couch in the guest house, talking about everything and nothing. You told him about school, about how you weren’t sure if biology was what you actually wanted to study. It was supposed to be the safe, responsible choice, the thing that made sense. But the more you immersed yourself in it, the more it felt like wearing a sweater that didn’t quite fit. He listened, really listened, in a way that made you feel like you weren’t overthinking things. And in return, he let you see the parts of himself he hid from the world.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he had admitted one night, voice rough with exhaustion. “I mean, I know what I should be doing. I know what’s expected of me. But every time we lose, every time I don’t produce, it feels like — I don’t know. Like I’m letting everyone down.”

You had seen the articles, heard the analysts questioning whether he was adjusting well enough to the NHL, whether he was living up to expectations. You knew he heard them, too, no matter how much he tried to pretend otherwise.

Will knew he was living with Patrick Marleau so he could be moulded into a better player, something like what the Sharks legend once was. But some nights, it felt like you had done more for Will than your father ever had.

The guest house is dark except for the thin sliver of light spilling beneath the door. You knock, softly. A pause. Then the rustling of movement before the door swings open, revealing Will standing in the dim glow of the lamp inside. His hair is damp from a shower, curling at the edges, and he’s wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips. His eyes widen slightly when he sees you, surprise flickering across his face before he steps aside to let you in.

“You should be asleep,” he says, voice rough with exhaustion.

“So should you.” You cross the room, your socked feet near silent against the hardwood. “But we both know that’s not happening.”

He exhales, a ghost of a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. He collapses onto the couch, the television murmuring in the background showing a post-game analysis droning on about the Sharks’ mistakes. He doesn’t mute it, but his focus is entirely on you as you settle beside him, pulling your knees up to your chest.

The room is heavy with unspoken words, the kind that settles in the air and refuses to dissipate. Will’s eyes flick to the television, then back to you, his jaw tight.

“Tough game,” you say softly.

Will’s jaw tightens. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it. I know I played like shit.”

You tilt your head, watching him carefully. “I don’t think you did.”

Will shakes his head, eyes dark with frustration. “We lost by five. Doesn’t matter if I scored, doesn’t matter if I had the best shift of my life. We still lost.”

Your heart clenches. “Will, the team is rebuilding. You knew that coming in.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t think I’d be a part of the problem.”

“You’re not.”

He shakes his head, jaw tight. “It doesn’t feel that way.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he leans back, tilting his head against the couch cushions, eyes slipping shut. His breathing evens out, slow and measured, but the tension in his shoulders doesn’t fade.

You shift slightly, resting your chin on your knees. “You’re a rookie in the NHL. You’re playing against the best in the world every night. No one expects you to carry this team, least of all yourself.”

He scoffs but doesn’t argue. “You’re getting better every game,” you continue, voice gentle but firm. “And the guys in that locker room? They know that. This season isn’t about wins, it’s about building something. And you’re a part of that foundation.”

Will lifts his head and shifts slightly, angling his body toward you. His eyes search yours, dark and unreadable. “How do you always know what to say?”

You shrug, offering a small smile. “I pay attention.”

A beat of silence. Then you notice it — the way his gaze lingers on your face, tracing over your features with something heavy and intent. You suddenly feel warm, hyper-aware of the fact that he’s shirtless, toned torso on full display, and the way his breathing has changed, now slightly uneven.

“What?” you ask, your own voice quieter now.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his tongue flicks out, wetting his lips, and his head tilts slightly. His gaze lingers, sweeping over your face with an intensity that makes your pulse stutter. The air between you shifts, thickens, as if something unspoken has settled into the space, waiting to be acknowledged.

“Will,” you say softly, trying to decipher the look in his eyes. “What?”

He exhales slowly, shaking his head with a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t make me spell it out for you.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “Spell what out?”

His eyes darken, and his fingers twitch slightly where they rest against his thigh. He leans in just enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the heat radiating off his skin, the scent of clean soap and something undeniably him.

“You know I want you.”

The words send a shiver down your spine. Your lips part slightly, but no sound comes out. He watches you, waiting, giving you a moment to react, to pull away if you want to. But you don’t. You can’t.

Because you want him too.

The realization hits you with startling clarity, and before you can second-guess it, you close the space between you. It’s tentative at first, a brush of lips, a question unspoken. But the moment his mouth moves against yours, the hesitation dissolves. His hand comes up, cupping the side of your face, his thumb skimming over your cheekbone as he deepens the kiss.

Your fingers settle against his bare shoulders, the warmth of his skin beneath your touch making your head spin. He kisses you like he’s been waiting for this, like he’s thought about it just as much as you have. There’s something desperate in the way he pulls you closer, something that tells you he’s afraid this might not be real.

You pull back just enough to whisper against his lips, “Will.”

His forehead rests against yours, his breathing uneven. “Yeah?”

Your heart hammers against your ribs. “I want you too.”

His breath hitches, and then he’s kissing you again, slow and deep, like he wants to memorize the shape of your mouth against his. Will pulls away, but barely, his eyes searching yours.

“You sure about this?” Will’s voice is rough, barely more than a whisper, his breath mingling with yours in the space between you.

You nod, barely, but it’s enough. “Yeah.”

That’s all it takes. He exhales sharply, like he’s been holding his breath this whole time, and then he’s kissing you again. This time, there’s nothing hesitant about it. It’s deep and slow and intoxicating, like he’s savoring every second, like he’s afraid to rush something he’s wanted for so long.

His hands find your waist, warm and firm, fingers flexing as if grounding himself in the moment. You shift instinctively, moving closer until your knees are brushing his solid thigh, until there’s no space left between you. Your hands slide over his shoulders, tracing down to his chest, resting on him as you lean closer. He shivers under your cold fingers, just barely, and the realization that you affect him just as much as he affects you sends a thrill through your veins.

Will’s hands move down to the backs of your thighs, pulling you into his lap in one fluid motion, his strength effortless. You let out a surprised gasp, breaking the kiss for just a second, but his hands splayed against your back, holding you close. He grins, eyes dark with something wickedly fond.

“Better?” he murmurs, voice dripping with amusement.

Your lips curl into a grin, but your heart is racing. “Shut up.”

His laughter is quiet, a vibration against your chest, but it fades as his gaze dips to your lips again. He kisses you like he means it, like he’s wanted to do this forever. His hands trace slow, soothing patterns against your back, anchoring you to him.

The television drones on in the background, forgotten, the post-game analysis long past. The only thing that exists at this moment is the warmth of his body pressed against yours, the way his hands cradle your face like you’re something precious. He kisses you with an aching sort of tenderness like he’s memorizing you, like he never wants to forget what this feels like.

When he finally pulls back, just enough to look at you properly, his expression is unreadable — something caught between wonder and disbelief. He exhales a quiet, breathy laugh, shaking his head slightly.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” he admits, voice rough with emotion.

You run your fingers through his hair, smoothing the damp curls away from his forehead. “I can.”

Will's lips curve into a slow, lopsided smile, something soft and unguarded. His fingers trace lazy patterns against your back, like he’s committing the moment to memory.

“Yeah?” he murmurs.

You nod, brushing your nose against his. “Yeah.”

For the first time all night, the weight of the loss seems to ease off his shoulders. He exhales, a quiet, content sound, and lets his forehead rest against yours.

“Stay?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. “With me… tonight?”

You don’t hesitate. “Always.”

And as he pulls you closer, the Sharks' loss feels like a distant memory — because for once, in this tiny, quiet moment, Will Smith isn’t thinking about hockey at all.

[bangchangbinnie]

The Door That Shouldn’t Have Closed c.b

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

Chan’s anger drives y/n out into the cold

(I love writing angst and worn out plots YIPPEEE)

The apartment was warm with the scent of home—his home, which over time had become their home. The overhead light cast a soft glow on the wooden floors, reflecting against the large window that framed the city skyline in the distance. The gentle hum of the heater filled the quiet air, a comfort against the cold that lingered outside.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the couch, her laptop open in front of her as she absentmindedly sipped on a cup of tea. The ceramic mug was warm in her hands, the steam curling into the air as she scrolled through pages of job listings. Living in Korea had been a whirlwind, a mix of excitement and challenges, but with Chan beside her, it felt worth it. He had reassured her time and time again that she didn’t have to worry, that she didn’t need to rush into finding work, but she wanted to—needed to. She wanted to feel like she belonged, like she wasn’t just lingering in his world without purpose.

Her gaze flickered over to the sleek black laptop resting on the edge of the coffee table, its screen glowing with an unfinished project. Chan had been working tirelessly on a track, pouring every ounce of his energy into fine-tuning the smallest details. It was his everything—the beating heart of his career, of his passion, of him. She knew how much it meant to him.

Maybe that’s why, when she reached for her phone and accidentally nudged the edge of the coffee table, her heart stopped as the laptop teetered, wobbled, and in the slowest, most horrifying second of her life—

—crashed to the floor.

The impact was deafening in the silence. The sharp crack of metal and plastic colliding against hardwood rang in her ears, freezing her in place. Her breath hitched as she scrambled forward, hands trembling as she turned the device over. The screen was black, unresponsive, the keyboard slightly misaligned from the fall. Her stomach twisted into a sickening knot.

No, no, no, no—

“Y/N?”

His voice came from the hallway, muffled but laced with exhaustion. Heavy footsteps echoed as he approached, and before she could even attempt to explain, he was there—standing in the doorway, his tired eyes locking onto the sight before him.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then, in an instant, the exhaustion in his face was replaced by something else entirely. His features hardened, lips parting as if trying to process what he was seeing.

“What—” His voice caught, eyes flicking between her and the laptop. “What the hell did you do?”

“I—I didn’t mean to,” she stammered, panic lacing her words as she held the laptop up like an offering. “It was an accident, I swear! I barely touched the table, and it—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” His voice rose, sharp and cutting. He stormed forward, snatching the laptop from her hands. His fingers ghosted over the edges, flipping it open, pressing the power button over and over again. Nothing. “Do you have any idea how much was on here?”

“I know, I—”

“No, you don’t know.” His words came fast, heated, filled with frustration. “That was weeks—months of work! Gone. Just like that.” His jaw clenched, his fingers tightening around the broken laptop as if willing it to come back to life. His breaths were ragged, uneven, his head shaking as he let out a bitter laugh. “God, Y/N, do you even think before you do things?”

The words hit like a slap. She flinched, hands curling into fists in her lap. “I said I didn’t mean to,” she whispered, voice small, fragile. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fix this!” His voice cracked, raw and unrestrained. “You don’t get it, do you? Fuck! This isn’t just some random thing you broke—this was everything I’ve been working on. Every file, every project, every unfinished song—it’s all gone now because you couldn’t be careful.”

Tears burned behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She knew he was upset, knew that this was important to him, but the way he was speaking to her—like she was careless, like she didn’t care—it stung in ways she couldn’t describe.

She swallowed, forcing herself to keep her voice steady. “I’ll help you fix it,” she tried, reaching out. “There are data recovery places, we can—”

“Just stop.” His tone was sharp enough to cut. “Just… stop.” He ran a hand through his curls, his shoulders rising and falling with each labored breath. His eyes flickered with something unreadable, something dark and stormy. Then, before she could say anything else, he did something she never expected.

“Get out.”

The words were low, clipped, but they sent dread washing over her.

She blinked. “W-What?”

“You heard me.” His gaze was unwavering, lips pressing into a thin line. “I can’t deal with this right now. Just… go.”

The air in the room turned suffocating.

Go.

Leave.

He was kicking her out.

Her chest tightened, heart hammering against her ribs as she slowly stood. “Chan… I—I don’t have anywhere else to go,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

For a split second, something flickered in his expression—regret, hesitation—but it vanished just as quickly as it appeared.

“I don’t care.”

The words settled like lead in her stomach. Her hands trembled as she grabbed her coat, slipping it on with numb fingers. The apartment that once felt like a sanctuary now felt cold, foreign, unwelcoming. She didn’t beg, didn’t plead—if this was what he wanted, then she wouldn’t fight.

She turned towards the door, fingers hesitating on the handle. One last time, she glanced over her shoulder. He was standing there, back to her, running a hand through his hair as he stared blankly at the broken laptop on the table.

She bit her lip, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Then, she stepped out into the night.

The cold hit her instantly, biting through her thin coat as she wrapped her arms around herself. The streets were quiet, the distant hum of traffic the only sound accompanying her as she stood there, frozen, unsure of where to go.

She had nowhere. Nowhere but him, and now… not even that.

The apartment was eerily silent, save for the rhythmic ticking of the clock hanging above the kitchen. Each second that passed felt like a taunt, like it was counting down to something he didn’t quite understand but could feel settling into the pit of his stomach like a weight.

Chan sat hunched over on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, fingers tangled in his curls. The broken laptop sat on the coffee table in front of him, its cracked frame a haunting reminder of everything that had transpired just hours ago. His jaw was tight, his breath shallow as his mind replayed the argument on an endless loop.

The way her voice had wavered. The way her hands had trembled. The way she had looked at him—like he had gutted her.

And then she was gone.

At first, he had told himself he didn’t care. That he needed the space. That she needed to understand how much she had screwed up. The frustration had still been burning too hot in his veins for him to feel anything else.

But now?

Now, the embers had long since cooled, leaving only the empty ache of realization.

It had been hours.

And she still hadn’t come back.

His knee bounced anxiously as he pulled out his phone, unlocking it with swift fingers. No messages. No missed calls. Nothing.

His stomach twisted uncomfortably. Where the hell was she? She had said it herself—she had nowhere else to go.

His mind reeled with possibilities, none of them good. Was she wandering around aimlessly? Sitting on some freezing bench in the middle of the city? God, what if something happened to her? Korea wasn’t dangerous, but that didn’t mean she was safe. She wasn’t fluent in the language, she didn’t have family here—hell, she barely had friends. She had him.

And he had thrown her out.

A sharp breath shuddered from his lips as he ran a hand over his face. His body was buzzing with nerves now, his earlier anger replaced by something far worse—guilt.

How could he have been so stupid?

Yeah, she had broken his laptop. Yeah, it hurt knowing all that work was lost. But was it really worth the way he had spoken to her? The way he had made her feel so disposable, so unwanted?

His chest tightened as he remembered the way she had looked at him when she had whispered those last words—I’m sorry.

He had told her he didn’t care, but that was a lie.

He cared too much.

And now he had no idea where she was.

Chan shot up from the couch, grabbing his coat and shoving his feet into his sneakers with hurried, frantic movements. He didn’t bother turning off the lights or locking the door—none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was finding her.

The second he stepped outside, the cold slammed into him like a brick wall. The temperature had dropped significantly since earlier, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones, merciless and unrelenting.

She wasn’t prepared for this.

Panic clawed at his throat as he moved down the dimly lit streets, scanning every alleyway, every bench, every corner. Where the hell was she?

He pulled out his phone, dialing her number with shaking fingers. It rang once. Twice. Three times.

Voicemail.

“Shit,” he hissed under his breath, shoving the phone back into his pocket. His heart pounded wildly, each beat a deafening reminder of how badly he had messed up.

Then, just as he was about to turn another corner, he saw it—

A small figure curled up on a bench just beneath a flickering streetlamp, her head tucked against her knees, arms wrapped tightly around herself.

His breath caught in his throat.

Y/N.

He rushed forward, kneeling down in front of her, his hands hovering over her shaking form. She was trembling violently, her coat barely doing anything to shield her from the brutal cold. Strands of hair stuck to her damp cheeks—had she been crying?

Guilt slammed into him like a freight train.

“Y/N,” he breathed, his voice tight. She flinched, her shoulders tensing at the sound of his voice, but she didn’t look up.

Chan’s heart cracked wide open.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, finally reaching out to touch her, his hands carefully settling on her arms. She was freezing. Ice-cold. His stomach churned. “Baby, what are you doing out here? Why didn’t you go somewhere warmer?”

A bitter, shaky laugh slipped from her lips, muffled against her knees. “Where?” she croaked, voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. “You told me to leave, remember?”

Chan felt physically sick.

“Y/N, I—” He swallowed, his throat tightening. “I didn’t mean it. I was angry, I—I wasn’t thinking. But I never wanted this. I never wanted you out here like this.” His voice broke, raw with regret.

She sniffled, finally lifting her head just enough for him to see her face. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks blotchy from the cold and her tears. The sight of her like this—because of him—made his chest constrict painfully.

“You didn’t stop me,” she whispered. “You just let me go.” Chan’s breath hitched. There was no excuse for that. None.

He exhaled sharply, his hands gently cupping her face, thumbs brushing away the stray tears still clinging to her skin. His fingers were warm—too warm against her freezing face.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his voice breaking under the weight of his guilt. “I was an idiot. I was cruel. I should’ve never let you leave, I should’ve never—” His voice cracked, his forehead pressing against hers as his hands cradled her gently. “Please, baby, please come home.”

Y/N swallowed, her lips quivering. “Are you still mad?”

Chan shook his head instantly. “No. God, no. The only thing I’m mad at is myself.” He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, his own gaze brimming with emotion. “I don’t care about the laptop. I don’t care about the files. I care about you. And I swear, I will never, ever make you feel like that again.”

A shaky breath escaped her lips. For a long moment, she didn’t say anything, just stared at him with that same exhausted, heartbroken expression that made his insides twist painfully.

Then, finally, her body slumped against his, her face burying into his chest.

Chan let out a breath of pure relief, his arms wrapping around her tightly, securely, as if he was trying to shield her from the cold, from the night, from everything.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured into her hair, pressing desperate, lingering kisses against her temple. “I love you, I love you, I love you—please don’t ever think for a second that I don’t.”

Her fingers clutched onto his coat weakly, and after a long pause, she whispered, “Take me home.”

Chan swallowed past the lump in his throat, standing and pulling her up with him, his arms never leaving her as he guided her back toward the place she should have never had to leave in the first place.

And as they stepped into the warm embrace of their apartment, Chan vowed to himself—

He would never let his anger cost him her again.

[cheriecelestial]

Jacob Black's Self Saving System Pt.1

disclaimer *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ crack.swearing.not proofread

synopsis *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Jason, a self-proclaimed no. 1 Stephenie Meyer hater, finds himself unexpectedly transmigrated into the very novel he disdained. Following this ironic twist of fate, he is now tasked with the challenge of creating a better version of the story himself.

a/n *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Inspired from @duckysprouts ’s series. It’s so good ⁉️‼️. If you haven’t seen it already, PLEASE GO CHECK IT OUT. Like finally svsss content that isn’t shizun sphinx cats or binghe skin creature abomination. Art and concept so fresh it made my heart cry with joy and pulled me out of my three-month long writing slump. So, I humbly present this as an offering to our lord and savior, Ducky. Comment, Reblog and Like (∩˃o˂∩)♡

Pt 2

Twilight by Stephanie Meyer was a modern classic in its renaissance era with a large cult that loved to hate it. Set in a place with relentless rain, mist shrouded forest and an ethereal light piercing the gloom — the light being the one of only Edward Cullen. Though the statement is subject to fan bias — he was a man, rather sparkly vampire, who somehow managed to be both irresistible and perpetually constipated. 

Nonetheless, his charms never overshadowed the stellar performance of our female lead, Isabella Marie Swan— better known as Bella — a teenager who gained worldwide fame for having a personality less vibrant than a wet cabbage. Together, they navigated the perilous world of teenage angst, vampire baseball, millenia old racist italian politicians and werewolves with a curious t-shirt allergy, all in an impressively monotone palette.

It was a heartwarming tale that began with awkward stares, cryptic yet nauseatingly clichéd conversations and Bella’s inexplicable attraction to danger, making the romance as thrilling as it was perplexing. Meanwhile, the supporting cast of her high school friends, each with their own irrelevant quirks and subplots, served as convenient plot devices — appearing and disappearing at the whim of the author.

And as if her love life wasn’t tumultuous enough, Bella befriended Jacob Black. A werewolf who, unsurprisingly, hated all things vampire and Edward Cullen in particular. Between Edward’s brooding, Jacob’s abs and Bella’s classic damsel-in-distress antics that made poor Elena Gilbert seem unremarkable by comparison — the story unfolded with the subtlety of a glitter bomb and reached unprecedented heights of melodrama. Something that helped the tale become a global phenomenon, demonstrating that improbable love stories can indeed shine in their own sparkly “skin-of-a-killer” fashion.

“This has to be the worst piece of literature I’ve ever read in my life.” Those were strong words from a man who spent years and at least six hundred dollars collecting softbacks and hardbacks in every special and limited edition the series offered. Jason Black was an anti-fan who lived to scoff at the literary mediocrities of authors who, after taking one look at their drafts, believed they deserved to be released into the world as actual literature. Such people, often inspired by similar works, spawned their own deranged narratives, subsequently contaminating the sanctity of literature. 

In layman’s terms, Jason was a fervent hater of the highest order. He had a long list of things he despised about the series, yet curiously, re-watching the movies and re-reading the books always found its way to the top of his to-do list every other weekend. But do not get him wrong, not once did he say anything in favour of the series. Jason simply considered it one of those brain-rotting pieces that needed to be experienced to truly appreciate the beauty of classics like Emily Brontë and Jane Austen.

_username_1 : Bruh stfu. You’re probably an unemployed loner with nothing better to do in life than to be a keyboard warrior.  

_username_2 : then idk buddy don’t read it ? It’s not that hard. 

Jason huffed at the screen crossily, his fingers dancing over the keyboard unsure of what to type next. With a sigh, he stretched his arms as if preparing for battle. And a battle it was — being an anti-fan required more dedication, practice and patience than being a regular fan. What he didn’t realize was that he had knocked a water bottle off the table onto the frayed cord of his PC.

He couldn't fathom why people defended it as if their lives depended on it. If he ever met Stephenie Meyer, Jason would have a long talk with her about the plot—or rather, the lack thereof. With the number of plot holes in the books, they could qualify as swiss cheese. The inconsistencies were glaring: if sunlight made them sparkle, wouldn't they still sparkle during the day, just less brilliantly ? How did Jasper and Alice not overhear the phone call despite having super-hearing ? Why did Jasper go ballistic over a papercut when he attended a school where students would get paper cuts and scrapes all the time ? Why were vampires and werewolves the only species to exist ? And why was Bella, or more specifically her blood, so exceptional ? Did she perhaps descend from a line of flavourful blood havers or was it due to her mother's partial albinism ?

Was she special because she was the female lead, or was she the female lead because she was special ? There were so many unanswered questions and half-assed excuses for the events in the story that most explanations came from clever fans trying to make sense of things the author clearly put no effort into planning or thinking through. These questions had plagued him since he first read the series, and the lack of satisfying answers only fueled his irritation. So much so that Jason was embarrassed for the author. Regardless, he didn’t like the direction this conversation was going so he did what any intelligent person would do, i.e., spew hate comments and log off. 

edward_my_bbg : Dumbfuck novel, Dumbfuck author 

And as if on cue, a new notification popped up, dragging him back into the fray. It was another comment, this time mocking his apparent obsession with the series he claimed to hate. Jason’s face flushed with irritation as he furiously typed a retort, but before he could hit send, his screen flickered and went black. 

He looked down and realized the water bottle he had knocked over had short-circuited his PC. With a groan, Jason leaned back in his chair, staring at the dark screen. It seemed the universe had decided to give him a break from his self-imposed battle. His hand fumbled in the dark for the plug only to feel water on the surface. The sharp pain and crackle of electricity were the last things he knew before he plunged headfirst into endless darkness.

[Activation Code:「Dumbfuck Author, Dumbfuck Novel」 ]

[System activated] 

[Pairing command successful]

“What system ?” Jason asked out loud into the void even though he knew that it was most likely a figment of his imagination. He hadn’t expected to receive a reply however he did receive one much to his surprise. 

[Welcome to the system. During the opening of the 「you can you up」system currently in its development phase, we wish to provide you with the best experience. It is our sincere hope that during the process, you will achieve what you have stated: to transform a piece of stupid writing in accordance with your wishes into a high-end, expansive, and classic work. We wish you happiness.]

Jason blinked, trying to make sense of the message. He glanced around the dim room, half-expecting to see some kind of holographic interface or futuristic display but there was nothing. Just the voice in his head and the darkness. “What the hell is this ?” he muttered, feeling a mix of confusion and curiosity.

[You have been selected to participate in the beta phase of the 「you can you up」 system. Your task is to improve the story you despise, turning it into a masterpiece. All resources and guidance will be provided to you. Do you accept this challenge ?]

Jason hesitated, the situation seemed absurd, yet a part of him was intrigued. As he sat in silence, a thought occurred to him—what if he could actually fix all the plot holes that drove him up a wall ? Maybe this was his chance to prove he could do better. But then, the possibility of all of this being real seemed too slim. How did he get here ? What happened to him after the electric shock? Was he dying, or was he already dead ? "And if I don't accept ?" he asked, uncertainty and fear bleeding into his voice despite his attempt at maintaining his composure. The system responded quickly in the same mechanical tone as before.

[Your connection between your former body and soul was severed before the initiation of the program. If you choose not to accept, you will be returned to your previous reality with no changes made. This opportunity is unique and will not be offered again.]

“Severed from my body ? Wait— doesn’t that mean I’ll die if I don’t accept ?” Jason's question hung in the air, met with nothing but silence from the system. The lack of response only confirmed his fear.

The system's silence was deafening, seemingly pressing him to make a decision. Realizing he had little choice, Jason took a deep breath. “Fine, I accept,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. How bad could it possibly be ? 

[Command acknowledged. Initializing story rewrite mode.]

The void around him began to shift and wrap. Till now he felt as though he was floating with no sensation except the system’s sound. His reality dissolved into swirling colours and Jason felt himself being pulled into a vortex. When the chaos settled, he heard a man’s voice call out to him. Unlike the clinical tone of system, this voice felt comforting and personal. He could feel tender warmth run through him however he couldn’t quite figure out what the voice was saying. 

“Son ? Can you hear me ?” 

“Dad ?” Jason murmured involuntarily, his voice hoarse as if he had just woken up from a long sleep. The gravel in the voice reminded him of the joys of his childhood when his dad was still — wait a second. Who the hell is that ?

His eyes struggled to focus as his eyelids fluttered a few times. Eventually, he was able to make out his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was the ceiling. Unlike the damp ceiling of his old apartment with its peeling plaster and harsh lighting, this one had old glow-in-the-dark moon and star stickers. It wasn’t familiar, but it seemed oddly comforting, like he had known it all his life. He slowly turned his head and saw a middle-aged man sitting on a wheelchair beside him with concern clouding his face. The man's russet complexion was lined with wrinkles yet his hair was long and lustrous.

“Where am I ?” 

“You’re at home. You’ve been asleep for so long, it’s alright if you’re confused. Take your time son.” The man he called ‘dad’ answered sincerely.

Jason’s mind raced as he tried to piece together what had happened. The familiarity of the room and the comforting presence of the man didn’t align with the reality he remembered. In that moment, everything came back to him—his death, the void, the system, everything. Jason went into what could only be described as psychological shock. His brain went on autopilot.

The man reached out to grab Jason’s hand, but Jason flinched and pulled away. Slivers of hurt flashed in the old man’s eyes as he slowly withdrew his hand. Jason hadn’t meant to react so harshly, but the information dump combined with the influx of sensory input, he was simply too overwhelmed to cope.

“I-I think i need some space. Do you mind ?” Jason spoke each word carefully, then added, “...dad,” feeling strangely guilty for hurting his feelings. The old man nodded slowly and wheeled himself out of the room. As soon as he was gone, Jason jumped out of bed and ran to the mirror. "Who the FUCK is this?"

Staring back at him was a boy, fifteen or sixteen, with the same russet skin as the old man and glossy black hair that looked like it belonged in a shampoo commercial. Recognizing the features, Jason knew this could only be one person.

 [System activation successful ! Binding your role as : Jacob Black]

[System : Booting Up]

Jason, now Jacob Black, stared at his reflection in disbelief. The reality of his situation hit him like a shit ton of bricks. He brought his fist to his mouth and sobbed into it, and here he thought college was devastating. “But I’m Team Edward,” he choked out between sobs. “That’s so fucked up.”

[Thank you for initiating the execution of the system. You are not bound with the account ‘Jacob Black’. All resources and guidance will be provided to you in due time. Initial B points : 100]

Jason—Jacob—felt a rush of confusion and frustration. “Now what the hell are B points ?!” he yelled, his voice reverberating off the walls of the unfamiliar room. The loudness of his own voice startled him, making him realize just how different everything felt in this new body.

[As the plot progresses, a number of opportunities to gain more points will be available. Please make sure your B points are not lower than 0. Otherwise, the system will automatically impose penalties.]

He stumbled back from the mirror, running a hand through his hair, which was definitely longer and thicker than he remembered. He could feel the strength in his limbs, the vitality of youth coursing through him. Yet, despite the physical vigor, his mind was in turmoil. He had transmigrated into the very novel he hated; the universe always seemed to have a field day when it came to ruining his life. Jacob looked around the room that was littered with the relics of a life he had to now live — a cozy bed with rumpled sheets, a desk cluttered with schoolbooks and posters of motorcycles, bands and scenic landscapes on the walls.

“Um, so is Bella here ?” Jacob asked, scarfing down the bacon his dad made for him. Despite stressing over the role he was supposed to play in the story, he quickly adapted to his new life. He had a family, a house to live in, no worries about finding employment, no bills or taxes, a social life—or at least he assumed he had one—and, most importantly, no backaches. In hindsight, this might not be all that bad.

“Oh, you remember that ? Charlie said she’s arriving in a couple of days,” his dad, Billy, replied. Jacob felt a strange mix of anticipation and relief. Unlike most unfortunate transmigratees, he had no death flags to worry about, so he could sit back and watch Bella and Edward fall in love without “Jacob” interrupting them. Maybe he could even make things easier for Bella by acting like the perfect wingman. Who cared about making a better story anyway ? And once he had seen his OTP together, he could take his ticket out of town after the wedding and never return so that he could avoid the whole Renesmee business because some fates are worse than death.

[WARNING: Your plan is extremely dangerous and constitutes a violation. Please do not attempt it, or the system will impose strict penalties.]

Jacob choked on his water as the sudden warning window popped up in front of him. For a moment, he was so immersed in the domestic comfort of his new life that he almost forgot about the cursed system. His father looked at him with concern.

“Water went down the wrong pipe, that’s all. Nothing to worry about,” Jacob said awkwardly, trying to reassure his father. So you can read minds now ? He internally taunted the system.

[It is a feature designed to ensure maximum support for the user.]

“That’s bullshit. Also, what do you mean by violation ?” Jacob asked. Does this system really have no respect for privacy ? If he didn’t know better, he’d think it was some kind of Zuckerberg’s meta gimmick.

[You are currently at the beginning stage. OOC function freeze is activated. You must complete the beginning stage before any functions can be unlocked. If you perform any actions against the original ‘Jacob Black’ role before the functions are unfrozen, a certain number of B points will be deducted.]

Given his extensive time spent on the internet, Jacob was well aware of what OOC meant, and he knew it wasn’t a good sign. OOC stood for Out Of Character, referring to actions taken by a role that deviated from how the character was originally written.

“FUCK OFF. I’m an adult. I already finished my degree and Bella is like, a baby. And you can forget the whole Renesmee shit too. Bella belongs with Edward and and I have no intention of pursuing either her or her future daughter. So back off, you creep of a system.”

[WARNING: The system is issuing another alert. If your B points fall below 0, you will incur a penalty, which involves being automatically transported back to your original world.]

“You know, threatening me with death is really getting old,” Jacob stared at the warning message with his anger mounting. It felt like the system was encroaching on every aspect of his new life, imposing rules and restrictions without offering any clarity or real support.

He took a deep breath, trying to push past his irritation. There was no point in arguing with an automated system, especially one that clearly had its own agenda. Jacob decided to focus on what he could control. He needed to immerse himself in his role as Jacob Black and complete the introductory stage without attracting undue attention. The system’s warnings might be annoying, but he couldn’t let them derail his efforts to adapt to his new life.

As he finished his breakfast, Jacob glanced around the house. It was warm and welcoming, albeit a little messy, which was understandable. He and his dad were the only ones living there and according to his dad, he had been inexplicably unconscious for almost a week. Keeping the house tidy wasn't exactly a priority for a man worried sick about his son.

“Thanks for breakfast… Dad,” Jacob said, still not used to the idea of having a father again. There was the whole issue of stealing the real “Jacob” ’s life, dealing with imposter syndrome, and the guilt of replacing the memory of his own father by calling this old man his dad. But that was an existential crisis he chose not to mull over at the moment, especially on the precipice of the story's start. Call him selfish, but he preferred to focus on his blessings.

“I’ll go take a walk. I’ve been asleep for a while, so I need to… uh, stretch my legs,” Jacob said awkwardly, hoping Billy wouldn’t notice anything strange about his behavior.

“Sure thing, son. Also grab some red meat from the store for dinner. A growing kid like you needs that protein. And buy yourself something nice with the leftover money,” Billy replied, taking out his wallet and handing him some cash.

Jacob stared at the man in awe. As a kid who had bounced around the foster system after his dad died, he was used to being scorned and neglected. This might be part of the reason why he had become a social recluse, spending his time bashing bad literature and authors online. To him, Billy Black was the closest thing he had ever seen to an angel.

Jacob took the money, still feeling a bit dazed. “Thanks, Dad,” he managed to say, pocketing the cash. The air filling his lungs was much fresher than the pollution-riddled air of the city he used to live in. Nature seemed a lot nicer than he remembered. So, here's a lesson for the kids—don’t wait until you die and get transmigrated into a novel you hate to understand the importance of getting outside and appreciating nature. In short, go touch some fucking grass before it’s too late.

Almost as if by instinct he found himself at La Push beach. He wandered through the familiar yet new surroundings, trying to piece together his plan. If he was going to be stuck in this world, he might as well make the best of it. He thought about the story and mentally reviewed his plan. He would stay under the radar, be friendly but unobtrusive and focus on blending in with the locals. If he played his cards right, he might just manage to navigate this strange new life without getting points deducted by the system’s restrictions.

After strolling along the shore for a while, Jacob found a rock to sit on and watch the ocean. It was a stark contrast to the urban jungle he was accustomed to, this place was serene and almost idyllic.

“Ayo, is that Jacob ? Hey, Jake !” he heard someone call out. A moment later, a boy close to his age ran up to him, followed by one more. “Um, hey guys. How’s it... going ?” Socializing wasn’t one of Jacob’s strong suits; in fact, it was the exact opposite of the skill he had meticulously avoided developing over the years.

“Man, the whole crew was freaking out about you. You were out cold for a week and for no reason !” One thing Jacob appreciated about the system was the introduction tags above each character’s head. The boy speaking was named Quil, his cousin from the Quileute tribe. He knew these interactions were unavoidable, given their significance to his new role in the plot.

“Well, I got better ?” Jacob attempted a witty quip but cringed at how poorly it landed. To his surprise, the two boys just laughed. “I’m just glad you’re okay. Stop by Sam’s sometime; he’s been asking about you,” Embry said, giving Jacob a friendly slap on the shoulder.

“Wait Sam ? Right of course. Duh. Sam’s place. Got it.” Jacob replied, blinking in confusion for a moment. Sam Uley was the Alpha—or at least the to-be Alpha—of the pack Jacob was supposed to join during New Moon.

[Mild OOC warning]

“Ay man, you feeling okay ?” Embry asked again, noticing Jacob’s hesitation. Jacob froze, Embry Call was the real Jacob’s best friend and if he figured out that Jason wasn’t really Jacob, it would spell massive trouble for him.

Jacob forced a smile. “Uh, yeah. I just—” He quickly tried to think of something. What would Jacob Black say in this situation ? What does he do to feel better ? He racked his brain for answers, knowing he needed to play the part convincingly, at least till he found a way to unfreeze the OOC function.

Go bother Bella ? a small voice suggested. Bella’s not here yet dumbass, another voice countered sharply. After years of social isolation, Jason’s inner dialogue had evolved to the point where he could have entire discussions with himself. No, he wasn’t schizophrenic.

“—I was just going to grab some red meat to chow on and uh y’know, work on my bike,” he finished, hoping his voice didn’t betray his nerves.

Embry and Quil exchanged a knowing look, which made Jacob's anxiety spike only to burst into laughter. “Classic Jake. At this rate, you might end up marrying your bike,” Quil teased and Jacob laughed along, though he desperately wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out again.

“Just take it easy, yeah ? We don’t want you passing out on us again. By the way, there's a sale at the store on the other side of town,” Embry squeezed Jacob’s shoulder reassuringly again. The familiarity they seemed to share with him was comforting, even if he felt like an imposter. He knew he had to get up to speed quickly if he wanted to maintain this facade. They soon parted ways and Jacob headed towards the store.

The store lady was overly enthusiastic upon seeing Jacob. He couldn’t tell if it was because of his face or the fact that he was a regular. As Jason, he had always been below average in looks and physique. Whereas, by the virtue of being the second male lead of a popular teenage romance novel, Jacob Black was undeniably attractive. With his deep-set dark eyes, prominent cheekbones, and beautiful long hair, he looked like someone Jason would have envied. Maybe he could try his hand at modeling once the story ended, because there was no way he was putting himself through college again.

And as unpredictable as the weather of Forks was, it began to rain. Normally, Jason would wait it out and then go but now that he as in Jacob’s body, he thought to test his body’s limits. Like c’mon a little drizzle isn’t going to hurt a big strong werewolf alpha-to-be. He stepped out into the rain, feeling the cool droplets on his skin. It was refreshing, almost invigorating. Jacob’s body seemed to handle the cold and wet far better than Jason’s ever did. As he made his way back the store, he noticed people giving him friendly nods and waves. It felt strange to be acknowledged so warmly, a stark contrast to the anonymity he was used to.

At the red light he stopped, waiting for it to turn green. Sure, there were no cars around and he could have just walked, but road rules were no joke. He liked this life too much to risk having it taken away by truck-kun. “Hey system, is double isekai a thing?” he asked. The system didn’t reply, so that was probably a no.

Jacob glanced to his side and saw a person standing under a large black umbrella. A strong sweet scent pricked his nose. How strong does this guy’s cologne have to be to reach me even with the rain ? There was a name tag hovering above the person’s head, but it was obscured by the umbrella, as was his face. One thing he had learned was that only people relevant to the story had name tags over their heads, which meant this person was a character in the story. He looked down at the stranger’s hand—it looked like porcelain.

Jacob felt a sense of foreboding, creeping up his veins. His instincts were on high alert, telling him that this stranger was no ordinary person. The rain began to pour harder, each drop bouncing off the asphalt with increasing intensity.

The person probably noticed Jacob staring and as he did, the umbrella tilted slightly, revealing a glimpse of a pale, almost ethereal face with piercing golden eyes. The moment their gazes met, Jacob was momentarily blinded by a brilliant golden aura radiating from the name tag above the person’s head.

[Edward Cullen]

Jacob’s heart skipped a beat. Of course, it had to be Edward. What were the odds of encountering your favorite character on the very first day of your new life ? He felt his knees weaken. Despite the dim lighting and gloomy setting, Edward was undeniably striking. The rain seemed to fall more slowly around him, as if even the weather was reluctant to mar his flawlessness . His tousled bronze hair framed his face perfectly and Jacob felt an inexplicable urge to reach out and touch it. Despite all his criticisms of the novel, Edward had always held a special place in his heart for reasons Jacob couldn’t quite explain.

Damn, this mf looks anemic as hell. Maybe I should feed him. It was a half-serious thought, borne from both concern and his internal struggle to reconcile his feelings towards the character with the reality of his situation.

[OOC WARNING! OOC WARNING!]

[Edward Cullen is your enemy.]

“Fuck off, he’s my babygirl,”Jacob shot a mental retort at the system in exasperation and a streak of protectiveness. The system’s declaration that Edward was an enemy wasn’t misplaced given Jacob’s role in the novel but that didn’t mean it wasn’t at odds with his feelings.

Edward had always been his favorite character, a source of fascination and admiration. This was supposed to be his chance to explore and perhaps even improve upon the narrative, not to be embroiled in conflict with a character he held dear.

Jacob didn't even notice when the light turned green and Edward started walking away, his steps soundless on the wet pavement. Acting on impulse or perhaps some hidden desire, Jacob found himself walking towards Edward and grabbing his elbow, accidentally knocking his umbrella aside. Edward stopped and turned to him as the rain continued to soak them both. His gaze was like a sharp, unyielding beam of light, cutting through the rain. His eyes, an unusual shade of golden amber, held a depth that seemed to pierce directly into Jacob's soul, scrutinizing every hidden corner of his being.

[OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC!]

[EDWARD CULLEN IS YOUR ENEMY]

I’m so stupid — I forgot completely. Jacob and Edward haven’t met yet. Maybe… maybe I can salvage this ? Be a dick and still be nice ? He definitely didn’t want to end up on Edward’s bad side, nor did he want to break the system’s rules. Annoying as it was, the system was what kept him alive. Though he’d never say it out loud, he was terrified at the thought of dying, again. The system’s constant reminders of their supposed enmity were starting to grate on him, but he couldn’t afford to make more mistakes. What was a man to do when every choice seemed fraught with peril ?

Ack — he’s staring. Can he hear my thoughts ? I hope not. He and Bella meet soon, if I remember correctly so— Jacob’s anxiety skyrocketed under the weight of that gaze. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat drumming in his ears. A tight knot of dread twisted in his stomach and whether it was the rain or not, he could feel cold sweat forming on his palms. He needed to say something—anything—that wouldn’t completely derail the plot but also wouldn’t make Edward hate him from the start, even if it was inevitable.

“Oh uh — my bad, dude. I just thought you looked kinda sick so I thought — I mean,” Jacob scrambled for an explanation, forcing a nonchalant tone as he released Edward’s elbow. He felt like a small animal trapped in the headlights of an oncoming car, desperately searching for a way to escape unscathed.

“—Uh, here.” He shoved the raw steak he had just bought into Edward’s arms. The system fell silent for a moment, as stunned by his actions as Jacob was. The sound of the rain was almost deafening as awkward silence stretched between them. Edward looked down at the raw steak in his hands, confusion and surprise painting his features.

Without waiting for a reply, Jacob quickly turned on his heel and hurried away, his footsteps splashing through the rain-soaked pavement. “Later ! Get that iron up and be the lady killer you were born to be !” he called over his shoulder. After walking a few metres, he paused briefly and added,“ And seriously lay off the sauvage man !”

As he put more distance between them, Jacob’s thoughts began to spiral. What had he just done ? Did Edward think he was completely nuts ? Or worse, could Edward have read his thoughts and seen through his facade ? Jacob shuddered at the possibility.

[Why did you do that ?]

“I don’t know okay !? I thought it’d help with looking y’know less dead when he meets Bella.” He shrugged. Explaining himself to the system felt pointless considering it was neither his parent nor his babysitter. The system remained silent, as if considering his response, Jacob rolled his eyes.

[OOC ! -20 B points ↓ ↓ ↓]

“Oh come on !”

“Still staring at that bag of steak, Ed ?” The pixie-haired woman leaned over her brother’s shoulder, teasing him.

“Go away, Alice,” Edward muttered, his gaze still locked on the steak as if it held some profound answers of the universe. His fingers occasionally running over the plastic, making the blood inside to squelch against the surface.

“Seriously what’s up with you ?” Alice frowned, dropping the banter. Ever since Edward had returned, he’d been fixated on this bag of steak that suspiciously smelled like wet dog. What was even more peculiar was the fact that she hadn’t had any visions of this event. Normally, Alice caught glimpses of all the interesting things happening with her family throughout the day but she had no clue how Edward had ended up with that steak. And from the look on his face, Edward didn’t look like he was divulging anything either.

“Nothing just… trying to figure someone out.” Edward sighed. Alice was his favorite family member, and he seldom told her off but this was something he couldn’t even make sense of himself. If he told Alice, she’d likely blow the whole thing out of proportion. But despite everything, one question kept lingering in his mind.

Who was that man ?

A.n - should I make this into a series ? If yes please lemme know if you want to be added to the taglist.

[sscieloz]

Our messy lives

band!aespa x groupie!reader

Synopsis: Aespa is now one of the most successful bands of the country. You refuse to let them go, but it’s time to move on with your life.

Warnings: lots of plot, lots of lore and a little bit of smut as alwaysss babies. band aespa. only a tiny bit of angst don’t worry it’s barely there. angsty ig.

Word count: 8.3k

Notes: I’m being very serious when i say i hated this. omg it’s so bad I might delete it and change everything.HOWEVER now I’ll eat the yummy dinner nana made me and chill under the covers. Then we’ll see.

pt.1 | pt.2 | pt.3 | pt.4

—

It was no surprise that Aespa’s success erupted quickly. After winning The Box’s contest, not only were the girls offered a contract with SM Music Ent.— the country’s #1 music company, but they’ve also been labeled as South Korea’s rising superstars. Their faces were all over stores, brands, and buildings. Fooling around after perfomances wasn’t even an option anymore, with the crowd that had started following their every step.

Aespa’s first album, Whiplash was a true hit; people loved the group’s authenticity, their enthusiastic lyrics, and self-produced songs. They embraced the girls’ journey and their desire to make music despite the outcome or the feedback. More than that: the public loved how brutally honest they were, whether it was in interviews, public appearances or through the melody that now echoed through every device in the country.

Two years and 2 albums went by, and the band’s success only grew. They won Rookie Group of the Year and have only been escalating ever since. Such success has made them cocky, as self-entitled as they were talented.

And talent was not something they lacked by any means.

“Excuse me, Aespa sunbaenim…” Karina, Minjeong, Aeri and Ningning all turn their heads at the same time to look at the tanned girl who stands awkwardly by the door. She bows extensively, with a bright smile adorning her face before adding. “I’m looking for Y/n? She told me to wait for her here.”

With kind, almond eyes and a little mole under her right eye, Saerom’s inviting nature is unmistakable. Although the girls are nearly sure they’d be able to recognize her without even looking at her, anyway.

They despise her.

“Y/n?” Minjeong is the first to ask, looking around with a frown. Her theatric movements are filled with mockery, but Saerom pays her no mind. If anything, she simply waits for her answer, as if the girls weren’t being anything but hostile to her. “Do you see her anywhere? News—”

“She went to the parking lot to take a private call.” Karina’s hand muffles Minjeong’s mouth, preventing the blonde from giving the poor girl a nasty response. “She told us to warn you about the change of plans. You should meet her there, instead.”

Saerom’s face lights up at the leader’s response, moving her arms around in awkward motions. Not having to deal with Minjeong is a relief— the blonde is so rude all the time, with her micro-aggressions hidden behind her bored expressions.

“I’ll wait for Y/n-ssi there, then.” Saerom bows to the girls, with a firm grip on the door handle. “Thank you for the message, sunbaenim.”

Ningning waits for Saerom to leave before clicking her tongue.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t rain, otherwise this poor girl will be sick.” She turns to Minjeong and to Karina, then, her tone patronizing even though she giggles. “You’re so mean, both of you.”

“I’m not mean!” Minjeong complains, caressing Giselle’s arms when the rapper hugs her from behind. “Those are private quarters. Y/n shouldn’t have sent her little plaything here.”

Ever since The Box, you and Saerom have developed a tight-knit friendship. The idol had reached out to you a few days after the festival, inviting you out for a walk in the park. You accepted the invite, thinking she’d ask for you to become her band’s fansite or something similar, but Saerom had surprised you— as always. The two of you ended up chatting for hours, and you found yourself sharing every single one of your life’s events to her: it was just so new and refreshing, to talk about yourself for once. Not mentioning Karina, Ningning, and Giselle felt strange somehow, but it was also freeing to be noticed, seen by someone like Saerom saw you. Her genuine interest left you in awe, and it rebuilt your self-esteem in ways you did not even know you needed.

Saerom understood you in more ways than one: despite your different lifestyles, you shared the same insecurities and uncertainties. Saerom, not knowing if her company would keep supporting their group or if she should just give up on the dream she worked so hard for, and yourself, who still felt lost and had no idea of what life would be like, once you were done with university.

The two of you were so different, yet so alike: you were lousy, stubborn, and defiant, while Saerom was the purest, kindest human being on earth. She inspired you to be a better person every day, and not once did she disregard your feelings or try to change your personality. If anything, the thing you loved the most was to hear her melodious laugh, whenever you made a mean, whacky comment without much further thinking. You were more than glad to have her in your life. She was an escape from your chaotic routine, someone you held close to your heart.

So it was only natural you’d answer her call, even if you were in the middle of the crowd, recording Aespa’s performance, long after her conversation with the girls.

“Hi, Y/n.” The voice on the other line sounded strained, but you’d recognize Saerom’s angelic tone regardless of the setbacks. “Are you going to take much longer to get here? It’s pouring, and I’ll have to go get ready for my group’s recording soon.”

She’s always considerate of your feelings even though you have no idea of what she’s talking about. It’s a miracle you’ve managed to understand her words alone, given your proximity to the stage. Winter’s vibrant bass solo isn’t of much help either, and you bend your body forward to protect your ears from the noise in hopes it’d help you focus more on Saerom.

Although you swear the music gets louder as soon as you take your eyes off the four girls on stage.

“Saerom unnie? What are you talking about?” You tap your right ear, but it does nothing to ease the energetic chorus of Kill it, Aespa’s latest single.

Giselle, Winter, Karina, and Ningning are currently performing their third song of their setlist, and you’ve managed to get pretty good recordings from the previous nights, so you allow yourself to redirect your focus to your friend, who awaits on the other side of the line.

“I’m waiting for you as we planned, remember? Karina sunbaenim told me you’d be in the parking lot, so I’m here. Are you at the show? It’s too noisy, I can barely hear you.” Poor Saerom is as lost as you, and the thought of her waiting for you under pouring rain is enough for your heart to shrink with unease.

“Right, of course. Can’t believe I forgot about that. I’m so sorry, Saesae. Give me 5 minutes and I’ll meet you there, ok? I’m on my way right now.”

“Sweet!”

You’re quick to collect your camera set up, hurrying to not let your friend wait any longer. The song’s nearly over anyway, but Aespa’s repertoire for the night would still linger for at least another hour— not that you minded. You were writhing with annoyance. It was hard to grasp that Karina, out of all of the girls, would act this childishly towards Saerom.

Sure, the girls have always been crystal clear regarding their feelings about the fellow idol, but you’d never imagine Karina would send your friend to wait for you alone, under pouring rain. That was typical of Minjeong— perhaps even something expected of Ning or Giselle, but you thought better of the band’s leader.

Now you had to miss nearly half of their performance, and it was all their fault.

Those girls kept testing out your nerves.

Four pairs of eyes attentively watch you make your way over the crowd. Their stares burn on your back, yet you refuse to give in. You don’t turn to get a hold of their expressions; you’ve been around long enough to know exactly how they react when something pisses them off.

Giselle, Karina, Ningning, and Minjeong don’t stare at themselves in confusion, as they normally would if something was off. They know where you’re going, and the implication was clear: you had chosen that little friend of yours over them.

Rejection was not something the girls from Aespa took lightly. You’d pay for that, both of you.

—

“Hey.” Saerom looks up to you, smiling brightly despite waiting for more than an hour.

Thankfully, she was wearing a thick jacket and sat on a bench, protected from the rain that refused to fade.

Occupying the seat next to her, you tell her sincerely, “Sorry to leave you waiting for so long.”

The umbrella you’ve gotten for her is placed on your feet, and you turn to face her completely. She looks comfortable, pretty as ever despite the weather and the shitty circumstances you had submitted her under. Saerom was a smart girl, and had probably already figured the girls told her a white lie to get rid of her presence quickly.

Despite that, your lips were sealed. You’d be caught dead before blaming Aeri, Minjeong, Karina, or Ningning, a fact they were blissfully aware. It’s why they were so confident on messing with Saerom, after all.

“They didn’t even tell you about me, did they?” Is all she asks, brushing off your apologies with a faint shrug.

Saerom brings her legs close to her chest, hugging her shoulders and staring at you attentively. A deep sigh leaves her chest after you shake your head. She thinks you’re too good for the girls. It’s an argument you’ve gone through lots of times, by now.

But you’re not. Saerom should have noticed that, by now. You’re just as rotten.

Tenderness clouds her mind, making her unable to notice any of your flaws.

It was no wonder there was only one other band the girls were friends with. Although Saerom was frequently picked on and scrutinized by the members simply for being your friend, the girls’ behavior didn’t change much when interacting with other idols. The industry was tough and demanding, of course, but they managed to fit right in.

You try to lighten up the subject, brushing Saerom’s black hair from her face. “Yeah, I’m really sorry for that. How can I make it up to you? You could sleep over, so we’ll catch up more.” Your words are sincere. Even though Fromis9’s schedule is much less demanding than Aespa’s, you’re still unable to see her as much as you wish to. The girls keep you busy 24/7, so full of tasks and demands you barely have enough time for other things. “I feel like it’s been ages since we’ve hung out.”

“It’s alright, Y/nnie.” Saerom holds you close, hugging you with a strength that reminds you once again of how strong she is, despite her small frame. “I just wanted to check in on you. How are you doing? You barely talk about yourself, and the girls make sure to have you all to themselves, as always.”

Bitterness drips from her last words, and you ignore rather easily. You love your friend, and you’re grateful to have her in your life, but she’ll always come second to Karina, Minjeong, Aeri, and Ningning. It’s the natural order of things.

Even if your relationship is a bit blurry, at the moment.

Opening up is still something hard for you, despite Saerom being nothing but a supportive, attentive friend.

“I’m okay, really.” The words come out of your mouth automatically, and you’re met with a knowing look from Saerom. “I swear! I am. The routine is kicking, of course, but I’m pushing through.”

It’s been harder to balance keeping up with the band and your studies at university, now that it was your last semester, but you were making it work. You’ve always managed to do both, somehow, so it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

Although you were starting to feel the exhaustion hit, now that promotion season was starting. Shootings were always done early, and you often had to stay up until late hours of the night completing the missing assignments and mandatory work your past self had pushed to be done when you were close to graduating.

Saerom knows better. She’s always been able to read you so easily. Leaning forward, she caresses your cheek with a tenderness you’ve only known through her soft, loving touches.

“I know you can handle it. You’re a tough girl.” She murmurs, so close you can’t focus on anything but her rosy lips, and the way they glisten from her signature lip gloss. “I just wish you’d tell me more of what’s going through your mind.”

Her hot breath is a warm welcome on the cold, rainy night, and you wonder if she’d taste like strawberries; her favorite fruit. Sweet Saerom, who takes such good care of you and lives her life in such a light, carefree way…

The loud ringing of your phone prevents you from finding it out. It startles both of you, and you jump in your seats. Even though you’re irritated for having the moment ruined, the two of you can’t help but laugh about how easy it is to scare Saerom.

A tired sigh leaves your chest as you show her Ningning’s name on the ID call. You deny the call, but her name shows up again within seconds, shining just as brightly as before. “It’s Ning, I—”

“… Have to go.” Saerom finishes your sentence, nodding with a bit of resentment. She gets up before you say anything else, standing out her hand so you’d do the same. “I know how impatient they are, so you shouldn’t piss them off. But you owe me one for making me wait, now. How about a date? This way we’ll have plenty of time to keep up with each other.”

She has her finger pointed out at you, but you know she’s only joking. Still, you wrap your arms around her small waist and nod, desperate to make it up to your friend.

“It’s settled, then. Text me the details?” You ask, voice muffled as you rest your face on the crook of her neck, safely protected from the cold by her thick hoodie.

“Sure, baby. We can meet up at that cafeteria you like, how about that?” Saerom suggests, running her long nails through your scalp in a soothing manner.

Silently reassuring you she wasn’t annoyed or irritated by their lack of time at the moment, as she knew you’d be upset about it later.

You don’t want to let her go, but Saerom also has a performance of her own to get ready for, and you’ve wasted too much of her time by leaving her waiting. Reluctantly, you let go of her as she nods, stepping aside so you’d walk together toward the entrance of the arena. She clings to your arm, and you wonder if she’s not uncomfortable with her skirt on such a freezing night.

It’s worth it: she looks like every bit of the princess she is, in her laid-back outfit.

“Bye, Y/n.” When the two of you reach your parting point, Saerom’s small hands cup your face just as she’d done before. Without rushing, she gives each of your cheeks a hot, longing kiss before turning away and hurrying to her group’s backstage room. “I’ll see you soon!”

“Bye, Saerom unnie!” You scream back, watching as she runs and laughs freely on the opposite end of the corridor.

Now, it was time to confront the four devilish women you were, unfortunately, so damn attracted to. With a sigh, you make your way to their room, knowing they’ll be waiting.

They’re always waiting for you, whether they admit it or not.

—

“Oh, so you do know your way back.” Minjeong’s voice is full of disappointment as you walk through the door, delicately making your way inside the room with hopes of going unnoticed. “What a shame.”

As if that has ever been a possibility.

“Where have you been, Y/n?” Ningning demands to know, looking down on you with her arms crossed in front of her chest.

Three other pairs of eyes are just as attentive to your answer, although they don’t stop changing and taking off their heavy makeup to actively do so. The girls are fuming— you’ve known them for long enough to gather said knowledge in the subtle way they spend too much time meticulously folding their clothes and walking around, all while making sure to send you hard, jugful stares.

“Where have I been?” You take a deep sigh, mirroring the maknae’s pose in hopes of calming yourself before answering. “I went to the parking lot to meet up with Saerom, because I’ve apparently told her to wait for me there.”

There’s something in Yizhuo’s tone: so sharp and patronizing, that ignites a livid fire inside your chest. She’s such a sob, acting as if you had done something so utterly wrong. Always so demanding.

The silence that follows your brief accusation is unnerving. You want to shake each of them, annoyed both for what they did to your friend, and because they made you miss their show by leaving earlier than expected.

Giselle sighs, taking off her brown extensions as she brushes you off. “No one other than the staff is allowed inside. We didn’t even kick her out, Y/n. Consider that a favor.”

Your mouth opens in shock upon hearing the bassist’s words. The worst part was that they meant every preposterous thing they say. With a frustrated sigh, you search for something to occupy your hands with so you won’t scratch the members’ eyes out from their faces like you certainly want to.

You turn your back to them, looking for something. For a distraction, anything to keep your mind off how much you wanted to make them pay for making Saerom upset.

After not finding anything in the mess they always make backstage, you turn around and shove your finger in Minjeong’s face. “You told Karina to say it, didn’t you? You lousy—”

The blonde girl opens a malicious smile, surprisingly calm and happy to have you on the verge of an anger meltdown. She shakes her head, gesturing to Karina instead.

“Oh no, Y/nnie.” Winter laughs, delighted by your nervousness. If she had to be honest, you did look hot like this: brows furrowed and muscles all tensed up. Minejong licks her lips, imagining how delicious it would be to drink from your cunt until you were sobbing, begging for a release that wouldn’t come anytime soon. “Karina unnie took care of it all by herself.”

Surely you’d forget about your little friend, by then.

Karina rolls her eyes when you finally approach her, muttering about how much of a drama queen both you and Minjeong are. She has her legs hanging comfortably on top of the desk and pays you no mind, too busy with watching something on her stupid phone.

“Did you?” You ask, not yet daring to grab her phone and throw it against the wall like you so desperately wanted to. Even if anger clouded your mind, you know Jimin wouldn’t let that slide. “The poor girl was out there freezing to death, Jimin. Why the fuck did you tell her—”

“You’re lacking.” Is all that she tells you, still not looking up. “You left in the middle of our show to go look for your little friend.”

Ningning comes out of the bathroom, attentive to the tension that hasn’t left the room ever since you arrived. “You’ve skipped so many events lately. And you’re barely taking any solo pics of any of us.” She points it out, earning a nod from Giselle.

“Recording us is one of the few things you’re able to do properly,” Minjeong adds, twisting her tongue. “And now your useless self isn’t even doing that anymore. God, you piss me off, Y/n.”

Saerom’s mention always brings out the worst of the girls, but Winter is the most affected by the fact that your attention is not solely on them anymore.

Giselle, Ningning, Karina, and Minejong are greedy, selfish, so damn full of themselves. But most importantly, they refuse to share. Especially when it came to you. It doesn’t matter how much you fight or argue, things worked simply: you were theirs just as much as they were yours.

And the Aespa girls didn’t allow outsiders to play with their possessions. No matter how foolishly you might think so, the implication is clear— in the end, you’d always answer to them.

“You have managers to handle your career.” You remind them, sighing deeply. “As well as other groupies to do all of your media work. I’m not paid to be your photographer or whatever. Actually!” Hitting your palms on the big table the girls were sitting around comfortably, you add. “I’m not being fucking paid at all. I’m under no obligation to indulge your demands.”

The last sentence seems to hurt the band’s maknae. Ningning presses a hand to her heart, terrified at the possibility of you not indulging their every will anymore.

“This fucking girl, Y/n. Saerom.” Yizuho’s pronounces her name as if it’s a plague. “S-She’s clouded your mind. What else has she told you? She’s such a fucking liar.”

“No, Ningie.” Minjeong corrects her friend, patting Ningning’s hair affectionately. Although her eyes are solely on you, as poisonous as the vicious smile lingering on her face. “Saerom is just a useless piece of sh—”

Minjeong has sharp reflexes. Before you even think of a reaction, Giselle’s grip prevents you from moving, somehow making you even angrier with her hot, minty breath on the back of her neck.

“She cares about me! Unlike you! You fuck ass selfish whores.” You scream, kicking and pushing yourself against Aeri to let you go. It’s useless, but at least her muscles tense up with the effort.

Karina frowns at the words you shout so vividly. At first, she didn’t think much of your friendship with the girl from that small group— what was its name again? Forms? Formis? It doesn’t matter. But then, you started to spend more time on your phone, which was something you never did whenever they were in your company. You missed a few of their rehearsals, and would sometimes show up late or leave earlier because of university, as you claimed.

Which was bullshit. You’ve never let anything come in the way of being with the band before, even when they were just four broke girls with nothing but their love for music. There was no justification for you to do so now.

Your new rebellious behavior certainly had to do with this girl, Saerom, and her bad influence. She’s certainly corrupting you, filling your pretty little head with sweet words and blunt lies.

Karina would end her before letting such a thing happen.

With a subtle touch, the leader signals to Giselle to let you go. The Japanese girl promptly does so: it’s been a few minutes, and your muscles were too fatigued to keep fighting her grip. Although her big hands stay locked on your hips, making sure you’re trapped in her lap.

Not that you mind.

“Saerom is a bad influence to you,” Karina says, after a few minutes of watching your chest’s rapid movements, as you try to gather your breaths. She’s pleased to notice you’re still wearing the golden necklace she gave you, with an A shining in bright gold. “You should just stop seeing her altogether.”

An exasperated sigh leaves your lips, and you don’t even fight the urge to laugh at Karina’s demands. “Do you hear how insane you sound?” You only realize they’re all serious when no one joins you in the laughter. “Oh my fucking God. Saerom is the only sane person here! I won’t stop being friends with her just because you fucking want me to.”

“Brat,” Minjeong mutters, narrowing her eyes at you. You’re ready to start screaming once again, but Karina beats you to it.

The leader taps on the table rather impatiently, voice low and husky. “She has to go, Y/n. Minjeong’s right. Stop giving us such a headache and do as you’re told.”

It’s absolutely infuriating, how full of themselves the girls are. How can Karina, Minjeong, Giselle, and Ningning demand anything from you after so many years of blind dedication? You don’t owe them anything, yet they treat you like a rebellious child.

They’ve always driven you mad. Being in the girls’ presence meant you were always blushing and acting like an impulsive idiot with as much a subtle glance thrown at you. You’d do anything for it, without asking anything back. For them.

But as you stare at the four girls, the only thing you feel is an anger that settles deep inside your bones. It makes you want to flip the big table they’re sitting around and throw everything they own on the walls.

“I’ve sacrificed so many important events over the past years just to be by your fucking side,” You tell the four pairs of eyes that watch you, brushing your hands on your face. The night had been tiring, and your adrenaline hush was finally fading. “I had to reschedule my wisdom tooth removal three times to attend your shootings and music bank stages. I’ve missed family gatherings and birthdays to be with you. I’m fucking graduating next month, a semester later than expected. My parents are so fucking pissed because of that. Did any of you even know?” The silence is enough of an answer. Not that you even had to ask. “Of course you don’t. You don’t fucking care about anything but yourselves.”

You’ve abdicated so much just to pay Karina, Minjeong, Aeri, and Giselle your endless support. It doesn’t matter if they disagree with your current decisions, you’re under no obligation to follow their expectations nor do everything they wanted you to.

But it seems they’ve become forgetful of that.

“Let me go, Aeri.” You tell the girl, squirming on her lap. When her hands don’t move, you scream. “I said let me go!”

You’re angry at them. For being such possessive assholes. For taking so much while giving so little. For so many things you don’t even know how to express properly.

None of the four girls say anything as you leave. Not even after you brush past them and close the door with a loud noise.

They hate to be wrong, all of them. So they hold onto their pride for a little longer. Surely you’d come back for them soon. You couldn’t stand being apart for too long, they were sure of it.

—

Being bossy is one of your many traits. You’ve always been spoiled rotten: being the only girl born in three generations into a family who loved and supported you in all of your choices ensured you that, even if you were met with some resistance at first, it didn’t take much convincing for all of your wishes to be granted. You’d only have to battle your lashes and shed a few tears and it was yours, no matter how stupid it was.

It’s only natural you’d live up to your stubbornness.

Sure, you still attended the band’s events, recording and providing content as you’ve always done, but things were somehow different, now: it was as though there was a thick wall separating you. The warmth you shared with Karina, Minjeong, Giselle, and Ningning was long gone. You weren’t any different from their other staff, with the short, straightforward answers you’d give to their questions, and they despised it. They wanted your loud, fiery self back. Guilt was eating the girls alive.

So they silently decide that just this time, you’d win.

This time only.

The band’s schedule for the month was packed, but Giselle had managed to cancel a few events so you could finally talk. The Japanese girl isn’t as patient as Karina or adorable as Ningning, but knows you well enough to get your head in the right senses.

When Aeri opens the door to your favorite cafe— the one furthest from your main campus, although still on university grounds, the last thing she expects is for you to have company.

She should’ve thought better. Of course you’d have that nugu failure of an idol up in your ass. It’s like the two of you are joined at the hip now.

Giselle’s entire body feels hot, and she’s absolutely fuming. No matter how many deep breaths she takes, nothing makes her less livid as she watches you lean onto Saerom’s touch, laughing so freely with shimmery eyes directed at that useless girl.

This cafe was something like a sanctuary to you. There was something peaceful in the lo-fi beats that echoed through the place, and you’ve lost count of the times you spent hours lost in thought, wondering about the customers' backstories and their orders. You were a regular, and Giselle recalls picking you up nearby a few times.

You look so at ease, eyes shining brightly as you laugh with Saerom. The sight of you, so carefree and happy with someone that isn’t her, Karina, Minejong or Ning is enough for Giselle’s chest to tighten, hands closing onto fists. Her hatred for Fromis’ leader only grows. She hates how this girl can make you feel so at ease, hates how she takes up so much of your time.

Aespa has grown, now— in both popularity and influence. They’re famous and even though they aren’t yet rich, they have much more money than necessary. Saerom’s nothing compared to them. Not as beautiful, not as talented, and certainly not as successful. She’s nothing more than a failure, a pathetic girl from a small company who doesn’t give a shit about her group.

So what did she do to have your uttermost attention? Why do you look at her with such adoration, such love? It’s nearly the same way you look at herself, Karina, Winter, and Ningning.

And that can’t happen. You’re theirs; their groupie, their first, most dedicated fan. They’ll be dammed before they have to share you with anyone else.

Saerom pales as soon as she spots Giselle’s confident steps, and she opens her mouth to warn you. The words die on her lips as the fellow idol beats her to it; Before they can even think, Giselle’s in front of you, bracing her arms in front of her chest with a displeased look.

“Look at who we have here.” She twists her mouth in disgust, eyes darting from you to Saerom, who retreats her arm from your chair and goes rigid. “The lovebirds. For someone who claims to be so busy, you sure have a lot of fucking free time for Saerom, don’t you think, Y/n?”

Unlike the poor idol, who trembles under Giselle’s snobbish gaze and seems ready to leave at any cue, you roll your eyes at the guitarist. She doesn’t intimidate you at all, not with the way her hands rest tightly on her hips or with this little angry pout in her mouth.

Giselle’ attractive, even more so when she’s being an asshole. Still, her self-entitlement pisses you off more than anything. She thinks she can control you; who you hang out with, and what you do.

Ignoring her pettiness, you gesture to your laptop, to the small journal, and to your camera, all tangled on the table. “I’m studying. Saerom unnie came to help me choose a few clips for my final project.” You click your tongue, typing your password on your laptop so the screen would light up. It takes a few seconds, making it obvious it has been a while since you’ve turned the device on. “It’s due tomorrow, so… you’re kinda interrupting us, unnie. Mind coming back later? We can talk on Friday, after your MBC schedule.”

You do love to rile the girls up, and Giselle falls into your traps quite easily. The only other person that beats her to it is Minjeong— the blonde nightmare.

Giselle’s fist hits the table, not aggressively enough for your stuff to fall but more than necessary to get the attention she wants, despite not you or Saerom attention’s wavering from the girl ever since she set foot in the cafe. She grabs you by the arm, then, still locking eyes with your best friend as you’re lifted from the table.

“Me and Y/n are going to have a little talk, ok sunbaenim? We’ll take long, so I suggest you make your way back.” Giselle says, eyes turning darker, “Now.”

Saerom doesn’t need to be told twice. Without a word, your friend grabs her purse and stands up so quickly her chair clicks against the marble floor. She hesitates, searching for any signs you need her to stay. Giselle’s intimidating, of course, but Saerom would defend you if asked.

“See you later, Y/n.” Saerom murmurs, relaxing her brows after you nod, gesturing for her to go. She gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze, and you think she’s going to lean in and kiss you on the cheek. But Giselle’s grip on your arm is still strong, clinging onto you like you were going to run away at any second. Instead, Saerom nods to both you and Aeri. “Goodbye, Giselle sunbaenim. Have a great afternoon.”

Giselle doesn’t answer, watching as Saerom runs to the door like she’s been struck by lightning.

“You didn’t even let her breathe. Hey!” You complain, being ushered to the restroom as soon as the doorbell rings and the fellow idol is nowhere in sight. “Rude.”

A chuckle dies in your throat as soon as you’re shoved into one of the stalls rather roughly. Giselle’s hands are all over you, then: groping your breasts, your waist, your neck, and your face as she kisses you sloppily. Her fingers roam through your skin with perhaps too much pressure, so hungry and impatient.

Like her bandmates, Giselle only knows how to take. It’s one of the many things she excels on doing. Her touch is possessive and infuriating. Intoxicating.

Deliciously wrong.

“Do you think this is a fucking joke, Y/n?” She asks, gripping your jaw as she whispers in your ear. “Do you seriously think I won’t fuck up your little friend’s entire career if you piss me off with those little games of yours?”

“I’m not doing anything.” You squirm, trying to get out of her grip. The affirmation does nothing to ease her touches— she’s well aware you love playing dumb. “If you mess with Fromis’ image just because I’m friends with Saerom, Giselle, I swear I’ll post that fucking video of you—“

She silences you with another rough kiss, sick of hearing you being so protective of that pathetic girl. Her tongue forces her way onto your mouth, commanding you to open and surrender to all of her wishes as usual.

In a swift motion, Giselle turns you around, pressing your face against the cold walls. You feel her body heat behind you, skin nearly throbbing from how angry she is.

“Say her name one more time, Y/n and I fucking will.” She growls, locking your wrists together so you’re unable to turn around and curse her out to her face. “Test me. Say it, now. It will be my pleasure. Our pleasure. To end her fucking career forever and have you as the one to blame.”

None of her threats are empty— you know she means it. Giselle’s only waiting for a cue, a reason to spread fake rumors and end Saerom’s career once and for all. The laughter that echoes inside the empty restroom is full of mockery, and you wish for nothing more but to turn around and land a punch to the guitarist’s face.

Only you can’t. Not with the way she’s pressing onto you, showing off her mornings spent at the gym. Giselle’s low, husky breaths pant on the back of your shoulders, and you shudder involuntarily. There’s no way to help it: it’s been so long since she’s touched you like this. You’re both starved, desperate even if you’ll never admit it.

Although it’s easy to notice, from the way her heavy hands grope and twist every inch of skin she finds. You’re easily marked— the girls have always praised you for that. But their marks usually faded as easily as they were made.

Which doesn’t seem like the case, not when she’s biting your lips so harshly. Giselle doesn’t care if she hurts you. It’s what you deserve, after taunting them for so long.

“Fuck, Y/n…” She murmurs, squeezing your breast with her hand. The other one closes around your neck, depriving you of just enough air to make you dizzy. You roll your eyes, panting with pleasure. “You’re so pretty… I can’t wait to make you cry.”

Not at all subtle. Giselle’s message is clear: no one fucks you like I do. Like we do.

Her nails scratch your thighs, wandering dangerously close to your aching spot. You’re both ashamed and annoyed by how much her aggressiveness turns you on. Every word the Japanese girl utters from her mouth is true, you know so: her assertive, possessive traits would never fade, no matter how extreme you judged her actions, sometimes. It’s disgraceful to acknowledge that you want Giselle to ruin you, to make you cry and beg for her to take everything she wishes to and more.

Still, you’re not lost enough to step on your pride just yet.

“Get the fuck away from me!” You turn your face as Giselle pulls your head back and reaches for your lips, trying to push her away after being tugged and turned around like a doll. “Self-entitled bitch. I fucking ha—”

It’s much easier to rebel under her like this: with her taking you from behind, her face is hidden by the stall’s poor lightning.

“So you’re not wet, then?” She interrupts your angry banter, smirking as her hands trail lower, unbuttoning your shorts without much care. Her touch, however, is surprisingly soft, thumbs tracing circles on the inside of your thighs. You gulp, trying your best to not let out a moan when she presses her knee against your cunt, pulsating and starved for attention. “You want me to go away, Y/n? It sure doesn’t look like it.”

Giselle’s fingers brush your clit through your panties, tracing circles over your hardened bud as if the two of you have all the time in the world. She laughs when you bite your lip so hard it trails a thin amount of blood, tasting the metallic taste as she drinks from you.

“You’re a j-jerk.”

It’s hard to concentrate when Giselle’s absolutely everywhere; she holds your shirt up, laughing to herself once she’s graced with your bare tits, no bra in sight. She pinches and twists your nipples until they’re red and overly sensible, teeth scratching against your neck before she sinks her teeth, sucking until she’s sure it’ll bruise properly.

Content with your hard time on staying collected, she hums. “Tell me more.”

For someone with such a dirty mouth, she sure knows how to work it. Giselle’s fingers tease your wet cunt, barely applying any pressure on your entrance before retreating completely, as she makes good use of your slick to circle your clit.

Her teasing is unexpected; you moan loudly at her touch, desperately pressing yourself onto Giselle so she’ll give you more.

A cocky smirk appears on her lips at your silent plead. For that, you’re rewarded with more pressure against your throbbing clit. Her strokes become quicker, and the knot in your stomach tightens.

“Will you ask for it? Like a good girl?” She asks quietly, pressing wet kisses against your throat.

Her tone is so innocent and caring, as if she’s not fucking you in a cafe’s restroom, clouding your mind with lust for all the wrong reasons.

You don’t give in, although your head falls back as you lean onto her frame, making it easier for Giselle to mark you as she pleases. “Fuck you.”

Giselle laughs. Her fingers leave your cunt, and she’s tapping your mouth before you can even complain about the absence of her touches. “Open.”

Instead of an eager response, the guitarist’s fingers are met with pouty lips, promptly sealed shut. She’s big on the patience game, but your previous encounter with Saerom has clearly affected her: Giselle’s pupils are blown, and her nails scratch every inch she’s able to reach— close to your breasts, on your lower lip, your shoulders, the inside of your thighs… her marks are everywhere. Claiming, owning you. Setting a reminder of who you belong to.

Giselle rolls her eyes at your resistance, tightening her grip on your neck. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s enough for your breaths to quicken, feeling lightweight once again. She fastens her strokes on your clit, pressing harsher once you don’t do as told.

“You’re so fucking stubborn. Open. Your. Damn. Mouth.” Both of her hands rest on your hips, with a steady grip that makes you whine in frustration.

There aren’t any coherent thoughts in your mind. The only thing you crave is her touch, and for her to not stop until the warmth that is building up on your lower abdomen explodes into a delicious wave of pleasure, like the orgasms she knows so well how to take from you.

“Aeri…” Your voice is barely a murmur, as you rest your forehead on the crook of her neck and plant small, wet kisses to the corner of her mouth, in attempts of coaxing her into giving in.

But you know she’s not going to until you obey. The way your clit pulsates under Giselle’s hand is both delicious and frustrating. It makes your skin boil, so agonizingly hot you open your mouth, swallowing your pride when she pushes 2 of her fingers down your throat.

“That’s it.” Giselle’s praise send a joint of pleasure straight to your cunt, humming in pleasure as you stare at her with big, teary eyes while sucking on her fingers. It burns on your pride, but lust has long clouded your thoughts. “It’s all for you, sweet girl. You just have to stop fighting it. Stop testing us.”

Damn her, for knowing your body so well.

Giselle’s hand leaves your mouth to slide her fingers inside your dripping cunt. You’d be embarrassed by the sounds her thrusts make, gushing so easily from how drenched you are, but you don’t have it inside to care about that anymore. It’s music to her ears. She’s even more cocky know that she’s sure you can’t resist her, despite being so cold and distant over the past weeks.

“Oh fuck, D-don’t stop.” You moan loudly, lost in the pleasure she’s granting you. Once again, you’re glad she’s taking you from behind; this way you don’t have to look at her face. It’s a great excuse, you tell yourself as she shoves her fingers inside your cunt so fast your vision is clouded by black dots.

Despite your inner thoughts, her smirk burns on your back, and she hums contently while pressing small, wet kisses on your back. “Why not? Are you going to cum?”

You don’t have enough strength to return her provocative banter, too lost in pleasure. Whimpering loudly, you nod, rocking against her hand so you’d get even more friction.

Giselle gets the message, curling her fingers deep in your walls as she watches you closely, hitting all of your sweetest spots. You let out another loud moan, lost in the pleasure she’s granting you.

“Do it, Y/n. Just let go.” She commands, watching you closely. “Cum whenever you want. Just like that, pretty. All over my hands, do it.”

You don’t expect her bossy tone to affect you this much, but it does. At the sound of her voice, you reach your peak, making a mess of the girl’s hand as you grab her hand to prevent her from stimulating you any further. Giselle keeps on fingering you, barely moving her fingers while she waits for you to come down from your high.

You take your time rinding down your orgasm, taking deep breaths as you feel tears cripple down your eyes. You’ll have to deal with Giselle the moment you’ve recovered completely, so you avoid it for as long as possible. The girls’ issue with Saerom has always annoyed you, along with the way they disregard your decisions.

Now that you’re ending a cycle in your life, with graduation just around the corner, you can’t help but acknowledge the fact that it’s time to focus on serious things, like focusing on your professional career instead of following the Aespa girls blindly like you’re used to. You have to set boundaries for yourself and move on.

Except you can’t, and it’s eating you alive.

Giselle locks you into place, preventing you from running like you so desperately want to. You adjust your clothes in silence, trying not to be extremely uncomfortable under her piercing stare. Somehow, you feel even more vulnerable than moments ago, when you were moaning and writhing under the girl’s touches.

They’ve always managed to do that to you— drive you crazy while trying to guess what was going on through their heads. Only you didn’t have the time or energy for that anymore.

And she’s so affectionate— they all are, ever since you met them. It wasn’t uncommon for Karina, Minjeong, Giselle or Ningning’s hands to be caught wandering through your spine, or for them to be ogling your tits whenever you were in the tightest crop tops just to be noticed in their shows.

They found you annoying, pushy even. But you don’t mind. Not as long as they keep seeking your touches and demanding your attention.

Then, there’s Giselle, whose mouth would always wander in places she wasn’t supposed to, be it with a brush of her lips on your ears as she claimed the music was too loud for you to hear her, or the knee that somehow was always pressing onto your cunt, whenever you sat on her lap during guitar lessons.

Possessive but soft. Suffocating, yet still caring and attentive. That’s how she was, how the four girls were. You hated how much they were made for you. How addicting their touches were, and how weak you are for them. It no good, and you shouldn’t, but you’d do anything to have them.

“You’re mistaken if you think we’re going to let you, Y/n. Not after all those years.” She tells you, with a serious face as she gives your waist a tight squeeze. “You’re bounded to us by now. So you can forget that Saerom girl. We’re bigger than her in the industry, and I fucking swear we’re going to ruin her and her group’s life for touching what’s ours. Do you understand?”

Her final words seem to snap you out of your high. You roll your eyes, pushing her out of the stall as you rush out of the restroom, gathering your stuff in record time. You fail to see the guitarist running after you as you leave the cozy café, which is a relief.

All you want at the moment is some peace.

Although it was rather clear that luck wasn’t on your side. While you were with Aeri, it had started pouring, the wind ricocheting droplets of water like small needles crippling on your skin. You curse your past self, who had dressed for a warm day, walking even faster when a loud honk prevents you from cursing any further.

You turn around to see Giselle’s Honda Type R following your steps. She’s watching you closely, with her windows rolled over and one hand on the wheel.

“Don’t be too stubborn,” Giselle tells you. Your teeth are clenched and you shiver under your clothes. Her attentive eyes follow your every move, well aware you’re cold; you’ve always been sensitive, after all.

It’s thundering, you don’t have an umbrella and most important— you’re many things, but stupid isn’t one of them. With a deep sigh, you open the passenger’s seat, sinking into the seat while refusing to pay her as much as a quick look.

The trip to your house is silent. None of you speak, even though Giselle clearly wants to. Her knuckles turn white from the amount of strength she places on the wheel, and it’s her turn to pout, shaking her head in disapproval. Truthfully, the girls know you’re right: they don’t own you.

They’ve grown spoiled to having your full adoration for so long they forgot it was a privilege rather than a demand. It’s something they reflected about, after you abandoned them backstage on their comeback show. About how little they actually knew about you, and how little effort they put into trying to.

Sure, you were aggressive, stubborn and undeniably irritating, but Karina, Giselle, Minjeong and Winter have always corresponded your actions with twice as much fire, no matter how much they complained. They craved it, craved you.

Despite the deadly silence, you arrive home rather quickly. Not a word was exchanged during the trip— Giselle wouldn’t dare apologize, and you’re nearly sure you’d run her over with that fancy car of hers if she tried to provoke you. You close the Honda’s door so loudly the entire car roars. Still, you don’t mind. More than that: you don’t even pay her a glance, playing into her games a little too much. It’s a simple one: if you look back, you lose. And you’d never lose.

So she watches you go, wondering why the distance you’ve placed between you bothers her so much.

[molinaskies]

Silver the Hedgehog: Refugee of a Future Lost to Time

I don’t find myself thinking about Silver a lot, and that’s a bit of a crime honestly. But when I do, I’m struck by how in the weeds I become about his existence. Silver the Hedgehog starts as a young boy with psychokinesis* born into a world on fire. He wants to fix it but doesn’t know how.

*worth mentioning here that while Lore™️ consistently refers to Silver’s power as psychokinesis (the ability to control minds and conjure specific actions from people), his powers in practice are actually much more aligned with the definition of telekinesis (the ability to control objects and manipulate their movement in space).

He despairs with Blaze over the life they live and the nerve-ending cycle of it all, then meets a mouthless hedgehog who claims to have all the answers. In his desperation, Silver clings to the sliver of hope he provides… and this is something I think we often find ourselves forgetting.

Silver never had the power to travel through time—at least, not independently. Mephiles did. Later on, the game establishes that two people can open a time portal through the power of our favourite plot device, the Chaos Emeralds, via Chaos Control.

Through Contrivance’s Paradise, Silver (and company) were just… able to time travel because that’s what the plot needed, but Silver, as an individual, never had the embedded power to travel through time.

I’m still endlessly annoyed that this anniversary game didn’t shoehorn an excuse to bring back the time stones from Sonic CD, but alas.

Silver was barely a figment in the canon imagination after Sonic 06. His appearances in Rivals are just excuses to reintroduce him into the series (because, remember, Sonic 06 removes itself from the timeline by the end of its story), and his appearances there don’t mention his time travelling at all. He appears (for kinda no explainable reason) in Generations, but then… nothing! Absolutely nothing… for FIVE YEARS.

And yet, in 2025’s mainline canon, Silver is just the Time Traveler™️. Since Sonic 06 never happened, the nature of Silver’s time travel beyond Sonic 06 has always been vague, at best. 

The running logic seems to be that Silver, through no intentional act of his own, is sent into the past when something catastrophic needs to be stopped. Silver is a being somehow tied to the fate of the world. Silver has been chosen by Time itself to protect it… which is something I kind of love, to be honest.

If Sonic is just a hedgehog who showed up one day and decided to do good, then Silver is a sort of divine guardian of his travels.

It’s taken canon a bit of time to settle into this interpretation, but the IDW comics have taken pretty much any opportunity they can to establish this fact as fact.

In issue 3 of the Sonic Forces prequel comics, Silver returns from the future to warn Knuckles about the Eggman Empire’s success, which implies that Silver has some sense of control over his time travel.

In mainline IDW 8, Silver returns to the present after winning the war didn’t save his future, under the same pretense that he can just… do that.

However, by the end of the Meal Virus comic arc (IDW 12-29), in a pretty monumental move for his story, Silver’s future is officially saved.

IDW 31

Now, having done the damn thing and guaranteed a Good Future™️, Silver is free to be a kid again… and for his efforts, as I intend to argue, Time rewards him…

…by sending him back to the past where all the bullshit is happening lmao. Hear me out.

In the IDW Sonic 2022 annual, Silver returns to the present, but this time he has no idea why or how*. This is when canon decides to remove the pretense of Silver having active control of his time traveling. It’s largely implied that Silver will be in the present for the foreseeable future (no pun intended).

*I’ve included the proof for this below as it’s more directly relevant to another point I’m making in a moment.

With the inauguration of Fast Friends Forever, the SEGA initiative that champions friendship through a lore-centric focus on Sonic and his friends in and out of the games, Silver’s time travel is explicitly explained as external to his control.

By IDW 58, Silver is roped back into the mainline plot, and it’s made abundantly clear that he no longer has  never had the ability to travel freely through time.

So, Silver’s arc becomes about finding his place and trying to live life without the demand of proactivity—to enjoy the moment while making the most of the life he has.

But… why? Why must he do this? Why take him down this road?

Silver the Hedgehog starts as a young boy with psychokinesis born into a world on fire. That world no longer exists.

Silver the Hedgehog became a young boy with psychokinesis born into a world dominated by the Eggman Empire. That world no longer exists.

Silver the Hedgehog further became a young boy with psychokinesis left behind by a world decimated by metallic disease. That world no longer exists.

With every trip to the past, every day saved, Silver rewrites his own life for the sake of his world—so much so that there’s nothing for him when he returns. His entire world has changed. People he might have known before cease to exist as they once were.

When Silver saved his future, he sacrificed his place within it—because once he saved his future, his future ceased to exist. Instead, a new future curates itself in Silver’s absence because he wasn’t there to be a part of it.

Returning to the IDW 2022 annual:

It seems that Time has sent him back to the place—the time—he belongs… where he has unwittingly planted his roots.

Something which Espio so elegantly points out.

Thanks to his sacrifices, Silver is no longer the Omen of Disaster. He’s Silver the Hedgehog: the psychokinetic. Silver the Hedgehog: the kid.

He is Silver the Hedgehog: Refugee of the Future, and he deserves nothing more but to blossom in the garden of most significance to him, among the flowers he loves so dear.

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

support for palestine | masterlists | joel miller masterlist

PAIRING: JOEL MILLER X FEMALE READER

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+ MDNI) | WORD COUNT: 2.1k

SUMMARY

Joel wants to go camping for his fiftieth birthday. He makes it worth your while. Part of the Cruel Summer series, but can be read as a oneshot.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

This is my (late) entry for the Summer Lovin' Challenge hosted by @chaotic-mystery , @pedgito , and @amanitacowboy. This prompt had me spiraling with like five different drafts but in the end, it actually got me thinking of Cruel Summer, which is one of the first fics I wrote for this fandom and holds a very special place in my heart. If you've read that fic, I hope you enjoy this little glimpse into their lives. Please consider leaving a comment or reblogging 💕

WARNINGS

explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), established relationship, age gap (35F and 50M), able bodied reader, no use of y/n, camping as a plot device, brief mentions of their relationship history as written in cruel summer, semi-public sex - tent, vaginal fingering, oral - female receiving, unprotected p in v, creampie, dirty talk, pet names. please let me know if there are any that i missed!

When you agreed to go camping, you didn’t think it would be this miserable.

“Joel, where’s the bug spray?” You call from inside the tent. “I’m getting eaten alive out here!”

“It’s ’cause you’re so sweet, darlin’,” Joel replies. He pokes his head inside the tent flap. “Try the side pocket.”

You check the pocket in question, mumbling under your breath as you finally locate the bug spray. Joel backs up to allow you outside to douse yourself in the spray until you’re coughing from the fumes. When you’re done, you hand the bottle to Joel with a glare. He grins at you.

“Think you might have missed a spot,” he jokes, spraying himself with a more conservative amount.

“Very funny,” you reply. “Is it time to go home yet?”

“Not even close.” 

You groan. “Fine. What do we do now?”

“We enjoy what nature has to offer.”

“We could have done that with air conditioning. Have you watched Animal Planet?”

Joel reaches for your hand, pulling you close and wrapping his arms around you. “I know it ain’t your idea of a vacation, but it’ll be fun. I’ll make it worth your while,” he says, his hands sliding down your back until they rest on your ass. He gives one cheek a rough squeeze that makes you gasp. “If you behave.”

“Define behave,” you reply. He laughs, head thrown back with the force of it. 

“As little whinin’ as you can manage,” he says.

“I’ll do my best.”

“That’s my girl.”

You kept your word throughout the hike Joel leads you on, only complaining about the hills once. It all becomes worth it when you break through the tree line and find yourself on a cliff overlooking the canyon below, the scene so picturesque it takes your breath away. 

“It’s so pretty,” you say, breathless from the view and the hike in equal measure.

“Sure is,” Joel replies, but when you turn to look at him, you find he’s watching you. The attention makes you feel warm and giddy. “Was it worth the bugs?”

“Maybe. Jury’s still out,” you tell him. He wraps an arm around your waist and presses a kiss to your temple.

“Thanks for comin’ out here with me.”

You kiss him back, his beard rough beneath your lips. “Of course. It’s not every day you turn fifty.”

“Don’t remind me.”

When you first met Joel twelve years ago, he’d been hired by your parents to work on their house while they were off on a cruise and you were home from college for the summer. The start of your relationship was rocky at best but now the two of you have managed to build a life together despite the early hurdles. 

“Let’s get back to the tent before it gets too dark,” he suggests, bringing you back to the present. “I got a surprise for you.”

“Is the surprise your—“

“Don’t be a little devil,” Joel says, cutting you off as you laugh.

Back at the campsite, Joel drags the cooler out of the tent and opens it, gesturing to the contents like he’s on a game show. Inside you see a stack of chocolate bars, a box of graham crackers and a bag of marshmallows. 

“Are we making s’mores?” You ask, unable to hide your glee. 

“Yep. But first, you’re goin’ to build a fire.”

You stare blankly at him. “Come again?”

“I’ll make sure you do,” he says with a wink. 

“I can’t build a fire.”

“You can’t build a fire yet. I’ll teach you. Come on, let’s find some kindling.”

Joel leads you around the campsite, helping you collect dry twigs and leaves. At the fire ring, he guides you through the steps of setting up the tinder before handing you a box of matches. You strike a match and attempt to get the kindling to catch, but the flame almost reaches the tips of your fingers before it can and you drop the match in panic.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep that up,” Joel says. 

“Then why don’t you help me?” 

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Despite his joke, Joel kneels beside you and takes the matches from your hand, lighting one. He holds the flame to one of the dry leaves in the pile and once it catches, he leans in to gently blow into the building flame until it’s strong enough to sustain itself. He leans back and gives you a smug smile that makes you roll your eyes. 

“There. Now you’ve built your first fire,” he says. 

Joel brings the cooler and the roasting skewers he packed over to the fire and begins arranging the supplies on a plate while you sit nearby on the log bench. You tip your head back to look up at the sky, the last remnants of the sunset fading and the stars beginning to blanket the inky darkness. There’s a tranquility out here you’re not used to, not with your busy schedule at the hospital and the chaos of having a teenager and a pre-teen at home. 

Joel taps your shoulder for your attention and hands you a roasting fork loaded with a jumbo marshmallow on the tip. You take it from him and lean closer to the fire, sticking the marshmallow straight into the blaze.

“That’ll burn it,” Joel warns, keeping his further away.

“They’re better crispy,” you argue. When the marshmallow catches fire, you pull it back out and let it burn for a moment, watching the exterior turn black before you hastily blow out the flame.

“That just ain’t right.” Joel continues to slowly roast his, turning the fork periodically. 

The two of you spend a few hours enjoying the s’mores and each other’s company. When the fire dies down and you run out of supplies, you lean your head against Joel’s shoulder.

“You ready to admit that campin’ ain’t that bad?” Joel asks. 

“I don’t know. I could still use a little convincing,” you reply, lifting your head to look at him.

His warm, broad palm settles on the back of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss that makes your toes curl. It’s slow and deep, none of the rush you feel back at home because the pace of your lives calls for it. This moment, under the stars and in front of the fire, has you feeling like you’re twenty-three again, jumping head first into what would be the best decision of your life.

You’re breathless when Joel pulls away and brings his hand to your cheek, his thumb swiping across your kiss swollen lips. 

“Why don’t you go get comfortable in the tent for me and I’ll take care of puttin’ out the fire?” He suggests. 

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” you reply, standing up so quickly you nearly knock your husband off balance. He smacks your ass as you turn to leave and the sound of his laughter follows you into the tent.

Once inside, you turn on the little battery powered lantern Joel hung up and find your bag, rifling through the contents for the lingerie you brought along for the trip. You quickly strip yourself of your clothing from the day and change into the matching set before settling on the pile of sleeping bags with your feet towards the entrance.

You hear the zipper on the tent flap and your heart races as Joel comes into view, pausing to look his fill and whistling lowly. He crawls inside, hovering over you on his hands and knees.

“All this for me?” He asks, ducking his head down to kiss your collarbone. “How’d I get so lucky?”

“You just couldn’t keep your hands to yourself,” you joke. Joel laughs, warm hand cupping your breast and his fingers pinching your nipple through the fabric. Your back arches at the sensation.

“Some things never change.” 

Joel’s lips meet yours in a languorous kiss that pulls little moans from you as it progresses into something heated and urgent. You’re arching beneath him, demanding more touch, more attention, and he’s never been one to turn you down. One of his hands traces the length of your body until his fingers dip beneath the elastic of your underwear, immediately tracing through your wet heat.

“Goddamn,” Joel says, voice dark and eyes darker with lust. “Already so wet for me, huh?”

It’s not a question to be answered, not when he dips two fingers inside of you and curls them with an expert precision that makes you gasp. His thumb circles your clit each time his fingers draw back. 

“So pretty,” he murmurs. “Always so fuckin’ pretty.” 

He keeps the perfect rhythm with his fingers until you’re gasping his name and he’s talking you through your release with whispered praise and dirty words. When you’re boneless and breathless, he withdraws his hand and lifts it to your face, pressing his fingers to your lips. You open your mouth and he slips the digits against your tongue, the distinct taste of yourself exploding across your tastebuds.

“That’s it, sweetheart, clean ‘em up,” Joel commands. His eyes are fixed on you as you obey, his jaw tense as you put on a show for him, licking and sucking his fingers like you would his cock. 

Joel pulls his hand away and makes quick work of removing your underwear, sliding the fabric down your thighs and tossing it aside. He spreads your legs wide enough to settle on his belly between them, face inches from your now bare pussy. 

He kisses the inside of one thigh, then the other, repeating the attention until he’s so close to where you desperately need him that you can feel the warmth of his breath and you shiver in anticipation. When the heat of his mouth envelopes your sensitive clit, the sudden stimulation has you thrusting your hips against his face. His grip tightens on your thighs, holding you in place as he lavishes your cunt with messy attention.

You reach down to tangle your fingers in his dark hair, the strands now streaked with more gray than they have been in the past when you’ve been in this exact position. Joel groans against you, the vibration making you whimper and beg for more, more, more.

He’s a man on a mission, not stopping for breath or pausing to tease and taunt you with pet names and dirty words. His tongue circles your clit in broad strokes that has another wave of release cresting and crashing over you in record time. Your thighs shake in his grip and your fingers tighten in his hair to a point that you know must be painful but you just don’t care, and neither does he.

Your muscles finally relax and that’s when he sits up, frantically unbuttoning his flannel shirt with uncoordinated fingers and wrestling his boots and jeans off with equal fervor. His cock stands at attention and your mouth waters at the view, the thick head flushed and glistening with precum. You’re close to offering an equal exchange, his mouth on you for your mouth on him, but he has other ideas.

Joel’s hands paw at your hips, turning you over so that you’re flat on your belly. You lift your head to look over your shoulder as he shoves your right leg up with a bend at your knee, baring your pussy for him. He settles between your legs and takes himself in hand, running the head of his cock through the mess he’s made of you.

“You ready, baby?” He asks, slipping himself inside of you the tiniest bit, just enough to feel the stretch of him and want more. “Tell me you’re ready.”

“I’m so ready,” you moan, lifting your hips to take him in deeper. He wraps both hands around your bare hips as he sinks inside of you with one smooth thrust that leaves you gasping.

Joel lowers his body on top of yours, his chest to your back and his lips on your shoulder as he starts to thrust his hips, the angle deep and perfect on every slide inside of you and his cock dragging against your g-spot each time he draws back. He takes his time using your body for your shared pleasure and you relish the way he’s taken over every one of your senses.

“Gonna come,” he murmurs against your neck before biting at the skin over your pulse. You tighten around him and he groans, hips growing erratic in their movements. It’s only a few more sloppy thrusts before his hips are pressing tightly to your ass and he goes still, warmth flooding you as your pussy clenches around his cock.

You whine at the loss when Joel pulls away but he’s quick to return with a wet wipe that he uses to clean you up a bit before settling back down beside you. You rest your head on his chest and his fingers trace patterns on your shoulder as the sweat cools on your skin. 

“You ready to admit campin’ ain’t so bad?” Joel asks. 

“Consider me convinced.”

[ironunderstands]

Dr. Ratios predictions, theories and ideas I have for his lore BECAUSE SO MUCH HAS HAPPENED AND I AM INSANE ABOUT HIM AAAAAAA

‼️INCLUDES DISCUSSION OF LEAKS SO BE WARNED‼️

So, I’m sure if you like Dr. Ratio even a little bit or have kept up with what leakers are doing, you have heard of a little something.

That little something being our new planet in coming in 3.0 is Ancient Greece inspired 

Oh boy.

And oh it gets better, thanks Sparkle for playing genderbend Ratio during Cosmoddesy because 

Yup, this is his planet.

I’m well aware it will be like 7 months before we start getting proper leaks about this place, but for now, let’s do some speculation shall we, because if there’s anywhere we are gonna get his backstory/lore/a story centered around him, it will be here.

So let’s begin 

Whatever the hell I think is gonna happen during 3.0

A) He will serve as a guide for the Astral Express in navigating this planet 

I don’t think he will immediately go to them to help, or they will immediately seek out him, but rather coincidentally or through the connivence of circumstance he will end up helping lead us around, at least partially until we really get roped into a conflict.

Or, it’s the other way around, where we kinda are left to our own devices a bit and then something happens and either by his own decision or something that’s forced upon him, Dr. Ratio now has to supervise from now on.

Personally I find the second option way more interesting and I think it has way more potential for angst so I’m going with that one let Ratio be dragged around by a malicious entity or his own experiences I’m so here for it. 

B) Something happens.

Wow, descriptive. 

Ok, what I really mean is that something bad happens like a prophecy comes true or the express breaks something or a stellaron comes to eat people’s grandmas and Ratio is implicated in it. 

And this is where the fun begins, as the nature of what this something is can completely shift the story in very interesting ways.

Perhaps he was prophesied to doom Amphoreous’s civilization with his presence or something, and was abandoned by his parents on another planet?

Perhaps he has connections to the leaders there who desired for him to be their puppet/tool, so he left to find his own path and now they are trying to force him back.

Perhaps he failed at a test of theirs when he was younger, some universal trait on the planet that he couldn’t live up to and was exiled because of it. Now that he’s back, they blame whatever bad thing happens on Ratio. 

I actually really like these particular theories as Ratio has a lot of themes about creating your own destiny, so seeing him resist one forced upon him would be compelling. Moreover, I feel as though an arc demonstrating how exactly he wanted to become a Genius/where he got all his insecurities and motivations from is not only necessary for his character but would flesh out the way we see the path of Erudition in general, even if I already really like the way they have gone with it so far. 

C) Resolution/Self acceptance 

I doubt they will permanently kill him, it just doesn’t suit his character at all.

However, do I think is he gonna get messed up by whatever that “something” is? Yes. 

If the story centers on this remains to be seen, honestly, I doubt it will considering we have the entire cast of the planet and its own lore to meet and learn about, but I do think Ratio will be a major player and I hope how he feels gets some of the plot’s focus as we have quite literally only have 1 full scene of him where we see who he truly is, and it’s all the way back in 1.6 (Ratio-Screwllum conversation my Roman Empire). 

Like guys I needed this man bleeding out screaming dying crying throwing up clutching his wounds looking up at the screen like a kicked puppy losing all hope in himself and others YESTERDAY 

I NEED SOMETHING BAD TO HAPPEN TO HIM FOR CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT AND BECAUSE RATIO IS SO HIGH STRUNG THAT ANY AMOUNT OF PRESSURE WILL CAUSE HIM TO SNAP SO PLEASE HOYO LET HIM BREAK!!!

He needs another scene where he’s being sincere, he needs a scene where he’s being vulnerable, Ratio’s marble facade needs to crumble to reveal the man underneath and I need that man to pick himself back up again knowing he can allow himself to be human as well AAAAAAAAAA

His connections to Acheron 

If you have seen my other posts I have already talked about this at length, however the brainrot for this particular detail is all consuming so let me just demonstrate:

Dr. Ratio has the same philosophy as Acheron, an emanator of Nihility.

Look.

Essentially, they both believe that only in desperate situations will humans reach their full potential and begin to truly live for themselves. Moreover, they also both try and offer the tools to help people save themselves, Ratio with knowledge and Acheron with destroying the dreamscape, and that even if people can only become their true selves through struggle, it is the guidance and love of other people that will allow them to pick themselves up. 

Interestingly, pre-2.2 I also believed Ratio was walking the path of Nihility, due to how he engages with knowledge. That very viewpoint spawned from the 1.6 conversation I just showed you, as Ratio demonstrates to the audience that he does not care about knowledge in of itself, but rather the value it can bring to people.

Now, this sets him apart from the Genius Society members, who believe knowledge is inherently valuable and that it is what brings the universe meaning to them. Every person Nous has acknowledged has expressed this belief, which is why they were acknowledged and Ratio isn’t.

Before you say it, no, it’s not that he isn’t smart enough, quite the opposite actually.

Screwllum himself acknowledges his genius and time and time again are Ratios myriad of accomplishments brought up. In universe plenty of people believe he should have been instated into the society by now as well:

These are just the ones that implicate the society directly, as so many of Ratio’s character stories also mention just how accomplished he is.

Moreover, in 2.3 we are getting a new Sim Uni update made by Ratio himself, centered on humanity because of course it is, therefore he’s even smart enough to do the same things the GS members do, even collaborating with Screwllum to work on their favorite pet project.

So, what does this have to do with his lack of acknowledgment, and the path of Nihility?

I have established Ratio is smart enough and that he doesn’t view knowledge in the same way the other member’s do. Therefore, this difference in mindset is why Nous has never acknowledged him, because as much as Ratio thinks he is walking the path of Erudition, his personal philosophy and behaviors have never aligned with that, even if he thinks they do.

I mean, the man says it himself, even if he doesn’t realize the implications of it:

“The Path of Erudition has neither reason nor logic. While geniuses wander among the stars, the ordinary can’t even trace their footsteps.”

That is the path the Genius Society members walk, the path Ratio is criticizing in this sentence, the path he refuses to travel along himself, because what defines Ratio is that he will never leave the ordinary behind to stumble alone.

That is the path of Erudition.

And Veritas Ratio does not follow it. 

So what does he believe in?

Finding your own path. Forging your own future, in the face of a meaningless universe, that is the only thing we should do, the only thing we CAN do. 

“even a life marked by failure is a life worth living”

That’s what Ratio believes.

It doesn’t matter if the masses cannot escape their mediocrity, if they will never be geniuses, if their efforts will go unacknowledged, because the universe doesn’t care, therefore they shouldn’t either. There is no grand test, no final destination, no perfect goal people must attain.

Destiny is uncertain, and people’s fates are theirs to choose. 

Dr. Ratio believes people can still improve themselves, and that it doesn’t matter if people cannot reach the ceiling of knowledge, as they should still push themselves off the floor and stand up. 

He doesn’t think anything confines people from bettering themselves, and that it’s pointless to deliberate over whether one can achieve perfection or not, they should strive to improve themselves regardless and live their best lives because why not? Sure there’s nothing saying they can, but there’s also nothing saying they can’t, and in the face of a meaningless universe, devoid of purpose, one must create their own, and he dedicates his life to aiding others in realizing this.

Ironically, Ratio does not take his own advice. He can recognize the merits of the masses, but he cannot appreciate his own. Ratio is forever walking forward, but he cannot see the path ahead of him, or appreciate the lengths he has gone, the distance he has traveled, and the lives he has improved. 

Ratio spreads knowledge across the universe, believing that is what Nous desires, what the Erudition means, or rather should be, which is partly why he views himself as mundane, as a failure. 

Not just because he is as ordinary as any other person, but because Ratio thinks he hasn’t succeeded in his goal without Nous’s acknowledgement. I think he believes that he hasn’t done enough, that he isn’t smart enough, that he will never be good enough, therefore no matter what has happened, Ratio is doomed do be as mundane as everyone else, and his accomplishments will never be worth the gaze of the entity who inspired him to help others in the first place, as that’s what Ratio believes they would want.

However, helping others is not something Nous cares about, it’s something Dr. Ratio cares about. Even if he doesn’t understand or acknowledge it, Ratio’s accomplishments are meaningful, and he has walked his path further than most ever have. 

However, that path just isn’t the path of Erudition, it’s the path of Existence. 

Initially I believed it to be the Nihility, and in a way I’m not wrong, considering one must cross underneath the shadow of the Nihility to find the Existence, so in a way he is still approaching them.

However, as always, Acheron clarifies everything.

The Nihility envelops all, therefore it is meaningless. And before our final ending, our predetermined destiny (death), we have so many choices to make, therefore we should make them, as it makes both our life and death develop a completely different meaning.

As I have stated, this is what Ratio believes in, even if he attributes it to the Erudition, rather than the Nihility.

Ratio’s entire goal in life is to help others bring meaning to their lives and guide them in the right direction so they can begin to choose for themselves, using knowledge as his means to do so.

Which is exactly what Acheron does, “on the still waters of oblivion, I guide the wandering souls,” isn’t just a line she says because it sounds cool, rather, that is her goal as well. An emanator of Nihility, whose goal is to help others find their meaning in the universe. 

But Acheron doesn’t just want that. She is looking for the Existence, and to kill the Nihility (meaningless) forever.

Which is significant, because if Ratio believes the same exact thing she does, and is walking the same path as she is, then like Acheron, he is heading towards the Existence, not the Erudition.

And Nous will never acknowledge him, not because he isn’t smart enough, but because he never followed them to begin with.

In fact, we know what Ratio is, or rather, what he might end up becoming.

So far no Doctors of Chaos have succeeded in their goals, but perhaps Dr. Ratio, Dr VERITAS Ratio, will be the one to do so. After all, who else could it be but him?

How fitting that the man named after truth would be the one to find it.

That fuckass owl 

Glaux I want to throw you into a blender 

This is Professor Glaux, one of the figures from the Hanunue-Clockie Era of Penacony who did some things like bring the stellaron there, was a scholar of the Intellgenica Guild, became the first dreamweaver, inspired the paper birds, did some shit with the Nightingale Family and presumably died.

I know, horrible explanation, especially considering I haven’t even done the quest this guy is from, but hopefully that’s all the information you need for now so I can introduce you to this theory (which I did not create, sadly I don’t remember who did but it was someone on twitter somewhere so shoutout to them)

That being… Dr. Ratio is Glaux

I hate it I’m sorry. But I will attempt to explain where it’s coming from.

A) Glaux has very similar references to Ratio, aka they are both associated with Greek culture, wisdom and owls 

Glaux is the Greek word for owl and they are heavily associated with Athena, the god of wisdom.

Now Ratio has extremely obvious owl, Greek and wisdom association if you have looked at him for any longer than 2 seconds so I’m not gonna bother to demonstrate it, they have similar references, moving on.

B) The Intelligencia Guild + their titles 

They are from the same faction, and both are referred to as Professors (ratio gets called that more in the CN version I think), and at least Ratio dedicates his time to spreading knowledge, which I think is something Glaux shared.  

C) This occurrence in Gold and Gears

You know, the one where a student kills themself because Ratio thinks they are an idiot.

Well, it’s complicated because apparently the story told in Gold in Gears takes place a long time ago?? 

How long I don’t know as my brain melted in my skull when trying to piece it together, so please do correct me if I’m wrong, I’ll try to make sense of it later.

Moreover, this is also complicated by the fact that this particular occurrence was used by Herta to teach the trailblazer some mechanics of the sim uni, which makes me thing it’s not a part of the lore/timeline in it in general, and just something funny she added in anyways. Continually, there are also occurrences from characters like Argenti and of the Genius Society members themselves, so I don’t think every event is set in the distant past.

However, I think this idea comes from the other person in that occurrence, Dr. No5, but he also kills himself in it, and I can’t find anymore information on it, so I doubt it. (also apparently in the Chinese version the Ratio they refer to isn’t in the way they refer to Dr. Ratio/the one we know so idk)

Either way, what this means is that if this occurrence did take place a while ago, then Ratio must be super fucking old and he must have been part of the Intellegencia Guild during that time, like a certain owl aka Glaux, who was part of it.

D) Ratio’s weird origins

By weird origins I mean we know jack shit about his past (although we finally know the planet he’s from!) and for all we know the man could have spawned in one day, with some other theories even coming to that conclusion, like the infamous worm theory.

Essentially, if you put this all together, Ratio was once an owl-humanoid named Glaux who was from the Amphoreous, and then became part of the Intelligencia Guild a while back, which is when that occurrence happened. He then went to Penacony, did some stuff, faked his death and like came back as Dr. Ratio on that planet again, which is why we don’t know anything about his origins.

Can you tell why I hate this theory as a concept.

I find it to be dumb, nonsensical, a waste of potential and just straight up random as hell. However it is also objectively valid and could have happened within the plot of the game which is why I hate it so much because please hoyoverse do not go in this direction I will skin you.

However, I do not think Ratio has nothing to do with Glaux.

Rather,

A) The stuff Glaux did on Penacony is meant to parallel how Ratio acted there, as both served as a guiding figure for people on their respective timelines 

B) Ratio is the same species as Glaux/ they are from the same planet (Amphoreous).

Now this I fuck with heavily. Yes, Glaux is way more owl looking than Ratio is, however more human versions of his species could exist, and Ratio could just have the ability to like shift forms or something.

He also looks extremely similar to the owls on Ratios design, which I now deem it appropriate to show to you the metric fuck ton of owls in Ratios design.

(there’s a few more btw I just couldn’t fit them due to the image limit LMAOO)

Why do you have so many, and why is it the same fucking owl, same culture, same goddess referenced, same symbolism???? 

Like even if I hate the 1 : 1 Glaux-Ratio theory, they are clearly connected, and this is no accident on behalf of the developers. 

Therefore, I would keep an eye out for Glaux mentions in the future, especially on the planet coming in 3.0, as I 100% believe that they are from the same planet. There’s no way they can’t be connected in some manner, and if I am right about this I will be annoying about it for the rest of time. 

I can’t believe owl Ratio might actually be a reality. 

So uh, let’s put this all together.

We go to Ratio’s planet in 3.0, problems happen and we learn both his past and his connections to that owl species Glaux is from which likely causes even more problems. Bbg probably gets his ass handed to him in 3.0 and 3.1 and gets to make up for it in 3.2, ending the arc off more fulfilled as a person, and perhaps making some realizations about himself including that he isn’t actually following the path of Erudition. Then we skip all the way to endgame when the trailblazers are fighting Nanook and him and Acheron come in with the steel chair hopped up on Existence juice to give the trailblazer enough of a will to live as to not succumb to the Nihility because oh my god how can you defeat the embodiment of Destruction. We somehow win and Dr. Ratio gets married to Aventurine and they ride off into the sunset roll credits we all cheered. 

So, yeah.

If I’m even a little bit right about this I will be the most insufferable person on this planet. Anyways I hope you enjoyed reading this, and even if these theories don’t end up being true I do still think the speculation gives a lot of insight into his character.

[cherrybomb107]

Now that I know that the “writers room” for this season functionally didn’t exist, everything makes perfect sense now! So here are some things I would change if I had the chance

1. We’d have three seasons. Two seasons is just an awkward length for me in general, so 3 just seems like a sweet spot

2. We cut the soundtrack in half. We have 23 songs as of right now, so let’s have no more than 11-13 max. That’s not crazy for 9 episodes

3. Speaking of the soundtrack, there’d be more Black artists. Syd, Little Simz, Tyler the Creator, FKA Twigs, Yseult, JID, Akintoye, Brandy, Doechii etc all would’ve fit the vibe.

4. Last one about the music, I promise. It’d be quieter. I feel like the music was louder than the dialogue at some points, and it completely took me outta the scenes

5. Onscreen development! “Oh but they don’t have to spell everything out for us!” Cool! But wanting to SEE characters meaningfully interact does not fit the definition of “spoon feeding” or “spelling things out” in my book.

6. There would have been more foreshadowing that Maddie was a spy. It was obvious, but it also wasn’t set up properly.

7. Ekko wouldn’t have been sidelined for an entire act. His relationship with Vi would be present. Best believe I would give him the chance to cuss Vi and Caitlyn out for what they did as enforcers

8. Speaking of that, Vi would have wrestled with the decision to become one. Notice I said “decision” because it should’ve been her choice. Caitlyn had no right to guilt trip her and then strong arm her into becoming one

9. Vi would have fought with Caitlyn over her wanting to use The Gray. The Vi I know and love would not go so hard in rationalizing the use of it

10. Caitlyn would’ve gotten meaningfully redeemed. In order to do that tho, we would have to show the true weight of using The Gray and enforcing martial law in Zaun. Caitlyn would be forced to confront the harm she caused with her own eyes, and actually be genuine remorseful

11. Let Jinx be unhinged! I love my baby regardless, but I do agree she was defanged a bit this season. Let her kill more enforcers and act up in front of Isha before realizing where she is and what she’s doing. Let Jinx want to be better and then develop into the kooky version of herself she is in season two

12. Isha would be more than a plot device for Jinx’s story. Let Isha live on and be happy with Jinx. Killing her was just for shock value.

13. Part of the reason why I think Isha should live is so she gets to grow up in a better Zaun. A free Zaun. She deserves better. They all do.

14. The au episode would’ve been way different, cause it doesn’t makes sense for centuries of oppression to just magically go away all of a sudden because one kid(and a Zaunite kid at that) died.

15. More scenes of Sevika guiding Jinx in how to rally the troops and get ready to fight for their freedom

16. Ekko and Jinx reconciling because although there’s no shortage of bad blood between them, there is love buried deep in there somewhere too. Let Jinx be the main freedom fighter and have Ekko back her up today, so he and the Firelights can focus on community building and organizing tomorrow.

17. Jinx’s rocket should’ve killed more people. All the Councilors(sorry Shoola but you too girl) except Mel, Jayce, and Viktor should’ve died. Viktor and Jayce should’ve been in critical condition but Mel would’ve been fine.

18. Heimerdinger and Ekko’s relationship would be fundamentally different. He should NOT be cozying up with that little furball whose inaction is directly responsible for the current conditions in Zaun

That’s all that comes to mind for now, but yeah. It would’ve been a completely different story. What could’ve been for real 😭😭😭

[sapphiresaphics]

Here’s the thing. Arcane season 2 was finished being written back in 2020. It was completed before the first season of Arcane even aired on Netflix in the first place. Before they even knew if it was going to be a hit or not. Before any of the fans had hot takes about the characters.

Which means that all of these “new subplots” (such as the black rose) weren’t just added in on a whim. They have an intentional purpose in the story they’re trying to tell.

It also means that the pacing was always going to increase and become faster as the two seasons went on.

I think a lot of fans are coming at this show from the perspective of a lot of live action shows where the writers see how fans respond to certain things so they add them into the story or focus on fan favorites to grab your attention and keep you engaged. And live action shows can do this because they’re filmed relatively close to when the series airs and so they’re aware of what the reactions are on social media (for good or ill).

But this is animation. Very TIME CONSUMING animation at that. It took 4 years to finish animating the 9 episodes of Season 2. If you include the 6 years of development and production of Season 1, that’s almost a full DECADE of working on this show.

My point is that they literally (and logistically) can’t respond to fan input and make changes in the show based on the way it was received on social media. Like it or not, these specific characters beats and storylines were always the plan from the start.

This is a long winded way of trying to say… if you have problems with the way certain characters are behaving, or certain plot points feeling rushed, or feel overwhelmed by the number of added subplots that need to get resolved before the end of the show… I strongly suggest rather than saying the writing is “bad” or that the writers “don’t know what they’re doing” or just complain about anything really… I suggest you take a step back and ask yourself “why are these the stories and actions they chose for this 2 season arc?”

I think that’s a far more productive thing to do than to go online and whine about things you didn’t like. I find it’s better to try and understand WHY they chose to do these things rather than write them off. More often than not when you look into the why, or try to come up with reasons why the writers would take certain characters down the paths they do, you end up coming out appreciating the media more. Even if you still don’t were with their narrative choices, learning and understanding the WHY is far more rewarding I think.

I’ll give you an example of something I don’t like, but that I understand why. Isha. I don’t like that Isha was introduced and then killed off in the latest episode. If I were to look at it just from a surface level reading, it seems pointless to add this cute mute kid character only to take her away a few episodes later. But NARRATIVELY she’s extraordinarily important. She is what Jinx needed to become more empathetic to her sister and reach out to fix their family. She helps push Jinx into the role of Vander for season 2. And her heroically framed sacrifice is probably going to be the push Jinx needs to stop trying to commit suicide.

Would I have liked to see more of her and Jinx’s relationship? Yes. Would I liked to have learned more about where she came from and why she’s mute? Yes. But at the end of the day, this is not a show about Isha. Isha is a narrative device to help forward the character development of Jinx. And so, while I do not like that she sacrificed herself… I understand it. And that understanding helps me appreciate the writing and the level of depth the writers are willing to go to push their characters around where they need to be by the end of the series.

At the end of the day, Arcane is just another show on Netflix. It is not beyond criticism. There are a lot of legitimate criticisms you can have against the show. But I’ve found that recently the number of bad takes and people refusing to engage with the narrative has resulted in a bit of a backlash against the show and I do not think that’s ultimately very productive. Please… if you’re going to criticize the show, please try to do better than just write off anything you don’t like as “the writers just suck” or “they changed X character for no reason!”

Because I guarantee you, there IS a reason for everything in this show. No matter how small and trivial it might be, this show was put together with love and an extraordinary attention to detail. There are reasons for why characters do and say the things they say. The writers often make these into intentional parallels, foreshadowing, and callbacks.

Please… take the time to actually stop and dissect what you see. Even something upsets you. I implore you… try to understand why. Try to understand what the writers are saying. Try to understand how certain plot points and events could have a bearing on different characters.

Please just…. Try?

[bowie-boy]

House spoilers for pre season 7 (sorry this is gonna be long and maybe cause discourse)

The misogyny of House MD’s writing team needs to be studied. It is so damaging to the actual plot and structure of the show in a way that genuinely boggles my mind, and so immense that it gives the show a queer subtext I don’t think it was intended to have. This applies heavily to the way Alison Cameron is written but this post is largely about Lisa Cuddy.

Looking past fanon and subtext, Cuddy is such a poorly written character because of the misogyny of the writing team. What do we know about her character? She’s a mom, she’s a girlboss head of medicine, and she’ll do absolutely anything for House. I’m not saying that she’s not a strong woman—she’s great in stressful situations, she’s business-minded, and she has complex and interesting perspectives on situations within the show.

But she seems to exist entirely for House in a way a lot of the other characters don’t. This of course includes her physical appearance. Cuddy is always in tight, low cut clothing so House can make sexually inappropriate comments to her. Worse, she only acts disgusted by this, before smiling and giggling as soon as he walks away, implying that she liked his behavior and it’s okay.

But Cuddy’s character is so House-centric too. All her major relationships and life goals are seen through House’s eyes and manipulated for him, especially her relationship with Lucas. All her work in the hospital seems largely oriented to helping House, which is true of many characters, but she doesn’t have a rich inner life the way the others do. Her adoption of Rachel is kind of an arc, but falls into the background as soon as it becomes too inconvenient to deal with. She doesn’t have a meaningful relationship given a lot of screen time (Foreman and Thirteen, Chase and Cameron, Taub and his wife). She doesn’t have a deep personal issue to get over (Chase’s murder, Thirteen’s disease, Foreman’s fear of becoming House). She exists largely as a plot device and a sex object, which makes it so difficult for her relationship with House to have real weight.

Opposingky, Hilson is such a powerful ship in a way Huddy isn’t because Wilson is a fully fleshed out character. He has interests, flaws, arcs, character traits, etc. outside of House and is a character in his own right that interacts with House in a unique way. His and House’s relationship is more than flirting—it’s supporting each other, getting to know each other, and living their own lives. This makes their intimacy and dynamic so rewarding and fun in a way I personally don’t find Huddy to be. Yes, Cuddy is there for House when he’s struggling to quit Vicodin, but this doesn’t even prove to be real. They don’t share a meaningful relationship outside of work at all. House interacts more intimately with his ducklings than Cuddy in most episodes.

Cuddy takes House’s abuse like Wilson does, but I can’t understand why in the way I understand it with Wilson. There seems to be no reason why she keeps getting pulled back to House other than that she’s a hot woman and he needs a female love interest. This is why the season six finale fell flat for me. Yes, House and Cuddy have chemistry, but their actual RELATIONSHIP is so underestablished.

Who are House and Wilson to each other outside of work? Roommates, best friends, bar buddies, etc. Who are House and Cuddy to each other outside of work? Nothing.

[twilightofthesandwiches]

So when discussing the ending of ‘Over the Garden Wall’ and the nature of the Unknown in general, I think it is important to remember that it’s left deliberately up for interpretation. You know, it’s not a Quiz with one concrete answer we must uncover, but it’s more about our interpretations and personal feelings. Each and every one of us experiences that journey with Wirt and Greg into the Unknown in a slightly different way. 

So what I want to do here is not present a Correct Interpretation that will dispute all the others and prove them all wrong and prove myself right, I just want to share my own outlook on the nature of the Unknown. In the hopes that others will like it and it’ll inspire more cool readings and interpretations

So on some level I do agree with the popular theory that the Unknown is some sort of Afterlife - but I don’t see it as a regular Afterlife for human souls, I think it is an afterlife for Stories. This place is where fictional characters and stories end up once they’ve been totally forgotten by the living, ‘lost in the clouded annals of history’. and become.... unknown It is quite literally a place where ‘long forgotten stories are revealed to those who travel through the wood’.

That’s why the Unknown is a mishmash of different time periods and primarily visually and narratively influenced by stuff like fairy tales, ghost stories, children’s books and old cartoons - these stories have a high-tendency to be forgotten and thus get lost in the Unknown (whatever it’s because they rely on oral traditions or because they suffered from very poor preservation historically). 

And that is what the theme song, ‘Into the Unknown’ is talking about…

Where can we pretend that dreams do come true? In Stories.

And what are ‘the loveliest lies of all’? Now that would be Fiction. 

The entire concept of stories is a huge theme of this song, I think.

Beatrice and her family, Adelaide of the Pasture, Auntie Whispers and Lorna were all originally fairy tales. Maybe the same fairy tale, or maybe they were originally separated before being ‘melded’ together. (If, for example, the last child to Remember them before they were forgotten just assumed the Bad Witch in both the Auntie Whispers and Beatrice stories was Adelaide)

Pottsfield was an old urban legend about a haunted ghost town, Wirt and Greg basically played through its ‘plot’ directly. 

Miss Langtree, the schoolhouse and the other associated characters come from a long-forgotten and out-of-print children’s book. That’s why those characters tend to talk in comically-stilted expository dialogue. 

The Tavern was the setting for a series of 20’s animated cartoons.  (Although obviously set long before that era). The Tavern Keeper was created as a Betty Boop clone and was the main character. The Tavern setting was probably a mere framing device for all sort of musical animations. The reason why none of them can comprehend the idea of not having some sort of Title or Label is because that’s how they were written - all given job-related titles but not named.

Fred the Talking Horse was a main character from a forgotten tradition of humorous oral stories where he was sometimes a trickstery anti-hero and sometimes a straight-up comedic villain protagonist.

Quincy Endicott and Margueritte Grey were characters from a satiric limerick about the greedy rich and their wacky habits. (Quincy was at least inspired by a real-life person since his name appears on a tombstone in the real world)

Possibly the same limerick where the punchline was the status-quo at the beginning of their OTGW ep, that both rivals’ mansions have become connected and they assume the other is a ghost haunting their house. Or maybe they were each from different regional variations of the same limerick about a greedy rich weirdo being lost in their own house and going mad. 

Frogland and their little boat might be from a children’s book as well, but I also think that maybe… from the vignettes shown at the opening of the series…

That one might take place outside the Unknown, and shows the real inception of Frogland. Two brothers making up stories with their toy boat by the river. Since they never shared these stories with anyone else, when these two brothers died or maybe just grew up and forgot their boyhood misadventures by the stream - these stories also ended up in the Unknown. 

The Fishing Fish we see briefly in ‘Babes in the Woods’ might be a small comedic illustration from a children’s book, or another piece of limerick, or just someone’s random notebook doodle that gained a life of its own first in the creator’s mind and then in the Unknown. 

Cloud City, the North Wind and the Queen of the Clouds were also, much like the Tavern, from a very old cartoon.

The Beast was once just a mere Boogie Man to keep young children from wandering off into the woods. Ending up forgotten in the Unknown just ended up giving him a whole world of lost souls to harvest. 

Maybe the Woodsman and his daughter were always a part of the story of the Beast. But since it seems that the Woodsman being a lantern-bearer is a fairly recent development - they might have had their own separate story. Some sort of pastoral novel about a family moving near the woods? But their narrative has been ‘hijacked’ by the Beast. 

Wirt and Greg ended up lost within the Unknown cause had they actually died in the lake that night - they would have become a Story in their town. I mean we have a moody lonely teenager and his adorable little brother disappearing/dying - on the night of Halloween - after last being seen in a graveyard - with the older brother’s last act on this earth being to hand his crush a cassette of his love poetry. Can you imagine what sort of Urban Legenda you can grow from those seeds?

But as they were not yet dead, and not a Story yet… so they were technically an Unknown story. Between the borders of life and death from a human perspective because they were about to die, and from a Story perspective because they were just about to be born.

And the ending sequence, with the little vignettes showing where all the characters from all the episodes ended up. I think that’s almost like Wirt and Greg back in the world of the living and the real - being able to create happy endings for all of those stories they've met. That’s how the Woodsman’s daughter ended up being alive all along - it was less that the Woodsman's whole tragedy was a wacky misunderstanding all along. But it became so as a gift of thanks by their new storytellers - Wirt and Greg.

Because if dreams can't come true, than why not pretend?

[ichimerapunk]

A thought regarding DPxDC fanfic authors who are looking for rational for why Danny can’t stay with his parents…

So there seems to be a few common plot devices used in DP x DC fanfics to rationalize why Danny can’t stay with his parents anymore. These include Danny’s parents being dead, they discover he’s a ghost and hate him for it, or Danny finds himself in a different universe (among others). All these devices have their own potential in adding to a story in many ways, but I’d like to offer another option.  

His parents don’t have to go nuclear on finding out Danny is half-ghost for things to become untenable.

In real life, even if a parent changes their tune and accept an aspect of their child for who they are… that doesn’t always mend relationships. Kids can still love their parents but feel unsafe or ill-at-ease around them even once their parents accept them. Parents can love their kids and accept them for who they are but feel guilt or feel awkward for past actions.

Even if what his parents did to Danny only amounted to attacking him as Phantom on occasion and openly talking about what they would do to him if caught back at home, that still has a lot of opportunity to strain relationships. (And if they did more than that… oh boy.)

That angle could be used to push for Danny seeking out other living accommodations, with or without his parents’ input. They don’t have to be going nuclear for Danny to have to/want to leave.

Another possibility if someone was looking for a little bit less acceptance but still not gun’s blazing hatred, they could be taking a “head in the sand, it doesn’t exist if I don’t acknowledge it” approach.  Which has its own host of damages to a relationship.

This isn’t against the angle of “The Fentons don’t accept Danny as Phantom with prejudice and violence” (plenty of fics I have liked used it). I just wanted to throw out an alternative on the chance someone hadn’t considered the possibility and might like it.

Just some thoughts to throw out there.

[mareastrorum]

Just laying on the ground thinking about Dune.

The reason that worms are the source of spice necessary for space travel is because the key theme is that power is derived from living things. It’s not some rock mined from the planet; it’s a byproduct of a unique species that cannot survive in environments that are more hospitable to the colonists. The Fremen had adapted to Arrakis, not the other way around, until Liet Kynes came along. An ecologist with an agenda to make paradise, convinced that a balance could be struck where humans could have little sections of Arrakis made perfect for humans, without taking too much from the worms.

It’s the reason that nukes are only really relevant in the plot in the context that they will specifically destroy the worms. It’s the reason that anti-atomic shielding is in the story in the first place. The characters don’t worry about a potential human death toll of using nukes; it’s that they could destroy a living source of power. It mirrors the twisted political framing of loss of life as a tragedy, not because they were people, but because the power (social, religious, monetary, military, etc) they provided is lost as a resource.

Then the worms begin to die off because Paul’s execution of plan of course had consequences, and Leto II decided to preserve power by becoming the source himself. Paul saw the same vision and refused to do it once he accepted that there was no way to avoid the cost. Leto II became physically, religiously, socially the sole source of power in the universe and insisted to all that it was the only way for humanity to survive. It was the only way for that scale of power to survive: to become a god.

The reason this is a post-AI society is to emphasize that all these decisions and predictions were made by people. The audience doesn’t get to blame computer error. It’s not a non-living thing at fault. We don’t get to say that the weapons got out of control. None of these were an instance of “right idea, wrong ______”. Wrong method, wrong execution, wrong device, wrong time, etc. The point is that the idea of hoarding power—creating an empire to control people—is wrong.

Power comes from living things, and here’s all the ways that is a tragedy.

[pascalcampion]

Winslow Homer 1836-1910. American

When I see an unfinished sketch, or an image that feels drawn by a hand, I experience beauty. I don’t know why. I think it is beauty. It is a feeling I appreciate. I want to hold on to that feeling, Or at least draw it out. It feels like a musical note that doesn’t end. It’s dynamic, not static. It feels pure but I am not sure why. Is the experience of the emotion detached from the image? It needs to be right? Otherwise, everybody would be feeling that same emotion. So,what is it? What is it about a drawn line that makes people feel that,

I look at Homer’s watercolors and I am always caught off guard by that feeling of beauty and awe. Is it the fact that I see a boat, I feel the heat,I sense the passage of time and yet, I am fully aware that my brain is deceiving me? That I am not seeing any of it but just imagining it? I wonder if I read his work through my knowledge of life and that is what creates the feeling of beauty?

Homer's work helped me realize that a body of work is a conversation the artist is having with themselves. Exploring the world and trying to make sense of what is important to them. Homer’s work starts with illustration of war and nostalgic life style images. As he progresses in life, the need for plot devices fades away. It frees his mind to focus on what keeps drawing back to art. Homer still paints everyday scenes but the emphasis is on the relationship between nature and man. The power of one, the place of the other. No commentary, just observations

Themes that were present in his earlier work but hiding by the needs of traditionally accepted beauty, the works that sell. The funny thing is that Homer was broke for most of his life. He only became comfortable in his mid fifties when he would focus on these conversational paintings. Technically,his work gets better, pictorially, it becomes simpler, more bare. There is something reassuring and inspiring about Homer's path. The older he got, the stronger his work became. It seems to go against the thought that artists are like athletes. They go through their heyday first and live to remember them. Homer's path is more like a wine that gains in character as it ages.

[azus-reyan]

Top 5 writing strengths you can't miss out on.

Target Audience

Everything bellow this point means nothing if your writing doesn’t reach “your kind of people”. 

If your words are your career, knowing your readers is beyond important. Selling your story to the right person is the difference between making a living and starving outside.

Your story is a product of entertainment or enlightenment for your reader. If you’re not writing for yourself, you're writing to entertain. And every letter and word is for them, so know them, be with them, and never take your eyes off them.

Powerful writing voice 

Your voice is what makes people think, ‘Hey, I know this guy.’ 

I will never read a paragraph of Charles Dickens and not say, ‘Yep, that’s him.’

You can copy Charles Dickens or Scott Fitzgerald, but it’s always better to find your own voice. It’s more fitting and natural to you than another’s voice. Kind of like choosing your wand versus stealing it from another witch or wizard in Harry Potter.

Heavy vocabulary

It’s not about having a rich vocabulary, because that’s too vague. It’s not about knowing specific keywords because that’s too narrow. It’s about being a walking, talking thesaurus.

A writer, above all others, must know words like: Peregrinate, Limerence, Bumfuzzle, Defenestration, or Quixotic.

It’s not enough to know their meaning. You seek their origin. You become an etymologist. 

How do you stockpile words? Memorizing the dictionary from A to Z is a start. If not, read fiction. Why not non-fiction as well? I’ve begun reading journals recently and have found wonderful style, voice, and words within them.

So, take care of wide reading and read twice or thrice more than your non-writer friend.

Varying sentence lengths

Humans are obsessed with change.

Surprise: Your readers are human. 

Do you love long sentences like I do? Good, but remember to sandwich some short ones in there every now and then. Perhaps you love short ones? They’re great, but a long sentence wouldn’t be so bad. 

Try to vary your breath to keep yourself in check. Take four breaths when writing a short sentence, and exhale for seven thoughtful seconds for longer ones. Use your breath as a pacemaker.

literary devices

I’m going to take a wild guess that you want your stories to be engaging. If so, meet your new best friends: literary devices.

They will help describe your plot, pop out your setting, and build characters to weep and die for. And there's a device for almost all your needs. 

There is: Metaphor, simile, litotes, assonance, and alliteration. There’s Foreshadowing, flashback, allegory, and symbolism. And that’s a small mention.

The more you know them and the deeper your familiarity with each device, the more likely you’re to make a master storyteller. 

There’s more to writing strengths than these. But they're the most important ones to focus on. I don’t promise literary fame rivaling Cervantes or Melville. I will, however, guarantee that your writing will improve.

Your story will grab more eyes, and maybe you'll have a shot at being recognized for your efforts and creativity. 

The question is, are you willing to pay the price of time, blood, and sweat? 

Adue, until next time.