#or is he just a boring character to write for?

[avengxrz]

the fool outranks the golden boy ; jake "hangman" seresin x reader [part one]

pairings: jake seresin x reader

word count: 18.2k (i'm sorry, i got carried away)

summary: you had it bad, like really bad for jake seresin. back in college, you did his homework, brought him coffee, smiled through humiliation like it meant something, fooled yourself into thinking he’d glance your way and actually see you. but he never did. not really. now, years later, you're standing in front of him again, not as the girl who worshipped the ground he walked on—but as the woman who outranks him. how the hell did the fool end up outranking the golden boy?

warnings: emotional manipulation, unresolved tension, slow burn, power imbalance (then reversal), humiliation, angst, college flashbacks, mild academic bullying, reader is hopelessly naive at first, jake is an asshole, later guilt, crying, confrontation, slap scene, reader character growth arc, mentions of absent family, found power, military setting, hangar tension, dagger squad chaos, and one (1) dangerously attractive commander with a grudge.

notes: ugh tumblr's word count limit is so unserious for a fic like this, like let me be dramatic in peace?? anyway this will be a three-part story because there's too much tension, pain, and ego to contain in just one post. if i disappear it's because i’m fighting the character limit and tumblr’s formatting demons. pray for me.

part two

masterlist

your callsign is rogue.

You had it bad.

The kind of bad that made your heart pick up speed just from the sound of his voice echoing down the hallway. The kind of bad that made you memorize his coffee order before he ever asked, the way he liked his breakfast tacos, the exact moment in the semester when he’d start asking for your notes in Social Studies—again. He was all sun and swagger, a boy carved from the sky with that easy smile and reckless charm, and you were twenty and stupid and floating somewhere just beneath his orbit, close enough to feel warm. Never close enough to matter.

Jake Seresin wasn’t just a crush. He was a curriculum.

And God, you studied. You showed up. You took mental notes on his laugh patterns and the way he tapped his pen when he was bored in class. You offered to “help” with his required literature essays, even though helping usually turned into you writing the entire thing while he sat back in his chair, arms crossed, watching you with that annoying little half-smirk like he knew. He always knew.

“You’re a lifesaver, sunshine,” he’d say, tossing you a grin like a bone. Sometimes he'd ruffle your hair, which made your stomach flip like it was some grand act of affection instead of thoughtless habit. Sometimes he’d sit a little too close when you were going over the assignment, smelling like cologne and peppermint gum, leaning over your shoulder as if he actually cared about the difference between metaphor and metonymy. He didn’t. But you still pointed it out, even circled it in a red pen for him.

And when he got a B+, he winked at you and said, “Told you I didn’t need that Shakespeare crap to fly jets.” You laughed. You always laughed. Like a fool.

You didn’t mind doing his work. You didn’t mind when he forgot your birthday but showed up to your dorm two weeks later with a Red Bull and a “my bad.” You didn’t even mind when he flirted with other girls right in front of you—because it didn’t mean anything. Not really. Not to him. But maybe, if you were patient, it could mean something someday.

You told yourself he was just bad at feelings. You told yourself he was focused on his career, that you were helping, supporting, part of his story. You told yourself that being near him was enough.

You lied a lot, back then. Especially to yourself.

You remembered the first time he called you kid. You had just pulled an all-nighter to finish his paper—some half-assed assignment about American foreign policy and its effect on colonial literature that he should’ve started a week ago. You handed it to him in the quad, tired but glowing, waiting for a thank you or maybe, just maybe, a hug. He barely looked up from his phone.

“Man, what would I do without you, kid?” he said, clapping a hand on your shoulder like you were one of the guys. One of the boys. Not a girl who wore her prettiest sweater that day just in case he noticed. Not a girl who memorized his class schedule and purposely bumped into him outside his seminar. Just kid. You smiled anyway, too dizzy with hope to notice how sharp the word was, how much it stung under the surface.

And he never said your name. Not really. Not the way you said his when you whispered it into your pillow at night, soft like a secret. He called you sunshine when he needed a favor, professor when he didn’t feel like studying, kid when he was feeling lazy. It wasn’t cruel. Not technically. But it always made you feel a little smaller, a little sillier, a little more like a side character in your own goddamn story. And still, you held onto it like it meant something.

You remembered how he’d brag about you in front of his friends—“She’s basically a genius,” he’d say, draping an arm over your chair as you hunched over your laptop, typing his paper. “I swear, I just let her talk and I sound smarter by association.” They’d laugh. He’d laugh. And you? You’d blush so hard you thought your ears would catch fire. You told yourself he was proud of you.

You told yourself he noticed.

Once, at a party, someone asked if you two were dating. He choked on his beer and laughed like it was the funniest joke he’d heard all night. “Nah,” he said, loud enough for everyone around the keg to hear. “She’s way too sweet. Like, book club sweet. I'm not trying to get lectured during pillow talk.”

You laughed too, even though something cracked inside your chest.

Later, when you were alone with him in the kitchen, trying not to let your hands shake while you poured soda over melting ice, you asked, “Do you really think I’m sweet?” And he’d leaned in, lazy and amused, eyes glinting with something sharp.

“You’re the sweetest thing I know,” he said. “That’s your problem.”

You thought that was romantic.

You thought he meant it like a compliment.

You started wearing makeup. Nothing major—just a little mascara, some tinted balm, a hint of blush you hoped made you look older, cooler, prettier. You weren’t the kind of girl Jake usually flirted with, the ones who wore crop tops to lecture and knew how to flip their hair without thinking. You studied in quiet corners, read poetry on your lunch breaks, always carried extra pens. But maybe, if you tried a little harder—if you looked a little more like them—he’d finally see you.

He noticed, too. Sort of.

“You do something different with your face?” he asked once, squinting at you while you handed over his notes. “Looks good. Less tired.”

Then he grabbed the papers and walked off, calling back, “Thanks, sunshine!” like he hadn’t just complimented you and insulted you in the same breath. You beamed. You held onto less tired like it meant beautiful. You told your roommate about it like it was proof—like it was progress.

You were always chasing crumbs. Always stretching moments into meaning. Like the time he offered you a ride home from the library when it started raining—windows down, music up, his hand drumming on the steering wheel.

You sat there soaking wet, trying not to stare at the way his jaw flexed when he laughed, trying not to fall deeper into whatever hole your heart had already dug.

At the stoplight, he glanced over and smirked. “Bet you never skip class, huh?”

You shrugged. “Not really. I like learning.”

He raised a brow. “Yeah, I can tell. You always look like you’re about to marry your textbooks.”

You laughed. Of course you laughed. “Better than marrying beer pong.”

He chuckled, and for a second, you thought—maybe this is flirting. Maybe he likes me back.

But then he said, “You’re cute when you try to be sassy.”

You turned your face toward the window so he wouldn’t see the way you smiled. Like a fool. Like someone who didn’t realize being cute to a boy like Jake Seresin meant safe. Non-threatening. Easy to dismiss.

You were the girl he called at midnight for notes and “quick favors.” The girl he brought to parties but never introduced. The girl who did his work and called it love. And still, you waited for something more. Still, you held your breath every time he looked at you a little too long, hoping he might finally see you the way you saw him.

But he never did. Not really.

It happened in the middle of a group study session—well, his group, not yours. You’d only shown up because he texted you last-minute, some vague “Hey, you around? Could use your genius brain again lol” and you’d said yes before even thinking. You always did.

The library table was cluttered with Red Bulls and half-finished equations. Jake was leaning back in his chair, long legs stretched out, baseball cap tilted low.

He was arguing with one of his aviation buddies about flight dynamics or engine weight or some other thing you had no business understanding—but you listened anyway, like you always did. You’d learned the lingo just to keep up, tucked terms into your memory like you were training to speak his language.

At some point, his friend nodded toward you and asked, “Hey, who’s this again?”

Jake turned, eyes flicking lazily in your direction. His brows furrowed. Just for a second. Then—he laughed. “Uh��wait. Crap. Don’t tell me.”

Your heart dropped before you could stop it. Just a beat. Just long enough to hurt.

“You don’t know my name?” you asked, light and teasing. You even laughed a little, because that was the role you’d learned to play. Unbothered. Chill. The cool girl who didn’t take anything seriously. Not even her own heartbreak.

Jake scratched the back of his neck, sheepish but grinning. “I mean, you’re like my PoliSci girl, right? You’re always around with, like… books and that political stuff.”

You blinked. “Political science,” you corrected softly, still smiling, though it felt like something fragile was cracking beneath your ribs. “I’m majoring in political science. Pre-law track.”

He snapped his fingers, pointing. “Knew it. Knew you were smart.”

You already knew his major, of course—Aeronautical Engineering with a minor in Applied Physics. You knew his dream was to fly fighter jets for the Navy. You knew he hated public speaking but loved Top Gun. You knew he bit the inside of his cheek when he was stressed and that his middle name was Andrew. You even knew his sister’s birthday.

But he didn’t know your name.

Not really.

Still, when he leaned in and said, “You’re kind of my lifesaver, y’know?”—you smiled. You swallowed down the sting and tucked the compliment somewhere deep, let it sit heavy and warm in your chest like it meant more than it did.

You told yourself he was just bad with names. That he was tired. Distracted.

You told yourself it didn’t matter.

And when he tossed you a Red Bull at the end of the night and said, “Thanks again, sunshine,” like a pat on the head, you caught it and held it like a gift.

Because it came from him.

You were always the nerdiest person in the room—and you didn’t mind. Not really. You liked it, actually. You liked being the one with too many pens, with color-coded tabs stuck out of every book, with highlighters in four different shades for four different types of arguments.

Your notebooks were immaculate. Your laptop desktop was a perfectly organized grid of folders labeled by subject, date, and citation style. You even had a separate folder for Jake’s assignments—though you’d never admit that out loud.

You quoted obscure political theorists in casual conversation, carried pocket-sized constitutions in your backpack like other people carried gum. You read op-eds for fun. You had a crush on Ruth Bader Ginsburg for three years. You were the kind of girl who got excited about office supplies. The kind of girl who said “actually” a lot and meant it.

Jake didn’t get it. Not really.

But he smiled when you went on tangents about legislation and voting trends and historical revolutions. That day in the library, you tried to explain your thesis about the ethics of surveillance in modern democracies, and he just blinked at you, lips pulled into that signature grin—handsome, golden, practiced. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“That’s… intense,” he said, dragging the word out like it was both a compliment and a warning. “You actually like that stuff?”

You nodded, beaming. “I love it. I think it’s important—how we understand power and systems and history. You can’t just—separate law from people.”

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “God, you’re such a nerd.”

Your smile faltered for half a second. Just a flicker. You covered it quickly with a laugh, pretending it didn’t sting, pretending he meant it in that teasing, affectionate way. He was smiling, after all. He called you his nerd once. That had to mean something, right?

“You’re lucky I’m a nerd,” you said lightly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Otherwise you’d be failing social theory and citing Buzzfeed as a source.”

That made him laugh, real and sharp. For a moment, he looked at you like he almost saw something. Then it faded.

“Buzzfeed’s valid,” he said, winking. “They’ve got quizzes and everything.”

You laughed again. You always laughed. Even when it wasn’t funny. Even when the smile didn’t quite reach your eyes, either.

Because maybe—just maybe—if you kept being useful, being sweet, being there, he’d learn to look closer. Maybe someday, he’d want to know your name before needing your notes. Maybe someday, that smile wouldn’t be so forced.

You didn’t usually celebrate your birthday. It felt silly, most years—too much attention, too many questions you didn’t want to answer. But this time felt different. You were turning twenty-one, and for once, you wanted to do something that made you happy. Not trendy. Not loud. Just… you.

So you invited Jake.

You kept it casual, like it was no big deal. You mentioned it after class one day while handing over another perfectly formatted draft of his group project—the one he was supposed to help with but hadn’t touched since the outline phase. “I’m doing something lowkey tonight,” you said, trying not to sound too hopeful. “If you’re not busy, you should come.”

He looked up from his phone, eyes still half-scanning whatever was on the screen. “Lowkey like what? Drinks? House party?”

You hesitated. “Kind of. You’ll see.”

He agreed. Mostly because you were finishing his semester-long presentation. Thirty percent of his grade. Not because he actually cared about the celebration part.

But that didn’t stop you from spending the entire afternoon setting everything up—balloons, cupcakes, a paper crown you wore mostly as a joke. You even put on a new sweater, the soft blue one that brought out your eyes. You checked your phone every few minutes until finally, finally, he texted: Here.

You met him outside, bouncing on your heels from nerves. He was wearing jeans and a fitted Henley, looking like he’d just walked off a recruitment poster. His eyes scanned the building behind you—a wide, beige facility with a ramp leading up to automatic glass doors.

“What is this?” he asked, already frowning.

You smiled, a little too wide. “The community center. It doubles as a retirement home. I volunteer here every weekend. We’re doing trivia and cupcakes with the residents tonight. I thought it’d be fun.”

He blinked. “Wait—you invited me to your birthday at an old folks’ home?”

You laughed, nervously. “They’re sweet. And they love meeting new people. Plus, trivia night gets competitive. It’s fun, I promise.”

Jake’s smile didn’t quite land. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking around like he was trying to find a way to back out. “Damn. I thought this was gonna be, like… a party.”

“It is a party,” you said, voice softer than before. “Just not that kind.”

He hesitated. For one awful second, you were sure he’d leave. But then he sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Alright,” he muttered. “Lead the way, sunshine.”

You lit up, relief washing through you. You missed the way his shoulders slouched, the way his expression shifted once your back was turned. You didn’t see how bored he looked walking through the doors, how forced his laugh sounded when you introduced him to the residents. You were too busy beaming, too busy bringing out the cupcakes you made from scratch, too busy believing—just for one night—that he was here because he wanted to be.

You never realized he was only smiling because the project wasn’t finished yet.

He offered to walk you home.

Maybe out of guilt. Maybe because it was late and the air had turned crisp, and he still had a project with his name on it sitting in your backpack. Or maybe he was trying to be a gentleman, like he’d been raised right and remembered it sometimes. Either way, you didn’t argue. You just smiled, told him thanks, and fell into step beside him under the glow of sleepy streetlights.

The walk wasn’t long, but it felt longer than usual. You talked in small, tired bursts—about the trivia questions, about Ms. Evelyn’s obsession with Cary Grant, about how hard the cupcakes were to ice without making them look sad. Jake chuckled once or twice, but mostly he was quiet, thumbs tapping absentmindedly against his phone until he slid it back into his pocket.

When you reached your front porch, he paused.

The house was dark. Not lifeless, just… dim. Still. The kind of quiet that felt deeper than it should have. Like it had settled over the walls and stayed there.

“You sure someone’s home?” he asked, eyeing the unlit windows.

You nodded quickly, unlocking the door with shaking hands. “Yeah. They’re probably just in the back. Or asleep. My mom works nights sometimes—she’s a nurse. And my dad’s a lawyer, so he’s always in the study. I—I’m sure they’re inside.”

Jake didn’t say anything, but he looked at you a little too long.

“You can come in for a second,” you offered, trying to sound casual. “If you want.”

You barely had time to nudge the door open before it swung all the way with a burst of warm light—and your mom stood there in her scrubs, hair pulled back, eyes wide with worry.

“There you are!” she breathed, relief pouring out of her like a tide. “We’ve been waiting, sweetheart. You didn’t answer your phone.”

Behind her, your dad appeared, sleeves rolled up, reading glasses pushed into his hairline. “You’re late, bug,” he said gently, his voice firm but warm. “You said you'd be back before ten.”

“I—” You faltered. “I’m sorry, I just… I lost track of time.”

Your mom’s eyes shifted past you, landing on Jake. She blinked, smiled. “Oh! And who’s this?”

“This is… Jake,” you said, stepping aside awkwardly. “He’s a friend from school.”

Jake straightened. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. Sir.”

Your parents exchanged one of those quiet, married glances. The kind that said more than words ever could.

“Well, come in, Jake,” your mom said brightly. “We’ve still got cake. And Oreo ice cream in the freezer.”

“And Bingo’s been howling for you,” your dad added, stepping back to let you both in.

Right on cue, tiny paws scrambled across the hardwood, and a golden-furred puppy bounded into view, tail wagging like a metronome on overdrive. He skidded to a stop at your feet, yipping excitedly.

Jake blinked. “You have a dog?”

You scooped Bingo into your arms, pressing your cheek to his fur. “Yeah. He’s loud and a little bit dramatic, but… he’s mine.”

The house was warm. Bright. Alive. And for a second, Jake stood there like he didn’t know where to put his hands. Like he didn’t expect this from you—this quiet, glowing little life. No red Solo cups, no loud music, no drama. Just parents who cared. A puppy that missed you. And a birthday party that waited all night.

Jake stepped inside. Just barely. Like the warmth might spook him.

And you—still holding Bingo, still wearing your little paper crown—pretended not to notice that he looked like he didn’t belong.

Jake stepped further inside, hands tucked into his jacket pockets like he didn’t know what to do with them. Your mom disappeared into the kitchen with a cheerful hum—“Sit down, make yourselves at home, I’ll get the plates!”—and your dad wandered back toward the hallway, calling something about candles and the lighter drawer. It left you and Jake standing alone in the entryway, where the soft light spilled over hardwood floors and Bingo settled at your feet with a huff.

He glanced around, eyes catching on the walls.

It was impossible not to notice, really. The house wasn’t big, but it was full—every inch lined with framed moments of your life. Photos of you as a toddler with cake on your cheeks. You in a ballet costume, crooked tiara and scraped knees. School portraits from every year, perfectly lined up in a growing timeline of messy hair, braces, and bright smiles. A bulletin board near the staircase held your ribbons, certificates, a newspaper clipping from the high school debate team championship. Everything worn in but cared for—like none of it was ever forgotten.

“You’ve got… a lot of photos,” Jake murmured, blinking at one where you were holding a spelling bee trophy almost as big as your head.

You smiled sheepishly. “My mom’s kind of sentimental. She never takes anything down. Says the walls should feel like home.”

Jake nodded slowly. Something unreadable flickered behind his eyes.

He moved further in, scanning the frames more closely. That’s when he noticed. Nestled between all the snapshots of you were other faces. Boys, mostly—some in college caps, others in football jerseys, one in what looked like a Marine uniform.

“Wait,” Jake said, frowning slightly. “You have siblings?”

You looked up from where you were peeling the plastic off a stack of paper plates. “Yeah. Three older brothers.”

Jake blinked again, like that didn’t quite compute. “Seriously? I figured you were an only child.”

You laughed. “Everyone does.”

His eyes lingered on a photo of you all together—probably one of the last ones before the goodbyes started. You were sandwiched between them, grinning up at the camera like you’d won the lottery. Your brothers were tall, broad-shouldered, each with the same warm brown eyes as your dad.

“That’s Ezra,” you said, pointing to the one in the navy blue hoodie. “He’s studying abroad right now. Germany, for architecture.”

Jake nodded, still staring.

“And that’s Micah and Levi. They both got scholarships out of state. One's in Oregon, the other's in New York. Music and robotics.”

Jake let out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s some family.”

You shrugged, setting the plates down on the coffee table as Bingo pawed at your ankle. “Yeah. We’re all kind of doing our own thing now. But they always call. My mom makes sure of it.”

He looked around again, slower this time. And something in his expression softened—not quite guilt, not quite wonder, but something close. Like he was realizing just how much he didn’t know. Like he was starting to see that you weren’t just the quiet girl with good notes and a crush. You were a whole world. You always have been.

He’d just never asked to see it.

Dinner wasn’t fancy, but it didn’t need to be. Your mom set out spaghetti and meatballs, still warm in their glass dish, with garlic bread that made the kitchen smell like heaven. Your dad poured iced tea into mismatched mugs. The lights were cozy. The puppy circled under the table like he was part of the conversation, brushing up against Jake’s boots with little happy hops.

At first, Jake tried to excuse himself.

“I don’t want to intrude,” he said, already inching toward the door. “You’ve got family stuff, and I—”

But your dad clapped him on the shoulder before he could finish. “You’re already here, son. Might as well eat.”

Your mom chimed in without missing a beat. “Besides, it’s her birthday. You’re staying for cake.”

So he sat. And you sat beside him, still wearing your paper crown, cheeks flushed and puppy in your lap. You fed Bingo tiny bites of meatball under the table while your parents asked Jake polite questions—what he was studying, where he was from, if he liked flying. He answered all of them with that easy smile, but you could tell he was just a little stiff. A little too polite. Like he was waiting for the part where it got hard. Or loud. Or ugly.

It never came.

After dinner, your dad disappeared for a minute and came back with a cake—chocolate, thick with icing, “Happy Birthday Bug” scrawled in lopsided pink letters. A single candle stood in the center, already flickering.

“Make a wish,” your mom said, camera in hand.

You closed your eyes. Blew it out.

The room erupted in soft cheers and clapping, and Bingo barked once like he was part of the moment. You laughed, cheeks glowing. And then—click. Your mom snapped the photo.

“Wait, wait, let’s do one together,” she said. “C’mon, squeeze in.”

Jake shook his head, holding up his hands. “Oh, I’m good. Really.”

But your dad was already standing behind him, gently steering him back toward you. “You’re not getting out of this that easy. You're part of tonight, kid. Sit down.”

And before Jake could argue again, he was seated on the couch, sandwiched between you and your dad. Your mom was hovering over the phone camera, grinning wide. You were still holding Bingo, his paws tucked against your arm. The paper party hat tilted slightly on your head.

“Smile!” your mom called.

Jake did.

Sort of.

The camera clicked. Flash.

In that moment, something tightened in his chest—not panic, exactly. Just… something strange. Foreign. Like he’d been dropped into someone else’s memory. And now his face would live on your living room wall forever, next to spelling bees and ballet slippers and newspaper clippings.

He looked at you—arms full of puppy, crown still perched on your head, face soft with joy—and for the first time all night, he didn’t know what to say.

You told yourself it was fine.

That he was just… being a guy. Boys were like that with their friends—loud, teasing, a little reckless. He didn’t mean it the way it sounded. He was just trying to keep face in front of them. It wasn’t about you. Not really.

You told yourself that the nickname still meant something. Sunshine. He didn’t call anyone else that. He could’ve called you nerd, or PoliSci girl, or just you. But he didn’t. He smiled—kind of—and said Sunshine, like it was a secret. Like it was something only the two of you shared.

That had to count for something.

You told yourself that if he didn’t care, he wouldn’t talk about you at all. That the fact he mentioned you meant you were on his mind. Even if it was just a joke, even if they laughed—he’d still said your name. Your story. Your cupcakes.

You told yourself that maybe he didn’t realize how it came off. Maybe he’d say something later. Apologize, or explain, or laugh it off and say, "You know I didn’t mean it like that, right?" Maybe he was just awkward. Maybe he was nervous. Maybe he was afraid to like you out loud.

You repeated those maybes like they were prayers.

Because if you stopped for even one second—if you let yourself admit how small you’d felt standing in that circle, how cold your hands had gone, how fake your laugh sounded in your own ears—you’d have to face it.

You’d have to admit that he never really saw you. That you’d written a whole love story in your head and cast him as the lead without checking if he even wanted the part.

But you weren’t ready for that. Not yet.

So you walked back across campus with your charger clutched to your chest and your phone buzzing in your pocket and your face still stretched in that practiced smile.

He likes me, you thought.

He just doesn’t know how to show it.

That night, you stared at your phone longer than you should have.

No text. No message. Not even a meme.

You weren’t expecting a love letter or anything. Just… something. A thank you. A hey, good to see you. Even a dumb joke about cupcakes or trivia or your little paper crown. Anything that said he remembered yesterday—that you weren’t just a background blur in his perfect little highlight reel.

But it stayed quiet. And that quiet felt louder than anything.

Still, you didn’t let it get to you. Not completely.

You told yourself he was busy. Labs and simulations and early flight rotations. He was tired. He probably passed out the moment he got home. You even convinced yourself he might be dreaming about you. That deep down, maybe, some part of him felt it too.

Because how could he not?

He’d let you into his orbit. He didn’t have to say yes to your birthday. Didn’t have to show up, or eat your mom’s spaghetti, or sit through trivia with Ms. Evelyn correcting his answers. He could’ve laughed it off. Ghosted. But he didn’t.

That had to mean something.

Didn’t it?

And sure—he’d made jokes. In front of his friends. Stupid, careless, sharp-edged jokes that made your chest twist and your smile freeze.

But that was just… fear. Right?

Boys were dumb when they liked someone. He didn’t want to look soft. That had to be it. He was protecting himself. You’d read about it, seen it in movies. The guy always jokes too much until he realizes he’s in too deep. Until he finally looks at the girl and sees her.

So maybe he just hadn’t looked hard enough yet.

You could wait a little longer.

You’d already waited this long.

And if it hurts a little more each day… well. That was just part of falling, wasn’t it?

The days passed slower after that.

You still saw him, of course. He was hard to miss—loud laugh echoing in the hallway, flight jacket slung over one shoulder, girls looking at him like he was some walking dream. And maybe he was. Just not yours.

But you told yourself that was okay.

Because when he passed you in the quad and tossed you a half-smile, your heart still jumped. And when he sat two rows behind you in general ed and tapped his pen against the desk like he had no idea you were listening to the rhythm, you still wrote poems about it in the margins of your notebook.

You’d learned how to survive on crumbs.

When he nodded at you in passing, it became a paragraph in your head. When he said your name—even just once—you replayed it like a song. You filled in the silences with dreams. Decorated the nothing with meaning. Let him live inside your chest without paying rent.

And it wasn’t like he was cruel. Not really. He still laughed when you said something funny. Still accepted your notes when he forgot his. Still leaned just close enough for you to imagine what it would be like if he did it on purpose.

You didn’t mind that he never texted first. You didn’t mind that you always reached out. You didn’t mind that he still didn’t know your favorite color, or your middle name, or what you wanted to be after graduation.

You told yourself he’d ask. Eventually.

He just needed time.

And in the meantime, you’d keep being there. Keep smiling. Keep hoping. Because the version of him that lived in your mind was warm. Sweet. Quietly in love with you in ways he just didn’t know how to show.

You weren’t delusional.

You were just patient.

It started as a normal afternoon.

You were leaving the library, arms full of books for your midterm paper, when you saw them. Jake and a few of his friends, lounging by the steps near the student center, all wearing matching flight jackets and cocky grins. They looked like they belonged in a movie—golden, loud, untouchable.

You hesitated, heart kicking up. Part of you wanted to turn around, walk the long way back. But then Jake saw you.

He waved. Waved.

So you smiled—of course you did—and made your way over, hugging your books tighter to your chest.

“Hey,” you said softly.

One of the guys leaned in, smirking. “Hey, it’s sunshine. Jake’s academic lifeline.”

You laughed, unsure if it was a compliment. “Just trying to keep him from failing.”

Another one chimed in. “Man, if I had someone do my essays and bake me cookies, I’d put a ring on it.”

You flushed. “I—I don’t bake that often. Just that one time.”

“Oh right,” the first one said, snickering. “That birthday thing. With the old people.”

Jake laughed.

You looked at him—expecting maybe a smirk, maybe a hey, knock it off. But he just shook his head and chuckled like it was all harmless fun.

“Yeah,” he said, grinning. “She even made me wear a party hat. Took a picture and everything.”

“She’s like a golden retriever,” someone muttered. “Loyal as hell. Always shows up.”

Another voice added, “Bet she’d help you move apartments and knit you a thank-you sweater.”

They all laughed.

You laughed, too.

But it caught in your throat.

You tried to tell yourself it was just teasing. That this was what friends did. Banter. Jokes. He wasn’t mocking you. Not really. He wasn’t trying to hurt you.

But then Jake said, “She’s a sweetheart. Can’t get rid of her, even if I tried.”

And that—that—was the line.

It felt like someone poured ice water down your spine.

You smiled. You always smiled. But your grip tightened on your books, knuckles white. And you stepped back, just slightly. Enough that none of them noticed. Or if they did, they didn’t care.

You weren’t the joke.

You couldn’t be.

You were the girl who helped. Who stayed. Who waited for the moment he’d finally wake up and see you.

You had to be.

Because if you weren’t…then what were you?

You left before they could say anything else.

Not quickly. Not dramatically. You just laughed, said something about needing to get back to your paper, and walked away while their laughter still echoed behind you. Your smile stayed on your face until you turned the corner, until they couldn’t see you anymore.

Then it dropped.

You sat on the bench outside the language building, books stacked beside you, and stared down at your hands like they didn’t belong to you. Like if you just sat still enough, long enough, none of it would be real.

He didn’t mean it. He was just being funny. You were sweet. That wasn’t a bad thing. Right?

You tried to remember the look on his face. Had it been cruel? Mocking? Or just… blank? Neutral?

No. No, he smiled. He laughed. That meant something. He wasn’t trying to hurt you. He wouldn’t.

You remembered the party hat. The picture. The way his shoulder had touched yours when your dad pulled him into that family photo. The way your puppy had licked his wrist and made him laugh, really laugh, for the first time that night.

That version of him—the one who said thank you, who ate your mom’s cooking, who let himself exist in your quiet little world—he was real, too.

Wasn’t he?

You pulled your phone out of your bag and stared at your messages.

Still nothing.

No sorry about earlier. No they were just messing around. No I didn’t mean it like that.

Just silence.

You wondered how long you’d be willing to wait for the version of Jake in your head to speak up.

And more than that…you wondered if he ever would.

You didn’t cry.

Not right away.

Instead, you took the long way home. Past the engineering wing, past the old bookstore with the chipped awning, past the bench you used to sit at when you waited for Jake to finish class. You walked until the streetlamps turned on and the sky burned soft orange at the edges, and still—you didn’t cry.

Because crying meant something was real. And if you didn’t cry, maybe none of it was.

When you got home, your mom was in the kitchen, humming off-key and stirring something in a pot that smelled like tomato and thyme. She glanced over her shoulder when you walked in, eyes bright. “Hey, birthday girl.”

You smiled. Automatically. Like muscle memory. “Hey.”

She didn’t ask where you’d been. She never did. She trusted you too much to question things like that. Or maybe she just knew when not to press. There was something about mothers—they could feel sadness like a shift in the air, but they knew when to let you keep it close.

You dropped your bag by the door and went straight to your room. Bingo padded after you, tail wagging gently, like even he could sense that something inside you had gone quiet.

You sat on the edge of your bed, stared at the framed photo on your desk—the one from your party. You in your paper crown, Jake beside you, both of your parents smiling like the sun was trapped inside that little living room.

He looked stiff in the picture. Just slightly. Like he hadn’t quite figured out how to belong in the moment. But he was there. That had to count for something.

Didn’t it?

You whispered the same excuses into the silence you’d been chanting all week. He’s just scared. He’s not used to people like me. It’s easier to laugh than to feel.

But the words felt heavier now. Like stones on your tongue.

You looked at your phone again. Still nothing.

No missed calls. No messages. Not even a heart on the post your mom made with the picture.

You curled up beneath your blanket, arms around Bingo, his soft breath steady against your ribs.

And still—you didn’t cry.

But you wanted to. God, you wanted to.

Because something inside you was beginning to whisper the thing you didn’t want to hear. The thing you’d been fighting from the very start.

Maybe he never saw you at all.

You woke up before your alarm the next morning.

Not because of anything urgent. Just because your chest felt too full to sleep, like your body was quietly trying to tell you something your heart didn’t want to hear.

The sun was barely up, casting pale streaks across your ceiling. You stared at them for a while, tracing patterns with your eyes like they might spell out something worth holding onto.

Bingo was curled against your legs, warm and snoring gently. You didn’t move.

You thought about yesterday. About Jake’s voice, sharp with laughter. About the way his friends had looked at you like you were something between a novelty and a punchline. About the smile he wore when he called you loyal.

Like that was funny.

Like that was a flaw.

You told yourself again that he didn’t mean it. That he wasn’t cruel.

But the words weren’t sitting right anymore. They didn’t settle like they used to. They turned in your stomach, prickled at the corners of your thoughts.

Because deep down, you were starting to wonder if it wasn’t about him not knowing how to show it—if it was simply that he didn’t feel it in the first place.

He liked your help. He liked your notes. He liked the way you showed up, quietly, every time he needed something and never asked for anything in return.

But you? The you who stood outside that circle and laughed too late? The you who baked and wrote and stayed up fixing his grammar and believed—so foolishly believed—that one day he might just turn around and see you?

Maybe he didn’t like her at all.

And maybe he never would.

You pressed your face into the pillow and closed your eyes, breathing slow.

No tears. Not yet.

But you felt something shift—just the smallest crack in the glass.

The first fracture of goodbye.

It was a Thursday.

You’d spent the entire night helping Jake prep for his presentation. You’d practically rewritten half his slides, fixed his transitions, even printed out a stack of flashcards he never touched. You told yourself you didn’t mind. That this was what people did for each other. That he’d do the same for you, if things were reversed.

The event was packed. The auditorium buzzing with bodies—students, instructors, even a few recruiters from the nearby base. Everyone was dressed up, polished and bright. You found a seat near the back, clutching your notebook in your lap, stomach fluttering with nerves that weren’t even yours.

Jake looked good up there—confident, composed, all charm. He owned the stage with that easy smile of his, that flyboy arrogance that always made people lean in. He ran through his slides like he’d been born to do it. Sleek, effortless, golden.

Then someone asked a question.

A tricky one—about the ethical implications of drone use in modern airspace. Jake froze for just a beat. You knew the answer. You’d written a whole section on it for him. He just had to remember the notes. The phrasing.

Instead, he laughed.

“Well,” he said into the mic, smirking toward the crowd, “I’d have a real answer for you if my PoliSci tutor hadn’t been too busy planning bake sales this week.”

Laughter erupted.

Laughter.

You blinked.

It didn’t register at first. The way his voice curled around the word tutor. The way he didn’t look at you, but the whole room knew. Someone even turned around. Looked right at you. You could feel the eyes.

You sat there frozen. Still. Not breathing.

Because he could’ve said anything else. Could’ve deflected. Could’ve joked about the weather, or made something up. But instead, he chose you. To make the crowd laugh. To win back control.

He humiliated you. Publicly. On purpose.

You felt the heat rise in your chest—not warmth, not embarrassment. Something sharper. Something almost like anger, but drowned under the weight of disbelief.

Jake just kept going. Smooth. Unbothered. He didn’t even flinch.

And maybe that was the worst part.

Because you had stayed up until two in the morning making sure he didn’t fall on his face.

Because you had believed—still believed—that somewhere underneath all of that confidence was someone worth waiting for.

And now, sitting there in the back row, cheeks burning, heart sinking fast, you realized something you couldn’t un-feel.

He was never yours.

Not even close.

And you had never been his sunshine. Just his shadow.

You didn’t stay for the rest of the presentation.

You waited just long enough for the polite applause—just long enough to watch him smile and wave and bask in praise like he hadn’t just carved you open in front of fifty people.

Then you left.

You walked fast, out of the auditorium, down the hallway, out into the air that suddenly felt too sharp, too loud, too real. You didn’t know where you were going. You just had to go.

The sky was starting to turn gold, dipping into orange at the edges. Your feet carried you toward the quad without thinking, past people laughing, past someone skateboarding down the path with music blasting from a phone speaker. You moved like a ghost. Like someone only half-real.

Your stomach was hollow. Your hands were shaking.

You wanted to laugh. Or scream. Or throw something. Or maybe all of it at once.

Instead, you sat on a bench. Stared down at your lap. And tried to understand.

Because it wasn’t like this was new. He’d teased you before. Let his friends say things. Laughed when they made jokes that left you blinking too hard, your throat closing around the truth.

But this? This was different.

This was cruel.

And the worst part was—you knew he knew it. He’d looked right at you when he said it, even if his eyes didn’t meet yours. He knew you were there. He chose you. You’d handed him everything—your time, your effort, your loyalty—and he used it as a punchline.

You pulled out your phone.

No messages.

No apologies.

Just silence.

And maybe—for the first time—you let yourself believe it.

He wasn’t scared. He wasn’t confused. He wasn’t trying to protect himself.

He just didn’t care.

He never did.

And you? You were the fool who mistook scraps for affection. Who mistook his silence for softness. Who thought that loving someone hard enough would make them see you.

You sat there until the sun dipped behind the buildings, the light fading into shadow. Bingo wasn’t with you. Your parents weren’t calling. No one was coming to find you.

And Jake?

Jake was probably still smiling.

You didn’t go to class the next day.

You told yourself you were just tired. Just needed a break. But when you passed your mirror on the way to the bathroom, you couldn’t quite meet your own eyes.

You looked small. Not in size—just in spirit. Dimmed somehow. Like someone had taken a sponge to your outline and blurred the edges.

The texts from your group chats went unanswered. A message from your professor popped up—Hope you’re okay. Let me know if you need an extension. You almost replied. You almost told the truth.

But then what would you say?

The boy I loved made me into a joke. And I let him. And now I don’t know what to do with myself.

No one prepares you for this part. Not the movies, not the books, not the Pinterest quotes about unrequited love. They don’t tell you how it feels to watch someone you cherished turn you into something disposable. Something laughable.

They don’t tell you that the worst heartbreak is the one you talked yourself into.

Because you’d defended him. Again and again. You’d brushed off every red flag, excused every offhand comment, convinced yourself that he was just scared or immature or confused. That eventually, he’d realize what you were worth.

But now?

Now you couldn’t pretend anymore.

Not after the way he laughed. Not after the way they all laughed with him. Not after he took your loyalty—your love—and used it like a stage prop, like the punchline in a joke he didn’t even bother to make clever.

It wasn’t just the humiliation.

It was the choice.

He chose to hurt you. For a laugh. For a second of charm. For nothing.

And maybe that hurt more than anything.

You sat on the edge of your bed, wrapped in a sweater you hadn’t realized was his—something he'd left in your bag weeks ago, after a group project. You stared at it for a long time, fingers curling around the fabric like it could still carry meaning.

Then, slowly, quietly, you folded it. Set it on your desk. You walked away.

You didn’t cry.

Not yet.

But something inside you—a belief, a dream, a soft little spark—finally went out.

You didn’t tell anyone what happened.

Not your roommates. Not your parents. Not even your favorite professor, the one who always stayed after lectures to ask how you were holding up. You just kept moving. One foot in front of the other. Like muscle memory. Like sleepwalking.

But your world had shifted.

Suddenly, everything reminded you of him.

The vending machine near the library—the one where you used to catch him between classes, grinning with two granola bars and zero clue what day of the week it was. The quad bench, where you once sat side by side, your notebook in his lap and your heart in your throat. Even the smell of cologne on someone else’s jacket made your stomach twist before your brain caught up.

It was everywhere.

And nowhere.

Because for all the space he took up in your head, in your life, in your heart—he had left you with nothing. Not even a “hey, sorry.” Not even a text to explain. Like what he did didn’t matter. Like you didn’t matter.

You wanted to hate him.

God, you wanted to.

But hate would’ve meant he still had power over you. That he still got to sit in the center of your emotions. And that felt too generous.

So instead… you began the slow work of forgetting.

You stopped opening his messages—when they came at all. You stopped checking to see if he’d be in class before you showed up. You stopped rehearsing conversations in your head where he apologized and you forgave him, tears and all, like some shitty campus romance novel.

You stopped wearing yellow. You deleted the photo from your birthday. You unfollowed his roommate. Then his sister. Then him.

It was like shedding a skin.

Painful. Awkward. Slow.

But necessary.

Because you couldn’t keep carrying him around. Not after he turned you into a caricature. Not after he fed you to a room full of strangers and laughed while you choked on your own silence.

You weren’t his sunshine.

You were a mirror. And when he looked at you, he didn’t see beauty or love or worth—he just saw his own reflection. And when it didn’t flatter him, he shattered it.

So you picked up what pieces you could.

And this time, you didn’t hand them back.

It happened on a rainy Sunday.

The kind of rain that didn’t pour—just fell soft and steady, like the sky was grieving with you. You sat in the kitchen with your mom and dad, their mugs steaming, your hands shaking as you clutched your own like a lifeline.

You didn’t know how to start. Not really.

So you just said, “I want to transfer.”

They both blinked. Looked at each other. Then back at you.

Your mom’s brows furrowed gently. “Sweetheart… is everything okay?”

You nodded. Then shook your head. Then tried again. “I just—I need to leave. This school. This place. I can’t stay here anymore.”

Your voice cracked on the last word.

Your dad leaned forward, his expression steady but kind. “Did something happen?”

You swallowed. “Not… not exactly. I just—it doesn’t feel right anymore. The program, the people, everything. I thought I was happy. I thought I knew what I wanted, but—”

You stopped, breathed, kept going.

“Can we look into transferring? Maybe… out of state?”

Your mom reached across the table, her fingers brushing yours. “Of course. If this isn’t working, we’ll figure something else out.”

You didn’t cry. Not this time.

You just squeezed her hand and nodded, grateful and guilty all at once. You knew it was sudden. Knew you were asking a lot. But you also knew you couldn’t stay—not in a campus where everything reminded you of him. Of who you used to be.

You wanted space. A reset. A chance to become someone else.

Or maybe not someone else—just someone more.

Your dad cleared his throat gently. “Have you thought about what you’d switch into? Or are you just looking for a new campus?”

You hesitated.

Your fingers tapped against the side of your mug, absently. A rhythm you didn’t recognize until much later.

“I’ve been thinking about something else,” you said, voice softer now. “A different path. Something more… structured. More focused.”

They didn’t press. Didn’t question. Your parents weren’t perfect, but they knew when to hold things gently. They didn’t need you to explain why you were asking. They just understood that you were.

And maybe that was enough.

Later that night, you sat by your bedroom window, listening to the rain and watching Bingo chase shadows in his sleep.

You didn’t know what came next.

But for the first time in weeks, your heart felt just a little quieter.

And beneath all the hurt, all the anger, all the shame—something else had begun to flicker.

Not hope. Not yet.

But maybe…purpose.

- Jake -

She wasn’t at the library.

That was the first thing he noticed.

Not that he’d been looking for her—he wasn’t. He was just cutting through the stacks, half a granola bar in his mouth, phone lighting up with a string of dumb texts from Coop about the weekend party. But she wasn’t there.

She was always there.

Tucked between the second and third aisles, back hunched over some worn-out political theory book, highlighter cap stuck between her teeth. Sometimes she'd wave. Sometimes she’d pretend not to see him. But she was there.

Today, the spot was empty.

He shrugged it off.

Maybe she had class. Maybe she’d finally decided to study somewhere else, like the normal students who didn’t have a desk reserved in the library by sheer force of will.

But then he didn’t see her in the quad either.

Or outside the café.

Or by the vending machine near the engineering wing where she always ended up somehow—wrong building, wrong class, always just there, arms full of papers and talking too fast about midterm deadlines like anyone else cared.

Weird.

And it got weirder when he sat down in class and the seat in the third row, second from the right, stayed empty.

That seat was never empty. Not even on days with surprise rain or fire alarms or whatever other dumb excuse half the class used to skip. She was always early. Always had a pen in her hand. Always offered him gum if he looked like he hadn’t slept.

He tapped his pencil against the desk. Checked the time.

Still nothing.

No backpack. No flash of yellow. No tired smile like she’d been up all night fixing someone else’s citations again.

He didn’t get it.

Sure, she was a little clingy. A little too available. Always orbiting a little too close. But she meant well. She always showed up. She always—

The professor started talking.

Jake blinked. Swore under his breath. His notes—he didn’t have them. She usually gave him a cheat sheet the day before. Color-coded, too. Where the hell was she?

After class, he stood outside for a beat longer than he needed to, scanning the crowd like maybe she’d just been running late. But she wasn’t there. Not in the hallway. Not by the stairs. Not on the bench where she sometimes sat reading those giant political memoirs like they were bedtime stories.

Nowhere.

It was weird.

And yeah, okay—he might be screwed if she didn’t show up by next week. He hadn’t started that ethics paper, and he sure as hell didn’t remember the case study they were supposed to cite. She usually reminded him.

But that wasn’t it. Not really.

It was the quiet.

The lack of her.

He didn’t miss her. Not exactly. But the campus felt off without her in it. Like something small had shifted and he didn’t know what yet.

She’d always been around. Like background music you didn’t really notice until it stopped.

And now?

Now it was silent.

Jake didn’t know why he went.

It was almost midnight. The campus was dead quiet, the air humid and thick, streetlights glowing in broken halos as he drove without thinking—just letting muscle memory steer the wheel. He didn’t text. Didn’t call. He figured she’d be there. She always was.

Her house sat at the edge of that quiet little neighborhood near the hospital—white fence, trimmed lawn, porch light glowing like always. He parked sloppily at the curb, engine still ticking as he climbed out, jaw clenched, heart beating a little too loud.

He wasn’t sure what he was going to say.

He just knew he was tired of the weirdness. Tired of walking into class and seeing her seat empty. Tired of not getting his damn notes. Tired of whatever this was.

He rang the bell once.

No answer.

Then he knocked—harder this time, sharper, the way he did when Coop was ignoring him on purpose.

The door opened after a moment.

And there she was.

Hair tied up messily, hoodie way too big, eyes red like maybe she’d been crying. Or maybe she hadn’t slept. The living room behind her was dark except for one dim lamp. A half-empty cup of tea sat forgotten on the coffee table.

The puppy—Bingo, or whatever stupid name it had—perked up on the couch, then settled again.

She blinked at him like she couldn’t quite believe he was real. Like he was something she thought she’d finally let go of.

Jake shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, shifted his weight. “You weren’t in class.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Or the library. Or anywhere, actually,” he added, voice sharp. “Kinda hard to finish my paper when my PoliSci encyclopedia disappears off the map.”

That made her flinch—just barely—but he caught it.

Good.

She opened the door a little wider but didn’t move aside. “Why are you here, Jake?”

The way she said his name—flat, quiet, tired—itched under his skin.

“I just told you. You ghosted. No heads-up, no nothing. You think I don’t notice?”

She let out a breath. “You don’t notice anything.”

And something about that—something in her tone, in the way she looked at him like he was a stranger—lit a fuse in his chest.

“Excuse me?”

She stepped back finally, letting him in. But her body language was rigid, arms crossed tight over her chest like she was trying to hold herself together.

Jake walked in, took one look around—the neatness, the warmth, the family photos—and felt like he was choking on something invisible. Something sweet. Something that didn’t belong to him.

“You’re seriously gonna act like I did something wrong?” he snapped, turning to her. “I didn’t ask you to worship the ground I walked on. I didn’t beg you to fix my papers or follow me around like a goddamn puppy.”

Her eyes widened. “I wasn’t—”

“Don’t,” he cut her off. “Don’t stand there and pretend you weren’t obsessed. You made yourself useful, and now you’re mad I didn’t bow down in return?”

She stared at him, mouth parted, trembling. “I cared about you.”

“Yeah?” he said, and the laugh that escaped his throat was ugly. Bitter. “Well, newsflash—I don’t owe you anything for that.”

Silence.

Thick. Ugly. Shattering.

Then—crack.

The slap hit harder than he expected.

His head jerked slightly to the side, the sting blooming hot across his cheek. He blinked, stunned—not because of the pain, but because she did it.

Her hand dropped, shaking. Her breath came out in broken gasps. Her eyes flooded instantly, fat tears slipping down her cheeks, and she didn’t even bother to wipe them away.

“I know,” she whispered. “I know you don’t owe me anything. But I gave it anyway. Because I thought—God, I thought if I loved you quietly enough, maybe one day you’d look at me like I was real.”

Jake opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

She took a shaky step back. “You don’t even know me. Not really. You don’t know what I study, what I like, what I want. You don’t know anything except how to take. And I let you.”

She wiped her face now, not to hide the tears but just to breathe.

“I let you turn me into a background character in my own life.”

He stared at her.

He didn’t know what to say.

Didn’t know why his chest was tight or why the sight of her crying in the middle of her perfectly lived-in home made his hands curl into fists at his sides.

“You should go,” she said, voice flat now. Steady.

Jake took a breath, but it felt jagged.

He nodded once.

No apology.

No goodbye.

Just the echo of the door closing behind him and the knowledge that for the first time since she’d walked into his orbit—

she was done.

Jake didn’t sleep.

Not really.

He kept replaying the slap. Her voice, cracked and shaking. The way she looked at him—like he’d gutted something soft and sacred inside her, like she didn’t even recognize him anymore. And maybe she didn’t. Maybe he didn’t either.

He told himself he hadn’t meant it. Not like that. Not so sharp. Not so cruel.

But what the hell else was there to mean?

He didn’t know what he wanted when he got in his truck. He just… needed to see her. Say something. Fix it, maybe. Or at least explain.

The street was quiet when he pulled up. Morning sun creeping through the trees. Her porch looked the same—flowerpots, wind chimes, the little ceramic puppy bowl still tucked by the door. Familiar. Safe.

He stepped up and rang the bell, palms sweating.

After a moment, the door creaked open.

Her mom stood there, still in her robe, her hair pulled back, a mug of coffee in hand. She blinked, surprised. “Jake?”

He straightened. “Hi, Mrs. [Last Name]. Uh—I was wondering if… if she’s home.”

Something flickered across her face. A pause. A softness. And maybe—just maybe—a hint of regret.

“Oh, sweetheart…” she said gently, like she was about to tell him someone died. “I thought she told you.”

His heart slowed. “Told me what?”

“She transferred,” her mom said with a small, sad smile. “Packed everything and left last night. Got accepted into a program out of state. It was sudden, but… she seemed sure.”

The words landed like a punch to the ribs.

Gone?

Just like that?

“No warning?” he asked, the question barely making it out.

She frowned faintly, looking confused. “I assumed you knew. I thought you two were close. She didn’t say much. Just that it was time. She seemed��� tired. But she’s happy. I guess that’s the word.”

Jake couldn’t breathe. Not properly. He looked past her, into the house. Same furniture. Same hallway. But empty.

No yellow hoodie draped on the back of the chair. 

No stack of textbooks on the coffee table. 

No Bingo barking like a maniac at the door.

Gone.

She was really gone.

Her mom sighed and stepped aside a little, like she wasn’t sure what else to do. “I’m sorry, Jake. I wish I could tell you more. I don’t know what happened between you two, but… I hope you’re okay.”

He swallowed hard. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

A lie. So flat it felt like it burned.

She nodded. “Well. If you ever need anything, we’re still here. Take care, alright?”

The door closed gently. Not slamming. Not shutting him out.

But final.

Jake stood there for a full minute, staring at the place where she used to be.

She’d loved him—quietly, stupidly, endlessly.

And when he finally turned around to look?

She was already gone.

“Earth to Hangman!”

Rooster’s voice sliced through the noise, his fingers snapping twice in front of Jake’s face.

Jake blinked.

The bar snapped back into focus—glasses clinking, pool cues cracking, Penny’s voice somewhere near the jukebox calling out an order. The low thrum of a Fleetwood Mac song spun lazily through the air, mixing with the laughter of pilots who’d made it through another mission, another day.

He shifted in his seat, realizing he’d been staring at his beer for who-knew-how-long.

“Jesus, man,” Payback muttered, leaning on the bar beside him. “You looked like you were having an out-of-body experience.”

“Did you forget where you parked your ego?” Fanboy added, grinning into his drink.

Jake exhaled slowly through his nose and smirked, letting the default arrogance snap back into place like muscle memory. “Nah. Just tuning out your voice. Didn’t realize I’d need earplugs on my night off.”

“Real original,” Rooster muttered, but he was still grinning.

Phoenix rolled her eyes from across the table. “What’s the matter, Hangman? Someone finally beat you at darts? Or are you just sulking ‘cause the bartender gave your usual to someone hotter?”

“Maybe he’s thinking about someone special,” Bob said softly, then immediately flushed when everyone turned to him.

“Aww,” Fanboy teased. “You’re blushing, Bobby. You projecting or something?”

Jake laughed along with them—sharp, smooth, a little too loud.

But inside? He was still standing on that front porch, staring at a house that no longer held her.

He didn’t even remember what someone had said that triggered it. Maybe Phoenix had mentioned something about transfer paperwork. Maybe Rooster had told a story about an old friend who disappeared after college. Maybe it was nothing at all—just the sound of a voice, a chord in a song, a flash of yellow from someone’s hoodie at the bar.

Whatever it was, it hit like a sucker punch.

He hadn’t thought about her in a while. Not seriously. Not like that. He’d shoved it down—buried her between flight briefings and adrenaline highs and the praise of being the best in the sky.

But some ghosts didn’t stay buried.

Jake shook his head and raised his glass, voice smooth again. “Y’all are acting like I’ve got some dark secret. Hate to break it to you, but I’m just tired of carrying this whole squad on my back.”

The group groaned in collective protest, tossing fries at him, flipping him off, throwing more jabs his way.

He leaned back, grin practiced. Easy. Untouchable.

But he didn’t laugh this time.

Not really.

Because the truth sat there, right beneath his ribs, quiet and unshakable.

She’d been gone for years.

And he still hadn’t forgiven himself for noticing too late.

“You guys hear what Mav said earlier?” Coyote asked, nudging his beer bottle in a slow spin across the table. “About someone joining us tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Phoenix said, sitting forward. “Apparently it’s someone high up. Real decorated.”

Rooster raised an eyebrow. “Higher rank than us, huh? What’d he say? Lieutenant Commander? Captain?”

“Didn’t say,” Payback replied. “Just said they’re experienced, important, and we better have our shit together.”

“Sounds like someone’s trying to scare us,” Fanboy joked. “What’s next? We get a briefing from a Rear Admiral with a death glare and a coffee addiction?”

Phoenix snorted. “Wouldn’t be the worst we’ve had.”

“Could be Navy Intel,” Bob added quietly. “Or maybe a specialist. Someone brought in for mission design.”

Rooster leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Or maybe it’s a Top Gun legend. Someone who makes Maverick look like a rookie.”

“Unlikely,” Hangman muttered.

But his voice was distant. Hollow.

The banter buzzed around him—jokes flying, theories stacking—but Jake had barely moved. He was still nursing the same beer, head tilted slightly, gaze locked on nothing in particular.

Because something about the way Maverick said it earlier that morning had itched at the back of Jake’s mind.

“This person’s not just smart. They’re sharp. Respected. You’ll recognize the name.”

He hadn’t thought much of it then—just another big-shot to brief them, maybe fly one or two training rounds and disappear.

But now?

Now his gut twisted.

There was something wrong about this kind of silence. The way Mav didn’t give them a name. Didn’t give them a face. And usually, when Maverick kept details under wraps like that—it meant the surprise was personal.

Very personal.

“What do you think, Hangman?” Rooster asked, kicking his boot lightly under the table. “Think we’re about to be out-ranked by some crusty war hero with a cane and a vendetta?”

Jake forced a grin. “Nah. Probably just someone with twice your IQ and a cleaner flight record.”

They all groaned and swatted at him again, but Jake barely felt the energy.

His skin prickled. A chill slithered across the back of his neck, even as the sun dipped lower outside, streaking the windows gold.

Someone important.

Someone they’d recognize.

Jake swallowed hard.

He had a bad feeling he already did.

The door creaked open with that familiar Hard Deck jingle, followed by the low rumble of boots hitting wood.

“Speak of the devil,” Rooster muttered, turning his head as four familiar faces walked in.

Harvard. Yale. Halo. Fritz.

More Top Gun grads. Tight-knit. Dangerous in the air. Trouble on the ground.

“Great,” Phoenix deadpanned. “Just when I was having fun.”

“They let you guys back in here?” Fanboy called out.

“Relax,” Halo said, lifting two fingers in mock peace as they made their way over. “We’re off-duty. For now.”

Fritz was already heading for their table, a mischievous gleam in his eye as he tossed his flight jacket over the back of a chair.

“You guys hear the rumor?” he asked, voice low, grin way too smug for comfort.

Jake raised a brow. “What rumor?”

Fritz leaned in like he was about to tell them state secrets. “About who’s coming tomorrow.”

The Dagger Squad went quiet. Not frozen—but that slow shift into alertness. Rooster set his drink down. Bob sat up straighter. Even Phoenix stopped twirling the straw in her soda.

“You know who it is?” Coyote asked.

“No name yet,” Harvard jumped in. “But they’re saying it’s someone big. Like, Navy-shifting big.”

“They said we’ll recognize the name,” Yale added, clearly enjoying the tension building in the room. “And that this person’s been operating under special orders. Off-grid. For years.”

Jake’s jaw tightened. That itch in his spine was back. Crawling now.

Fritz dropped the bomb like it was casual gossip.

“Word is—Mav might be getting replaced.”

Dead silence.

Not even the jukebox seemed to be playing anymore.

Jake blinked. “What?”

Fritz shrugged, sipping his beer. “I’m just telling you what I heard. Apparently this new arrival’s got the credentials, the combat record, and the connections. Might be coming in to evaluate Mav’s leadership. Maybe even take command.”

“No one replaces Mav,” Phoenix said flatly, but there was a beat of hesitation. “Right?”

“Unless command thinks he’s getting too soft,” Halo offered, clearly enjoying the drama.

“He’s not soft,” Rooster snapped.

“No, but,” Harvard said slowly, “he’s Maverick. Which means he pisses off every third admiral just by breathing.”

The weight of it sank in.

Someone important. Someone respected. Someone they’d recognize.

And now… maybe someone powerful enough to take Mav’s spot?

Jake’s stomach coiled.

Because suddenly this wasn’t just a name or a face.

It was someone coming to shake the cage.

Someone who’d left a scar deep enough to still ache under his skin.

Someone who disappeared before he could ever make it right.

Jake didn’t say a word.

He just stared at the melting ice in his glass.

And for the first time in a long time, Hangman didn’t feel like the guy with all the answers.

“You’re all acting like we’re getting replaced by God,” Jake said, tipping back in his chair, boots hooked on the table leg. “Relax. Whoever it is probably files paperwork better than they fly.”

“Ohh, big words from the golden boy,” Rooster muttered, raising his brows. “What if they’re better than you?”

Jake grinned, sharp and smug. “No such thing.”

“Right,” Phoenix drawled. “Because your ego wouldn’t allow it.”

“Exactly,” he said, without missing a beat.

Coyote snorted. “Okay, but think about it. What if it’s someone insane? Like ex-NSA, flew in Black Ops, has a call sign that got classified?”

Fanboy leaned forward, all dramatic. “What if it’s someone with like… seventeen confirmed kills and a face that makes grown men cry?”

“Sounds like a Disney villain,” Bob said quietly.

“I’m just saying,” Fritz added, slapping his beer down. “If they’re coming in hot enough to maybe replace Maverick, they’re not gonna be your average Top Gun grad. That’s like—nuclear level.”

“Maybe it’s Cyclone’s secret kid,” Halo said, eyes wide. “Raised on steel and shame. Sent to destroy Maverick for breaking too many rules.”

“Jesus,” Phoenix laughed. “Are we writing a soap opera now?”

Jake just smirked, but he was leaning in now—interested, if not worried.

“Whoever they are, I give it two days before they choke trying to keep up,” he said, spinning his beer bottle between two fingers. “No one flies like we do. Mav picked us for a reason.”

Rooster raised an eyebrow. “Cocky much?”

Jake pointed. “Confident. There’s a difference.”

Harvard looked around the table. “Seriously though, y’all aren’t even a little nervous?”

There was a beat of silence.

Rooster shrugged. “I mean, it’s weird. They didn’t give us any info.”

“Exactly,” Yale said. “And Maverick’s been acting cagey.”

Jake stretched, draping his arm over the back of his chair like he didn’t have a single worry in the world. “Maybe they just want to keep us on our toes. Keep the best sharp.”

“You think they’re doing this for you, don’t you?” Phoenix asked, deadpan.

Jake shrugged. “Can’t blame ‘em. I’d want to rattle me too.”

“Man thinks he’s the main character,” Fanboy muttered.

Bob smiled into his drink. “Hangman probably hopes it’s someone he can beat in a dogfight.”

Jake leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Hope? No, Bob. I’m counting on it.”

“Imagine,” Coyote said with a laugh, “it’s some tiny person who just walks in and makes you look like a rookie.”

Jake chuckled. “The day someone walks into that hangar and out-flies me is the day I kiss Rooster’s mustache and call it destiny.”

Everyone groaned at once.

“No one asked for that mental image,” Phoenix said, covering her face.

Rooster made a gagging sound. “Try it and I’ll throw you into the ocean, Hangman.”

Jake was halfway into another cocky retort when Payback—who’d been silent for most of the conversation, nursing his drink with the patience of a man watching children self-destruct—finally spoke up.

“Y’all are doing a lot of barking for people who don’t even know who’s walking through that door tomorrow.”

The table paused.

Payback didn’t look up, just swirled the ice in his glass, like he wasn’t dropping a quiet nuke.

Phoenix blinked. “Damn, man. That was ominous as hell.”

He raised a brow. “I’m just saying. You can laugh all you want, but whoever’s coming in? Mav respects them. Enough to not tell us anything. That doesn’t sound like just a transfer to me.”

Coyote leaned back slowly. “What if they’re here to evaluate us, not just Mav?”

Bob looked mildly alarmed. “Like… as a unit?”

Fritz whistled. “What if they’re our new squad lead?”

Jake scoffed. “Mav wouldn’t do that. He’d say something.”

“Would he though?” Halo asked, sipping her beer. “If he thought it would make you fly sharper?”

“You all sound scared,” Jake said, pushing his chair back on two legs again. “Like someone’s gonna come in and kick you out of the sky.”

Phoenix narrowed her eyes. “And you’re not?”

Jake just smirked. “Whoever it is, they’ll either learn or crash trying to keep up. I’ll give ‘em a soft landing.”

“Arrogant son of a bitch,” Rooster muttered, shaking his head with a grin.

“Always,” Jake fired back, flashing that signature grin.

But Payback wasn’t done.

He finally looked up. Met Jake’s eyes—steady, unreadable.

“Sometimes the ones you don’t see coming hit the hardest.”

And just like that, the noise at the table dulled.

Jake held his gaze for a second too long before he scoffed and looked away.

“Whatever. Let ‘em come.”

But the chill down his spine didn’t leave.

Because he was Hangman. Untouchable. Unbothered. Right?

…Right?

Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

The morning sun hadn’t even cleared the hangar roof when the squad assembled—flight suits zipped, dog tags tucked, postures stiff with expectation.

The detachment hangar echoed with the click of boots and murmured voices. Rooster cracked his neck. Phoenix sipped burnt coffee. Bob kept checking his clipboard even though nothing had changed. Hangman leaned against the wall, arms crossed, pretending he wasn’t already calculating who was gonna blink first when the so-called legends arrived.

And then—Warlock stepped in.

The room straightened like one body.

He moved like a man who didn’t waste steps. Every inch of his uniform was razor-cut perfection, ribbons gleaming in the gray light. His eyes swept over the group, sharp and unreadable.

“Good morning, aviators,” he said, voice calm but commanding. “At ease.”

A collective breath released.

Warlock stood at the front like he owned the silence. His hands clasped behind his back. His tone steady—but heavy.

“You’ve all been called back for one reason,” he began. “Because you’re the best. Because you were trained by the best. And because the Navy needs you—again.”

He paused just long enough to let the weight of it settle. No one moved. No one spoke.

Jake resisted the urge to yawn, but even he couldn’t fake indifference. Not with the way Warlock’s voice carried now—like something big was shifting.

“Today, we’re joined by a unit the Navy considers indispensable. Specialists. Graduates of Top Gun, yes—but far more than that.”

Heads tilted. Eyes flicked sideways.

Warlock didn’t budge.

“They’ve served internationally. Led black ops we’ll never read about. Advised on global defense protocols. Trained squadrons on three continents. And most recently—hand-selected by Pentagon leadership to support strategic restructure initiatives across branches.”

Jake blinked. That wasn’t just credentials. That was… another league.

“They’re not here to replace you,” Warlock continued. “But they are here with purpose. Consider them embedded observers. Tactical partners. And yes—commanding officers.”

A visible shift rippled through the squad.

Bob stiffened.

Coyote muttered something under his breath.

Phoenix’s jaw tightened.

Jake? He furrowed his brow just slightly, arms still crossed. Higher rank. Embedded. Top Gun grads. Tactical partners?

Before he could piece it together, Warlock turned slightly—and in stepped three figures.

They walked in with the kind of silence that screamed power. Perfect posture. Eyes forward. No smiles. No introductions.

Two men. One woman.

Flight suits. Command patches. No unnecessary flair—but something about their presence made even Rooster straighten taller.

They took their seats without a word.

Warlock nodded once, then turned back to the squad.

“You’ll work with them. You’ll learn from them. And you’ll fly like your life depends on it—because soon, it just might.”

He stepped aside.

Silence.

Chairs scraped as the Dagger Squad slowly sat down, still side-eyeing the new arrivals like they were bombs waiting to detonate.

Jake leaned back in his seat, jaw tight.

Who the hell were they?

And why did something in his chest feel like it was getting ready to collapse?

He didn’t know yet.

But he was about to.

The steel doors groaned open again.

And then he appeared—Cyclone, in full dress blues, cap under one arm, face carved from stone.

The air changed the second he entered. Warlock shifted subtly to the side. Hondo straightened where he stood near the back, arms folded. And Maverick—late as always—stepped in behind them, as if he'd known exactly when to arrive without being told.

Jake saw Rooster tense beside him. Phoenix didn’t even blink. Everyone knew what it meant when Cyclone entered with that face.

The storm was already rolling.

Cyclone stepped forward, taking his place beside Warlock and in full view of the squad. His gaze swept over them once, sharp and slow.

“Let me make one thing perfectly clear,” he said, voice like gravel and steel. “The individuals you see seated beside you hold higher rank, more hours logged, and more confirmed kills than most of you combined.”

He paused. No one breathed.

“They have led squadrons into classified airspace. They have written protocols you use. And they have the authority to overrule damn near every one of you—including your training officer.”

His eyes flicked sideways, right at Maverick.

Jake swore he saw Mav smirk. The man had no sense of self-preservation.

Cyclone turned back to the room. “So, if any of you feel the need to crack jokes, roll your eyes, or question why these officers are here, I suggest you stow it. You will address them with respect. You will fly when they say fly. And if you embarrass this detachment—God help you.”

His words landed like blades.

Jake leaned back slightly, finally pulling his arms off his chest. There was no charm slick enough to wriggle past that tone. Not from Cyclone.

Still, he caught movement in the corner of his eye.

Maverick stepped forward, casual as ever, his hands clasped behind his back. He was in his flight suit already—dog tags glinting, expression calm.

“Appreciate the warning, sir,” Mav said with that cool, confident lilt. “But I think you’ll find this group learns faster when they’re not being barked at.”

Cyclone sighed. “Maverick.”

“Hondo,” Mav said, ignoring him, nodding toward the man standing nearby.

“Captain,” Hondo greeted, trying not to smile.

Maverick turned to face the squad now, taking center stage like it was second nature.

Jake watched him closely—because if there was anyone who could casually deliver a speech while standing in a pressure cooker, it was Maverick.

“I know you’ve all been wondering who’s joining us,” he started, voice steady. “I won’t lie—when I heard the Navy was embedding them, I had questions too.”

He glanced toward the three seated officers, not in challenge—but in something closer to... respect. Maybe even wariness.

“These aren’t rookies. They’re not here to play nice or hand out gold stars. They're here because the Navy wants results.”

Another pause.

“They’re also not here to replace me,” he added lightly, though the smile that tugged at his mouth was short-lived. “But don’t let that stop you from trying to outfly them.”

A few of the pilots chuckled under their breath.

Maverick took another step forward. “You’ll be flying tighter. Harder. And faster than you’ve flown in months. You’ll be critiqued. Corrected. Maybe outmatched.”

He looked straight at Hangman now.

Jake’s spine locked, jaw tightening instinctively.

“And if that bruises your ego,” Mav finished, “then I suggest you start building some calluses.”

He nodded once, then stepped back in line beside Warlock and Hondo.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward.

It was coiled.

Every pilot in that hangar knew something had just shifted.

Three strangers. Higher rank. Total silence.

And tomorrow? The games began.

Jake didn’t know who they were. Didn’t know why they were here. Didn’t know what they were capable of.

But damn if he wasn’t ready to prove he was still the sharpest knife in the drawer.

Whoever they were—he’d make them blink first.

Cyclone took a step forward, squaring his shoulders like the weight of the Navy rested neatly across his spine—and maybe it did.

“You’ve all been through Top Gun,” he said, voice precise, unwavering. “You’ve flown against the best. You’ve survived the impossible. And most of you carry that like it’s enough.”

The room held still. Not a fidget. Not a breath out of place.

Jake’s smirk had vanished. His hands now rested on his knees, back ramrod straight, eyes forward. He knew this tone. This was the serious Cyclone. No theatrics. No margin for error.

“But surviving once doesn’t make you infallible,” the admiral continued, eyes sweeping across the squad. “Flying one mission doesn’t make you elite forever. The world doesn’t stop because you made it home.”

His voice dropped slightly, the edge hardening.

“Which is why the Navy doesn’t just want warriors in the air. We want tacticians. Innovators. People who don’t wait for orders—they anticipate them.”

Cyclone’s gaze locked briefly with Phoenix, then Fanboy, then Jake. A slow assessment. A subtle challenge.

“These individuals—our guests—represent a standard that goes beyond what you’ve known. Their mission history is sealed. Their ranks earned in blood and black ink. They’ve served in joint task forces across the globe. And above all—”

The heavy hangar doors creaked open behind them.

Loud. Slow. A deliberate sound that echoed off the walls like a warning bell.

Jake heard it.

They all did.

But no one turned around.

Not even Rooster—who turned at everything.

Because Cyclone was still talking. And when an admiral is speaking, you don’t break rank to look behind you. Not unless you’re ready to kiss your wings goodbye.

Jake’s heart picked up speed anyway. That itch again, low in his ribs. The kind that said something wasn’t normal.

Cyclone barely paused at the interruption. Not a glance back. Not even a tick in his tone.

He just kept going—like he knew who was behind them.

“They hold the trust of Joint Command. They’ve written policy most of you don’t even realize you’re following. And tomorrow—they’ll fly with you.”

Another pause.

Jake felt it. That burn at the back of his neck. That presence behind him. Footsteps soft, intentional. Three shadows crossing the threshold like ghosts.

Still—he didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t breathe.

Cyclone’s voice, still steady, cut through the moment like a scalpel.

“Until they introduce themselves—they don’t owe you anything. Not a name. Not a smile. Not even a nod.”

The squad sat frozen.

And somewhere behind them, three chairs were pulled out.

Three seats filled.

Jake’s jaw twitched.

He still didn’t know what was coming.

But whatever it was?

It just walked into the room.

Cyclone’s gaze swept the hangar once more, the kind of gaze that made even seasoned pilots sit straighter. His voice carried clean across the open space, no microphone needed.

“You’ve all heard rumors,” he said, every syllable sharpened like a blade. “Today, those rumors meet reality.”

No one moved. Even the restless ones—Harvard, Fritz, Coyote—were locked in, eyes forward, spines tight. Maverick stood at the side now, arms folded, silent but watchful. Jake could feel the tension spiderwebbing through the room, subtle but unmistakable, pulling at his nerves like a thread.

“These three officers are not here to be your mentors, nor your friends,” Cyclone continued. “They’ve been assigned joint operational authority, and they’ve seen more combat, managed more pilots, and rewritten more doctrine than most of you will in your entire careers.”

Jake didn’t blink. He wanted to scoff—wanted to—but something about the admiral’s tone made even his usual sarcasm stick like stone in his throat.

Cyclone took a breath. “First—Lieutenant Commander Kade Mercer. Call sign: Jinx.”

One of the seated officers stood, his movements smooth and economical. Jinx had the air of a man who didn’t need to try hard to be the smartest in the room—he just was. His dark hair was trimmed regulation-short, his jaw shadowed with a day’s worth of stubble, and his stare—sharp, cool, unreadable—swept across the squad like a surgical light.

“Mercer’s logged thousands of hours in foreign airspace. Tactical infiltration, stealth coordination, and psychological pattern disruption. He’s the pilot we send in when the map doesn’t work anymore,” Cyclone said. “He’s also ranked top-five in split-second tactical reversals—don’t bother trying to beat him in a turn.”

Jinx gave a single, small nod, then stepped aside and stood off to the left. The air around him felt colder somehow, like he carried a different pressure system with him.

Cyclone didn’t wait for the tension to ease.

“Second,” he said, with a slight nod toward the remaining seated officer, “Commander Theo Hale. Call sign: Ruin.”

Ruin stood slowly. Where Jinx was precision, Hale was presence. Broader, older, his eyes were shadowed but watchful, like someone who had lived through too many things and survived them all. His steps were deliberate as he moved to stand beside Jinx, shoulders squared and arms loosely folded.

“Ruin has led recovery and retaliation ops across three continents. He has extracted downed pilots under live fire, and when protocol fails, he writes new ones in the field,” Cyclone said, his tone unwavering. “If the mission falls apart, this is the man they call to put the pieces back together—or destroy what’s left.”

No response. No smirk. Just a subtle nod of acknowledgment from Ruin, his gaze sweeping the squad like he was already calculating who wouldn’t make it through.

Jake exhaled through his nose, slowly. These weren’t just good pilots. These were ghosts. Legends in uniform. Men the Navy brought in when everything else had already gone to hell.

And then—Cyclone’s posture shifted just slightly.

“And finally,” he said, a new edge entering his tone, “Commander (Your Name) (Last Name). Call sign: Rogue.”

She stood.

Jake’s stomach dropped before he understood why.

The sound of her boots hitting the floor was sharp and clean, cutting through the quiet like a blade. She didn’t move like someone trying to impress a room. She moved like someone who already owned it. Her chin was high, her flight suit immaculate, and her eyes—god, her eyes—didn’t flicker once as she stepped into the center light.

It was her.

The girl he used to forget. The one he barely noticed.

The one who used to bring him coffee and flashcards and nervous laughter—and now looked like she could order a missile strike with one raised eyebrow.

Jake’s lungs stalled. She didn’t even glance at him.

Cyclone kept going. “Rogue is the Navy’s youngest strategic operations commander. Her combat and advisory records are protected under restricted access codes. She’s been stationed on black-zone carriers, coordinated global strike exercises, and earned her Distinguished Service Medal at twenty-eight.”

No one in the room moved. Jake didn’t even realize his jaw was tight until his teeth ached.

“She will be your senior embedded officer,” Cyclone finished. “Any decisions she makes regarding your performance, readiness, or flight status are final. You will address her as Commander or Rogue—and you will not underestimate her.”

She stood between Ruin and Jinx like she belonged there. Like she’d never been anyone else.

And Jake?

Jake sat still, watching her like a ghost had just climbed out of his past and took command of his entire world.

She didn’t even blink.

Jake didn’t hear the rest of Cyclone’s words. Didn’t register the murmurs rolling through the squad, didn’t flinch at the subtle creak of Maverick crossing his arms beside Warlock. The buzz of conversation had faded to a low hum in the back of his skull.

He was staring at her.

Eyes locked like a target he didn’t mean to track. Muscles tight. Breath slow. Something in his chest had gone still, caught between memory and disbelief.

She stood there—Commander Rogue—like she belonged in the middle of war stories and classified briefings. Like she’d never once blushed under library lighting or stumbled through a birthday invite with homemade cookies wrapped in tissue paper. The girl he remembered had notebooks stained with highlighter and coffee rings, a shy smile, and the kind of laugh that didn’t know how to hide its hope.

This woman? She had fire in her spine and stars on her collar. And not once—not for a single second—did she look at him.

Jake’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t move.

She hadn’t even blinked in his direction. Hadn’t hesitated. Hadn’t done a double take. And that, somehow, was the worst part.

Because Jake Seresin—cocky, charming, always two steps ahead—was suddenly just a face in the crowd.

He tried to tell himself it was shock. That it didn’t mean anything. That he didn’t care.

But the truth settled low in his gut like a weight he hadn’t noticed until now. She didn’t look nervous. Or awkward. Or out of place. She didn’t look like the girl who used to wait for him outside lecture halls with hopeful eyes.

She looked like she’d forgotten him.

And maybe that was the part that stung the most. Not that she was different, not that she outranked him now. But that she didn’t even need to look twice.

Commander Rogue.

The girl who once waited for him.

Now the woman who walked right past.

She hadn’t changed. And yet—she had.

Jake couldn’t stop staring, his gaze tracing over every sharp line, every familiar curve turned foreign under the weight of time. Her jaw was more defined now, no longer soft with youth but set with quiet strength. Her shoulders, squared with practiced discipline, didn’t carry the same hesitant curve they once had when she’d shrink beneath his sideways glances. No oversized hoodie. No spiral-bound notebook pressed to her chest. Just a flight suit, clean and creased, and a calmness that didn’t bend.

Her hair was pinned back, neat and strict beneath her regulation cap, but he could still remember the way it used to fall in front of her face when she leaned over his laptop to edit his papers for him. She had that same tilt to her head, that same posture of control—but now it wasn’t shy, it was sharp. Deliberate.

She didn’t look fragile anymore. She looked unshakable.

Jake’s eyes narrowed just slightly, disbelief curling in his gut like a slow burn. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe this wasn’t her. Maybe it was just the name. People shared names all the time—right? He’d probably met three Ashleys last week alone. Could be coincidence. Could be nothing.

But then—

Then there was the way she stood.

That little pause in her step before Cyclone said her name, the same way she used to freeze when her name was called in class, like her brain had to double-check that someone was actually saying it. That subtle bite of her bottom lip—she still did that. A nervous tell. The same one she had when she handed him a flash drive with his project already formatted because “you always forget the citations, Jake.”

God.

He rubbed a hand over his mouth, slowly, like it might smother the memory.

It had to be her.

But how? How the hell had she gone from PoliSci major with trembling hands and wide eyes to Commander Rogue?

And why did his chest feel so damn tight?

Jake sat there, stunned, every excuse he reached for slipping like oil through his fingers. Maybe she wasn’t the same girl. Maybe she was just someone who looked like her. Maybe he’d imagined the whole thing. His mind was good at rewriting stories when they made him look bad. But this?

This wasn’t a story.

She was real.

She was right in front of him.

And she hadn’t even looked at him.

Jake was still staring.

Still trying to force logic into something that had none. His brain looped through possibilities like they were checklists: Same name, maybe. Long-lost cousin, maybe. Government clone, hell, maybe. Anything to explain the impossible without confronting what was staring him in the face.

Then—right beside him—Rooster leaned slightly in his seat and muttered under his breath with a low, impressed whistle.

“God,” he said, barely above a whisper, “she’s hot.”

Jake snapped his head toward him so fast his neck popped.

“What did you just say?”

The words came out sharper than he meant. Or maybe he did mean them that sharp.

Rooster blinked, caught off guard, eyes narrowing like Jake had just challenged him over the last wing at the Hard Deck. “What, man? I said she’s hot. It’s not a crime.”

Jake’s jaw tightened. His tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek, and for a moment, he almost replied with something stupid. Something defensive. Something that would've given everything away.

But before he could speak, a voice cut through the hangar like a whipcrack.

“Lieutenants.”

It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.

Commander Ruin’s voice had that same weight a teacher used when they’d caught a student mid-eye roll during a lecture. Cold. Controlled. Designed to humiliate you just enough.

Jake turned his head slowly, along with Rooster and half the squad, all trying to act like they hadn’t just been called out in front of literal legends.

Ruin hadn’t moved from his place at the front, arms folded neatly across his chest, expression unreadable.

“If the conversation is more engaging than the briefing,” Ruin said, cool and clipped, “you’re welcome to step outside and discuss your thoughts where you’re not wasting our time.”

Jake felt the flush crawl up his neck immediately.

Phoenix gave a low whistle under her breath beside them, not even trying to hide her grin. Payback muttered something that sounded like “oof,” and Coyote leaned away like he didn’t want to be associated with any of them.

Jake didn’t say a word.

Neither did Rooster.

But the heat in Jake’s ears had nothing to do with the air-conditioning.

And when his eyes flicked back to Rogue—Commander Rogue—she still wasn’t looking at him.

Didn’t even smirk.

Didn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing she heard any of it.

That, somehow, burned the worst of all.

Then, Commander Hale stepped forward with the unhurried, unshakable calm of someone who’d walked through real fire and didn’t flinch at smoke anymore. His boots echoed across the hangar floor—solid, heavy—until he came to a stop dead center in front of the squad. Arms still folded. Back impossibly straight. Eyes locked forward.

The kind of posture that said I don’t need your respect. I already earned it years ago.

Jake studied him carefully now, not because he wanted to, but because he couldn’t not. There was something about the man—something still, like a mountain before an avalanche. He wasn’t big in a showy way. He didn’t posture. Didn’t sneer. But you felt him in the room, in the same way you felt an approaching storm behind glass.

“My name is Commander Theo Hale,” he said, voice low but clear. “Call sign Ruin.”

He let that settle.

Not a flicker of emotion in his face. Not a blink.

“You’ve already been told what I’ve done, where I’ve flown, and what it means to work with me,” he continued. “None of that matters here unless you give me a reason to believe you belong in the air with us.”

A few seats shifted. No one dared speak.

Jake didn’t move. He felt the words sink beneath his skin like hooks. Belong in the air with us. As if they were a tier above—and maybe they were.

Ruin paced forward a step, slow and methodical, eyes scanning the rows like he was weighing each soul inside them.

“I’m not here to babysit. I’m not here to lecture. I don’t care about your reputations, your bar fights, or your daddy issues. I care about results. I care about the people who will come home because of how tight your formation flies.”

He stopped. His gaze caught Jake’s for half a second—and it didn’t falter.

“If that doesn’t interest you?” Ruin said, voice suddenly sharper, “Let us know now. We’ll make room for someone who still gives a damn.”

Silence.

He nodded once, curt and clean, then stepped back beside Rogue and Jinx, hands behind his back.

Jake let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

One down.

Two to go.

Commander Mercer stepped forward with a slower ease than Ruin, but no less authority. Where Ruin moved like a warpath waiting to happen, Jinx moved like he was already three steps ahead of the rest of the room and didn’t feel the need to brag about it.

He stood tall, hands clasped loosely behind his back, jaw relaxed, eyes half-lidded in that quiet, analytical way that made Jake immediately wary. There was no bark to him—just that deadly stillness some pilots had when they didn’t need noise to command a storm.

“Lieutenant Commander Kade Mercer,” he said, voice smooth, deliberate, and unshaken. “Call sign Jinx.”

He didn’t follow it up with credentials. Didn’t rattle off medals or deployments. He let his name and tone carry the weight—and it did.

“I’ve flown combat missions in seven countries and trained with five different air forces. If you’re in the air with me, you won’t need to guess what I’m thinking.”

His gaze slid over the squad like he was scanning data points instead of people. Not judgmental. Not cruel. Just thorough.

“If I give you a command, it’s not a suggestion. If I give you silence, it’s on purpose. I expect you to listen. I expect you to think.”

There was no heat behind it, no raised volume. Just certainty. Control so quiet it left no room to argue.

“I’m not here to be your enemy,” he said. “But I won’t waste time convincing you of something you should already know.”

He paused. Let that hang in the air like static.

“I trust skill. I trust clarity. I trust decisions made in less than three seconds. If you can’t handle that, step back before you waste my time—or worse, get someone else killed.”

Jake’s throat tightened slightly. He wasn’t scared of this guy. But he respected him, instantly and absolutely.

Jinx gave one final, silent nod, then stepped back into place beside Ruin.

Two down.

Jake felt it coming.

The last voice.

The one he wasn’t ready to hear.

She stepped forward.

Not a twitch of hesitation in her spine, not a flicker of uncertainty across her face. Commander (Last Name)—no, Rogue—moved like someone who’d learned long ago that power wasn’t about volume. It was about presence. And she carried it in spades.

Jake’s eyes followed her like they were wired to. Like he couldn’t look away even if he tried. His hands flexed against his thighs. Her boots clicked once against the concrete and then silence fell again, heavy as a stormfront.

She stood at the center, posture perfect, chin level, her hands at ease behind her back. There was a stillness about her that made the air feel heavier. And when she spoke, her voice didn’t crack or rise—it settled, clean and even, like a scalpel being drawn.

“I’m Commander (Your Name) (Last Name), call sign Rogue.”

She let it breathe. Let the name hang in the air for a moment. The confidence in her tone wasn’t rehearsed. It was worn-in. Lived-in. Like it had been forged in pressure and held together with purpose.

“I don’t care where you came from or how many hours you’ve logged. That’s not what earns you a place here.”

She glanced across the squad as she spoke. Not pausing. Not blinking. Not lingering long enough to give anyone more weight than the next. Not even him.

“You’ll earn your spot in the air. In the comms. In the debrief. You’ll earn it when you show me that you’re not just flying to prove something, but flying to protect something. If your pride’s more important than your team, don’t get in my formation.”

Her eyes flicked for a second—brief, surgical—toward the row where Jake sat.

Then away again.

And he was hit with that same damn ache, sharp and hot in his ribs, the kind that didn’t leave bruises but ought to.

“Some of you might remember my name,” she said, with the faintest curve of something that could’ve been a smirk—but wasn’t. “Some of you won’t. That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you hear it now, and you understand one thing.”

Her shoulders drew back, her gaze hardening just slightly.

“I’m not here to be your friend. I’m here to make sure you survive.”

And that was it.

She stepped back beside Jinx and Ruin without fanfare, without waiting for a reaction. Like she hadn’t just split open the sky and walked out of the thunder.

Jake stared at her like he’d been punched.

Because for the first time in a long damn time, he had no idea what to say.

Warlock stepped forward, the calm after the thunder. His voice didn’t boom—it didn’t need to. It rolled across the hangar like it belonged there, measured and precise, carrying the weight of authority without ever sounding forced. “That concludes introductions,” he said, his tone level, eyes sweeping over the squad like he was checking for cracked composure.

“These officers will be part of your detachment for the foreseeable future. You will respect their rank, follow their lead when instructed, and if you’re smart, you’ll learn something from them while you can.” No one nodded. No one dared breathe too loudly. Jake barely blinked. He kept his jaw tight, hands resting on his thighs, eyes locked forward—mostly. Not quite on her, not anymore. But close.

Warlock gave a final nod to Maverick, then turned. Cyclone followed a beat after, posture as stiff and unreadable as ever. And then they were leaving—Warlock, Cyclone, Ruin, Jinx... and Rogue. She didn’t look back. Not once. She didn’t glance at Jake, didn’t even skim the row of stunned pilots like she needed their approval. She walked out the same way she entered: like the room had already been warned.

Jake watched her until the doors eased shut behind them. The second they did, he let out a slow breath through his nose—but even that felt like weakness. He was still trying to find his footing when Maverick stepped forward.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Maverick said, hands on his hips, aviators glinting in the overhead light. “You’re not dismissed yet.”

Groans rippled lightly across the group. Fritz let his head roll back. Coyote muttered something about needing a damn minute. And Rooster—Rooster leaned sideways with that half-stupid, half-lovesick grin curling on his face.

“Rogue,” he said under his breath, low enough that he thought no one heard him. “She’s something else.”

Jake’s head turned, just enough to catch it. Just enough for his stomach to twist, tight and fast.

“Dial it back,” he muttered, voice flat but sharp enough to slice. “You’re drooling.”

Rooster blinked, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “What? I said she’s impressive. Don’t have to act like I proposed.”

But Jake didn’t respond. He just looked forward again, jaw tight. Something bitter sat under his tongue, and for once, he didn’t have a clever line to spit it out. Rogue was gone. Out the door, out of reach, and yet somehow—still everywhere.

And she hadn’t even looked at him.

The silence that lingered after the doors shut behind the three commanders was thick enough to choke on. It wasn’t the stunned, respectful kind. It was the kind of silence where no one wanted to be the first idiot to speak and break whatever spell had just been cast.

Of course, Rooster broke it anyway.

“Rogue,” he said again, like the name had settled in his mouth too sweet to spit out. “That’s a damn call sign. She’s got presence. You see the way she walked? I didn’t even know I liked getting yelled at by women until—”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Phoenix muttered, rubbing her hands down her face.

“I’m just saying,” Rooster went on, undeterred, “she commands a room. Not just anyone gets that kind of intro. And did you see the way she looked at—”

Jake cut in, sharper than intended. “She didn’t look at anyone.”

That earned him a glance from half the squad. Rooster raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised at the edge in Jake’s voice, but he didn’t push it.

Before anyone else could jump in, Maverick stepped up to the front, arms crossed, clearly amused by the nervous buzz hanging in the air. “Alright,” he said, drawing everyone’s attention back, “while you all recover from your collective ego bruising, we’re still on schedule. Sim runs this afternoon. Live maneuvers tomorrow. That hasn’t changed.”

Coyote groaned. “You’re telling us we’ve gotta fly after that?”

Maverick shrugged, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You think command cares if your pride’s hurt?”

“Mine’s not hurt,” Jake blurted, voice rising slightly. “I just—” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling hotter than he wanted. “I mean, what the hell, Mav. Who are they? Especially her—you don’t just drop someone like that in here without warning.”

Maverick looked at him, unreadable behind those damn aviators. “You’ll find out in time, Lieutenant.”

Jake’s jaw ticked. “That’s not a real answer.”

Hondo, who’d been standing silently at Maverick’s side, finally spoke, his tone light but knowing. “Neither’s that attitude, son.”

The rest of the squad chuckled, the tension breaking just slightly, but Jake didn’t join them. He crossed his arms, leaned back in his seat, and stared at the spot Rogue had been standing just minutes ago. She hadn’t looked at him once. Not when she walked in. Not when she spoke. Not even when Rooster practically drooled on the floor beside him.

And now she is gone again.

But this time, she’d left a crater.

Jake wasn’t listening to a damn thing anymore.

Maverick had started outlining the rest of the day's schedule—some nonsense about sim rotations, recalibration drills, airspace protocols. Jake heard the words, sure, but none of them stuck. Not when Rooster, two seats down, was still mumbling like a man freshly baptized.

“She was just—” Rooster exhaled hard, running a hand down his face like he was trying to cool himself off. “That voice? That stare? I think I blacked out a little. I didn’t know it was possible to feel both terrified and turned on at the same time.”

Jake rolled his eyes so hard it almost hurt. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Rooster didn’t even flinch. “Worth it.”

Phoenix groaned. “You’re gonna get court-martialed for simping.”

“Gladly,” Rooster shot back. “I’ll hand over my wings if she tells me to kneel.”

“That’s enough,” Jake snapped, louder than intended.

The squad quieted for a beat, all heads turning toward him. Maverick arched an eyebrow, clearly clocking the sudden shift, and Hondo gave him a slow side-eye like damn, someone struck a nerve.

Jake forced a smirk onto his face, even though it felt brittle. “I mean, come on. You’re all acting like this is the first time you’ve seen someone with rank and a decent jawline.”

Payback snorted. “That wasn’t just rank, bro. That was presence.”

“She didn’t even blink,” Yale added. “Straight-up cold steel.”

Jake clenched his jaw.

Because they were right.

She hadn’t blinked. She hadn’t flinched. She hadn’t spared him a glance.

And Jake Seresin, Lieutenant and golden boy of the skies, was sitting there feeling like a ghost in his own story.

Rooster let out another dreamy sigh, tipping his head back. “God, I hope she yells at me.”

Jake didn’t say a word. He just stared straight ahead, arms crossed, pulse ticking in his throat like a warning. Because he knew what was coming.

Tomorrow, they'll be flying with her.

And tomorrow, for the first time in a long damn time, he might be the one falling behind.

[hyacinthleaves]

hello hello!!! may I request fluff relationship headcanons with eddie and volt? need to see more of my husbands and I plan on making another seperate request for two more characters so this wont be my last :)

also if its okay may I be referred to as 🌙 anon? :3

yeah bet. trying so hard not to write smut rn you can see it while i was writing. its like having a really funny joke that you cant say cuz everyones talking

Eddie and Volt:

I'm trying so hard not to be biased but this is actually one of, if not the most rewarding relationship to be in. Like, in comparison to all the other objects in the house, you are getting the most princess treatment from these two

It's def because they were so grateful for your help and not just because they're attracted to you. Because originally that wasn't their thing so the fact that your relationship literally went from 1 to 100 is one of the reasons why being with them is deadass all fun and vibes for the most part

Also I think it would be so fun to date them because unlike some other pairings in the house (cough cough curt and rod, harper and dirk, and maybe timmy/timothy if I can count them) there's no tension between one and the other where you're forced to come between them really

I feel like interactions with them heavily depend on how you're feeling towards them or what side you decide to show to them

Like I can see a more sassy/teasing s/o talking to Volt a lot and poking fun at Eddie (in a flustering way) because of how much he blushes around them

Just getting Eddie flustered has got to feel like the greatest thing ever. Keep reminding him how much he wanted nothing to do with you when you first met. Make him feel how thankful he is to have you by his side. Volt supports this and actually thinks its so funny. Eddie is getting you back for this. Don't think you can just get away with this

But I can also see a more kind and affectionate s/o being more clingy to Volt (which he loves and will accept all of it, despite how busy he is) and Eddie jokingly poking fun at you

Volt makes it very clear to everyone that you're his partner. PDA shakes in the presence of Volt. I swear he gets worse with every interaction with you

In fact I feel like he has to hold himself back a lot. You make him lose his composure so easily and he has to remember he's on the clock

If you ever give him a reason to, he wouldn't be too upset if he had to close the Breaker Box early. He would find the perfect time to do it though so it doesn't seem like anything TOO bad is happening

But his patience is pretty high so usually there's no need for it to get to that point...don't test him too much though. Or do. You're well aware where that will get you

You literally cannot get bored around them I'm so serious like 10/10 relationship

[gothicfied]

Could u maybe write something about how the squid game characters would be with a reader who's insecure? 💛

Squid Game (S2/S3) Characters with an insecure reader

Featuring: Thanos / Player 230, Se-mi / Player 380, Cho Hyun-ju / Player 120, Nam-gyu / Player 124, Kang Dae-ho / Player 388, Park Min-su / Player 125, Kim Jun-hee / Player 222, Lee Myung-gi / Player 333

Warnings: Mentions of drugs and overdosing in Nam-gyu's part, reader is insecure about their body in most of the headcanons, gender neutral language for the reader so I'm sorry if I slipped up and it suggests otherwise at any point, other than that it's just comfort/fluff, not proof read (English isn't my first language)

A/N: ASK IS A THOUSAND YEARS OLD but dude, I miss Season 2 so much, it was genuinely so whimsical compared to Season 3 ): Anyway, I feel like this got really weak towards the end. This took me like three days to write, sorry lolololol

Thanos / Player 230

જ⁀➴ Being in a relationship with Thanos, as he wants you to call him and always insists on it, isn't for the weak. He's outgoing, expressive, famous and you are.. well, you are you. Sometimes you think you're too boring for him and that he deserves someone much cooler than you, but you'd never voice your problems like that too him.

જ⁀➴ Thanos is, at first at least, very oblivious to your insecurities. To him, you are the most perfect person in the world, obviously, or else he wouldn't be in a relationship with you. He understands that, fundamentally, you are a very different type of person than him, so he chalks off your behavior as 'just being shy'.

જ⁀➴ The thought of not being enough for him keeps you up at night sometimes. You'd wander around in your shared apartment and maybe make yourself cereal in the middle of the night to at least be doing something. Occasionally, your boyfriend would wake up to sounds in the kitchen and hug you from behind when finding you there.

જ⁀➴ After a couple of weeks, even Thanos starts to get a bit concerned. You don't want to go out that much anymore and seem much more aloof than usual — What's up with that? He had to ask now.

જ⁀➴ After finding out what bothered you, since you couldn't keep your feelings bottled up anymore, he started to feel guilty (yes, he can actually feel bad for someone). Thanos hugged you very tightly that evening and tried to reassure you the best he could. Maybe he wasn't someone who was good with words, but he'd always shoe you his love through actions.

જ⁀➴ Random little gifts, songs or raps written just for you and obviously only about you, more compliments and co. were his way of expressing it. And, after a while, you started to feel better about your relationship, too.

Se-mi / Player 380

જ⁀➴ Se-mi is basically the cool girl every teenage girl always wanted to be. And you were the lucky person to call her your girlfriend. Her piercings, her hair, her style and especially her attitude were all so perfect — It was impossible to not fall in love with her. In return, she also thinks the world of you. "You're my reason to live." Se-mi would tell you sometimes.

જ⁀➴ But, seeing her with other people that seemed to match her vibe perfectly made you realize you might not be everything you thought you were. To her, at least. It seemed like she smiled more around her people, laughed more, talked more. Was it you? Were you the one that didn't fit in?

જ⁀➴ You tried finding solutions for your complicated feelings, because no one wants to have an insecure, jealous partner, right? But, you just couldn't force yourself to be more like her.. because that was just not you. It would be unnatural, unauthentic and pretty weird. You sulked more and more about it, making Se-mi notice aswell.

જ⁀➴ She'd beg you to talk to her about it, but you felt too embarrassed and shut her out. Genuinely, Se-mi chose you for a reason and you knew that very well, but you still couldn't shake the feeling that she would be better off dating someone with common interests or a common style.

જ⁀➴ One day, Se-mi basically forced you to tell her what the hell was wrong, since it was also kind of taking a toll on her, so you had to spit it out. She seemed rather suprised to hear about your insecurities, but didn't shame you for them, of course.

જ⁀➴ Se-mi decided to meet you in the middle and also try out some of the things you liked without acting so nonchalantly about it. Quickly, things turned back to normal, as the two of you communicated better with each other and Se-mi was more open about your relationship. She reassured you that you were the best partner she's ever had, that you were someone that healed her from past trauma and that she loved you the way you are.

Cho Hyun-ju / Player 120

જ⁀➴ In the beginning, Hyun-ju was definitely the more insecure between the two of you. She's a trans woman after all — It wouldn't be accepted everywhere and she understood that completely. But, when she met you and you made her feel loved and validated, she was definitely way more confident than before. Hyun-ju is a strong person, in more ways than one and you were proud of her every step along the way.

જ⁀➴ That didn't mean you weren't insecure yourself, though. All your life you've been dealing with self-image issues you just can't seem to get rid of. The beauty standards are high and you were convinced that everyone around you was lying when they said you were actually really pretty.

જ⁀➴ Hyun-ju, as empathetic as she is, immediately picked up on the problem as soon as you guys moved in together. She didn't know what to do at first: Should she ask you about it? Should she actively do something? Or should she just passively reasure you more by giving you more compliments and showing her love through actions? Or— Or maybe, she was just overthinking it.

જ⁀➴ The easiest thing was: Asking. So she did. And at first you responded with "No, no, it's nothing." But after a few more interrogating questions by her, you cracked. Admittedly, Hyun-ju was shocked about how you talked about yourself, because she couldn't fathom anyone ever thinking like that about you. You're beautiful, funny and smart... she didn't expect you to struggle with your self-image.

જ⁀➴ You didn't plan on crying that night, but you didn anyway when hearing you girlfriend talk so sweetly about you. After a hug and a kiss, you immediately felt better and promised her to voice your insecurities more, so she could prove them wrong everytime.

Nam-gyu / Player 124

જ⁀➴ Nam-gyu is definitely the most unhinged boyfriend you've ever had. You met him one night in the nightclub he worked at after you went there to celebrate your friend's birthday and fell in love with him instantly. You learned to live with his flaws, but you didn't tolerate his drug use — To this day Nam-gyu keeps calling you 'his savior' because he's convinced he would've died to an accidental overdose if you hadn't come into his life.

જ⁀➴ Your relationship was near perfect, the only thing that bothered you was that he still worked at that hell they called The Pentagon. Not only because he was surrounded by potential relapse opportunities, but also because.. well, because of the girls there. You saw what kind of people went in and out of there the night you were at your friend's birthday and you also knew how young men liked to talk about women. Doesn't matter if they're taken or not.

જ⁀➴ You tried making yourself feel better by ignoring it, because you knew Nam-gyu wasn't a cheater... right? You did bring up his job multiple times and told him to quit, because the circumstances in a nightclub were not great anyway. Your boyfriend undertstood your concerns, but couldn't help feeling like there was an underlying reason.. but, he wasn't good at reading people, so he didn't persuade you or anything.

જ⁀➴ One evening, just before he was leaving for work, he overheard you on your phone with your sister as you complained about exactly what you felt insecure about. And then it clicked in him. Nam-gyu thought it was so sweet that you cared so much about his well being, but his heart did crack a bit when hearing you talk about the possibility of him cheating.

જ⁀➴ After you hung up, he carefully knocked on your door frame and asked if you could talk. Oh no, he overheard everything, didn't he? But, it turned out to not be so bad talking about your feelings after all. Nam-gyu agreed with you and basically quit his job the next day, because he couldn't bear to see his love be insecure about anything.

Kang Dae-ho / Player 388

જ⁀➴ Dae-ho is the definition of the best boyfriend ever. He's probably the most caring and sweet person you've ever met and you were convinced you were going to marry him. And he gave you the same love right back: Cuddling with you even though you have to get up for work, buying you flowers randomly every week, calling you beautiful every time he saw you... that wasn't princess treatment for him, that was the bare minimum.

જ⁀➴ Even though you heard all this things about yourself from him, you couldn't help but always find something wrong with your appearance. Beauty standards everywhere werr tough, especially on women and you couldn't quite seem to catch up with them. Every day you'd open instagram to find a new insecurity taking over the platform, filled with people trying to give ridiculous tips on how to get rid of them.

જ⁀➴ Dae-ho, being the good boyfriend he was, always dragged you away from the mirror whenever you said something like "My nose is way to big" or "Do you think I should get lip filler?" because no. No, he didn't think that. The only thing he thought about all day was your (natural) beauty and he couldn't stand seeing you pick at yourself almost every day.

જ⁀➴ "Social media is ruining you, honey." Was the phrase you heard more often than not. In a way, he meant it lightheartedly, since he didn't want to invalidate your feelings just because your complaints were objectively wrong. You knew Dae-ho only wanted the best for you and you appreciated him being so supportive of you.

જ⁀➴ No, but seriously. There was nothing wrong with you. Whenever you said you were insecure about a part of your body, Dae-ho would kiss that exact spot a million times while telling you the exact opposite: There's nothing wrong with you, because you are perfect the way you are and he loves you for that.

Park Min-su / Player 125

જ⁀➴ Even though Min-su can come off as vulnerable and delicate because of his shyness and his habit of avoiding confrontation, he is most certainly the opposite in yout relationship. He's kind, calm and collected (like always), but he's also very mature about things you didn't expect. At first you thought he was just navigating through life cluelessly, but Min-su soon proved that he was a better afult than you were.

જ⁀➴ That also ties into your relationship: He dates to marry, so you can be sure that he takes any hardships quite seriously. And that also applies to any struggles you may have with yourself. It doesn't matter what you're insecure about, he'd never think of it a stupid or silly and he'd always try his best to make you feel more comfortable.

જ⁀➴ Whatever it takes, Min-su would do it: Talk it out, find solutions together, try making you feel more loved throughout the day. At first he thought maybe it was something that he was doing, maybe because he wasn't putting enough effort into the relationship, but you clarified it right away.

જ⁀➴ Past relationships of yours ended badly, so he learned, and now you were just so used to being treated badly and walking around eggshells around your partners. It was maybe a bit strange and foreign to have someone like Min-su by your side and you just had to get used to it.

જ⁀➴ Min-su loves you dearly and will definitely show that everyday. A simple "I love you" doesn't always cut it for him, so be prepared to be showered in gifts or random acts of service. Very quickly, you notice you aren't overly insecure about yourself anymore and you finally realize what a healthy relationship looks like.

Kim Jun-hee / Player 222

જ⁀➴ If there's one thing Jun-hee hates in this world, it's definitely seeing you being insecure about yourself. You'd often complain about your looks in a more jokingly way and the two of you have a laugh about it later when she convinces you that nothing's wrong with you, but she always feels that there's an underlying truth about what you're saying.

જ⁀➴ Jun-hee wouldn't directly ask, mostly because she wouldn't really know how to comfort you or anything, but she was still good at making you feel loved. More often than not you'd find little notes on the fridge or on your bedside table saying things like "Love you, can't wait to see you later" among other things. She'd leave them before going to work, since she had to wake up earlier than you.

જ⁀➴ At some point you started writing those little notes back, putting one in her bag or sticking them to the bathroom mirror. It became like a ritual for the two of you, which always cheered you up, especially if one of you had a bad day. Neither Jun-hee nor you would actually mention the notes, but it was an unspoken rule to write one back if you got one.

જ⁀➴ Little things like this definitely helped you feel more confident about yourself, since it was really nice knowing you had someone that loved you unconditionally. You woke up looking forward to finding a little yellow sticky note (sometimes even stuck onto your forehead) and Jun-hee's words always defeated any insecurities you carried around with you.

Lee Myung-gi / Player 333

જ⁀➴ Dating a famous youtuber has more downsides than upsides is what you learned very quickly. You weren't familiar with Myung-gi's online persona "MG Coin" at first and you had just gotten to know him at a random coffee shop. When things between the two of you started to get serious, though, he had to explain to you how he makes money... Yeah, advertising crypto currency.

જ⁀➴ At first you didn't care much, because at the end of the day you loved your boyfriend. He's caring and sweet, ready to sacrifice anything when it comes to you — That apparently also applied to his, weirdly high amount, of fangirls. They'd literally die for Myung-gi and were not very fond to find out he had a partner now.

જ⁀➴ The fact that people online started commenting on you, your clothes, hair, likes and dislikes, interests, the way you talk... it all made you feel very insecure, very fast. It was like you couldn't exist without being watched everywhere, like you couldn't post anything couple related without being torn to shreds by people you didn't even know.

જ⁀➴ Myung-gi wasn't blind and immediately caught on what was happening. Whatever he did to try and combat it, some idiots would still continue and that's just how the world was — But, he was ready to accept a break up if it was too much for you, even if it wasn't easy. Myung-gi sat you down one evening and poured his whole heart out, telling you how much he loves you and how he'd do anything for you, but that he couldn't bear seeing you get hurt.

જ⁀➴ Obviously you stayed with him. And eventually you learned how to ignore opinions of people you didn't care about. Myung-gi was never afraid to show you off and you shouldn't be afraid being shown off, because, at the end, you were his partner. Not anyone else.

[harringtons-cupid]

MORE TO LOSE - CHAPTER ONE [s.h]

A/N: Reader begins with the nickname of 'Bunny' since I didn't want to use y/n. This one contains no smut, just establishing the characters before anything. Nancy is briefly featured in this fic, Reader is a little bit more wealthy than Steve.

Tagged: @jamdoughnutmagician @stevesxyellowxsweater @palmtreesx3 @deerdoedeer95 @quinnsharrington @finalmoondragon @keerygal @her-mortal-projections

Wanna be tagged? - send me an ask!

w.c: 2.3k

Bartender!Steve au!

SUMMARY: Steve meets you when he's working one night. Unaware that his life is about to change

It was June when you first met him, leaning against the wall of your local bar. You had noticed him from past visits but he had never spoken to you.

“Got a light sweetheart?” His voice emerged from the shadows.

Shrugging as he shook his lighter, even though you both knew that it makes it worse to do that. Rummaging in your small shoulder bag, you prize out your emergency lighter.

You raise the lighter up to the unlit cigarette dangling in his mouth, covering it slightly from the wind. His eyes boring onto you as you lit the cigarette immediately.

“There we go darling, you’d be lost without me” you winked at him, taking back the lighter and slipping inside.

The bar was its usual thriving self, the hot weather caused the staff to blast the AC on high. Your nipples pinched against your thin top as you made your way to the bar.

After ordering a gin and tonic with the least attractive staff member, you reached a standing table and observed the surroundings.

“Thanks for the lighter”, he whispered, making you jump.

You stared at him, a twinkle in his eye as he cracked a grin at your annoyance.

“I’m Steve” he smiled, extending his hand out to you.

You took his hand in yours, it was significantly bigger than yours. His thumb stroked the side of your wrist before you let him go. It was calloused.

He was wearing some light blue jeans and a white top with a small name tag, and his job role underlined that read 'managerial bartender', a silver chain dangled around his neck. You pointed at the name tag with a flirty smile. he wasn't your usual type.

Standing shoulder to shoulder, his eyes flickered between you and the busy bar. You examined him, his brown curls brightening each time the strobe light hit them. His long eyelashes slowly blinking as he looked at you.

“I’m Bunny” you said breaking the silence, watching as he bit his lip at the mention of your nickname.

It was a nickname that was given to you years ago, you didn't particularly like it, but no one else stuck around to give you a better one.

He leant closer, his breath hot against your skin. Beginning to speak when a small cough broke his concentration, you felt him sigh next to you.

A brunette girl was standing next to Steve; her eyes were frantically looking at your closeness. Neither you or Steve spoke to her for a second; she smiled and copied Steve by extending her hand.

“I’m Nancy,” she said, matter-of-factly. As if you were meant to know who she was.

You stared at her and Steve, as if to say “who the fuck is this bitch?”

He finally opened his mouth, speaking only to you.

“She’s my ex, she’s in here every night,” he said painfully, gazing into your eyes for a way out.

You rolled your eyes; of course you found the only attractive guy in the place who had an ex hanging off his arm. You smiled politely, downing your drink and leaning into Steve.

''When you are completely free, give me a call,'' you said suggestively, taking your favourite pen out and writing your number down.

Glancing at Nancy, you took a step closer, took the piece of card, and slid your hand between the tight clasp of his black jeans. You placed the card at the top. He looked down at you as you licked your fingers and pushed the card deeper into his jeans.

His breath shuddered at your touch, his pupils dilated as you placed your finger on his mouth with a smirk.

“Stay for a drink” he whispered, his cheeks flushed red.

“Bye Steve” you reached up to his lips and hovered over them before walking away.

You knew how to get men to chase you but you weren’t completely sure if Steve would.

For the next couple of days, you kept getting called but once you picked up the receiver they hung up. At first, you didn’t realise that it was Steve until the last call.

It was amusing to know that he was nervous to call you, wanting to keep up the tension you didn’t dial his number back.

It was a few weeks later when you saw him next, the bar was quieter than usual for a Friday night. He was leaning over the counter talking to who you could only guess was Nancy.

His body language was withdrawn as he spoke to her, obvious that he didn’t want to talk with her. So you took a breath before walking over,

“Excuse me, sir, is this woman bothering you?” You said loudly, pushing your chest out.

The moment his eyes locked onto you, his body language relaxed, and he smirked, his cheeks blushing behind the bright neon lights.

''Bunny'' he breathed, sliding his tongue across his teeth and lips.

Your nickname in his mouth gave you goosebumps. It felt horrible in everyone else's mouth, but it felt nice rolling off his tongue.

He walked with you away from Nancy; a few people disappeared to booths, leaving you both alone. His attention was directed at you, and you hated to admit when men had an effect on you. But there was something different about him.

Steve was wearing black jeans, a black top with the same chain. His badge twinkled in the light, it made you smile as you looked up at him.

''The usual?'' he asked without taking his eyes off you.

He poured out your drink with such care, taking a moment before charging you. You turned to look for 'Nancy', but thankfully for you both, she was nowhere to be seen.

''Does she hang around here often?'' you asked, taking a sip of your chilled drink.

“She leaves when she notices that I’m not going to give her what she wants.” He sadly sighed.

The bitterness of the tonic, the coldness of the ice and the sharpness of the gin tingled against your mouth. Since meeting him, the bar had become so intoxicating that you never wanted more than one drink.

If he played his cards right, you just might answer his call.

You talked with him for another two drinks, unaware that he was clocking off sooner than you expected, you hung around for him, which you never did.

Men always chased you but this didn't mean that you'd let him invite you in. All you suggested was to walk him home.

He was quiet after leaving the bar, it was as if his barrier had disappeared. So you bit your tongue and found his hand in the dark.

You weren’t usually soft or into hand holding but you felt that he needed this more than you.

Call it a feeling.

Which was rare for you; feelings were something that you hid deep inside you. Never feeling them until it consumed you.

The walk to his place wasn’t long, and the silence wasn’t awkward or boring. You watched the brief nightlifeof Hawkins pass you by.

“How does the bar thrive in a place like Hawkins?” You finally asked, breaking the silence.

His head tipped down before looking at you with a smile, his eyes moving from both eyes quickly.

“Well, sometimes it doesn’t. But other times, it’s so packed I can hardly move,” he sighed with a tired smile.

You wanted to press him more about the bar; it seemed to be an interest of his until he stopped at a small building. It was above an old record store in the middle of the town centre of Hawkins.

It was nondescript; you had gone past it many times without taking any notice of it, but now you stood in front of it. You began to look at the peeling of the red paint and the wonky “3”, a rusted gold number barely hanging on the door.

He didn't need to say the line; all the men she had been with had paused before their place. Usually, gesturing as if you weren't aware that they lived there.

''Thank you for another chill evening. Steve,'' you breathed, taking a step forward.

The warm night breeze lifted your hair; his eye softened as you were now inches away from his face. Slowly taking his face in your hands and planting a kiss on his lips.

He melted into the kiss, like they always did, but he wasn't rough or aggressive. There was no push or pull; he didn't try to move you closer to his front door.

His hands did fall onto your hips only lightly, careful. As if you'd shatter if he touched you. Steve was the one who pulled away first; his pupils were pulsating under the flickering streetlight.

You whispered 'good night' into his ear before turning away, readying yourself for the walk home.

''Bunny'' his voice was quiet; he had taken a step back. Seeming further away from you.

Your eyes tightened, hoping to yourself that he didn't ask you to stay. You couldn't sleep with him; you wouldn't.

It always ruined things with you and men, and there was something in you that couldn't do that with him. But you turned around anyway, his eyes pulling you in.

He seemed so soft around the edges that you were afraid that your jagged edges would make him bleed if he were cut.

''Come in for a coffee at least?'' he said, giving you a tight smile.

Sighing, you told yourself you wouldn't go inside, but you were definitely not fucking him.

His place was small but nice, books scattered a few vacant bookshelves. His coffee table had the ends of cigarette butts, scrap pieces of paper and pens on it.

Perching yourself on one of the leather sofas, watching as he made the coffee. Candles unlit sat in the corner, a couple of plants perched on counters and sideboards.

He had a few paintings and wall hangings, making the place seem less empty. It was homely, one of the nicer apartments you had been in.

Taking the coffee out of his hands when he passed it to you, it bellowed steam into the cool apartment. The noise from the road below vibrated against the windows as you both sat there.

You were unfamiliar with the concept of just talking to men, it was rare that you found yourself in a relationship. Apart from those very few times.

Steve was different, he seemed shyer. Not used to speaking with other women, it made you wonder how he was with Nancy. Before deciding to shake that image off.

“I should really go” you said, feeling rather disappointed.

“Well, if you give me a second. I’ll drive you” he said with a smile.

You protested against his kind offer but he won, his keys were in his hands before you could fight him anymore.

His car was parked right outside, the burgundy BMW. The leather seat were cold against your back as you sunk into the chair.

As he drove away from his small apartment, his hand slid down from the steering wheel and onto your knee. You didn’t ask him to move his hand, the radio played softly in the background.

It was nice, you felt safe around him. Nothing was expected from you as the houses and trees flew by in the window.

“You won't have to worry about Nancy again,” he sighed, his hands gripping the steering wheel.

It was obviously a big issue in his life and you hated a clingy ex but there was definitely something more there.

“Well don't push her away for my benefit” you said softly, squeezing his hand with a smile.

He didn't reply, deciding to change the subject. You wondered if he would be better at a different venue.

“I did try to call you” he squeaked, taking his eyes off the road for a second.

You found yourself laughing at what he thought was a confession, most men didn’t call and not speak.

“I know” you licked your lips as your smile widened.

His reactions were both cute and hot, seeing how flustered he got at your words and touch.

You told him to take the next left, it was down a dirt track. Your house bigger than his apartment, you guessed that it was a different tax bracket entirely but only by one.

His breath was taken away by the sight of it, people usually assumed you were lying when you tell them that you inherited the property.

The car crunched beneath the stones driveway, following the curves and bends until he arrived at the front entrance.

“It’s not mine, unfortunately sweetie” you smiled, squeezing his hand for reassurance.

Your fingers pushed down on the cool metal handle, your back turned away from him. Until you felt his hands gripping onto your shoulder,

“Wait” his voice was quiet, his eyes were tired.

You instinctively sighed, it was always at this part of night when they begged for you to let them inside.

But instead his eyes dropped to your lips, a soft expression on his face.

Fuck.

You were finding it difficult to ignore the pull towards him, from that first night that you recognised him.

He came across as cocky and arrogant but upon the few brief meetings, he was far from it.

Allowing him to pull you closer, it was the second time you had became close to his but this time you didn't pull away. His hands finding your hair, gripping onto the soft strands as his lips met yours.

You weren't one for feeling fireworks when you were kissed but you swore that something bubbled inside you as his hand slipped down your hair and onto your cheeks.

That night as you got into bed, the phone beside you rang. Letting it ring for a few moments before answering,

“Hey, sweetheart” his voice was deep and husky.

Everyone called you Bunny and nothing more but the words “sweetheart” sounded soft in his mouth.

[rosakuma]

First Impressions Off of Ouno Nanae Student 1B!

Hello and happy Tetro Blue prologue day! We kick off the beginning of another wonderful, fun, scary, and most likely going to be depressing season of Tetro! We get to see each of the students everyday from now on during the 30th of June and the rest of July. We of course are starting with our lovely airheaded contortionist Ouno Nanae! I wanted to write down a list of thoughts I felt based on her first appearance(well more of voice debut than physical, that’s not until July 16th).

Starting off with the new background for the video

As we see, Seki updated his monitor and now in a very white space within the plane. This either means the plane entirely is just pure white or this is supposed represent Ouno’s main color White for her.

Also fun detail you can see is that Seki brought one of his personal items from the lab to the plane, being his best dad mug :) .

Its both sweet and sad to see how now Seki stuck in the plane he most likely cannot see his family, thus the only thing left remaining of a reminder of him is this mug that maybe his daughter gave him…..

BUT WHO CARES!? THIS AIN’T ABOUT HIM, LETS GET BACK TO OUR MAIN FOCUS, THAT BEING OUNO NANAE!

So as we see in the footage, Ouno currently up in her room trying to practice a certain position for her act. Feeling that its boring and the audience might not like it. With her is a teenage boy voice by anonymous according to the description.

We can assume this boy is a friend or possible partner of Nanae’s since she trusts and wants him enough to watch her act routine for one of her shows. We know for not a relative though with her referring to her mom and the fact she’ll get all “nosey” if she sees him.

It seems these two are close though with how he tries to tell Nanae her act is really good, she’s just tired of it from doing it multiple times. Perhaps if we get a Ouno Nanae spotlight, we could ask her a question regarding about who he is and what is his relationship with her.

Speaking of potential questions, another one can be asking based on what troupe she works with and her relationship with them! Base on her casting call description though in terms of her being “too trusting due to general naivety”. Perhaps she has a strong bond with her troupe to cause her to put her trust into others like they did for her.

Continuing on, we then have her voice which is very accurate to the casting call description being airy, lifting, and mid to high pitched tone.

Now, I definitely didn't expect her to sound like this but….I LOVE HER OH MY GOD!

She sounds soooo sweet and silly, its so much charm put into it. I gotta say that Rainy Day/Lemon did a wonderful job portraying her! And knowing Von loves to hear her voice, I can’t wait either to hear more of it for her interview and the rest of the series!

I am aware earlier today a lot of people were nasty about judging it since it sounded strange at first. Which btw I know its confirm she just talks like this and it's not a speech impediment or any other issue, but regardless if she had one or not, you should never ever make fun or insult anyone voice. It is disrespectful to the VA and to anyone who sounds like Ouno. Also just plain rude in general. Though please don’t take this as you have to like Ouno’s voice, but just don't make fun it or diss the VA’s voice acting skills if you don’t vibe with it. It might grow on you perhaps and if not, its cool as long we don’t act mean to the VA or anyone who sounds like this.

I will say…I am kinda bummed that Ouno just talks like this regularly and not because of a disability. Mostly because it would’ve been cool to see more representation in Tetro of voice disabilities or even if Ouno herself was deaf like Harada was in Tetro Pink. But oh well, not that we won’t be able to enjoy her character fully and besides, we’ll get more great diverse rep to explore for this cast either way!

We’ll have to wait to see a full grasp on what Ouno will fully be like during the killing game, but I can tell already she seems like she’s going to be one of the sweet characters of the cast. But also might be taken advantage of too(I’m side eyeing you Ikeda YOU BETTER LEAVE HER ALONE-).

Can’t wait for my boy Ninomiya tomorrow! ^^

[snazzysnap]

Hinata boyfriend hcs! ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

Shoyo bf!! At first he’d be so giddy and happy (actually never stops being happy and giddy LOL)

Shoyo bf!! He would let everyone know you two are dating, not in a possessive way, he’d just be so happy to let people know you’re his gf 

Shoyo bf!! He’d love to hold hands but gets slightly embarrassed when you inniciate it (same applies with hugs and kisses)

Shoyo bf!! Shares all his snacks with you 

Shoyo bf!! always invites you to practices (To the point where you’ll be there and no one would ask anything it’s just the default that you’re there)

Shoyo bf!! His family would love you. Specially Natsu she’d love to spend time with you 

Shoyo bf!! You will never be bored spending time with him he always has something to talk about, absolute endless chatter. He’d probably ask random questions like a kid “what if the sky was green :0” 

Shoyo bf!! #1 hype boy through and through. any hobby, anything you choose to do or not do, he will support you.

Shoyo bf!! When you show up at his games he gets clumsy and messes up. You have to start telling him you won’t show up and surprise at the end of each game (he falls for it eveeeery time) 

Shoyo bf!! He asks you to tutor him during final exams, he genuinely tries to understand when its you explaining subjects to him. 

HELLOOOOO!! omg yall thank you guys for reading my stuff I appreciate it sm :< I hope you guys are liking the headers i've been making :3 each fandom I write from will have its header as well as each separate character I write about.

[just-thoughts-no-vibes]

Was reading some articles about Kpop Demon Hunters and saw that there is a possibility for a sequel and I would like to add my two cents.

Listen. I understand the need for great stories like Kpop Demon Hunters. I also would like more, but I would also really like to just have a movie that did it's job, became beloved and ended. I was disappointed so many times by boring sequels that have nothing to do with the original idea, canceled shows and writing that makes you forget why you were a fan in the first place that I would genuinely be happier with this story just ending here, even tho there is definitely more to explore.

The idea that Kpop Demon Hunters might get a sequel or something of that sort doesn't excite me. My first thought is not "Oh my god, yes my girls will get more time to shine" but "What if they decide to just lobotomize all of them and undo all of the character development they went through because it's the easiest way to start a conflict?" I was so happy that there wasn't a plot point where Mira and Zoey are jealous of Rumi because she is the leader or something along those lines because there really is no need for that, but now I am in fear that after they went through so much and nearly died, the sequel would have them point fingers and yell "YoU arE alWAys tHE SPeCiaL ONe!" "WeLL It'S bEcaUSe I AM sPeCiaL" or some bullshit like that. I also don't want romance to become center of everything if we get the "Jinu is alive actually" plot. It was done greatly here but only because it wasn't the only thing going on. Both Jinu and Rumi had so much going on for them individually and could never be reduced to just romance (nor it was a point of the movie) and other characters, specifically Mira and Zoey, are not just some sidekicks who exist solely to complement Rumi and push her forward.

The only idea for a new movie that excites me is a story about Rumi's parents and her mom's group of Hunters (I need more on Celine!!!) but even that scares me because what if they pull "Yeah, Rumi's dad is actually Gwi-Ma and he was once nice but then something happened and his wife died and Celine is the actual villain and my baby boy is just misunderstood and he only turned all of these people into demons by using their worst fears and insecurities and made them his slaves because he was sad." My fragile heart can't handle such stupid plot anymore.

So many things can go wrong that I just want it to end here. This is very pessimistic and probably overly dramatic but I am really done with being disappointed with franchises for these (and many other) reasons. The love and passion for making great things expires quickly when money is involved and I don't have a reason to think that the same won't happened with Kpop Demon Hunters. At first you want to give people something that they would love and before you know it you are making a live action show after releasing movie number 7 (yes, each one is worse than the previous). Again, I am probably just overly pessimistic, but I don't trust these people one bit. Also it's just nice having something that doesn't answer every question. Make up your own version, it's fun.

[la-principessa-nuova]

Mine was also a joke I made, but just to myself.

I made a kind of boring comic about it before, but basically, I was sitting at my desk in my college dorm, and I came across an article about how some female protagonist in an upcoming title was really important because she would give young girls someone to connect with and see themselves in and teach them that they can do whatever it was the protagonist does too.

And I was basically like, “Yay that’s great! …but actually, hang on… is it even true that people connect more to characters of their own gender?” And it just struck me as weird because I connected way more to female characters than male ones, and I loved reading books that went deep into a female protagonist’s thoughts, and I felt more connected to women I played as in games than men.

And I wondered if maybe everyone just felt like that, and maybe either women were just easier to connect with, or books meant to appeal to women just went deeper into thoughts and less into action and maybe that’s why? Or maybe stereotypes around women lead people to write women that way?

And so I decided that maybe it’s not actually true that people connect more with/see themselves more in characters of their own gender, and it’s just that people who realize it’s not true don’t want to say that because it would make it harder to push for equal representation in media and so it’s just a white lie we keep up that’s easy to sell?

And I basically thought, “Yeah, that’s gotta be it. Because it’s the only way it makes any sense that I connect more with female characters.”

And then as a joke to myself in my head, I added on, “unless I was trans!”

And I laughed, “ha ha ha ha… ha????”

and then I realized that was actually legitimately a possibility I had never considered and I immediately set out to figure out if that could be true, and I completely failed to disprove it, and in fact just found immediately that the only reason I didn’t feel like the label “woman” applied to me was because I felt excluded from it, like I wasn’t allowed to have it apply to me.

And funnily enough I immediately compared myself to my siblings and was immediately like “well if any of us are trans it’s <oldest sibling>”, who only ended up realizing she was trans 6 years later.

But I ended that being 100% sure I was not a man and undecided whether I was a woman or nonbinary (whatever that was), mainly because I didn’t feel like the label woman could apply to be and I thought I would have realized sooner and felt gender dysphoria harder, so I just assumed maybe that means I’m nonbinary and i must be ok with my (now dead) name and he/him pronouns.

And I briefly tried experimenting with transitioning socially online at the time but I got scared out of it and intentionally avoided the trans community online bc i felt like i needed to be able to prove to my parents that this came from inside me and I wasn’t indoctrinated or anything, so I missed out on a lot of the info that would have helped me figure things out and on acceptance or anything like that, and once I moved back into my parents’ house and started commuting, I didn’t have that time and freedom to think about things like that, so I just stopped trying and it became this thing I knew but just figured must be fine to ignore.

And then like 7 years later I finally moved out of my parents’ house, and it finally gave me the time to think, and I started spending more time like I did in my dorm thinking about what my gender really was. And I started watching things like Drawfee and Dropout that were really openly supportive of trans people, and it made me feel more OK engaging more with it, and I started watching some YouTube videos about trans people and eventually by actual trans people, and started understanding it a bit more.

And then one day I decided to look up what gender dysphoria really meant to trans people, rather than a medical definition, and I ended up on genderdysphoria.fyi, and then I stayed up all night reading that and realizing how many aspects of gender dysphoria I had been ignoring and how many other feelings were just gender dysphoria or the direct effects of ignoring it, and how much I needed to transition in order to start living my life.

And fast forward 3 years and here we are, lol.

If I cracked your egg, you have to tell me.

Or tell me what did it. Mine was the reddit story of the girl that tried her gf's wig.

[sweetiiami-writes]

Phighting! HC Req💕Mama Scythe

💕💕 Scythe as a mother has always been a HC for me,,, she's always wanted children,,,

Sweetii's Notes:

This writing has the following trigger warnings:

Mentions of serial murder, mentions of infanticide, mental distress.

Found family dynamic is featured!

These are character headcanons! I may study them through this!

💕☁️💕☁️💕

Scythe never wanted to admit it to anyone, as she's known for her serial murders, but she's always wanted children of her own.

She longed to cradle a child in the arms she had that bore the hands that stained the Faction grounds with thick layers of crimson blood.

Every time she thought of wanting a child, she felt sick to her stomach. The cognitive dissonance tore her apart from the inside. How could she bring life when all she does is wipe the same life from the face of Inphernal? Knowing she had that power, it made her nauseous.

What if she were to kill her own child?

It brought her to tears multiple times, and she's woken up from nightmares thinking about it at all. The Church doesn't really pay attention to this distress, but if she had brought it up to Broker, he'd just say to her that maybe she needed to seek the Overseer for some more advice, but other than that…

“ Just ignore it, Scythe! It's all part of the job! ”

Medkit picks up on the motherly behaviour at times. He notices Scythe preparing laundry for him when he's too tired to clean himself, and she cooks for him at times.

He's asked about this, but Scythe dodges the questions as best as she can. Which leads to some graceful exchanges.

“ I've noticed you folded my clothes for me. ” “ It's all jus' part ‘o my job, ’Kit. ” “ You needn't do that, though, why do it now? ” “ Jus' noticed 'ya were tired. ” “ (I didn't say anything to her…) ”

But Medkit doesn't push for answers; if she won't answer, she doesn't have to, and he doesn't answer her either.

Scythe has strolled through Crossroads for some breaks here and there, but at times, she sees a mother with her child. It fills her with an intense feeling. Not anger, it's something more potent than a violent rage.

Sorrow.

She couldn't have any children as her Gear was modified to hell and back. The kid would come out malformed, at least, that's what she feared. She could give less of a damn if the child was broken physically, she'd care for it either way—even if the chances of death were high.

But seeing other mothers giving their children a normal life, it's heartbreaking to her. Why can't she have that life? The Church promised her that life, but all she's done is kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill—

“ Scythe? What are you doing in Crossroads? ” “ GAH! Awh… ‘Kit… Don’t jus' scare me like that. I could'a wrung 'yer neck. ” “ … You were looking at that family, don't tell me you're planning— ” “ ‘Kit, I do my job, I don’ just kill innocents ‘fer the hell of it. ”

Medkit put two and two together. He was able to figure it out, with her hand hovering over her stomach area, before she started to fiddle with her Gear. His expression softened at her brief vulnerability, even if it was for a split second.

Scythe then, after a bit more mulling and musing, finally told Medkit about her dreams. It shocked him, after all, she's a serial killer, but he understood her anxiety about taking care of a kid. He couldn't think of the kid's future in the Church, and if Scythe didn't want to leave, SFOTH knows how the kid would end up if it were conceived.

So, of course, Medkit took the time to listen to Scythe venting about her dreams, and after some deliberation, he told her that he doesn't mind if she treats him like a kid—he just can't stand seeing that vulnerable expression in her face, it's not like her.

And besides, he's mistakenly called her “ma” and “mom” at times…

And Scythe is, surprisingly, a very good mother figure. She always cooked breakfast for Medkit to the point that it's become routine for him to ask her what she's cooking.

“ What's for breakfast, mom? ” “ Nothin' much, ‘Kit. I got some eggs benedict with some bacon on the table if ’ya want it! ”

She seems a bit happier with this dynamic, and while Medkit seemed distant before, he's slowly warmed up to her. It made her happy, knowing that he's smiling only in her presence, even if they're both in the cult; both stuck for different reasons, but stuck together nonetheless.

She combed his hair at times, and took the time to braid it before Phights. Gossip is also exchanged between the two, always snickering over dumb conflicts. Gossip sessions never end when tea is involved, as Medkit will keep going on, and on, and on; and Scythe will ramble the same way.

However, she's still a killer.

But if for just a bit, she can forget she was ever a bad person, maybe this would be it.

[ichigopuddingmuslima]

Can you write Alexei taking the Thunderbolts ice fishing and have it devolve into complete chaos because none of them have the patience for it 👉👈

Thank you for requesting! I am not the best/the most confident at writing the Thunderbolts so please forgive me for any OOC.

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: none

It was supposed to be a fun activity. Bonding. Something something that Alexei did as a child blah blah blah ice fishing. So here they all were in an Alaskan cabin. They had all agreed to it for their own selfish reasons. Ava was happy to go someplace where she wouldn’t automatically melt due to having to wear her suit. Bob was happy to travel as he had never been to Alaska and ice fishing sounded fun. Bucky was looking forward to being away from the press, reporters, and paparazzi; he craved the peace and quiet. John was a huge fan of winter sports and was ecstatic to go skiing and snowboarding. Yelena wanted time with her father. Alexei didn’t care about the individual reasoning of the Thunderbolt members. He was just happy that they all agreed to come. For one week, it would be just the Thunderbolts in an isolated, remote, Alaskan cabin. Depending on who you asked, it was either heaven or hell. One thing they all agreed on was that it was chaotic. 

Two days into the trip Alexei decided it was the day to go ice fishing. He gathered up all the relevant supplies neatly by the front door. Everyone but Bucky was asleep. They quietly enjoyed a cup of coffee on the porch. The brisk cold weather didn’t bother them and the sunrise was beautiful. Alexei learned long ago that Bucky enjoyed a quiet morning. Twenty minutes later, they both began making breakfast. A hearty meal of fresh fruit, eggs, bacon, and grits. A pot of coffee and orange juice were on the counter. An hour later and the others were starting to trickle in. 

John was the first one up. He strolled into the kitchen still in his pajamas and grabbed himself a serving. 

“Looks good.”, John commented as he ate with Bucky and Alexei.

“All thanks to Bucky! I just cut up some fruit.”, Alexei said. 

Bucky sighed. “All I did was make some eggs. Nothing special.”

“You’re so humble.”

They are in silence. John and Bucky left to go get ready for the day. Ava walked in a few moments later, fully dressed. She exchanged a simple “good morning” with Alexei. He greeted her enthusiastically and served her a plate. They engaged in small talk before she left the room to do her daily meditations. 

Three hours later, everyone was up and fed. Alexei waited patiently by the door to go fishing. He read the Russian translation of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone as Bob mentioned being a fan of the series a few weeks ago. Around him was chaos. Bucky had long gone for a hike as soon as he saw the shenanigans going on. He was determined to protect his peace. Currently, John, Yelena, and Ava are engaged in a heated argument about who would win Love Island. Bob sat on the sidelines watching the exchange and occasionally chiming in with his opinion. He was the only other person besides Alexei who was ready to go fishing. 

Growing bored of the argument and eager to try something new, Bob quietly removed himself from the situation and began to gather the fishing materials. Alexei put his book away and a few minutes later, they were making their way to the frozen lake. 

“My father used to take me ice fishing. It's one of the few memories of him I cherish.”, Alexei stated.

“It's nice your father did this with you. I don't have too many good memories of mine.”, Bob replied. 

“I don't have many either. I'm happy to have this one and share this tradition with you. Ice fishing builds character and is an important skill. It's good to know how to catch your own food.”

“I've never done this so I'm looking forward to trying something new.”

Once at the lake, Alexei explained to Bob how to identify if the lake is frozen enough and the ideal spot to cut a hole in the ice. An hour later, they were huddled around the hole with their fishing rods waiting for a bite. Bob sat with his shoulder touching Alexei. He was cold and Alexei was warm. Alexei didn't mind. At one point, he had done the same with his father. While they waited for a fish, they talked. 

Alexei told him childhood stories of his father. In return, Bob told him about his grandmother. When stories of dear relatives fizzled out, they talked about the Harry Potter series. Bob explained (as spoiler free as possible) why he preferred the books over the movies. The J.K. Rowling controversy was inevitably mentioned which led them both down a rabbit hole of which celebrities supported the LGBT community. This resulted in Bob coming out as bi-curious. Alexei promised to keep this information to himself and he couldn't help but feel emotional at being trusted with this information. 

A few hours later, Bob was really cold and the fish weren't biting. They agreed to pack it up for the day and try again tomorrow. When they got back to the cabin, Bucky was outside reading a book while sipping a beer. Yelena and Ava had gone out for a hike and John was eating a PB&J sandwich in the kitchen. 

“You catch anything?”, Bucky asked as they approached him. 

“Not yet!”, Alexei responded. Bob shook his head no. 

“I was hoping to have some fresh fish for dinner.”

“We'll try again tomorrow.”

Bucky nodded and returned to his book. Bob sighed in relief as he entered the cabin. He took off his winter gear and sat by the warm fire. Alexei neatly put the fishing gear by the door along with his and Bob's winter clothing. He entered the kitchen and began to make a cup of tea for Bob. 

“Y'all didn't catch anything, huh?”, John asked. 

“Not yet. Tomorrow we'll catch something.”, Alexei replied. 

“Damn. I really don't want to eat another box of Yelena’s mac and cheese. Maybe I can convince Ava to cook?”

“Ava makes a delicious meal! Yelena tries her best.” 

“I hope you'll catch something tomorrow.”

“You should come fishing with us tomorrow. It was wonderful spending time with Bob.”

“I've never been a fan of fishing. I was planning on skiing tomorrow.”

“If you change your mind, you know where to find us.”

Alexei finished making Bob's tea and exited the kitchen. Bob was sitting quietly by the fire. Wordlessly, he gave him the tea before going to his bedroom. Alexei needed a shower. He gathered what he needed before heading to the bathroom. He was happy to spend the day with Bob but he wished for time with Yelena. There were 5 more days left of the trip. Eventually, they would have time together. But right now, he was excited to spend more time with Bob. 

[voidopal]

Bliss District sketch dump and yap session‼️‼️🗣️🗣️

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Simon redesign sketch (because his first draft was boring, if his fuck ass is going to change the entire narrative dynamic to partly center around him he needs to serve while doing it) and Mono’s eyes normally vs under the influence of Bliss because I wanted peoples eyes to glow blue like the color of the liquid when they get injected with it.

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I’ve been thinking about Vain once again since he’s my favorite, I also came up for a name for the Tamaraw Buffalo character I drew before, they will now be called Alroy from now on! I wanted to experiment with drawing scars beneath Vain’s clothing but I wasn’t too happy with the look so I might tweak it in the future.

Friendly reminder that everything Bliss District related is subject to change because my main focus is GDC and I only work on Bliss District in the background to come up with ideas to eventually incorporate into my writing.

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I made a joke on my Instagram story that Vain would probably be the object of a lot of those ftm headcannons I see, just because he gives those vibes and a follower asked me to draw it so I delivered. (Norman being bi is probably cannon but I really doubt it’ll be brought up outside silly context like this)

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Simon and Mono’s relationship is going to get unhealthy and codependent later I PROMISE ✨🥰✨

(I mean one is a chronic stalker and the other has a bad addiction to Bliss so those issues aren’t going to mix healthily…) I haven’t mentioned either of those tidbits before but yeah all three main characters, Mono, Simon, and Norman, are all morally ambiguous at best…

[mintedwitcher]

I've been following this discussion about Eddie, the writing and racism and figured I'd contribute my own 2 cents.

I think the thing about machismo/toxic masculinity culture and Eddie is that it would be a super valid way to, well not excuse, but explain Eddie's behaviour and still make him sympathetic to the viewers. This already has worked in the earlier seasons and it was connected to his upbringing in a strict Mexican Catholic family too, but there is a problem:

This only works as long as Eddie is unaware of it. It works as long as Eddie thinks it's normal to repress his more complicated feelings and mask the soft parts behind a tough attitude, sarcastic humor and anger because that's what the man of the house is supposed to do.

If Eddie recognised that this is in fact not healthy then he would have to actively work on doing better to keep the viewers' sympathy. If he was like: "I know I'm being an asshole by yelling at others and refusing to admit my own flaws, I know I'm not being fair to the people around me and that I, too, deserve better, but I'll just keep behaving like a textbook example for toxic masculinity anyway." Then why should the viewers still sympathise? Having a character flaw is fine, but recognising your own flaws and leaning into them on purpose even though it hurts the people you love the most? Sorry, but that's where my capacity for sympathy has reached its limit.

And this is where the show fucked up because Eddie has had his whole "my parents should've done better by me, I should've done better as well and from here on out I will do better both for myself and my son" arc in season 5. He repressed, had a breakdown, went to therapy, confronted his dad and decided that the cycle would end with him.

Now to say race has nothing to do with this conversation wouldn't be quite true, there is racism in this fandom and Eddie's character has been a victim to it, but I think we've passed that point. By now it's not a "the fans are racist" problem anymore, it's a "the writing is terrible and makes Eddie look like an arsehole" problem. Eddie's tendency to mask his "weakness" in front of other people is of course valuable representation of the way machismo culture in Latino families is alive and well and nobody can blame Eddie for how he was raised. But. Bringing this topic to the show, giving Eddie an entire storyline about it and addressing how harmful it can be should logically result in Eddie growing as a person and working on shaking off that tough guy persona. It's a struggle to overcome and we'd all cheer him on. (I for one really enjoyed Eddie's season 5 arc.)

That's not where the show went though. They addressed Eddie's flaws and how the Diaz parents' parenting played into it, gave Eddie some lines where he claimed he'd work on himself and then they dropped the whole thing. So now Eddie knows how his own behaviour hurts himself and others and he seems very content with not changing it.

YES.

I have no sympathy left for him anymore. He is actively aware of his harmful behaviours and yet he makes no attempt to curb those habits or even apologise for them. In season 8 alone we have seen him consistently degrade his "best friend", and lovebomb his son, without there ever being so much as a second of self-reflection. That, to me, is exhausting to watch. And to be told that we're supposed to cheer for that? For him basically being handed everything he wants with very little effort on his part? By the end of season 8, he has his son back, he's dunked on his parents (who, let's be real, weren't doing anything wrong), he's got his job at the 118 back, and he got his house back from Buck. And all of it, without even a fraction of thought or consideration into how his actions and behaviours affect others, even though he's supposed to be aware of it.

It's exhausting, and it makes for an extremely boring character. There's nothing interesting or special about a man getting rewarded for the bare minimum.

[class1akids]

I dont know why you guys are annoyed by the main female mc having some chapters to herself in the epilogue. She deserved those chapters to wrap up her arc with toga and deku. Todoroki and bakugou also had their chapters in the epilogue so why get mad at uraraka for getting her shine. Her chapters were also equally important to deku too so it wasn't like it was all her. And what's wrong with hori trying to portray her as the greatest hero anyway? Finally a shonen author is trying to highlight his female mc as much as the male one and give her some props for literally being the kindest character who saved deku time and time again. And yes she saved him. Emotionally, which is more important. It's emphasized that saving also involves saving the heart. People getting mad at her being deku's hero because bakugou saved deku's life physically can't understand that. All his actions are just to make up for the bullying while uraraka selflessly saves deku, gives him courage and confidence and validates him. Of course she would be his hero. And yes, she's also a representation of an ultimate hero greater than all might. She's preventing villains from happening in the first place which trumps what All might did. Yet people will trivialize her actions and then claim it's not because of misogyny.

I am not annoyed because Ochako is a female heroine, I'm annoyed because the writing became dogshit and the themes fell apart in the end.

First, throwing around "misogyny" to shut down criticism of her writing is the exact same behaviour when bkdks cry "homophobia" any time anyone breathes something critical towards their ship.

Second, Uraraka deserved to get an ending. So did many other characters. She did not deserve to hog 3 full chapters with empty chewing on the scenery, while other characters and relationships were completely neglected. Shoto and Bakugo each got a few pages in the epilogue, not even an entire chapter. Uraraka got endless crying over Toga that led to nowhere, while Shoto got no focus on his grief over Toya. Deku didn't get much for Shigaraki either. You can't convince me that TogaChako is narratively so important compared to the other hero-villain pairs, and it's not because Hori wanted to draw more the girls he was obviously obsessed with.

Third, Uraraka being Deku's hero and girlfriend is fine. It doesn't require 60 pages to expand on but that's not the problem. However, Uraraka as the "ultimate hero greater than All Might" is not convincing at all. She did nothing to change the public's hearts and minds. She never went out to tell Toga's story. She set up a half-assed counselling program that has less substance than the improvised lesson in the remedial arc. And even if it was a good programme, it cannot account for the peace time, since she's playing with kindergarteners. Don't ask me why in all of Japan full of everyday heroes, there is not a single competent teacher or counsellor - only Deku and Uraraka - given neither of them has even the slightest training for what they are doing.

Fourth, I personally find the writing not only lackluster but downright misogynistic. Uraraka's original purpose (supporting his parents) was derailed into a boring crush storyline, so that she can be paired with the sexy villainess so they can fight over dolls and the MC and talk about love. While constantly being in sexually suggestive poses. Her entire heroism is that "she supports and encourages the MC guy without contradicting him or conflicting with him". Note how supporting other people not named Deku (or Toga) is completely unnecessary to be the ultimate hero. As long as she supports Deku, she's better than All Might (who also supports Deku, but wtf, he's an old guy and doesn't have an ass like Uraraka so who cares).

Finally, people hate on it, because everyone wanted conclusion for their favorite characters and themes. Wasting so many pages on Uraraka's conclusion and unnecessarily dragging out a story that could have been told in a much more compact manner will irritate people and will cause resentment. So will unearned praise or the sudden changing of the world to make it work for her sake.

The writing didn't convince me that Uraraka is the ultimate hero ideal - I don't think it's supported by the narrative and her ending rings shallow. I don't care about the romance - Hori could have gotten them together without trying to oversell it and try to push other characters down to make it work.

[ao3feed-deadonmain]

When Things Look Weird Just Improvise

by Zafire08 read at https://ift.tt/Mrfvxoe by Zafire08 Clockwork schemes, Danny suffers the consequences. Turns out he was just bored and wanted to play matchmaker. Also, Vlad has a bad time. Words: 4126, Chapters: 3/?, Language: English Fandoms: Danny Phantom, Batman - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: M/M Characters: Danny Fenton, Clockwork (Danny Phantom), Jack Fenton (Danny Phantom), Maddie Fenton, Joker (DCU), Jason Todd, Tim Drake (DCU), Dick Grayson, Duke Thomas, Damian Wayne, Harper Row, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Sam Manson, Tucker Foley, Valerie Gray, Wesley "Wes" Weston (Danny Phantom) Relationships: Danny Fenton/Jason Todd Additional Tags: Tall Danny Fenton, Ghost King Danny Fenton, Danny Fenton Hates Clowns, Danny Fenton Is So Done, Aged-Up Character(s), Danny Fenton-centric, no beta we die like danny, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Probably will write more, mentioned Tim/Kon - Freeform, We need more Tall Danny in this fandom, Danny wrecks the shit out of the Joker, He doesn't kill him, yet - Freeform, Jason Todd-centric, Jason Todd is So Done

[gothicheroinedaniellarusso]

[I thought it was the easy part.] nah XD it is easy it’s just really boring and takes the longest time out of all the assembly steps at least XD  it’s probably tied easiest step with sitting and babysitting the embroidery machine and swapping the colours XD

The actual assembly is fiddly and I almost always get stabbed by a pin but it’s pretty quick cause there’s only a few inches of manual sewing to do (maybe 9” total of whip and ladder stitch?)

[I think I would lose my mind] lol most of my (creative at least) hobbies require a lot of patience, like writing and animation, but the difference with them sewing is that sewing has a definite “Done” point where it’s physically impossible for me to keep futzing (´▽｀ )

[Are you doing characters from any series or just oc’s] I’m planning on a mix of fanart and ocs, with some just general cats in there (I might branch out who knows XD). So far, plush wise I’ve got 4 designs (Gan-cat-stuou, Scourge (one of the Warrior Cats villains. I’m posting him next, I’m just waiting for the weather to be nice so I can take some photos outside), Irina Clockworker’s cat form (Evillious Chronicles), and a kinda generic solid coloured cat) but I’m currently working on some catified Black Butler characters cause the anime sucked me back in, and I’ve (partially) designed a ITH Xerneus from Pokemon.

I also have a goal of doing 10 illustrations for prints before the deadline. I’ve done a Mapleshade illustration, and I’ve inked (? I think?) one of my OCs Viktoria and Eliza (my girls <3 my toxic yuri who I’ll do something with someday (probably) <3), I started a while ago a death and the maiden themed Gankutsuou Count/Albert sketch which I’d like to finish, and I’ve thumbnailed a PerfectWorldShipping from Pokemon piece. Otherwise I’m kinda keeping my options open to inspiration striking but I’d like to do a silverusso piece, and there’s a good chance I’ll do something with my Warrior Cats OCs, as well as probably some just general cats in a landscape or something

(also vaguely thinking of repurposing the historical fashion research and inevitable costume design I’m gonna have to do for my Dancedes fic and try digital oil painting again and attempt the painting of Daniel looking out to sea ( ´ ∇  ˋ ))

[Can I see it? ( •̯́ ₃ •̯̀)] of course! I’ll dm you the google drive link to the animatic but here’s some sketches (the semi lineless colour test is really old, and I’m not 100% happy with Daniel’s design. I want to redo his colours but I do like his shapes. it’s just a little unfortunate he fell victim to my 2020-2022 design philosophy of when catifying ships having a longhair and a shorthair cause it would have been nice if I gave him a little floof (ᵕ—ᗜ—)). Terry is a Maine Coon, even tho seal point isn’t realistic in that breed, I thought it fit him ฅ≽(•⩊ •マ≼

[gang of cats in my neighborhood that now have lore] oh hell yeah! that’s so fun!

[some names change] I was wondering about that, I read a post a while ago about the French translation talking about something similar.

[RavenPaw compared to just Cuervo (lol they ignored the Paw)] interesting, I wonder why they did that. 🤔 like I’d get if they decided to have him drop the suffix when he goes to live with Barley (since Pinestar (one of the prequel leaders) dropped his suffix when he became a kittypet), but not including the apprentice identifying “paw”/“Zarpa” seems a bit odd?

[“Zarpa” which has a wilder image, more alike claws (…for tigers, lions or other wilder animals)] interesting 🤔 so now I’m wondering about Tigerclaw’s name and any translation connotations/nuances there. For that matter “foot” suffix names as well like Blackfoot

[Jaspeada’s name is Spottedleaf] so do some cats just not have a suffix? I just looked up a (probably rough) translation of Jaspeada and it means something like “marbled”, right? Which I don’t think is a bad substitute for “Spotted” but it focuses solely on the tortoiseshell appearance side of her name rather than she’s a torite And a medic (while also giving the image, in my mind at least, of either dappled light on foliage, variegated leaves or some types of dried leaves).

[omg thank you so much ♡(˃͈ ˂͈ ) … probably I’ll have to think about it ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ] no worries~ I like drawing my friends ocs~ (づ˶• ᴗ •˶)づ♡ don’t feel pressure tho there’s no hurry XD

[Has my not too subtle obsession got into your feed?] I was planning on watching it eventually anyways but yeah, that pushed me over the edge XD

[not…official part of this fandom but I welcome into the obsession] I wouldn’t say I’m officially in the fandom either but I did thoroughly enjoy it and it’s going on my insp cinema list and I need to go looking for more fanart!

To distract myself from the cyclone I'm gonna work on a fanfic but before the power goes out I would like to ask an opinion:

Context: This is just going to be a fairly short fic (5 chapters max), and is not my primary silverusso Count of Monte Cristo au that I've mentioned before (ie Karate Kid era, Daniel is Albert). This AU is an omegaverse, and Daniel is Mercedes and Terry is Edmond. Also whomever is Fernand doesn't have to have been friends with Terry prior, I'm using the book's vaguely hostile acquaintance dynamic there. (also Kreese can't be Fernand because Kreese is Danglars)

[the-badger-mole]

Aang has to be one of the least popular protagonist I have seen on ao3. Out of all the main characters who appeared in season 1 and beyond (aamg, Katara, Sokka, and Zuko) aang has the least stories. I have never seen that happen to a main character before. Aang has like 13,000 stories and he is a side character in a majority, so it makes me think, why do so many people argue aang is such a great main character when he seems to be the least liked even by his fans.

This isn't me trying to do some popularity contest, it just seems like even fanfic writers can't do anything interesting with his character, which is sad because he has a lot of potential to be an amazing character.

Child who lost everyone he has ever known to war and time, waking up a hundred years later with the weight of this new world on his shoulders while still grieving his previous life, is such an interesting character, and the show did nothing with that and so neither did the fans.

You know what show did that premise justice? Futurama.

I think Aang's lack of attention comes down to him being ultimately a boring character. Yes, the premise of Aang had potential, but then Bryke turned him into a Gary Stu. And not even a particularly good Gary Stu. I think the lack of fics centering Aang have few explanations. Making Aang a more interesting character would take a lot of work. A lot more than people who aren't his biggest fans are probably willing to put in. It's easier to treat him like a side character, because frankly, that's what he should have been.

Second, fans who do like Aang- like his canon story and his canon ship- probably don't have a ton to add. I think that's not uncommon with a lot of canon ships. Most of my ships have been canon and although I have written for those shows, I'm a lot more prolific with Zutara- my one non-canon ship. I sincerely doubt I'd still be this invested if Zutara were canon. I'd still love them, but the same way I love Usa/Mamo. Content to just let the story be what it is, for the most part, unless inspiration strikes.

I also imagine some of it has to do with not wanting to admit how awful the canon made him seemingly by accident. In order to make an interesting story about Aang, they'd have to add some conflict, and no die hard Aang fans seem to be anymore willing to do that than Bryke were. Take that with a grain of salt, though. This is just my opinion. I don't spend a bunch of time reading Aang fics.

Third, the lack of Aang centered fics may actually be based on his popularity. I don't know. I think there are way fewer Aang fans than there seems to be, it's just that the main Aang fans are so loud. I wouldn't be surprised. After all, he's the most boring of the main cast, his tragic backstory notwithstanding. I only know two or three Aang/Kataang fans in real life, and they are very, very casual fans. Most of the other ATLA fans I know prefer other characters/ ship Zutara. Obviously, online Aang isn't the most popular character either. Oh, sure, there are plenty of polls that put him/his canon ship at the top, but if you look at the actual fan content...well, you can see for yourself.