#she is made!!!!!!!!! of triangles!!!!!!!!!!!!

[starryschemer]

Hide and Seek

Pairings: Dae-ho x reader, Gi-hun x reader, Slight Nam-gyu x reader, Slight Myung-gi x reader

Summary: Caught in a deadly game of Hide & Seek, yourself and Dae-ho form a fragile bond as alliances fracture and trust unravels.

Warnings: Angst, Blood Mention, Mentions of Violence/Death, Emotional Breakdown, Moral Conflict, Physical Touch, Strong Language, Slight Fluff A/N: I wrote this all in one sitting, so I am sorry, if I muck up it grammar wise, had to try and give our big tiger some justice as they butchered him in season 3. Taglist: @inotaku-talkz  @butterscotchdean Word Count: 3,435

The stars above were painted lies.

They glowed against a blue ceiling, trees along the walls, their trunks crooked with fake childlike flair. It was all too colourful, like someone had built a maze of delusion. With blood, lots and lots of blood. 

Dae-ho and you raced past an open mural of a cartoon jungle, shoes slapping hard against the smooth cement. The whole arena echoed, slamming doors, panicked voices, footsteps. Somewhere above, a female screamed. Short. Sharp. Then utter silence. 

You refused to stop. “Down there,” you whispered, gently holding Dae-ho’s hand while running together down a descending staircase. Your triangle key bounced widely against your chest. 

Reaching a lower level, pausing beside a cluster of green doors with a different-shaped keyhole in each. The deeper you went, the more the arena stopped feeling like a game. It felt more like a trap made by someone who missed childhood but never had one.

“There, Y/N,” Dae-ho murmured, nodding towards a door with a triangle key hole. “Try it.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you lifted the key to the lock. Just as you were placing it inside, the door to your right swung open, slamming on the wall, briefly shaking the room. 

You spun instantly, reaching for Dae-ho again, but froze at the sight of who stepped through. 

Nam-gyu stalked out first, blood spattered across his sleeves and across their jaw, chest heaving. His bare neck glistened with sweat, no necklace. His eyes, wild, hungry, and red-rimmed, locked on you like a targeting system. A breath later, Myung-gi stepped into view, quiet as a shadow. His face was unreadable, but his stare could cut glass. Their muscles looked relaxed, calm; however, it was more deceptive. He was waiting, watching, coiled. 

“Well, well, well, look what we have here,” Nam-gyu cheerfully muttered, a bitter, slow grin curling across his face. “Dae-ho and Y/N. You two must have the worst luck in the world.”

You instinctively stepped in front of Dae-ho, your body humming with dread. 

“Did we interrupt your little escape attempt?” Myung-gi said mockingly, cocking his head. “You thought you could run, hide somewhere behind the colouring book walls and wait this out?” 

Dae-ho tensed behind you, fists beginning to clench. 

“We’re not trying to fight,” he said, voice low but steady.

Nam-gyu sneered. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Then his eyes flickered down to his bare chest, their grin dropping. “Where the hell is my necklace?”

You hesitated to speak, a pulse thudding in your ears. “I saw Min-su with it.”

Silence dropped like a hammer. Nam-gyu slowly looked at you. “What did you say?”

You met his gaze. “Thanos’s necklace. You must’ve dropped it when you were killing someone. I saw Min-su grabbing it and running off.”

Nam-gyu didn’t move for a second. His eyes narrowed, breath furious and slow. 

“Shit. I did drop it when that bastard tackled me.”

Behind him, Myung-gi’s arms crossed silently.

“You expect us to really believe that?” they said flatly, his voice like the blade drawn in his hand. “that out of everyone, that timid boy just happened to grab it, and you just so happened to see it?”

“I’m telling the truth,” you insisted.

“Don’t believe her, she is only trying to buy time.”

Nam-gyu snapped. “I don’t care if she is bluffing. If she’s wrong, I’ll rip her fucking throat out.”

You barely had time to breathe before they lunged forward and grabbed your wrist, fingers digging into you hard. The skin pinched sharply under his grip, causing you to wince slightly.

“HEY!” Dae-ho shouted, stepping forward.

But Myung-gi moved like lightning, slamming his forearm across Dae-ho’s chest in one swift motion. On the other hand, he held a blade to his throat.

“Don’t,” they said in a low, lethal tone. “You want to find out how quickly I can snap your elbow backwards?” 

Dae-ho froze, gritting his teeth as he stared at Myung-gi.

You could feel Nam-gyu’s breath hot against your face. He leaned in slightly, voice thick with threat.

“You’re both coming with us,” he said. “And if Min-su doesn’t have my necklace around his neck, I will paint this hallway with yours and Dae-ho’s blood. Got it?”

Your mouth was dry. “I got it.” 

Their grip didn’t ease; it tightened. 

“I don’t think you do,” he snarled. “You better fucking hope you’re right.”

Myung-gi gave a sharp tug on Dae-ho’s arm, dragging him closer. “No one’s sneaking off. No one’s getting clever.”

You glanced at Dae-ho, and he nodded once.

All four of you moved in a grim silence, forced into an odd alliance held together by violence, suspicion, and the thin hope of a necklace in the wrong hands. 

As you marched down the hallway, the pastels on the walls seemed to twist and blur with each step, like they knew just how fast everything was unraveling. 

It felt like you had been searching for hours, even if it was a matter of minutes.

Stairwell after stairwell, corridor after corridor, each one blending into the next with the same vibrant murals. Your legs ached, lungs burned. The walls whispered with screams, wails, cartoon suns staring down at you like they knew how hopeless this place was.

Overhead, the fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered, casting warped shadows across the floor that twisted like underwater currents. 

That’s when you saw him. Min-su. He was slumped against a wall beneath a sprawling mural of the ocean. Their head lolled against it, chin tucked to their chest. Their eyes were unfocused and glassy, like he was lost in a fever dream. Wrapped around his neck, the necklace. 

Nam-gyu froze mid-step, like he had just been slapped. His eyes locked onto the metal around Min-su’s neck. 

He turned to you, rage ignited his face. 

“You knew!” he snapped. “You fucking knew he had it!”

Before you could speak, move, they shoved you hard into a nearby wall. Your side slammed against the concrete. Pain exploded across your arm as you collapsed.

Then he faced Min-su. “THAT’S MINE, YOU USELESS FREAK!”

Min-su’s head jerked up lazily. “Didn’t steal…” he slurred. “You dropped it…”

“YOU BITCH, I’M GOING TO SNAP YOUR NECK!”

But Min-su, in a sudden burst of survival instinct, pushed off the wall and awkwardly sprinted down the corridor, necklace still wrapped around him, their legs were barely functioning.

“GET BACK HERE!” Nam-gyu roared, tearing after him at full speed.

Myung-gi lingered behind just long enough to glance down at your form, their expression didn’t shift, still calm, but there was a slight curl to their lips.

“Guess you both got lucky this time, see you at the next game.”

He turned and sprinted after them, footsteps fading into the corridors. 

Dae-ho immediately dropped by your side. “Hey-hey, are you alright, Y/N?” he asked. “You tumbled into the wall pretty hard.”

You grimaced as pain lit up your shoulder. “I’m fine, just… a little bruised.”

He offered you his hand without hesitation. “Come on. I’ve got you.”

You took his hand, fingers slightly trembling in his grip as he helped you to your feet. Your shoulder throbbed, but the pain was a bit duller now, muted by adrenaline. 

Dae-ho glanced at you, no words needed. Staying here meant being found again; you had to move. He gently pulled you towards a corridor, your shoes scuffing against the floor as you both moved forward, each step echoing through the screams. 

“Do you think they’ll catch him?” Dae-ho asked quietly. 

You refused to answer right away. “I don’t know. I just know that we can’t be in the open when they do catch them.”

You reached a door nearby with a red smudge near the bottom, like someone had dragged their fingers across it. 

Dae-ho quickly grabbed the handle and turned. It creaked open, slight cold air spilling out towards you. He stepped in first, his shoe tapping on the ledge, suspended high above a yawning pit, leading to a star floor surrounded by doors. 

Across the chasm, on a higher platform alone.

Gi-hun.

He stood perfectly still, washed in a cold light. In his hand, a blade. Sharp. Familiar. Small. But it wasn’t the weapon that made your stomach drop; it was their eyes. Gi-hun’s expression was pure rage, sorrow, and betrayal merged into one. 

He didn’t speak. 

Dae-ho spoke timidly. “Gi-hun?”

They didn’t answer. He just stared. The way someone stares at a wound they thought had healed. 

A few seconds stretched, silent and heavy.

Then, you breathed the only words that made sense.

“We need to go…now.”

You grabbed Dae-ho’s wrist and turned, heart pounding into your ribs. Together, you fled back through the door.

The two of you didn’t stop running until the stairs blurred beneath your feet and your lungs burned like fire. 

He used his key on a door, carefully helping you inside before closing it, causing both of you to breathe hard.

Dae-ho collapsed on the ground, his back to the wall, hands shaking in his lap. He didn’t speak at first; they just stared at the floor.

“Y/N, why does he hate us?”

You glanced towards him.

His voice cracked this time, a tear going down his right eye. “He looked at me like I was a stranger. Like he wanted to…to.”

Crouching down beside him, you shallowed the sudden tightness in your throat. 

“Gi-hun doesn’t hate you,” you said softly, while lightly wiping a tear from his face. “He hates what the games have done. He dislikes himself for playing it.”

“But, he was our friend, Y/N, he helped us.”

“I know.”

You moved closer until your knees brushed. You let the silence breathe. 

“He’s not himself anymore, none of us are, these games, the rebellion, it changed all of us.”

Dae-ho looked up at you. His eyes were glossy, open, raw. And then he moved. Hesitantly. Gently. His hand touched your cheek, their fingers brushing your skin. 

You didn’t flinch, you leaned into his touch, causing him to exhale shakily. And then, in a motion full of caution, he kissed you. 

It wasn’t rushed. It was soft, like something pulled from a memory of a far better place than this, something sacred. His lips slightly shook against yours, unsure at first, but then deepening, warm and real.

When he finally pulled back, he pulled you into a hug, resting his chin on your head. 

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I just… I didn’t know what else to do, Y/N.”

Your fingers brushed against his arm.

“Don’t be sorry, we needed this.”

You both stayed curled into each other, tucked away from the nightmare that was clawing outside the door. Just kept cuddling, hoping the remainder of the time would go in time. 

Then…a creak. The door. 

You turned. Dae-ho did too, lifting his head, breath slightly hitching.

The door slowly pushed open, revealing Gi-hun. For a moment, it was like the world stopped moving.

They stood there, backlit by the starry lights above, his shadow spilling into the room ahead of him. Their clothes were sweat-drenched, crusted with blood that didn’t look like his. His shoulders were hunched as if he’d been walking for miles. The way the knife in his hand dripped blood. Who did he kill? You wondered.

You noticed his fingers twitching. But it was their eyes that made your stomach twist and turn. They were unblinking. Wide in a way you hadn’t seen before. The eyes flickered to Dae-ho. To where the two of you sat huddled together on the floor, the memory of the kiss barely faded.

Gi-hun took one step forward. Their voice came low. Bitter. Tired in a way that wasn’t just exhaustion. 

“So that’s where you both decided to hide?” 

Dae-ho immediately began to pull you closer to him, guilt flashing across their face, but you had other plans. You shifted in front of him, rising to your feet in a protective motion without thinking. You didn’t need to say anything. You knew you wanted to protect Dae-ho.

Gi-hun’s eyes tracked your movement, the air pulsing with a sense of danger.

He let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Oh. So you get to be their shield now, Y/N? Get out of my way.”

You took a slow step forward, jaw clenched. “He’s not your enemy, Gi-hun. You already passed, I see the blood on your blade.”

“Not my enemy? Already passed?”

He took another step closer.

“Because the last time I trusted that little liar behind you, he got Jung-bae killed.”

Your throat started to tighten.

“Gi-hun?” you said in a whisper.

“Do you remember what he said, Y/N?” he hissed, their breath trembling in his chest. “He said he was a trained soldier. A marine. Said that we could trust him, that he knew what he was doing, especially with guns.”

His voice began to crack now, rising in rage.

“And Jung-bae believed him. I believed him. We all went into that ambush, thinking we had cover. Thinking we had backup. But it was a setup. That gun he carried-”

A tear went down his face. 

“Gi-hun, everything will be-”

“HE’S DEAD Y/N!” Gi-hun screamed. Their voice bounced off the walls like a gunshot. “Jung-bae is dead because of that stupid lie he came up with.”

Behind you, Dae-ho slowly stood up, stepping back.

Gi-hun’s face twisted into a madness you haven’t seen from him.

“And now you’re here,” he spat. “Curled up with him like it mattered. Like all of those people’s lives didn’t matter.”

“It was your plan, Gi-hun, it wasn’t Dae-ho’s, you can’t blame him for that when we were doing a suicide mission. More people would have been alive for this game if we didn’t do the rebellion, you do realise that right?”

He stepped forward again, fast.

You moved to block him completely, your hand outstretched. “Don’t,” you warned.

“Don’t what? Don’t mourn the one person who didn’t lie to me?”

“Please, Gi-hun,” you tried. “He didn’t mean for Jung-bae to die.”

“BULLSHIT!” 

He snapped, lunging towards Dae-ho.

“RUN, DAE-HO!” you screamed.

Your body went in front of them, colliding with Gi-hun as Dae-ho scrambled away, stumbling towards the exit. Gi-hun didn’t even flinch at the sound of his footsteps retreating; he didn’t turn around. His anger was locked on you.

You both hit the floor hard. The back of your head smacked the concrete, making you feel lightheaded. But you twisted, using your legs to push against his weight. His hands clawed, grabbing at your arm, your shoulder, trying to pin you down. 

“YOU LET HIM LIVE!”

You slammed your elbow into his side as hard as you could, causing Gi-hun to yelp in pain. You both rolled across the floor. You didn’t feel the pain anymore. But you kept fighting. 

Until you saw the knife. It was lying on the floor just inches away, the blade catching the edge of the light. You both froze for a few seconds, and then you both reacted.

Your fingers gripped the knife, but Gi-hun kicked your hand hard, causing you to scream in pain. The second your fingers lost their grip, Gi-hun’s weight came crashing down on you, knocking the air from your lungs. His hands, once gentle, found your throat.

You struggled beneath him, hands clawing at his wrists. His fingers dug deeper.

“Stop…Gi-hun, please,” your voice rasped in small gasps, but his eyes were wild-looking. 

He didn’t hear you. You weren’t the person who tried to keep the team together. You weren’t the one who helped patch him up after the ambush. Not now. Not to him.

Now, you were another failure in his eyes, another betrayal.

“I trusted you, Y/N,” he breathed, voice breaking. “I needed to believe someone.”

Their grip tightened. You bucked beneath him, kicking as hard as you could, panicking. Your shoes are scraping against the floor. It didn’t matter what you did; he didn’t let go.

“You held Dae-ho when he lied. You trusted him more than me.”

You tried to speak, tried to tell him that Dae-ho had frozen, that he was trying to survive. But nothing came. 

Your fingers began slipping, the pressure closing in, and slowly, everything began to fade into darkness. The sound of his voice dimmed as your body went still. No fight was left. No breath. Just utter stillness

Gi-hun didn’t move for a while. Their hands remained around your throat, even as the heat drained from your skin. Only when your eyes stopped moving, glossy, wide, did something inside him change.

He let go suddenly, like the contact burned.

Pulled back, chest rising and falling erratically, palms open.

He started at your body, at the red marks blooming across your neck, at the way your arm had landed, bent unnaturally at your side. 

He reached out with shaking hands. 

“Y/N, wake up,” he whispered. “Come on, just speak, say something.”

He gently shook your body. 

“Please.”

Nothing. His throat tightened. His breath caught.

“Don’t do this to me. Don’t…” his voice cracked completely. “I didn’t mean to… I was just angry… I was…”

Still nothing. His hands pressed to your chest again and again, as if he could push life back into your body.

“Don’t leave me like this.”

And then-

The overhead speaker came to life, crackling. There was no jingle, just a cold voice floating through the stale air:

❝ Player 150: Eliminated. ❞

That was it. Your death, reduced to an announcement. No farewell. Just a number retired. 

Gi-hu’s body crumpled beside yours. He pressed his forehead to your shoulder, sobbing now, helplessly, quietly. Not the kind that begged forgiveness, the kind where he knew he’d crossed a line he could never come back from.

And for a long time, he stayed there, even when the masked guards came in with a coffin draped with a pink bow, he stayed. 

He was just a man. Kneeling beside the person he just killed moments ago. Someone else who gave him hope. Gone. 

Dae-ho ran until his lungs gave out. Until the lights above them blurred into streaks of blues and yellows. His shoes thudded hard against the floor, breath coming in ragged gasps, their mind echoing with the last words she’d screamed:

“RUN, DAE-HO!”

He had. But your voice chased him. Then the announcement came:

❝ Player 150: Eliminated. ❞

Everything inside him froze; his legs kept moving, however, their mind collapsed, folding under the weight of what those words meant. Your gone? You're really gone?

He stumbled forward, nearly collapsing against a wall, every breath shallow, torn. 

Then, a shout.

“DAE-HO!”

Dae-ho turned just in time to see Jun-hee limping down a hallway, one arm slung around Geum-ja for support. Their ankle was swollen, red, and her mouth pressed into a grimace of pain.

“Don’t stop now,” she said through clenched teeth, “Keep moving.”

Next to her, Cho Hyun-Ju was carrying something in both arms, not weapons, not supplies, a baby. Jun-hee’s baby. 

Wrapped tight in their jacket as a blanket, cradled close to Hyun-ju’s chest. The infant wasn’t crying. Just blinking. 

“We need help,” she called, breathless. “Jun-hee can’t walk. Take her, I’ve got the baby.”

Dae-ho rushed forward. Hyun-ju carefully slung Jun-hee’s other arm over his shoulder.

“Just don’t drop me, please,” Jun-hee panted.

Hyun-ju is now running lighter. “Let’s go, hurry, the exit is this way.”

They all ran. Together. Through the maze-like corridors stained with bloody trails. 

All of them burst through the exit door just as it slammed shut behind them, the sharp hiss of locking mechanisms and gunshots fading into the silence. Jun-hee leaned heavily on Dae-ho, pain clear in her eyes but relief shining brighter. Hyun-ju cradled the baby, lightly rocking it, breathing hard and steady.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Jun-hee’s gaze found Dae-ho’s, the weight of what had happened hanging heavy.

“Hey,” she said softly. “You did everything you could.”

Hyun-ju nodded, eyes warm. “We all lost someone we cared for in here. Don’t carry it alone.”

Geum-ja stepped closer, placing a hand on Dae-ho’s shoulder, grounding. “She was brave. So are you.”

Dae-ho swallowed hard; the ache inside was aching and raw. 

A shaky breath escaped him. “I’m sorry, I should’ve…I.”

“No one could’ve saved her but her,” Jun-hee replied.

Hyun-ju squeezed the baby gently. “We keep going. For all of us, including her.”

Dae-ho blinked away the tears forming. For the first time after your death, he didn’t feel empty, together, broken, but still alive; they stepped forward. 

The game wasn’t over. But this chapter had ended. 

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this one-shot request. If you have any requests for one-shots or series feel free to ask me. They will always be open.

Credit for divider: @cafekitsune

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Romantasy Book Tropes Ranked By How Easy They Are to Make Interesting Again

okay so hear me out: i love romantasy. i am romantasy. but also? a lot of the tropes feel like they've been in a blender set to “medium aesthetic” and we all just nod and go “yes this is fine” while our souls leave our bodies.

so i ranked some of the top romantasy tropes by how EASILY they can be made good again, not which ones are the best, not which ones are ✨dead✨, but which ones are like, 2 rewrites away from being god-tier if you’re willing to do violence to them.

⚠️ this list is subjective. take it up with your protagonist’s tragic backstory.

🥇 1. The Cursed Prince / Beast / Exiled Royalty Difficulty: ★☆☆☆☆ Listen. This one is so easy to make interesting again it’s embarrassing when it’s bad. Just add one (1) real consequence. Is he cursed? Cool. Show me how that curse is actively wrecking his life. Exiled? Give me the betrayal scene in detail. Raised by wolves? Show me him eating raw meat like a weirdo. Don’t just make him Hot and Sad. Make him feral and complicated. Bonus points if he doesn’t want to be uncursed. Bonus bonus if the heroine agrees.

🥈 2. The Marriage Trial / Forced Proximity Setup Difficulty: ★★☆☆☆ You can spin this SO MANY WAYS. Make the trial political. Make the contestants unhinged. Make it morally messed up. It stops being boring the moment you stop writing it like a CW love triangle and start writing it like a dark social game. ex: Squid Game but hot. Don’t just have them accidentally touch hands. Have them make alliances and betray each other in the hallway at 3am. Be weird with it.

🥉 3. The Warrior Girl Who Has Never Known Love Difficulty: ★★☆☆☆ The trick is: don’t make her secretly soft. Make her correct. Love should feel like a threat to her survival, not a makeover montage. She doesn’t need to be taught softness, she needs to be loved as is. Give her a love interest who isn’t trying to “fix” her but sees her sharp edges and says “yeah that’ll do.” Instant slay.

👀 4. Enemies to Lovers Difficulty: ★★★☆☆ Controversial take but: most of you are doing rivals to lovers. Or “mild professional disagreement” to lovers. True enemies to lovers is hard because it requires two people to want to ruin each other, and then have to live with that. There needs to be blood on the floor. There needs to be regret. It’s not banter if they wouldn’t kill each other in Act 1. Go full feral or go home.

🔮 5. The Chosen One and the Dark Mentor Difficulty: ★★★★☆ this one is delicious BUT. the power imbalance. the age gap. the moral greyness. the betrayal baked into the bones. it needs to be handled with scary levels of intention. when it’s done right? peak feral epic gothic. when it’s not? feels like a Wattpad fic from 2012 where the teacher falls for the new girl in detention. tread wisely.

🪦 6. The Mysterious Assassin Love Interest Difficulty: ★★★★★ okay. i’m tired. i’ve seen this man too many times. he’s got a dark past, two daggers, and no personality. he exists only to appear at the edge of a ballroom and go “you shouldn’t be here.” if you want to make him interesting again, you need to get into his actual psyche. give him weird rituals. make him bad at normal things. give him a reason he’s choosing murder over healing. or better yet, retire him for a few years. we’ve earned a break.

💌 agree? disagree? reblog with YOUR favorite romantasy trope and how you’d resurrect it from the cliché graveyard. 🪦✨

[gothicpaperback]

the quiet | one | Boston to Jackson Joel Miller

wc: 1,5| rating: 18+ for eventual smut | Boston QZ to Jackson Joel Miller x reader

summary: you don’t speak. not since outbreak day stole your voice and everything that mattered. when a smuggling job gone sideways leaves you in the care of Joel Miller and Tess, you don’t ask for help, you don’t want it from the powerful woman and intimidating man. but Tess sees something in you, pulling you close, showing you warmth. her partnerJoel keeps his distance and you prefer it that way, you’ve learned not to trust men. Joel doesn’t want to get involved with you, not when his loyalty already belongs to Tess. but feelings don’t listen to reason and as tension builds between the three of you, so does the quiet pull between you and Joel; dangerous, unwanted, impossible to ignore.

the OC female character is YOU. she is not named and barely physically described aside from being able bodied and having hair long enough to grab. she has a back story.

tags/warnings: family trauma/abuse, alcoholism, slow burn, sexual tension, descriptions of violence, enemies to lovers-ish, love triangle, boston to Jackson Joel. i will add more tags as they become relevant.

the quiet | one

The world was a terrifying place. 

You knew this in your youth when you'd hide under the kitchen table, knees drawn up to your chest. A sanctuary for the bogeymen that hid in corners and the witch that was rumoured to live next in the old trailer next to yours. 

Her name was Miss Cunningham. She wore a gingham kerchief around her head every day rain or shine. It pushed back the dark, scraggly hair that reached her mid back. She was always collecting herbs and other items for spells and potions, the older kids in the park told you. The ones who smoked and said fuck like you said darn. 

You watched her through the warped glass of your trailer, eyes following her twitchy form as she hummed to herself, plucking things from her garden, murmuring to her large black cat, Raven.  Raven scared you too. Long twitchy tail and yellow eyes that followed you when you went to the nearby park. When he stretched you could see his long, black claws. 

However back in those days your father's drunken ire was the scariest thing of all. 

Never turned on you, not his sweet petal who brought him beers and laughed at his silly jokes. But your sweet, quiet mother? The one who scurried from room to room with meals? The one that scrubbed your RV on her hands and knees after he smashed plates of spaghetti or empty beer bottles in anger? 

He didn't call her petal. He called her things like bitch and cunt. He gripped her wrist to drag her around, pushed her shoulders, and slapped her beautiful face. 

Bitsy your stuffed tiger was always there, so worn that one of her button eyes was missing. Under your arm, in your bed, beside you when you watched television eating fruity pebbles. Bitsy was your guard, your confidant, your best friend. 

And the violence and the name calling became normal to you. A child raised by wolves will grow up howling. You barely flinched when he screamed at her, your focus on your colouring pages. It all became background noise.

When your mom came out of the bedroom one morning with a black eye you said nothing. You got good at saying nothing. So much so that you just stopped talking unless necessary. Your parents didn't notice. 

You had no idea just how much worse it would become. That bogeymen and monsters would be made flesh, no longer imprisoned in your fertile imagination. That creatures angrier and more vicious than him would spill from the earth. 

You were young when Outbreak Day happened. Too young to comprehend why your mom was crying or why your dad came  home early from work and demanded your mother help him find all the guns. But you were old enough to understand you should be alarmed. 

You followed your parents from room to room holding your Bitsy, watching them gather weapons onto the bed.

"Get outta the fucking way!" Your dad shouted, shoving you out of the way with his boot, trying to get to the bathroom. 

You fell; shocked at the treatment, scared at how frenzied he looked. He didn't stink of alcohol, not like he usually did. This evening he was sober and that was more terrifying than expected. 

"Go to the other room, honey," your mom half begged with tears streaming down her cheeks. "Please."

You nodded and hid under the kitchen table, your stuffed tiger a sentry at your hip. The old familiar safety. 

"I don't understand," your mother's strained voice was saying in the next room. "You come home from work and--",

"Where's the rest of the fucking bullets? We need more ammo."

"For what? What the hell is out there?"

"I don't have time to explain this to your fucking pea brain. I need to get all the guns." There was more rustling, the sound of shutting drawers. "Listen to the fucking radio if you don't believe me."

You heard the switch, the dial adjusted and the static sound of the radio humming. Voices were speaking rapidly, animated, but you your young ears it resembled only a bee buzzing. 

"Jesus," your mother gasped. "What are they... What the hell is happening?" 

"Where's the fucking ammo?"

You could hear your father's anger rising with every slam, could feel the heat of his fury like a fire against your face. And you could hear your mothers anxious footsteps, her slippers sliding over the carpet.

"Shouldn't we go somewhere? Take the truck and drive to my brother's? Maybe he-"

"Your fucking religious nut job brother? Are you outta your mind?" 

You heard more slamming of doors. The sound of guns being removed from wardrobes, the metallic sound of bullet casings. And through this you heard your mom's fearful voice. 

"But staying here? Is it safe?" 

"We got guns don't we?"

"But those things sound... I just... I think we should leave."

"I'm defending my fucking home. It's my right."  

You heard your mom's quiet reply, an unintelligible murmur then the unmistakable sound of your father's heavy boots moving over carpet. The very boots he wore to the auto shop he worked at, the ones that cracked your mom's ribs one drunken night. 

"Stop just standing there and hand me the gun you dumb fucking cu-"

Your father's voice cut off sharply as an unfamiliar sound rang out, like a slap on skin but more booming.

The kind that rattled bones. 

The bedroom door creaked open in the now eerily silent trailer. You saw your mother's fuzzy pink slippers shuffle your way. She spilled something on them red nail polish maybe. 

She knelt next to the table, lowering her face. The smile she wore was unsettling. Her eyes were black and she spilled the polish all over the front of her house dress. Red bits were all over. She smelled funny too, sharp and metallic. Despite this you still reached for her, your heart fluttering. 

"It’s okay, it's okay," your mom whispered, pulling you out, dragging your tiny body off the linoleum and into her arms. She bundled you into the passenger’s seat, blanket and pillow. 

You didn't ask where your father was. You think even then you knew.

She threw bags into the truck bed, her hands shaky. It wasn't until she was pulling away from the trailer you called home that you realized Bitsy was missing. You were twisted in your seat, tears streaming down your face as you cried for him.

"We can't go back, I'm sorry we can't," your mom said as she threaded through the trailers.   “I’m sorry honey.”

You knew that your cries would fall on deaf ears. Hiding your emotions was, safe and expected. Your father taught you that. 

"Put your head down," she urged, squeezing your knee in that comforting way she always did as she drove. "Get some sleep." 

At any other point you would have argued against that, fighting sleep as a knight would a dragon. But tonight you knew she needed to be obeyed. 

Your eyes were trained on your mom's face as you nestled into the seat. She gave you a watery smile. 

 "Everything is going to be okay, honey. I swear."

She lied. 

Because you weren't even five minutes out of the trailer park before another truck slammed into yours sending you skittering across asphalt and flipping your vehicle. 

It was so fast you didn't even have time to scream. There was a loud scratching noise like fingers on a chalkboard, the crunch of metal; the scent you would later learn was burning rubber. 

The car kept dragging, like your feet when you tried to stop the swing at the park. Eventually it groaned to a stop.

And then silence save for the drip drip drip next to you. The blood coming out of your mother's mouth, dropping into the crumpled interior roof of the car. You reached for her, your body half floating out of your seat, tethered in only by your safety belt. 

Her neck looked funny and even though her eyes were open she wasn't looking at you. She too sat half suspended, body tucked under the safety belt, arms limply above her head. That same metal smell from before was back. 

And that drip drip drip. 

You didn't want to look at your mom. Her face was all wrong. Somehow even at your young age you seemed to understand that something was very wrong.

You faded in and out of consciousness, the pain in your head going from a sharp pain to a dull throb. There was noise, the sound of footsteps and you whimpered in terror, eyes searching the dark interior of the truck.

You couldn't get out of the seat to escape and find help, couldn't release the safety belt because each time you tried your hands screamed in pain. 

And for the first time in so long your voice was there, scratchy and frantic and ultimately useless. You screamed and screamed until you blacked out, body hanging limply once more. 

That's when they found you. 

authors note: i know i normally write cute and happy things but i want to try a more gritty story as well. i never see enough boston era joel miller x reader on my dash.

💋💋💋💋

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Common Romance Tropes

If you want to write a romantic short story or novel, it’s vital that you learn the basic love tropes that are a part of the genre, so that you can work with them (or against them) to form a love story your readers will identify with.

Love Triangle. One of the most common tropes of romance literature: three characters are competing for each other’s love, and only two will pair off. This is a favorite romance trope for creating tension, since the reader wonders who will pair off and who will be left alone with their painfully unrequited love. Will she choose the bad boy or the geek? Will he choose the cheerleader or the ugly duckling? Love triangles are the ultimate trope to appeal to “shippers”—readers who like to pick a side and play matchmaker. Example: Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins (2008).

Secret Billionaire. A billionaire or member of a royal family is tired of their lavish lifestyle, and they sneak out of the spotlight—and, in disguise, run into someone who treats them as if they’re an ordinary person. Whether or not this leaves them frustrated or entranced, it has a little more pizzazz than the standard “boy meets girl” story—and the end result is often true love. Example: Naked in Death by Nora Roberts (1995).

Friends to Lovers. They’ve known each other since they were childhood friends or they recently met each other, and now things are heating up—even though they used to see each other as just friends, they now see each other as a potential love interest. This trope is popular because we get to see two characters bond with each other as friends first, which allows them to be more open with each other without a physical relationship getting in the way. As their feelings for one another—and the sexual tension—build, we can’t help but want them to get together so we can watch them go from “best friends since high school” to “happily ever after.” Example: Eleanor & Park by Rainbow Rowell (2012).

Stuck Together. There are plenty of variations of the “stuck together” trope, which is often a staple of romantic comedies: two people trapped in a snowed-in cabin, forced to stay with each other overnight at the office, on a road trip, or even stuck in an arranged marriage. However it happens, this trope will trap two characters—whether they’re sworn enemies or already attracted to one another—in the same place and let the drama ensue. Example: From Lukov with Love by Mariana Zapata (2018).

Enemies to Lovers. Enemies to lovers is a beloved trope, made popular by Jane Austen in the classic novel Pride & Prejudice: two people who hate each others’ guts (usually for ridiculous reasons) end up overcoming their differences and angst and ending the story with a (spoiler!) declaration of love. The “enemies to lovers” trope often goes hand-in-hand with the “stuck together” trope, since putting two enemies in a room together can lead to some very juicy results. Example: The Taming of the Shrew by William Shakespeare (1594).

Forbidden Love. One of the most famous love stories of all time, Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare, is a classic example of forbidden love: two characters who aren’t allowed to have feelings for each other can’t help but become entangled in a romantic relationship. The things that separate them could range from the family politics in Romeo and Juliet to the bloodsucking problem in Stephenie Meyer’s paranormal romance Twilight. And of course, things will always get more complicated—whether the couple is discovered sneaking out together or with a secret baby after an accidental pregnancy. Example: The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks (1996).

Second Chance. Two lovers break up and then long for each other. Someone is looking for love again after a bad divorce. Or the hero/heroine’s fairytale turned out to be a nightmare, and now a new romance will give them hope again. The “second chance” trope is where our character missed their chance during their first love and are about to encounter a second. Their next blind date or one-night stand might be the experience that helps them believe in love again. Example: Once in a Lifetime by Harper Bliss (2015).

Soul Mates. The “soul mates” trope is a story about two characters who are meant to be together as each others’ “one true love.” But any story would be boring if everything were going just fine for the couple—that’s why many romance writers that use the “soul mates” trope need to also drive them apart somehow. Whether there’s a horrible misunderstanding or a natural disaster that separates them, soul mates in love stories always find a way to get back together. Example: The Princess Bride by William Golding (1973).

Fake Relationship. They didn’t ask for this. Maybe they’re tired of telling everyone they’re single, or they have to pretend like they’re in love to get out of an awkward social situation. Maybe two characters agree to a marriage of convenience in order to subvert the law or get a better tax break, or a friends with benefits situation to stave off their loneliness. But of course, in many “fake relationship” stories, what began as a fake relationship quickly turns into true love. Example: To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before by Jenny Han (2014).

A trope in literary terms is a plot device or character attribute that is used so commonly in the genre that it’s seen as commonplace or conventional. For example, a trope in superhero stories is a villain who wants to take over the world. The romance genre, in particular, is full of tropes—from Shakespeare plays to modern-day bestsellers, it’s easy to see patterns when you start to look.

Ways Tropes Are Helpful to Writers

Help offer readers things that are familiar. Tropes are popular for a reason—if something has been written about over and over again, there’s a good chance that it’s something romance readers enjoy reading! Popular romance tropes are a great place to start when coming up with your love story idea, because they’re guaranteed to be familiar territory to readers that they’ll enjoy.

Give you a jumping-off-place to innovate. Tropes can be helpful, but a novel made up only of tropes will quickly start to feel stale and predictable to readers. That’s why you need to read up on romance tropes—and then innovate. Deliberately taking a favorite trope and turning it on its head is a great way to put your own unique spin on the genre and keep your readers interested.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[astrophysician]

Do you have any advice on designing a Sonic OC? Loop is so cool and unique, and I feel like when I try it comes out feeling more generic

(Love all your art btw)

hey thanks so much! that’s very sweet of you 🩵 i hope you’re ready because you’ve activated my trap card by putting “character design” and “sonic” in the same sentence. here we go!

this is based on my own observations of the sonic style and my previous experience designing characters.

designing a memorable character is equal parts shape language and design philosophy. my advice boils down to this: figure out what your character’s most important traits are and do everything in your power to make that as obvious as possible. but how do we do that? here’s some methodology.

in a cartoony style like sonic’s, shapes and silhouettes play a huge role in how characters are perceived. look at canon character designs and take note of what elements are consistent across the style and unique to the character.

sonic is the blueprint! he’s got a combination of round and pointed lines with the areas of interest being head, hands, and feet. these are the areas you want to pay attention to. he’s fast, so he’s got spines that shoot back and shoes that stick out in color to draw your attention when he’s on the move. see how much is conveyed with such a simple design? it’s all in the shapes! (protip: the easiest way to make a character feel less generic is to choose a body type that’s different from sonic’s. 90% of sonic characters look like this— anything that goes the way of big, vector, a robot, or even tails in some cases is going to automatically feel more unique).

think about what kind of character you’re creating. are they cool, with an ego? a rival type? consider having them mirror sonic’s silhouette, like shadow or jet. spiky shapes like triangles are great for that. are they kind and soft-spoken? rounder shapes will create a more welcoming vibe.

loop is primarily made of two kinds of shapes: rounded triangles and rounded rectangles. by building everything from one or two shapes, their whole design has consistency. triangles and rectangles on their own can be blocky and sharp, but the roundness of these shapes softens their edges and shows loop’s personality: someone who’s bubbly, but exciting too! (also i didn’t outline it in this image but even the light trails are rounded rectangles!)

sonic characters are also LOUD. everyone has one or two traits that shout who they are. figure out what ability or trait you want to stick out and make that the most important part of their design. for loop, it’s their skates. tails can fly, so his tails are exaggerated (but he’s also cute and younger than sonic, so he’s got big eyes and cheek fluff!). big is big! charmy can also fly, but he’s got a bit of an aeronaut vibe to set him apart. blaze is a pyrokinetic princess, so she has elegant clothes, while her hair and the fluff around her wrists and ankles evoke fire-like shapes. jet is brash and cool, so he’s bright green and has cool clothes to match his gear. you can use the traits of the type of animal you’re basing your character on to accentuate these elements, too. species can tell us a lot about a character!

here’s even more examples in the form of IDW characters (and Gemerl). try examining them for yourself!

ok, so you’ve looked at shape language and decided what your core characteristics are. once the building blocks are in place, it’s time for ✨details✨

now, just because sonic characters tend to look simple doesn’t mean there’s not room for detail. what matters is how you apply it. details can be as little as a buckle on a shoe or as complex as a fully outfitted combat cloak. the key to executing this effectively is to have the details compliment the larger elements, and ultimately, help us understand who your character is.

tails’ details come largely in the form of his fur shapes. he’s so fluffy! big has stripes and a detailed belt and sandals to solidify the fishing vibe (i’d also call his gloves details here). the stripes on his pole even mimic the stripes on his fur. blaze has jewelry and a gem on her forehead, as well as pointier eyes to contrast sonic’s. surge has metal bits all over her clothes to catch electricity and give her a punk look. you might be noticing something: some details provide a look as well as a meaning. the more you can weave your details in with purpose, the stronger your design will become.

let’s take another look at loop. pretty much every aspect can tell you something about their character.

since the most important part of loop’s design is their skates, they have the most concentration of detail. i wanted them to look high tech and cool in a skate-y way, so i tried to mimic rollerblades with the plasticy elements and bold stripes. this shows that loop has a lot of capability while also looking cool! i made their gloves big and floppy to make it seem like they’re just a bit of a rookie, with the simultaneous purpose that they’re heat-absorbent to prevent loop from getting burned by the skates. they wear athletic clothes because they’re always ready to do something exciting. they’ve got cute bangs and a big ponytail (whose shape i intentionally picked to mimic sonic and other characters, with three elements each) because they’re cute and kinda feminine. with their hair tied back, they’re ready for action, but with a bang covering their eye they’re still pretty loose with it. the markings around their eyes put emphasis on their eyes which makes them seem cuter.

the rest is just design philosophy. because they’re a ringtail cat and i wanted to hammer home the “ring” motif, they’re covered in stripes and even have a little ring design on their clothes!

a little disclaimer: i definitely don’t come up with all these details before designing a character. they’re things that come naturally as i draw them and explore the design. so i guess, draw your character a lot and don’t be afraid to experiment and change things up :)

the last piece of advice i have regards names. sonic characters often have names that describe what they “do” or what they “are.” blaze. shadow. sonic. silver. jet. even amy rose is a cute name for a cute girl. the name is the final icing on the cake, the ribbon that ties it all together. who is your character, and what do they do? but that’s just a suggestion. at the end of the day, you can call your character whatever you want. no matter what you choose, just make sure their name is a special one!

PHEW that was fun. i hope that was helpful! i feel like i always have more to say on the subject, but i think this goes over my main ideas while providing a lot of examples. lemme know if you have any questions, and happy designing! y’all better show me your OCs!

[morporkian-cryptid]

State of knowledge on The Mamo Situation

As of Zenigata and the Two Lupins

In prevision for the Immortal Bloodline movie, which is out in Japan but nowhere else (why do I have to be French!!!!!), here's a recap of everything we know and everything Team Lupin knows about The Mamo Situation!

Jigen's Gravestone

What Lupin knows:

The hit on Jigen (and later on Lupin and Fujiko) was apparently from the Perv Club's owner

Lupin figured it had to come from higher up since their names were in the Calamity Files (the notebook with the list of people assassinated by the government), and the club owner was just a middleman

His conclusion was that it came from the East Doroan govt

What the audience knows:

Raisin Man Extraordinaire Mamo is here!

He's got an extensive surveillance network in East Doroa

He's been specifically watching Lupin and Jigen (probably mostly Lupin)

No known connection between Jael and Mamo, although in retrospect, Jael being pale as fuck (like all GMO Assassins), and Hawk and Binkam both having a connection to him, it would be fair to assume he does too

Presumably Mamo ordered at least one of the hits? Although there was also a very good reason for the government to want to off Jigen, Lupin and Fujiko without Mamo's input...

----

Goemon's Bloodspray

What Lupin knows:

Fujiko knows Hawk (by reputation)

Hawk was presumed dead, after an explosion 13 years prior somewhere in the Bermuda Triangle

Intelligence agencies over the world (and Fujiko) have known for years that he survived

What the audience knows:

Lady Salifa (the creepily cute little blond girl) is giving Hawk hit orders from "the master", it's easy to assume that's Mamo although there's no concusive proof of that

No appearance or mention of Mamo at all in this movie

----

Fujiko's Lie

What Lupin knows:

The mining company trying to get Eugene is diverting funds into an "investment company" which is a front for a production plant mass-producing GMO assassins

(Lupin figured that out by following the trail of the "puppetmaster" from back in Jigen's Gravestone)

It's assumed Lupin figures out that's where Binkam comes from

The GMO assassins are being sold/rented out

The plant is located on an island

Hawk is there and he has his arm back. Like, a normal, regular flesh arm, not a metal prosthetic

Lupin sees Lady Salifa for the first time, so he knows she's connected to Hawk somehow

Jael has a new prosthetic arm and is still very much in the assassination business

What the audience knows:

Hawk's connection to Salifa (at least we have a tiny bit more context than Lupin)

----

Zenigata and the Two Lupins

Lupin knows that the "puppetmaster" is hiding on an island in the Bermuda triangle, how he figured that out and where he got the map is never explicited

He already had the map before the beginning of the movie, and was on his way to going there

I don't think he made the connection between Lupin Russian Edition and the puppetmaster, at least until the clone mentionned the island

Lupin Russian Edition knows Mamo's island personally, and says so to Lupin Original Flavour

OG Lupin knows that Lupin Russian Edition's face is not a mask. What conclusions he's drawn from this is never explained.

What the audience knows:

Lupin Russian Edition is a clone

Mamo made him (why?????????)

Mamo telepathy????? the clone sees Mamo in his brain before dying?????

Zenigata works for ICPO and not the Japanese National Security Bureau (!!!!!!)

----

If I missed anything important, please add it!

[gerardsbest]

Our Lady of Sorrows

Previous | Next

Chapter 2

Relationship: Gerard Way x Reader. Frank Iero x Reader

Tags: love triangles, slow burn, meet-cute, angst, fluff, falling in love, unrequited love, love confessions, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, awkward flirting, love at first sight

Summary: Gerard goes to a venue hosting local artists on a whim one day and sees you. Completely enamoured, he makes it his mission to see you again.

You see him, too. And you wonder what made him stand so close to the stage.

Frank sees the both of you.

(or the formation of mcr but you're there, and you have a special bond with gerard. frank is your long time friend, and the reason you got into music)

3.2k words | ao3

Frank greeted you right after the show. 

But you were so out of it that you nearly walked right past him.

"Woah, hey, you have one solid show and now you're suddenly too good for me?" Frank jested, elbowing you as you brushed by his side.

You blinked, you felt drunk, or even high. Which, you'd never even taken a shred of marijuana, but if you did, you were sure that this is what it would feel like. All dazed or more like fuzzy. Like you knew you were there since you could physically feel your feet planted on the floor and Frank standing next to you, and you could also see everything, but you weren't quite there. You were there but not there. Physically there but not "there", there— what the hell were you on about?

"You good?" Frank asked after a bit, lowering his voice.

"She's just in shock still," Grace said as she slung her guitar over her shoulder. "She was like this all the way through the audience cheering for us! I mean, I get it though, your performance was fucking stellar."

Grace patted your back, and you felt that, just like you felt your other bandmates to the same. One even ruffled your hair. But none of it was computing.

Because in your mind, you were still replaying everything.

You'd only played four songs, and those were the songs you and your band had been obsessing over in the practice room— your drummer's garage— for weeks now. The five of you had played and sang 'til your vocal chords were torn and fingers were bleeding. It was perfect.

And it had all been worth it because the show was perfect.

Everything. The playing, your own singing, the crowd. You finally felt the rush that all musicians assuredly felt. The rush which signalled that this was it. This was where you were meant to be.

The audience, though none knew the lyrics were all screaming, running around, flailing their arms, cheering, some even got a little aggressive. just like how you were when you attended these shows. Lost in the music. Your music made them like that.

God, it was all chaos.

Well, strangely, there was one bit which stood out to you. One guy, dark hair and face paler than the moon. He stood there for the whole performance, not attempting to sing along or getting rowdy with the rest of the moshpit. Just standing there.

"I saw a guy in the pit. Boy, did he stand out."

You looked to Frank, and he raised his eyebrow, "Oh, now you look at me?" He asked, lips wet from the water he was chugging.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to ignore you like that. I'm just... wow."

"It's cool. I'm not actually upset, just surprised that you're this shellshocked right now."

You went to sit on a nearby chair. It was one of those plastic foldable ones, the quality was absolutely shitty and it felt like the hinges might snap at any moment but you just had to sit down.

"This is what it's like, huh."

"Yep, it is."

"This rush?"

"The high." Frank added.

"The high." You agreed.

Frank gave you his water, there was only enough for a sip but you accepted regardless, "Thank you." You whispered and sighed gratefully at its coolness. 

"Wanna head out now? Since I promised you to play you that song. Or do you want to go greet your adoring fans."

You snorted, "I don't have adoring fans."

"I dunno... that guy in the pit looked real... what's the word, enamored?"

"Ooh, big words, Frankie."

"Shut up." He snatched the bottle from your hand, then realized it was empty and promptly threw it into the trash. 

"I think I'm ready to go now. Your place or mine?"

"Mine's closer."

"Alright."

You got up, and everything felt a lot better, At least now I can exist without feeling like I'm having an out of body experience.

The two of you were about to leave the venue when you heard your phone ring, "Frank, wait," You said as you checked it out. "Oh, shoot."

"What is it?" 

"I forgot my boyfriend and I have plans tonight."

"Oh," Frank said, and that was all he said for a while. "Why wasn't he at the show again?"

"He was busy. Had a shift at work," You answered while also texting him back. "I'm so sorry. Can we reschedule? Tomorrow, maybe?"

It was too dark to see Frank's expression, but you knew he wasn't happy. You imagined he was doing that thing with his lips where he was pressing them super tight together, making them all pale as he tried not to look too bothered by anything. It was the face he made when he wanted something to go one way but knew it was fruitless to try and fight for it. A bitter acceptance.

"Yeah, tomorrow," Frank conceded finally. "Need a ride?"

"No, he's coming. Sorry again."

"Don't worry about it," Frank said, then stepped forward and gave you a side hug. "I didn't say this, but you were great, by the way. Truly."

"Thanks, that means a lot coming from you."

"Does it?" Frank was able to laugh, even if it was short. It made you feel at least marginally better.

"Of course it does. You're brilliant."

Frank chuckled, "Flattery gets you nowhere. See you."

"Bye."

You watched Frank, shrouded by shadows step into his car. It was relatively old and made funny sounds which made you a bit anxious when you rode in it, but it had character and memories, which was what was most important. 

You waved one last time, but it was too dark to see if he did so back. You hoped he did.

🦇

"I want to see her again."

Mikey turned his head. He'd been sitting in the passenger seat, and was looking out the window until now, "Who?"

"The one we saw towards the end."

"Yeah, that narrows it down." Mikey retorted sarcastically.

"Mercy."

"The guitarist or singer?"

"Singer."

"Do you have a crush?"

Gerard nearly crashed the car.

Thankfully, there was a red light. But Mikey wasn't having it.

"What the hell! Gee, it's not that big a deal. Christ, we almost died..."

"Sorry, sorry," Gerard murmured as he leaned back momentarily. "You just caught me off guard."

"Right. So, what's with the reaction? And more importantly, why do you want to see her again?"

The light turned green and Gerard was driving again. Steady, this time. Maybe too steady. His arms were outstretched and pin straight.

Gerard tried to think of ways to answer him because in truth, he didn't really know, either. The reasons swimming in his head were a hodgepodge of ambiguity. Did he want to see her again simply because she was pretty? No, he can't be that shallow. There was certainly another reason.

Her voice? Her mannerism? Her stage presence? Her attributes? Her style?

"Her..." Gerard began and Mikey waited for the answer with bated breath. 

He had to think some more.

"... Quality."

Mikey blanked, "Her... quality."

"Yes. Her quality."

"Um," He started. "Well, alright then. Whatever you say, Gee."

They pulled up into their driveway. The lights were off. Made sense, it was past midnight on a weekday.

Mikey got out first, then realized Gerard was still inside, "Gonna stay here for a bit?"

"No." Gerard said way too quickly as he hurried out of the car and bumped his head on the ceiling. 

Gerard clutched his head and muttered a small "ow..."

Mikey poked his head over, "This girl has you real messed up. Do you even know her name?"

"I don't..." Gerard murmured, juggling his keys to find the right ones as he kept rubbing the side of his head. "And she hasn't gotten me messed up. You're over exaggerating things."

"Let's see, you nearly crashed the car over me just asking if you had a crush and you've been out of it all night since that performance. It's okay if you like her, just admit it."

"How can I like someone when I don't even know them?" Gerard hissed as he opened the door. 

They walked in carefully, opening and closing the door all slow and gentle so as to not wake their parents. Their conversation continued in hushed whispers.

"You should ask her out."

"What?" Gerard whisper-yelled.

"It's not like she's some untouchable celebrity. Far as I know, she's probably just a university student who does this on the side. Actually, I might even go to the same school as her, so it won't be hard."

"We're moving way too fats right now. I don't even know that I like her and I probably don't. The performance was just so good it left me a little shocked, alright? That's it."

"Alright, well, if you change your mind, just let me know," Mikey relented as he started to make his way upstairs. "Good night."

" 'Night."

Gerard stayed for a bit. Pacing around in the kitchen, hands messing with his uneven and short hair. 

The events of the night were still unfolding in his mind, a constant loop, like a broken VHS tape replaying the best, most exhilarating moment of a film. 

Except, this wasn't a film, and there wasn't a VHS. It was just his mind and a girl.

Gerard thought about the way her dress flowed, how thin it was, like a veil covering her body. Moreover, the sparkle of the rhinestones, though fake and probably bought from the local craft store, still matched how shiny her eyes were throughout the whole thing. And they weren't shiny from the light or anything like that, they were shiny from passion.

He admired that. He admired that a lot.

Gerard headed to his room— a basement, technically, but a place he considered his most sacred and private nonetheless. 

There were posters, action figures, comic books, games, and other geeky paraphernalia galore, but Gerard's favorite spot was his desk. It had all his art supplies, as well as his sketchbooks and even just stray pieces of paper he'd draw on as well as a few stray canvases; painting wasn't his speciality, but he tried, sometimes.

Right now, however, Gerard didn't want to paint. Nor was he interested in his comics or video games. He wanted to draw.

Gerard laid his latest sketchbook flat in front of himself, it was about eighty percent or so filled. The latest drawing was of a superhero, an original one he'd just come up with. Most of the pages looked like this. Not this one, though, the one he was about to draw.

Grabbing his pencil, Gerard began with a circle. That circle became the rough outline of a face. All of his drawings were unique. All of the characters had exaggerated features, uncanny looking eyes and hair which lay all stiff like a comic. Dynamic posing was a must, Gerard just couldn't draw anyone without them being in a zany position.

The girl in the drawing, the girl he couldn't stop thinking about, had her arms outstretched and was stood on stage but almost looked like she was floating. Much like biblical paintings which depicted a holy figure.

Her dress, her hair. 

Gerard tried his best to capture the shine of the silk, as well as the glimmer of the stones. The texture of her hair, too. It felt like simple pens and markers couldn't do this well, but he tried.

The final detail was the microphone, which laid enveloped between her fingers.

Gerard drew each intricate curve of her hand and all of its pieces, She held it so gently. He took note. 

Fingernails, joints, knuckles - hands were personal. Individual. And Gerard remembered how pretty her fingers were. Maybe it was weird to notice this, he was definitely weird.

Finally, Gerard held it up, a few inches from himself so he could get a nice, full view of it. Only then was when he realized a fatal error.

Her face.

Gerard couldn't believe himself. Out of all things, her face? He'd forgotten to draw her face. 

Hell's wrong with me. Gerard grumbled as he placed it down and picked up his pencil again. 

But as he placed the tip of the graphite onto the blank space where her features should be, he paused. 

Her face.

Gerard just couldn't capture it.

The image was there, in his mind, all perfect and waiting to be drawn but he just couldn't. And he couldn't bring himself to try, either.

It almost felt wrong, in a sense, as stupid as that sounded. It wasn't illegal to try, nor would anything bad happen. Gerard was just being complicated.

So, it was left blank, but he wasn't satisfied with that, either. Gerard just couldn't leave it blank and go on with the rest of his life, knowing this would just be left. Unfinished. 

More than anything, he wanted to complete it. This drawing.

He needed to see her again.

That would be the only way.

Gerard placed the pencil down and sighed.

🦇

You looked over at your boyfriend, who was already fast asleep. Always one to do so early.

The date went well for the most part. First, the two of you got something to eat at a local restaurant, a real "mom and pop's" kind of place, which you loved. Then, it was straight home to comfortable clothes, goofy movies, and snacks. It was nice.

You just wished he didn't want to have sex. 

Sex was nice. You enjoyed it like any average person would. But it wasn't something you particularly wanted to do a lot.

A sentiment he didn't share.

"C'monn babe, you look so hot right now."

You hated how sleazy he sounded sometimes. 

"Are you serious? It's been like two weeks. You're really just gonna leave me hanging?"

And how angry he could get.

"Whatever, then. I'll just go to sleep then."

Was it such a big deal? You didn't understand.

You slowly rose from the bed, watching as the little blanket you'd been using fell to the ground. You didn't bother to pick it back up and just walked into the hallway, mindless.

Your parents were out on a honeymoon trip, and knowing them, they wouldn't be back for a while. The house was empty except fro you and your sleeping boyfriend—

The doorbell rang.

And that person, apparently.

You checked the kitchen clock. Two forty-eight A.M.

So, that's probably a bloodthirsty murderer or a lost kid. Is this where I meet my end? You thought. Grim, but it was lighthearted to you.

Even so, you weren't stupid so you looked out the peephole and your jaw dropped.

"Frank?" You opened the door, absolutely agape.

"You look surprised."

"It's three A.M.!"

"Two forty-nine, actually. Can I come in? It's cold as balls."

You nodded and opened the door wider for him, but was still flabbergasted, "What are you..."

"Sheer and utter boredom." He answered before you could finish.

Frank made his way to the couch, placing his feet on the coffee table as if he owned the place. It was only then where you noticed a bag in his hands. He noticed, too, and chuckled as he reached into it and brought out something.

"Hostess snacks."

"Holy shit." You immediately went to sit next to him and grabbed the bag from him like it was a billion dollars.

"Aren't I the best?"

"Absolutely."

You grabbed a cupcake, ripping open the thin plastic packaging and tossing one to Frank who caught it with one hand, "These are fucking timeless." You groaned.

"Woah, don't orgasm over a chocolate cupcake." 

"Oh, shush," The cupcake was small, so you finished it quite quickly. "That healed me..."

Frank raised his brow, " 'Healed you?' "

Shoot... should I not have said that?

You turned to him, all slow. At first, you contemplated how much to tell him, if at all, but after only a bit of that, you decided to just let it all out. One, because it was too late for you to care and two, because you were upset still and wanted to talk to someone about it. You wouldn't deny yourself that.

"My boyfriend was a bit of a dick."

"How so?"

Getting all comfortable, you sunk into that little crevice between the cushions, "He upset me," You sighed. "How should I say this... he wanted to have sex and I didn't want to—"

Frank cut you off right there, "— What the hell did he do?"

You were a bit caught off guard by that, by how he went from zero to a hundred in the matter of two seconds.

"Woah, woah," You laughed, patting him on the shoulder. "Nothing happened. I didn't do anything I didn't want to do. Just, he got kind of asshole-y over me not wanting to. He's upstairs right now, sleeping."

Frank calmed a lot, he actually seemed to physically deflate which was a little funny, "Alright, 'cause I thought... anyway," He said quickly. "What did he say?"

"Just the standard stuff..." You were drawing circles in your palm now. "About how I'm leaving him hanging... saying we haven't done this in a while..." 

"Tell me, why are you with this guy again?"

"He's not a bad person. This is just a little flaw amongst many good things."

"Good things like what?"

"Like, he texts me good morning and good night everyday. He always pays for our meals, which I wish he would stop doing 'cause I feel bad but regardless. He always gets me flowers. He's supportive of my pursuits in music. Oh, and on that note, we have all the same interests and hobbies except he thinks comics are kinda lame."

Frank was nodding along, but he looked like he wasn't really listening. It was the same monotone expression he always had while looking at the teachers in school.

You felt like you had to say something.

"... Look, he might not sound like prince charming, but I love him, okay? And he's not awful. Like I said, a little flaw amongst many good things."

"So, you're settling."

Now, you were getting a little frustrated, "I'm not," You said, calm despite the little bit of rage bubbling in you. "Can we just move on from this?"

"Yeah, sure. What do you want to talk about?"

"Hm... what did you do tonight?"

"You mean after you abandoned me?"

You snorted. Frank cracked up a little, too. This was what was nice about him - he always knew when to jest. And when to get serious (even if sometimes he took it too far).

"Hey, I didn't... abandon you. I simply just was stupid and double booked."

"Yeah, yeah. Well, I went to the after party, had a few drinks, lounged around for a bit, talked with some of the other bands, but ended up leaving early 'cause it was kinda lame."

"Oh, how so? You love parties."

" 'Love' is an overstatement. I just like the drinks and the company. But this one wasn't too exciting."

"I see. So, what did you do after?"

"Watched some late night TV as I had some leftovers, wrote a few lyrics down to a song I'm thinking of, practiced guitar... then, decided to come here on a whim."

"And what if I wasn't awake?"

Frank looked at you, "I knew you were awake."

It was quiet in your home. You had no pets, nor any siblings, just a sleeping boyfriend upstairs and a best friend next to you. Outside, there was no wind nor rain, just a smooth night and its following tranquility. 

[kash98]

She’s the Storm, He’s the Fire (Jungook x reader)

Pairing: Jungkook x reader, y/n Age restrictions: 18+ Ongoing Series: Chapter Three Read Chapter One: Curiosity’s a Dangerous Thing — So Am I Read Chapter Two: What Fire Does to a Storm Summary: The night may be over, but its consequences aren’t. One reckless dare at the after-party left more than just a lingering heat — it cracked something open. Now, in the quiet morning after, the tension between them simmers just beneath the surface. She’s poised, practiced, and pretending it didn’t rattle her. He’s amused, unbothered, and far too observant.

And when the city’s next party looms, she’s not sure she wants to go—until he makes it personal.

Some things aren’t just flirtation.

They’re challenges.

And neither of them knows how to walk away from those.

"Storms don’t leave quietly. And fire remembers."

Let the game continue...

Chapter Three: False Hope

Same Night

Dessert was supposed to be the wind-down—the soft landing after a meal. But as soon as the last fork scraped against a plate and someone pulled out a bottle of soju, the energy shifted like someone had flipped a switch. Laughter got louder. Bottles clinked. Music turned up as someone found a speaker in the corner, cueing up a playlist that was suspiciously designed to cause chaos.

“Why do I feel like the night just started?” you asked, half-laughing as Taehyung handed you a shot with a wink.

Jungkook leaned back on the couch, glass in hand, eyes already gleaming with mischief. “Because it did.”

Namjoon yelled, “Beer pong!” and just like that, the living room transformed. Jin and Hobi dragged the table to the center, Yoongi arranged the cups in perfect triangles, and Jimin took it upon himself to pour the drinks with dramatic flair.

You barely had time to protest before Alisha looped an arm through yours. “You're with me.”

Across the table, Jungkook tilted his head, smirking as he joined the opposing team. “You sure you wanna do that to her?”

Alisha grinned. “Please. She’s lethal.”

Jungkook’s eyes flicked to you, amused and a little cocky. “We’ll see about that.”

You raised a brow. “Try not to cry when we wipe the floor with you.”

He let out a low laugh. “Oh, sweetheart. I don’t cry. I win.”

“Bold words for someone about to lose in the first round.”

Taehyung let out a whoop. “This is going to be so messy.”

And with that, the first ball flew across the table—wild, competitive energy in the air, the night nowhere near over.

Jungkook made the opening shot with a maddening level of precision, the ping pong ball landing squarely in the front cup.

Cheers erupted from his team. He didn’t even try to hide his smug expression as he looked at you.

“Beginner’s luck,” you said flatly, grabbing a cup and downing the beer without breaking eye contact.

He leaned on the edge of the table. “You keep telling yourself that.”

Your turn. You narrowed your eyes, calculated the angle, and flicked your wrist—clean hit. Jungkook blinked as the ball plopped into one of their middle cups.

“Beginner’s luck?” you echoed sweetly, batting your lashes.

Jungkook’s brows lifted in amused challenge. “Okay. You wanna play like that?”

“I was born to play like that,” you shot back.

Round after round, the game escalated. It was no longer about winning—it was about outdoing each other. He threw curve shots with annoying confidence, and you countered with precision that had him raising a brow every time.

“You practicing in secret?” he asked as you sank another shot.

You shrugged innocently. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

At one point, when he missed—barely—you clutched your heart. “Tragic. I thought you said you don’t lose.”

“I didn’t,” he said, stepping closer. “I’m just giving you false hope.”

“Aw. How thoughtful.”

The room was loud, chaotic, full of laughter and trash talk—but for some reason, it felt like it was just the two of you at that table.

And the night was only getting started.

“Okay, new rule!” Jimin shouted over the music, wobbling slightly as he poured more soju. “If you miss a cup, your team picks a dare for you.”

A chorus of chaotic agreement followed. Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “You sure you can handle this?”

You smirked, arms crossed. “You worried about me, Jeon?”

“Worried for you,” he replied with a wink.

Two rounds later, Jungkook missed.

“Oh, this is gonna be good,” you grinned, spinning the empty cup in your hand dramatically. “Let’s see... Taehyung, you got anything evil in mind?”

Taehyung didn’t even blink. “I dare Jungkook to kiss the person he finds the most attractive in the room.”

A loud “OHHHHHHHHH” went up around the room.

Jungkook didn’t flinch. He casually scanned the room, dramatically stroking his chin as if weighing options.

You rolled your eyes.

He took one step forward. Two.

And then stopped right in front of you.

Your smirk faltered just a little. “Cute joke.”

“I don’t joke,” he said softly, and before you could say anything snarky, he leaned in—close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath and feel the warmth radiating off him—but his lips brushed your cheek, just barely.

A near kiss. A ghost of one.

The room went wild. It shouldn't have meant anything. But your stomach still flipped like you’d stepped off a ledge.

You stared at him, heat creeping up your neck. He pulled back with a glint in his eye.

“False hope, right?” he whispered.

You blinked, gathering your thoughts. “Oh, you’re so getting destroyed next round.”

“Oh, I hope so,” he shot back, turning to refill his cup.

Game on.

You were still reeling—not that you'd admit it—when your team missed the next shot. Miserably. Thanks, Hobi.

Across the circle, Jimin leaned forward, chin resting on his palm. “Truth or dare?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Dare.”

His smile turned wicked. “Okay, sweetheart. Since golden boy over there almost kissed you earlier”—he nodded toward Jungkook, who didn’t even flinch—“I dare you to whisper something dirty in his ear.”

The circle exploded.

Even Jungkook looked momentarily caught off guard, one pierced brow lifting, lips twitching.

“It’s harmless,” Jimin said, sipping his drink like he hadn’t just set the room on fire. “We don’t get to hear it, but he does. Fair’s fair.”

Taehyung leaned in, murmuring, “Do it. Melt him.”

Jungkook leaned back, clearly intrigued. “Come on. I can take it.”

You walked over slowly, the air buzzing around you as you closed the space between you and him. He watched every step—chin tilted up, arms sprawled, inviting.

You bent over, fingers grazing his shoulder for balance, your lips brushing just close enough to feel the heat of his skin. Then, casually, your mouth dipped to his ear… and you kissed it. Light. Barely there. A mirror of how he’d kissed your cheek earlier—sweet, deliberate, and just a little cocky.

He froze.

And then, with a breath warm against his skin, you whispered, “You’re acting all cocky… but I know you’re dying for me to kiss you.”

His jaw tightened. His eyes, when they found yours again, were dark and unreadable.

Revenge? Achieved.

The room broke into exaggerated “Ooooooohhhh!”s and playful shouts, everyone howling at the boldness of the moment.

Jimin practically fell over. “God damn, I didn’t think you’d actually do it!”

Alisha clapped like a seal. “That’s my girl!” But all the noise faded into the background as Jungkook tilted his head, lips ghosting just near your ear—his voice low enough that only you could hear it.

“You have no idea what you just started.”

His tone was velvet and promise, heat simmering beneath the calm. You shivered.

Alisha, squinting between you two with sharp curiosity, she added, “Wait—what did you just say to him?”

He pulled back with that maddening smirk, like he hadn’t just sent goosebumps racing down your spine.

“That’s between the devil and me,” he said smoothly, gaze still locked on yours.

And just like that, the game had changed again. You stood up, straightening your shirt and clearing your throat as if it didn’t suddenly feel five degrees warmer.

The others were already moving on to the next dare.

But Jungkook? He was still watching you like you were his next challenge. And for the first time tonight…You weren’t sure if you wanted to win.

-------------------------------------------------------------- The game carried on for a few more rounds—someone dared to do the worm (badly), another confessed to a long-time celebrity crush, and yet another tried to balance a bottle on their head for thirty seconds while everyone else tried to make them laugh.

Laughter filled the air, but it was slower now, lazier.

Jimin was curled up on one end of the couch, an arm thrown dramatically over his eyes, lips parted in deep sleep. Hobi wasn’t far behind—sprawled across the carpet with an empty snack bowl on his chest like it was his prized possession.

The rest of the group sat scattered around, slouched into pillows or hugging cushions, talking in lower voices. The buzz had mellowed into a warm haze of friendship and exhaustion.

“Okay, okay,” Taehyung said, yawning into his shoulder. “I think that’s enough chaotic confessions for one night.”

Someone hummed in agreement.

You stretched your arms over your head with a soft groan, catching Jungkook’s eyes across the room. His gaze dipped for a second—slow, intentional—before he looked away, biting back a grin.

The game might be over.

That was just getting started.

Just as someone attempted to get up—and immediately flopped back down like a ragdoll—Alisha clapped her hands, cutting through the drowsy lull.

"Alright, that's it," she announced, standing with the smug authority of someone who knew she was the only one sober enough to make decisions. “No one’s going anywhere tonight. You’re all sleeping over. My penthouse has six bedrooms—and enough spare blankets to build a whole village.”

There were a few groggy cheers, one sleepy “I love you, Alisha,” and another snore that sounded suspiciously like Jimin.

You really don’t want to see Taehyung try to parallel park while drunk,” Alisha announced, flopping back on the couch with a groan. “It’s like watching a toddler try to operate a tank. Chaos.”

“I’m fantastic at it,” Taehyung slurred from somewhere under a pile of throw pillows. “That pole had attitude.”

“Right,” Alisha snorted. “Which is why you’re staying. No deaths tonight, please and thank you.”

One by one, the group began to drift — some heading down the hallway to claim rooms, others surrendering to the pull of sleep where they were. Jimin and Hobi were already passed out, dead to the world.

“You got a room already, huh?” Jungkook said, strolling up. “Cousin privileges.”

“You sound bitter,” you replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Not bitter. Just mildly offended. I was gonna offer you mine, y'know. Real gentleman stuff.”

You smirked. “And sleep where? The bathtub?”

“Please. I'd charm someone into sharing.”

You gave him a look. “Good luck with that. Most of them are unconscious.”

He chuckled lowly, then stepped in just a little closer — not enough to cross a line, just enough to notice.

“Well, guess I’ll manage,” he said, voice quieter now. “Unless you’re offering.”

You laughed under your breath, brushing past him with a teasing glance over your shoulder. “Not that charming, Jeon.” “Yet,” he called after you.

--------------------------------------------------------------

You stumbled into the bedroom, and the moment the door clicked shut behind you, your mind—unfortunately—did the exact opposite.

All you could think about was Jungkook. His voice. His smirk. The ghost of his fingers on your skin, and the kiss — too slow, too deliberate — from that stupid dare.

It all replayed in your head like a movie on loop—loud, vivid, and annoyingly addictive.

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face as if that would help clear the fog, but his ridiculously attractive face still flashed behind your eyes every time you blinked.

With a dramatic sigh, you stripped off your party clothes and grabbed the oversized t-shirt from your bag—the one you always traveled with. It was soft, worn-in, and hung loose over your frame, brushing past mid-thigh. No shorts, no effort. Just comfort.

You climbed into bed and flopped onto your side, hoping sleep would take over.

It didn’t.

At first, it was just an uncomfortable fullness in your stomach. Then it twisted—sharp and hot—before settling into a dull, burning ache.

You pressed a palm over your belly and muttered, “Ugh, too much food.”

And alcohol. And sugar. And those stupid vodka-soaked gummy bears.

The nausea came quickly after that. You barely made it to the bathroom before everything came back up twice.

By the time it was over, your throat burned, your forehead was clammy, and you were way too sober to pretend this was just indigestion.

After rinsing your mouth and catching your breath, you stared at the empty glass on the counter with growing despair. No water. No antacids. No patience left.

Barefoot and still a little dazed, you stepped out of the room and made your way downstairs, each step slow and careful so you didn’t wake the entire house.

You pushed into the kitchen, tugging open cabinets and muttering curses under your breath.

“Looking for something, or just cursing Alisha’s spice rack for fun?”

You startled — then groaned.

Jungkook leaned against the fridge, hair a bit messy like he’d just woken up from a nap he hadn’t meant to take.

“You scared me,” you muttered, slamming a cabinet shut.

“Sorry,” he said, though he didn’t sound sorry at all. His eyes dropped to your legs, just for a moment. “Didn’t think anyone else would be up.”

“Well,” you snapped, rubbing your temple, “apparently my stomach wants me dead.”

His brow rose. “Food poisoning?”

“Acid reflux,” you sighed. “Too much food. Too much drink. My body’s staging a coup.”

Jungkook opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of cold water, then handed it to you wordlessly.

You accepted it and mumbled a soft, “Thanks.”

He watched as you took a few slow gulps, then wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. “I feel like a gremlin,” you added. “A bloated, angry gremlin.”

Jungkook chuckled. “Cute gremlin, though.”

You glared at him.

“What?” he grinned. “I meant that nicely. You’ve got that... post-party glow. With a side of murder.”

You rolled your eyes, finally cracking a tired smirk. “You're always this annoying when the sun’s down?”

“Only for you,” he said lightly. “Want me to help find something for the acid? I think Alisha has a drawer of emergency meds.”

You hesitated. “If you’re just going to stand there and flirt while I suffer—”

“I’ll be very respectful while you suffer,” he promised, holding up his hands.

That got a laugh out of you. Small, but real.

And when he knelt to rummage through the lower cabinets, his tone quieter now, he asked, “You alright otherwise?” You didn’t answer right away. Just watched him move like he’d done this a hundred times—like he belonged here. How many nights had they all spent here like this? Laughing, drinking, and turning Alisha’s penthouse into a second home. How many of those had you missed?

You kept staring, some part of you aching with the realization.

Maybe it was your workload. Maybe it was your talent for keeping people at arm’s length. Maybe it was that you’d never had enough close friends to begin with.

Whatever the reason, it hit you all at once—how easy it was for him to fit in. And how easy it would’ve been for you, too, if only you’d let yourself.

His brows were furrowed, just a little. Like he meant it.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Just... not used to nights like these.”

“Guess we’ll have to fix that,” he murmured, handing you a small foil packet of antacids. “Start slow. No greasy fries next time.”

You took it, your fingers brushing his. “And maybe skip the tequila.”

“Speak for yourself,” he grinned.

You popped the antacid into your mouth and grimaced at the chalky texture. “Tastes like mint-flavored regret.”

Jungkook snorted, leaning his weight against the counter. “Still better than puking into Alisha’s ficus.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you said, rubbing your stomach. “At this point, I might as well give the plant some trauma too.”

He gave you a once-over again, slower this time. “You sure you’re okay? You look...”

“Say ‘rough’ and I swear I’ll find that ficus,” you warned.

Jungkook grinned. “I was going to say ‘hot in a chaotic, half-dead way,’ but go off, gremlin queen.”

You gave him a tired look but didn’t even try to argue. “I need air.”

Without waiting, you turned on your heel and pushed the balcony door open, stepping into the cool night. The breeze kissed your legs, goosebumps rising immediately — but the fresh air helped. You closed your eyes for a second.

“I said I needed air, not an escort,” you said without turning, feeling his presence following you.

Jungkook stepped out anyway. “Yeah, well, I figured if you passed out, someone should be here to catch you.”

“How chivalrous,” you muttered.

He leaned on the railing beside you. “Also, you looked like you might fight that poor ficus. Thought I should separate you two.”

You huffed a laugh. “It started it.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, side-eyeing you. “You always this dramatic when you’re tipsy?” “Only when I mix tequila and regret.”

Jungkook let out a laugh, warm and low. It lingered for a second before the quiet settled between you, the kind that didn’t need filling. You pressed your forehead gently against the railing, the cool metal grounding you as your shoulders slumped.

He glanced at you, expression softening. “You should sit,” he said quietly. “I’ll grab a blanket.”

You started to shake your head, but he was already turning back toward the door.

“I’m serious,” he added over his shoulder. “I know that look — five minutes from now you’ll either cry or fall asleep standing up, and I’m not prepared for either.”

You huffed a tiny laugh but didn’t argue as you lowered yourself onto the small outdoor loveseat tucked into the corner of the balcony. Your legs folded up without much grace, and your arms curled around yourself out of habit.

He disappeared inside, and you were too drained to stop him — and honestly, too cold. The city lights flickered below, far enough away to feel unreal.

He came back a minute later with one of Alisha’s giant throw blankets — the obnoxiously soft kind you always teased her about hoarding — and a bottle of water he’d snagged from the fridge.

“Here,” Jungkook said, draping the blanket over your shoulders like he’d done it a hundred times before. “Hydrate, gremlin.”

You took the water, smiling faintly. “Didn’t know you were moonlighting as a nurse.”

“I’m multi-talented. Very underappreciated.”

You let out a soft sigh, sinking deeper into the cushion as the warmth started to spread through your skin. He sat beside you, not too close, but not far either — elbows on his knees, head tilted toward the night.

After a moment, he glanced at you. “You okay now?”

You didn’t answer immediately, just leaned your head slightly toward him, the edge of your blanket brushing his arm.

“Getting there.”

Jungkook stayed quiet, elbows resting on his knees, eyes lost in the city lights below. The hush between you wasn’t heavy anymore — just still. Safe.

You leaned into him without a word, your blanket slipping slightly as your head found his shoulder. He didn’t flinch or shift away — just glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

Your breathing had slowed, each exhale softer than the last.

He was just about to ask, “Are you sleepy?” — but the words never left his lips.

You were already out, the weight of exhaustion tugging you under, lashes resting gently against your cheeks.

Jungkook let out a soft breath, his gaze returning to the night.

He didn’t move right away.

Only when the breeze turned a little cooler, and your fingers curled subconsciously at the hem of your blanket, did he shift — carefully, gently. One arm slid beneath your knees, the other behind your back.

You stirred faintly as he lifted you, but didn’t wake.

He carried you in without a word, each step slow, steady — quiet enough not to disturb the peace that had finally found you.

When he laid you down, tucking the blanket up to your chin, your lips parted slightly, still caught somewhere between dreams and the weightless stillness of being near him.

Jungkook stood there for a moment longer.

Then, with the barest trace of a smile, he whispered, “Sleep well, brat.” And turned off the light. --------------------------------------------------------------

Next Morning

You stirred before the sunlight reached your face. The first thing you noticed was warmth — not from the sun, but from the blanket wrapped tightly around you. The second was the faint scent lingering in the room. Clean cotton and something else.

Him.

Your eyes blinked open slowly. For a moment, your brain tried to catch up — bed? You didn’t remember making it to your room. You sat up slightly, blanket still bunched around your shoulders, and glanced around. 

No sign of Jungkook. Your chest ached with something soft and heavy — the kind of tired that sleep couldn’t touch. You sat there for a while, listening to the silence, fingers brushing over the edge of the blanket.

Eventually, you rose. The floor was cool beneath your feet.

The hot shower helped ease the stiffness in your limbs. You let it run longer than usual, as if the warmth could chase away whatever bits of confusion or hesitation were still clinging to your thoughts.

By the time you stepped out, your hair was damp but brushed out, left loose over your shoulders. You changed into a soft, knitted co-ord set — oatmeal beige with a wide neckline that kept slipping off your shoulder. Comfortable, but not careless. It felt like the kind of morning that needed softness.

As you made your way downstairs, the house was quiet. The kind of quiet that only happens when everyone’s still fast asleep — not the awkward kind, just peaceful.

In the kitchen, Alisha was the only one awake.

She stood at the stove, hair piled up in a messy bun, swaying slightly to music playing faintly from her phone. Pancakes sizzled on the pan, and a bowl of fruit was half-prepped on the counter beside her.

“You’re up early,” Alisha said without looking up, focused on the sizzling pan. “Didn’t think anyone would survive last night’s tequila showdown.”

You slid onto the stool with a yawn, pulling the sleeves of your knitted top over your hands. “Technically, I didn’t. I just reanimated.”

She huffed a quiet laugh and handed you a mug. “Drink this. You look like you wrestled your sleep and lost.”

You took a grateful sip. “Where is everyone?”

“Scattered like bodies after a battlefield. I’m guessing we won’t see life signs for another hour.”

You laugh, and the sound of heavy footsteps made both of you glance toward the hallway.

Namjoon appeared first — hair a mess, hoodie barely hanging on one shoulder, glasses askew like he'd wrestled with a pillow. He squinted toward the kitchen.

“Coffee?” he mumbled.

“Good morning to you, too,” Alisha said, already reaching for another mug. “You look like you tried to fight gravity in your sleep.”

He grunted, flopping into the stool beside you. “Gravity won.”

Right behind him came Taehyung, wrapped in a throw blanket like a toga, eyes half-lidded but still somehow managing to look ethereal and slightly offended at the morning. “Why is it so bright in here?”

“It’s called the sun,” you said helpfully, sipping your drink.

He blinked at you, unimpressed. “Can someone turn it off?”

“You guys sound like hungover raccoons,” Alisha muttered, sliding pancakes onto a plate.

“You invited us,” Namjoon said, muffled by his sleeve.

“And you’re getting fed,” she shot back. “So don’t push it.” You smiled into your cup, the warmth of the morning wrapping around you — a little too many bodies in now what feels like a small kitchen, still tangled in sleep and sarcasm. But it felt… good. You felt…happy. -------------------------------------------------------------- Taehyung had slumped sideways onto the couch with a piece of toast hanging out of his mouth.

Namjoon was reading something on his phone, glasses now properly in place, muttering about needing to start journaling again. The kitchen smelled like syrup and butter and leftover dreams.

You stayed perched on the stool beside Alisha, the two of you in no rush. Quiet laughter, small talk, the kind of morning that didn’t demand anything.

Then came the telltale shuffling of socks down the hall.

Jimin.

He looked like a wreck in the most charming way—hoodie three sizes too big, eyes still swollen with sleep, hair flat on one side and sticking up on the other. He spotted you and made a beeline without saying a word.

“Ugh,” he groaned dramatically, dropping onto the stool beside you and slumping sideways until his head rested on your shoulder. “Kill me.”

“Hangover?” you asked, amused.

“I didn’t even drink that much,” he whined, burrowing closer. “Just...bad decisions in liquid form.”

You chuckled softly, lifting a hand to gently pat his hair. He sighed at the comfort, nestling in like a sleepy cat.

Time passed easily like that. The kind you didn’t measure in minutes, but in moments. Conversations drifted in and out. Laughter came and went.

But your mind had already wandered elsewhere. Not that you’d admit it. Especially not to yourself.

You rose slowly from your stool, stretching just enough to mask your real reason for leaving. “Gonna grab my phone. Left it charging last night.”

No one questioned it. Alisha only hummed, and Jimin, still half-buried in your side, gave a sleepy groan of acknowledgment.

The hallway was quiet. Light from the tall windows bled across the floor. You padded past a guest room, casually glancing in — only to find the bed untouched. Sheets still crisp. Empty.

You didn’t stop.

Your room was just as you’d left it. You didn’t bother closing the door behind you — you weren’t staying long.

At the dresser, you found your phone, still plugged in. The screen lit up instantly with a flood of notifications. Messages. Mentions. Articles.

Headlines painted the screen:

“A Vision in Gold — Grammy Showstopper” “Beauty, Talent, and Unmatched Presence”

Your photo stared back at you — poised, powerful, every angle curated by luck and camera flashes. You looked at it all without reaction. Not because it didn’t matter. But because you’d already expected it. And maybe… because it didn’t touch the part of you that was still tired.

Then—

A shift.

The unmistakable sense of someone behind you.

“Morning,” came a voice — low, unhurried, gravel-soft with sleep.

You turned.

Jungkook leaned against your open door, one shoulder braced lazily against the frame. A black shirt hung loose in his grip. His chest bare. His hair damp — strands clinging to his forehead and neck. Droplets of water trailed down his collarbones like they had somewhere to be.

You blinked. Once. Twice. “Did you… sleep well?” he asked, smirking like he already knew the effect he had on you.

Your brain faltered. Mouth opened, then closed. The way he looked — all morning heat and unbothered confidence — short-circuited something in you.

He noticed.

And stepped inside.

“I—” you started, then gave up. “Did you carry me to bed?”

He nodded, easy. “Could’ve left you curled up and freezing on that balcony. But,” he added with a grin, “I’m a gentleman.”

You scoffed, folding your arms — more for protection than sass. “Right. Sounds like you’ve been fantasizing about carrying me for a while.”

He chuckled low in his chest, stepping closer. His gaze didn’t waver.

“Oh, I’ve been thinking about a lot of things,” he murmured.

Another step. Close enough now that the damp tips of his hair nearly brushed your forehead.

A single drop of water slipped from a dark strand — cool and sudden — landing softly on your cheek.

You flinched just slightly at the unexpected sensation.

Then stilled completely when his hand came up — slow, deliberate — and his fingers brushed the drop away.

A gentle touch. Warm skin against your face.

He didn’t pull back. Didn’t break eye contact.

“Like what you said last night…” he added softly.

Your heart did something stupid. You knew exactly what he meant — your dare-soaked words replaying like a taunt:

You’re acting all cocky, but you’re dying for me to kiss you.

You met his eyes, trying not to flinch. “Not even in your dreams,” you said, voice dry. “And definitely not when I’m unconscious.”

His smirk returned — slow, knowing, devastating.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice barely a breath, “if I want you… I’ll make damn sure you’re wide awake for it.”

You slapped his hand away with a scoff — playful, but edged. “Touch my face again and I’ll break those delicate idol fingers.”

He laughed, deep and unbothered, like you’d just flirted instead of threatened. “You talk a big game,” he said, voice low and teasing. “But that heartbeat says otherwise.”

You opened your mouth — to deny, to fire back, to say anything — but nothing came.

Because the heat in his eyes didn’t match the lazy curve of his smile. Because his gaze dipped to your parted lips for just a second too long. Because your body—traitorous, thrilled, sparked before your brain could stop it.

But he didn’t push. Just smiled — slow, maddening — and stepped back with easy grace, slinging his shirt over one shoulder.

“Try not to miss me,” he said, already turning. “I’ll be back before your pulse slows down.”

And then he was gone — leaving you flushed, flustered, and far too aware of how long it had been since someone really got to you.

You let out a shaky breath.

Goddammit. You were turned on. --------------------------------------------------------------

When you returned to the kitchen, you were composed.

No trace of fluster. No sign of the fire Jungkook had casually left smoldering in your chest. Your posture was calm, expression unreadable, like nothing had happened at all.

But instead of reclaiming your old seat beside Alisha, you circled the island slowly… and sat down right next to him.

Jungkook’s head turned slightly, eyes flicking toward you with a sliver of surprise he didn’t bother to hide. You didn’t look at him.

Didn’t need to.

Your presence was loud enough.

You took a sip of coffee. Slow. Smooth. Like a woman who hadn’t just threatened to break his fingers and then nearly melted under his gaze.

Jungkook’s smirk returned, curling at the edges. But he said nothing. Just shifted slightly in his seat, knee grazing yours under the table.

You didn’t move away.

Someone coughed lightly — Alisha, flipping through her phone, one brow raised. “Okay,” she said. “Heads up — there’s a party tonight. Big one. Jacob Parker's place. Invite-only. Paparazzi won’t get near it.”

You didn’t react. Just kept sipping.

“Yeah,” Namjoon added, not looking up. “Our team already RSVP’d. We’re going.”

That got your attention.

You were invited, of course. You were always invited. But attending? That was another story.

Alisha looked at you, expectant. “You in?”

You set your cup down, deliberately. Didn’t rush.

Then, bone-dry: “I’d rather drink lukewarm coffee in silence than pretend to laugh at a producer’s jokes.”

Jungkook choked — just barely — into his juice.

Alisha snorted. “Come on. It won’t be that bad.”

You sighed, “I’m not in the mood. Too much small talk. Too many people pretending they’re not just there to name-drop.” She leaned in, voice dipping toward persuasion. “You’ve ghosted the last three events. Don’t make me mingle with men named Bryce all night by myself. Also, I miss having you next to me when everyone starts name-dropping.”

A pause.

Alisha gave a tiny shrug, like she hadn’t expected to win anyway, and moved to rinse out her mug.

But then Jungkook let out a low hum, quiet, almost amused. Like he’d caught something in your tone.

“You sure that’s the reason?” he asked, eyes still on his plate.

Your gaze snapped to him, sharp.

He finally looked up, meeting your stare with just enough heat to make your pulse kick. “If you’re worried about being the center of attention…” he said casually, “I could take one for the team. Steal the spotlight.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose — a half-laugh, half-scoff. “That’s cute. You think anyone’s looking at you when I walk into a room?”

His smirk was slow. Dangerous. “Then prove it.”

The words hung in the air — a dare, not a suggestion.

You didn’t reply. Just met his gaze, steady. Calm.

But your fingers curled around your mug a little tighter.

Because part of you wanted to.

Not for the crowd. Not for Alisha. Not even for the game.

Just to prove him wrong.

You took another sip of coffee, eyes still locked with his.

And though you didn’t say yes…you didn’t say no either.

-------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter Four: Coming soon.... Read Chapter One: Here Read Chapter Two: Here --------------------------------------------------------------

Hi Kookies,💜 Chapter Three got a little long...but can you blame me? I just didn’t want to end it 😩. Thank you for sticking through the tension, the dares, and all the chaos brewing between them. Your support means everything — seriously.

Drop your thoughts, fav lines, or unhinged reactions 🫣💬

Can’t wait to hear them!!

Love always,

xx 💌✨

--------------------------------------------------------------

[westanleovaldito]

Just Below (pt two)

Spencer had noticed the moving van, but was more focused on the case ahead. Now, he sat on his balcony, listening to her voice above him.

CW: Mentions of cannon typical violence, reader is portrayed femininely, music? also it's early seasons Spencer, but with modern music, description of bullying/violence towards a child, addiction

UPDATE: i decided to make it an X OC fic, so that will be a present aspect. And i gave her a mild stutter, because i, myself, have one. So this trait is derived from my personal experience so please no hate

The next day, Spencer learned that the song was called Desert Song, written by My Chemical Romance, and was about the lead singers drug addiction. The lyrics made sense, and the actual song made him shiver. It was very understood why they liked it, why he came to relate to it, and why they sang with a voice so rich with emotion. Maybe it was even a little... impressive, to him... not like he would admit that without knowing their name, though.

Spencer only went out of his way to share when it was something exciting, and he never really found himself exciting. Or interesting, really.

But he still grimaced when Garcia asked why he was interested in learning about so many new songs. The weight of it hung on his shoulders- which was strange, because he always kept secrets! Especially about his own life!

"Please Reid?" Penelope begged. she had spun around in her chair with her hands clasped under her chin, repeating "pleasepleasepleaseplease-' like it would help her case.

"Fine!" Spencer grumbled. He sighed and glanced around before leaning in. "I have a new neighbor and-"

Penelope gasped, or shrieked, as she beamed and clapped her hands. "Did she recommend these?- Is she sweet?- Of course she's sweet- if she wasn't you'd be all bitter and-"

"Can you not?!" He snapped, clenching his fists as he grit his teeth

Garcia nodded quickly, lowering her voice to a whisper as she scooted closer. "Right- right I'm sorry!"

She looked up at him with wide and eager eyes, almost holding her breath while he scrunched his face up. There was a moment of silence as Spencer took deep breaths, before he spoke, low and gravelly.

"I... They live right above me and..." he sighed shaking his head and running a hand through his hair. "I don't even know her name- I don't even know if it is a her!"

Penelope seemed shocked. Or excited? Either way, her mouth was on the floor. She gathered herself and shook her head as she patted his shoulder. "That's okay! I have online friends who I don't know-"

"Garcia- I haven't even seen them!"

That earned him an expression of true shock. "I- Uh- That's ok!" She attempted to assure. "But- Why do you need the songs then?"

Spencer sighed once again, biting his lip. "They... They really like to sing..."

Her brow furrowed in sympathy as she rubbed his arm. "I'm so sorry, lover boy..."

"You sound like Morgan."

"I know- I'll stop."

Spencer Reid, in all his intelegence and secret love of romance, would never have expected to come home to a girl at his door. Much less a very pretty girl, with her back turned, as she held a plate.

He shifted into his 'silently listening' mode as he crept up the stairs behind her. The woman wore ripped denim shorts, a cut up and cropped tee, and vibrant purple hair in a ponytail.

She sighed and adjusted her hold, before giving six firm knocks in a triangle patern with three in the middle.

Spencer took a step, tilting his head "Hello?"

"Holy!-" she jumped, nearly throwing the plate at him. "I am so sorry- do- do you, uh, live here?"

He nodded hesitantly while eyeing the tinfoil covered plate. Spencer then moved his eyed up to scan her. She had tired green eyes, a bleach stained, self cut AC/DC shirt, and multiple tattoos. One on her shoulder looked to be a blue carnation, and there were ferns poking up on either side of her hips, but he looked back to her face before he looked strange.

"Oh! That's great- I uh- I made cookies!" She fumbled a bit with both her words and he gestures, clearly deciding what to do, before stepping to the side and extending the plate. "To uh- welcome you- well no- to say hello and get myself more- more acquainted!"

Spencer hummed and took the plate in both hands. He was well aware that the tradition of giving gifts to neighbors was dying, and he was happy that it was kept alive by the girl.

"What kind are they?" He asked, glancing up to her.

Her eyes went wide and she began gesturing with her, now free, hands as she rambled. "Well- I was unsure of the preferences of the people around me, so, I simply went with the classic chocolate chips- Oh! But I used dairy, gluten and eggs- so if you have any dietary restrictions- o-or if you just don'tlike them, please let me know and I'd be happy to make another batch!"

It almost amused him, having a girl in torn up clothes and metal band merchandise, speaking almsot as he did.

A smile graced his face as he shook his head to assure her. "No, these are just fine." He said as he carefully displaced the foil. Nimble fingers grasped a, still warm, cookie, and placed it between his teeth.

He hummed in satisfaction. "How did you perfect the salt ratio?" He asked through a mouthful.

The woman resembled more of a puppy spinning at the door as she bounced up and down on her tiptoes. "I-I- I make this recipe quite a bit- s-so I had learned to tweak the measurements." She explained with a smile so bright with genuine happiness.

Spencer nodded as he swallowed. "I will pay you to make me these again-"

"I only made you half a batch- I-I'm sorry- I didn't realize you'd like them-"

"Don't apologize!" He said, glancing her over again. "You made a valid choice! But if it's not too much trouble..." Spencer's shoulders rose as he gestured toward the plate.

She nodded, still smiling. "I will most definitely be making you more." She affirmed, before turning to walk back up the stairs.

"What's your name?" Spencer called, quickly stepping foreward too.

"Estelle." She smiled, turning back to look at him.

He cocked his head with a smile playing on his lips. "Like- the French word for 'star'?"

"C'est un problème?"

"Non- non! j'étais juste surpris!"

Estelle smiled wider and took a step down. "Not most can counter in french." She said, leaning on the railing. "Awkward, but understandable."

Spencer nodded, going back to unlock his apartment. "You'll find that I am indeed 'not most.'"

[devianttxrts]

bodie didn't growl this time. bit down the one that wanted to be free at the uncertainty of dylan's actions. mimicking her, but was she mocking her? her brows furrowed, curiosity returning to glint in dark eyes. a break in the rage, the fire that she hated so much no matter the form it took.

she watched dylan move. unsure but studious. like an echo, her head cocked in the opposite direction. taking in her stance, the way she held and carried herself in the water - wondered if dylan could really appreciate it the way she did.

her heart rate increased when dylan touched the water. gave a sharp jolt when she brought her wet finger to her neck, let the water switch what skin was hosting it. bodie's eyes were drawn to it, the way it gently glistened under the light of the moon.

the twitch of her nose was unintentional, completely through volition of curiosity alone. she didn't move forward, dylan had to know she wouldn't yet by now. bodie had a vague awareness that she was being baited, but she shifted her weight on her feet anyway.

underestimating her opponents wasn't something she let herself do, so the twist shouldn't have come as a surprise. everyone played games differently, had different strides. strengths, and subsequently weaknesses. she just needed to figure out what those were, even if she didn't want to play.

an ear moved, catching cain's movements. like she wasn't aware of every miniscule sound or disruption to the river - like bodie wasn't made from water, every bit as much as earth and air. more, maybe, with the peace it seized her with - gone decrepit and cold the moment cain and dylan dared stepped foot in it.

it was swift, the steps she took back to counteract cain's growing closeness. fast enough that it could seem like she was about to run again, long legs always poised; always ready. not right now, though. for now, it was simple - bodie wouldn't let herself be surrounded. the triangle formation they found themselves in was evidence of that.

another growl. music.

the look—that grim, furious, disbelieving stare—was scripture. and dylan? she absorbed it like warmth from a fire she couldn’t wait to step into. she didn’t speak right away. didn’t move in close again. instead, she mirrored bodie’s posture—shoulders set, eyes sharp. but her hands stayed low, loose at her sides, palms occasionally brushing the water like she was feeling for some current between them. a physical rhythm. an unspoken language. the one bodie did speak.

if words were offensive, she'd try something else.

so dylan crouched slightly—not submissive, but attuned. like a predator getting low not to pounce… but to observe. to invite. her head tilted just a few degrees, slow and smooth. not mockery. curiosity. that subtle, instinctual motion animals made when studying each other in the wild.

then—like wind through leaves—she moved.

a single step. barely a splash. her hand reached down and dragged a fingertip through the river’s surface, slowly, tracing a swirl. she brought that wet fingertip to her neck and touched it there, just under her jaw. left it glistening. just a flick of shimmer to bait the eye. to mimic scent-marking. to say i belong here too.

no words.

only motion. only meaning.

then, finally, she glanced at cain—but just barely—and back to bodie with a soft, deliberate click of her tongue. like a challenge. like a warning. or maybe, a dare.

her lips curved. barely. a smirk full of patience, all promise and poison.

come on. bite me. she didn’t say it. she just was it.

cain saw the shift. the moment dylan dropped low, started moving like a creature instead of a commander. that watery fingertip? that slick, shimmering mark on her own skin? cain bristled.

“oh, fuck you,” she muttered under her breath, venom without heat. she knew what dylan was doing. trying to speak bodie’s language. with her little mimicry and her pretty games. and it was working. it always worked. cain could hear her--without words.

but cain wasn’t patient. she wasn’t clever the way dylan was. she didn’t seduce—she seized. which is exactly what she did now.

quiet as a shadow, cain began circling behind bodie, her steps slow and measured to avoid disturbing the water too much. no announcement. no approval sought. she moved on instinct—on possession. and on impulse.

if dylan noticed, she didn’t stop her.

not yet.

cain’s breath was controlled, even as her heart hammered in her chest. every inch closer made her mouth water. she wanted to feel bodie’s skin under her hands again. she wanted to test her reflexes—see how fast she’d turn when she sensed her.

see what she’d do when surrounded.

and maybe dylan would be pissed. but cain didn’t care. because if bodie bit her —if she lunged—cain wanted to be there for it. hell, she wanted to be part of it. teeth and chaos and whatever came next.

and if bodie didn’t move? that might be even more dangerous. because that might mean that she’d accepted it. that she was letting them flank her. but that seemed to be unlikely in this moment.

[freaky-flawless]

The De Nile sisters!

[jalluzas-ferney]

Ok so no hate and we’re all entitled to our opinions but I just saw a reblog where someone said that “they need Jay to call Nya out for all the shit she’s put him through” and excuse me but what the actual fuck are you talking about

[sandy-shocks]

I hate that the braindead takes on Firefly from people who can't read are spreading to the people who do actually pay attention to her character, cause now a bunch of people who loved her before are saying she's nothing but waifu bait and has never been anything else.

Her relationship with the Trailblazer is only a small part of her character, she has way more going on with her than just that. 'Take away Sam and then she's just a generic waifu'. Yeah no shit, if you take away a characters whole story there's nothing left there, funny how that works.

Why are people acting like TB is the only thing her character has going for it, when she's got the whole Glamoth lore and Stellaron Hunters and her own personal goals and motives that have nothing to do with TB.

You guys are the ones reducing her down to just a waifu, not the game.

[melatonin-69]

It honestly wouldnt surprise me, thats basically what she did in mcd

Just dropped Aaron in and made him the love interest because he’s jason’s self insert

Thats literally the only thing i dont like about mcd

Like, if you decided you didnt want aph to be in the love triangle anymore just put her with zoey dont put her with some random mystery dude

Bleh i made a mid post about mcd sorry lmao

Imagine if Aaron suddenly appeared in MID Season 2, and then Ava chose him. As much as I like Aarmau, wouldn’t that be devastating?

That would be some insanity on Jess' part and I think she's aware that doing that would probably through the community into hell 'cause Ava is completely different from Aphmau, so I'd be surprised if those two even GOT ALONG, y'know?

[nvskyprospekt]

helen the distortion 🌀

[sluckythewizard]

FIIIINALLY almost nailed my designs for lizzie and caspian can i get a HEEEELLL YEAAH???? i think these two make a vvery cute duo and i cannt wait to see them again. i also hope they both get hurt reaaaallly really badly. togeter