#but I completely overlooked it while drafting | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nikire · 14 days ago

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∯ · 𝗗𝗜𝗥𝗧𝗬 𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗧𝗟𝗘 𝗦𝗘𝗖𝗥𝗘𝗧, enha

IN WHICH ⨟ '𝗁𝗒𝗎𝗇𝗀!𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 2000𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗁𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌' (🗯️)

𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓. ─────── 𝗐𝖼 '4.8k', 엔하이픈 𝔁 𝖿!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 ✶ 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇-𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 2000𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 ノ 𝗐. 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝖾!!

❝ 𝗶'𝗹𝗹 𝗸𝗲𝗲𝗽 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗺𝘆 𝗱𝗶𝗿𝘁𝘆 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘁 ❞ . . . the all-american rejects

(💌) ; hi!! first post on this account..hhhhhhbnhdh!! nervous!! @_@ but this little shit of a post has been in my drafts for such a while now and also a maknae version…but it’s halfway done and i’ll squeeze it somewhere in my schedule to finish it since easter break is almost over!! ://

𝐋𝐄𝐄 ✸ 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆

Lee Heeseung has been your neighbor for as long as you can remember. Tall, with a messy mop of hair, and adored by every single person in your area.

In your school, the girls write his name on their notebooks as if it were a signature brand. Even the teachers light up when he raises his hand. His confidence is subtle but powerful, quietly radiating throughout the room.

You, on the other hand, have made it your mission to not care.

Heeseung has been in the picture since the days of Game Boys and skateboards, when he would challenge you to scooter races down the street, sometimes cheating by giving your wheel a swift kick. That rivalry has remained strong over the years.

"Are you going to follow me everywhere?" you asked one day when you were both around 10.

"Chill out," he replied with a cheeky smile. "I just seem to be everywhere you go."

You rolled your eyes so dramatically that it caused you a headache.

As time went on, the bickering didn’t stop; it just grew up. Sarcastic exchanges over fences, eye-rolls in the school hallways, and your careful avoidance of acknowledging how he always seemed to sit near you at block parties.

Heeseung has a captivating charm that seems almost too good to be true. He doesn’t put in any effort to win people over; he simply exists in a way that draws others in.

Even when he’s being a nuisance — which is most of the time — he does it with a grin that makes it nearly impossible to hold a grudge against him.

You often find him in unusual moments. Like when he’s at the park late at night, dribbling a basketball by himself, hoodie on and headphones in place. Or when he’s outside the gas station, hood up, enjoying a can of orange soda, acting as if he’s completely invisible to everyone around.

Your friends are endlessly enthusiastic about him.

“Heeseung is so kind! Did you see him help that elderly lady with her groceries?” “He’s literally like a boy band member come to life.” “Do you think he’s interested in anyone??”

You just scoff and act like you're going to be sick.

But deep down? You’ve always seen the parts of Heeseung that others overlook. The way his fingers rhythmically tap when he’s deep in thought. The little tunes he hums softly under his breath. That rare, authentic laugh that comes out when he allows himself to be truly free.

One scorching summer day, you found yourself at a neighbor's cookout, feeling listless and drowsy from the sun. You seek solace in a quiet corner by the house, a lukewarm soda in your grasp, when Heeseung appears just two minutes later.

"I never figured you for a hider," he says, nudging you with his shoulder in a friendly manner.

"I never figured you for a stalker." you reply softly, yet you remain where you are.

He rests against the wall next to you, so near that the scent of his cologne wafts over, a clean, subtle fragrance that feels oddly familiar. He stays quiet for a while, taking slow sips of his drink while his eyes drift to the clouds above.

“You’re not as scary as you try to act,” he says quietly. You glance at him, confused.

“Excuse me?” He shrugs. “I think you just like pretending you hate me.” “I don’t pretend.”

He turns to look at you then — really look. There’s something unreadable in his expression, something slower, more careful. “Right. Sure you don’t.”

Changes are not immediate. They happen like the slow shift from summer to autumn.. subtly, gradually, and then suddenly all together.

Heeseung begins to appear more frequently, not only at block parties or skate parks but also right outside your porch, clutching a bag of Hot Cheetos and two grape sodas.

Truce,” he’d say, offering one to you. “I was in a generous mood.” You might act like you’re thinking it over before taking it, but the reality is… you always swing the door open for him.

On a stormy night, the lights suddenly go out, leaving you feeling a mix of irritation and boredom. Suddenly, a knock at the door breaks the silence,

and there he stands, dripping wet in a hoodie, a flashlight in one hand and his Game Boy in the other.

"I couldn't let you go through this without Mario Kart," he says. As if it's the most obvious choice.

"You just wanted an opportunity to beat me again."

"Come on," he laughs. "You wish you could take on Rainbow Road."

Sitting cross-legged on the carpet, you prop up the flashlights as the rain softly patters against the windows. At last, there’s a peaceful hush. You look over and find him gazing at you — that same expression you’ve noticed a thousand times before. But this time, you don’t shy away.

“What?”

Heeseung shrugs, but the corner of his mouth lifts. “Nothing. You just… look really into it.”

“Because I’m winning.”

“No,” he murmurs, not even watching the screen anymore, “I mean it.”

One night, he brings you to the hill that sits behind the basketball courts. Just the two of you, a scratched boombox playing a collection of nostalgic songs from a CD he burned, and the stars above are impossibly bright. He lies next to you in the grass, his hands resting beneath his head.

"You know," he reflects, staring at the sky, "I think you’ve always been my most cherished memory from growing up on this street."

You shift your gaze in his direction, but he doesn’t return the look. He fixates on the stars above, seemingly finding them less intimidating than facing you. "Even when we fought?"

“Especially then.” He grins a little. “You were the only one who ever gave me a run for it.”

Once more, the quiet stretches out, but now it’s alive with anticipation. Your fingers linger just above the grass, nearly intertwined.

“If I kissed you right now,” he says, voice low, “would you still say you ‘tolerate’ me?”

You blink, feeling your heart stumble. “Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

And then, he leans in.

It’s not a scene from a movie. There’s no music playing, no gusts of wind, no sweeping gestures. It’s just Heeseung, warm and near, his lips lightly touching yours as if he fears breaking something delicate. But when he kisses you for real, it’s all him—self-assured, slow, and genuine. It’s as if he’s been holding back since you were twelve and scolded him for ruining your chalk artwork.

He pulls back, a cheeky grin lighting up his face—the same infuriatingly smug expression that used to get on your nerves.

“Still tolerating me?” You roll your eyes, already smiling. “Barely.”

“Liar.” “Maybe a little.”

“You’re in love with me,” he jokes, giving your side a playful poke.

“Say it again and I’m telling everyone at school you cried during The Notebook.”

“That was just once, and I was under the weather,” he retorts, chuckling as he pulls you in for another kiss.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 ✸ 𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆

Jay Park settles into the house at the end of the cul-de-sac as if he owns the entire neighborhood. Given the arrival of his family in a sleek black Escalade, accompanied by a moving truck packed with exquisite glass sculptures and high-tech electronics, it’s easy to see why.

You see him from your bedroom window, positioned next to a high-end speaker system that seems more appropriate for a music video than a living room. He has a captivating presence, wearing a fitted white t-shirt, a subtle but costly chain around his neck, and a calm, unreadable face.

As soon as he steps into the school, the rumors start to fly. “He’s from Washington,” a student whispers. “I think his father works in fashion or something like that.” “I heard he went to school with models,” another voice joins in.

You first meet him on a Saturday at the convenience store just two blocks away. He’s standing in front of the freezer section, as if he’s trying to figure out which popsicle won’t clash with his wealthy style. He looks your way, raises an eyebrow, and asks, “Which one do you recommend?”

“What, you’ve never had a red, white, and blue rocket popsicle before?” you reply. He blinks in surprise. “Is that the one that resembles the American flag?”

“Patriotic and delicious,” you respond with a straight face. He offers a small smile—not a full grin, but just enough to make you feel oddly self-conscious about your baggy hoodie and worn-out sneakers.

Jay may not be the loudest voice in the room. He usually stays silent in group discussions, yet when he does chime in, all ears are on him. It's not about seeking attention; he simply chooses his words wisely.

After he praises a guy's playlist, you can bet that the next day, half the class will be vibing to The Killers and Phoenix.

He starts appearing in your usual spots. At the basketball court even though he doesn’t really play. Outside the little bookstore downtown that sees hardly any visitors except for you and a few others. You notice him once, standing in front of the magazine display, seriously browsing through Rolling Stone, seemingly engrossed in an article about the Arctic Monkeys.

On a particular afternoon, he rests against your locker, as if he’s always done so, enjoying a pricey iced coffee.

“I figured people here would be… different,” he states with a relaxed demeanor. “Different how?” you ask.

“Louder. Or faker. But you’re not.” It’s such a random thing to say, and it lingers in your mind for days.

You find yourself texting Jay late into the night, you exchange jokes about school, share music recs, and discuss weird internet discoveries.

There’s this one moment, at a weekend bonfire someone throws, where you find yourself seated across from him, the flickering flames casting a warm glow on his features. He’s completely focused on what you’re saying, as if no one else is present, and your voice is the only thing that holds significance.

You come to understand that Jay doesn’t just glance at you; he studies you. He observes the way you nervously bite your nails. He sees how you always choose to sit sideways on benches, as if prepared to escape at any moment. He can tell when your laughter becomes a bit too loud, a sign that you’re trying to mask something genuine.

In his world of his collection of sleek cars and stylish sunglasses, he still chooses to walk you home every time. His hands are casually in his pockets, and his steps align with yours, creating a peaceful, shared experience. It feels as though, just maybe.. being with you is becoming more of a home than the lavish penthouse he calls his own.

It all begins with the small details. Jay has let go of his obsessive hair styling before school. His hoodie sleeves are beginning to fray at the ends. You see him waiting for you outside your math class, softly humming a song by Death Cab for Cutie.

On a stormy afternoon, you welcome him into your room, expecting him to feel out of place, rich boy, in your simple space filled with faded band posters and a fan that squeaks now and then. Yet, he flops down on the floor as if he’s done it countless times before. “Cozy,” he says.

He discovers your vintage CD binder and browses through it as if it were a collection of rare first-edition vinyl records. “You have Ashlee Simpson right next to Radiohead?”

“Multifaceted,” you shrug. His laughter rings out — a genuine, deep chuckle that feels new to your ears. It’s almost childlike in its joy.

He sits on your floor, leaning against the bed frame, his head thrown back as he suddenly says, “You know what’s really frustrating? Being surrounded by all the things you think you want, but still feeling like none of it is truly you.”

You remain silent, simply gazing at him, and in that moment, you understand he’s never shared this thought with anyone else.

One weekend, he invites you over to his home.

It’s filled with soaring ceilings and polished marble counters, yet his room is refreshingly simple. A tidy bed, piles of books, and Polaroid pictures are scattered by the window, alongside a solitary, worn stuffed bear perched on the shelf.

“My mom got that for me when I took my first flight,” he explains, without a hint of embarrassment. “Don’t you dare laugh.”

“He seems like he’s been through a lot.” “He has.”

You both begin to share everything — not in an overly dramatic, clingy manner, but in that subtle way where you find yourself thinking, “You’re the first person I want to share this with.” He creates a mix CD for you, featuring a blend of melancholic indie tracks and tender acoustic love songs that tug at your heartstrings.

At the fall fair,he manages to win you a huge stuffed frog by completely embarrassing himself at the ring toss game. You laugh so hard that you nearly lose your footing, and he stands there, gazing at you with that soft look he only has when he believes you’re unaware of his admiration.

At the bus stop after school, he reaches for your hand, and it’s the first time your fingers touch, as if this moment has been a long time coming. When you look at him, he’s fixed on the distance, trying to keep a straight face.

While lying on the hood of his dad's car with you and looking up at the stars, he shares, “This is the most normal I’ve felt in a long time,”

"This version of me..the one who munches on gas station treats with you and belts out off-key tunes in your driveway? I really prefer him."

You find out that Jay is unexpectedly gentle. He pays close attention and recalls the small things you say in a casual manner—like your desire to try those strange freeze-dried ice creams from NASA, or how you enjoy the time just before sunset when the sky appears almost too perfect.

On the final night of summer vacation, he gently takes your hand and leads you to the park at the outskirts of the neighborhood. There’s no music or interruptions—just the two of you and the sound of leaves crunching beneath your sneakers.

“I know I’m the new kid,” he says, pulling his jacket tighter. “But I don’t feel new with you.”

As classes begin again, the talk of the town is still the privileged kid from Washington. But Jay? He only ever looks for you in a crowd. Like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

𝐒𝐈𝐌 ✸ 𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐘𝐔𝐍

Sim Jaeyun has always been a familiar presence in your life, dating back to your earliest memories. He was the boy who would eagerly knock on your door at 6 AM every Saturday, his Buzz Lightyear backpack slung over his shoulder,excitedly asking if it was time for pancakes yet.

He has always embodied that radiant, cheerful energy, the kind of child who would cry for a friend who stumbled on the playground, yet would casually walk away from his own scraped knees as if they were of no concern.

Nowadays, everyone refers to him as Jake, but to you, he will always be Jaeyun, the boy who promised to marry you when you shared your last Capri Sun in second grade.

He’s the type of person who enthusiastically waves when he spots you from across the hall, as if you hadn’t just crossed paths that very morning. His smile lights up his entire face, suggesting that happiness is not just a choice for him, but a natural expression that flows effortlessly.

There are endless inside jokes between you two. He still adds little stick figures to the margins of your notes, always illustrating you with stars shining above and him awkwardly tripping over a rock nearby.

Without hesitation, he walks you home, naturally taking your backpack from you, regardless of your attempts to resist. “You’re little,” he comments. “You shouldn’t have to carry stuff. A strong gust could literally lift you up.”

You’ve shared everything — crayons, the comfort of bunk beds during sleepovers, and even your most personal secrets. He was the first to know when your hamster passed away in fourth grade, and he shed more tears than you.

The instant he has a crush, he rushes to share it with you, his cheeks flushed and his words spilling out quickly. “Don’t laugh, but she smells like cherry lip gloss, and I almost walked into a locker!”

But these crushes never last long. Just a week later, he’s back next to you, feet swinging off the curb, looking up at the sky. “None of them understand me like you do, though.”

You hang out in the most familiar spots — the corner booth at the pizza place, the swings behind the elementary school, and the 7/11 parking lot where he once got you four different Slurpee flavors “just to figure out which one captures your soul.”

Jake always offers you his hoodie when you're feeling cold, acting as if it’s no big deal.“It’s not because I like you or anything,” he’ll mumble dramatically. “It’s just because I don’t want you to get pneumonia and die. I have a lot of emotional attachment to your presence.”

He sits beside you, fully engaged in those cheesy romantic comedies, showing an unexpected level of investment. When the emotional climax of A Walk to Remember hits, he can’t help but shout in a hushed tone, “If you cry, I’ll be crying right alongside you."

There’s something special about how he always makes time for you — whether it’s cheering you on at your school play, your garage band’s first shaky rehearsal, or answering your late-night call when you were anxious about a test. “You can handle this,” he said, his voice still heavy with sleep but steady.

There are moments when you find yourself beside him, gazing at the sky transition from vibrant orange to soft pink, and it dawns on you that Jake is the kind of person people write songs about.

He’s the kind of person whose charm sneaks up on you, and before you know it, you’re already deep in love.

For now, he is just your closest friend, with a shining smile, a laugh that resonates too loudly, and a heart that has always made you feel at ease. You might never admit it, but a part of you hopes he will always be yours, just like he is now.

The change creeps in quietly, almost unnoticed. Lacking any grand display. It’s all about the small, fleeting moments , like the way Jakes laughter lingers in your thoughts, or the gentle squeeze in your chest when he brushes your hand without fully holding it.

On a lazy afternoon, while you’re enjoying some vintage cartoons in your living room, he dozes off against your shoulder. It’s such a comfortable moment,his head nestling perfectly, his breath slowing down—but you remain still. Even when your arm begins to feel numb, you choose to let him stay close.

He then begins that habit of gazing at you just a moment longer than necessary, as if he’s trying to memorize every detail of your face or perhaps understand a subtle feeling that’s starting to take root between you. You catch him in the act and lift an eyebrow.

“What’s up?” “Nothing,” he replies, diverting his gaze. Yet, you can see the blush creeping into his ears.

One evening, while making your way back from the store with a bag of treats swinging at your side, you’re enjoying a pack of sour gummies together. He lightly bumps your shoulder, a familiar gesture, but this time he stays close.

Do you ever think,” he asks, his tone light yet oddly careful, “that people might accidentally get caught up in things?”

“You mean like quicksand?” you tease. He chuckles, but there’s a depth in his gaze when he replies, “Yes, just like that.”

The space between you buzzes with an unspoken energy. The silences that follow your jokes now feel heavy with meaning, as if they carry a message. He remains at your threshold, his fingers restless, almost reaching for yours, but pulling back at the last moment.

It’s that moment when you find yourself on the curb with him, sharing a bottle of soda under the glow of string lights, and everything shifts. He’s gazing down at his shoes, kicking at the gravel, his hands fidgeting nervously in his lap.

“I think I’ve been in love with you since you gave me that crooked Valentine in third grade,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. Your heart skips a beat as memories flood back.

You recall that Valentine, with its glitter glue and crooked heart, which he treasured for a whole year.

“I was hoping you’d say something,” you confess, your voice equally soft. His head snaps up, eyes wide with disbelief. “Wait—are you serious? You…?” You nod, a teasing smile on your lips.

“Took you long enough.”

Instead of kissing you immediately, Jake stares at you in awe, as if he’s struggling to accept that this is happening. He envelops you in his arms, pressing his forehead against yours, a look of concern crossing his face as if he fears you might fade away.

“You’ve always been my everything,” he murmurs. “Even when I didn’t understand what that meant.”

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 ✸ 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍

Park Sunghoon, the neighbor, has always been a captivating mystery.

He is quiet and composed, with a politeness that feels timeless — the sort of boy who prefers a nod over a wave, speaks softly, and walks as if he wishes to remain unseen.

Since he’s friends with your older brother, he’s been a familiar face for years. You’ve seen him at your dining table during study sessions, sipping from your collection of mismatched cups, and casually leaving his hoodie hanging on the back of your couch.

Even though he’s often at your place, he hardly ever talks to you. His interactions consist of a quiet "hey" or a smile that fades before you can really notice it. Still, he always seems to have a knack for knowing where you are in the room.

Sometimes, you catch him sneaking a look at you. It’s not overly dramatic—just quick, unnoticed glances when he thinks you’re distracted.

Whether it’s a sideways glance while your brother is cracking jokes, a brief gaze from across the living room as you lose yourself in a book, or a subtle brush of fingers as you cross paths in the hallway.

Sunghoon is the type of person who catches the little things that others overlook. When you began to wear your headphones more frequently, he chose to hold back his conversations during his visits, patiently waiting for you to remove them.

He even made it a point to learn your dog's name before he found out what your favorite color was.

One morning, you find him in the kitchen with your brother, sharing a quiet laugh over something you can't quite hear.

As you enter, still half-asleep with your hair in a messy state, he suddenly goes still, his gaze darting from you to the floor.

“Morning,” he mutters, his voice noticeably softer. You give a nod and then tease him, “Are you always this bashful around girls, or is it just me?” His cheeks turn a bright shade of red, and you can almost hear your brother stifling a laugh from the fridge.

He never stays for long, yet he’s always present. . Adjusting your brother’s bike on the driveway while stealing glances at your open window.

Bringing in the extra grocery bags because “it’s on the way.” Sitting uncomfortably on your couch when your brother steps upstairs, leaving just the two of you in a quiet moment.

One summer evening, when the power went out, your brother stepped outside to fetch some flashlights, leaving you and Sunghoon in the dim kitchen, sharing a candle's glow and the sound of cicadas buzzing.

You sat at the table, sipping soda from the can, while he leaned against the counter, arms crossed, occasionally looking your way.

"This feels like a scene from a horror movie," you joked.

"You don’t seem afraid," he noted.

"Maybe I’m the villain's accomplice," you replied. You thought you caught a hint of a smile on his lips, but his eyes held a gentle, unreadable expression.

He might be quiet, but his body language tells a different story.

You begin to notice how he leaves his hoodie draped over the chair nearest to you. He always tucks the last soda behind your favorite yogurt in the fridge, knowing you’ll find it. And the way his eyes linger on your smile just a bit too long hints at his fear that it’s not meant for him.

One warm late summer evening, with stars shimmering in the sky and a gentle warmth that makes your skin tingle, you see him standing by your fence, staring up at the sky from your window.

“Having trouble sleeping?” you shouted, loud enough for him to hear below you. “Something like that,” he replies, his hands tucked into his pockets.

He begins to turn away, but you call out to him. “You know you can just knock, right?” A gentle, lopsided smile spreads across his face. “Would you really answer?”

“Without a doubt.”

When he looks at you like that, it feels as though he’s capturing every word you’ve spoken, as if they matter deeply — and it leaves a lasting impression in your chest.

It grows gradually, just like it always does with Sunghoon — soft and cautious, as if he’s holding something tender in his palms, afraid to let it slip. But you recognize it. You feel it. The way he hangs around just a bit longer, how his gaze lingers on you even after you turn your eyes.

He starts knocking more often, not for your brother, but specifically for you. “I was just passing through,” he’ll say, as if he hadn’t clearly gone out of his way to arrive at your front porch.

One day, he shows up with a peach Snapple and a pack of strawberry gum. “You like these, right?”

he asks, his gaze dropping as if he’s second-guessing himself. “Yeah,” you reply, a smile playing on your lips. “I didn’t know you remembered that.” He shrugs, his cheeks flushed.

“I remember a lot of things.”

On a wet, rainy afternoon, you notice him back on your porch, his hair slightly soaked and the sleeves of his hoodie draped over his hands. “I, um… I was just bored,” he says, his ears turning a bright shade of red.

“Come on in,” you say, gesturing for him to enter. He steps inside, brushing the rain from his shoulders.

“You always let me in so effortlessly.” “Maybe it’s because you’re easy to let in,” you respond, and suddenly, the air grows still.

He begins to position himself nearer to you. Not too near. Sunghoon is patient. But close enough that your knees make contact. Close enough for you to see how he nervously adjusts his sleeves. You can even catch him glancing at your lips when he thinks you’re distracted.

One evening, you find yourselves cozied up for a movie night — just the two of you, a bowl of popcorn resting between your legs, the room bathed in soft light.

You’ve chosen a cheesy rom-com. As a kiss scene plays out , dramatic, in slow motion, with rain pouring down — you notice him tense up beside you and look over.

“That’s not how it works in real life,” he says softly. “Really?”

“Real kisses don’t look like that.”

You turn to him, curiosity dancing on your lips. “How do they look then?” He pauses, his gaze locking onto yours.

“Softer. Slower. Quieter… but they linger with you much longer.”

The atmosphere shifts. The film continues to roll, yet neither of you is paying attention. He looks at you with a mix of fear and longing, as if he’s on the verge of expressing feelings he has held back for far too long.

"Sunghoon," you say quietly. "Yeah?" he replies.

"If you're going to make a move... now would be the perfect time."

And he does.

There’s a moment of hesitation at the start—his hand lightly brushing against your jaw, the distance between you closing in a slow, almost cinematic way. His lips are warm and soft, charmingly cheesy in the best sense. He has a flavor of cherry cola and a hint of anxiety, as if he’s been dreaming of this for ages.

As he leans away, he gasps for air, his gaze darting between your eyes.

“Sorry,” he says, smiling shyly. “I waited too long.”

“It was worth every second,” you reply, your grin widening. “Really?” he whispers, his thumb caressing your cheek

“I guess I’ll stop pretending I'm always at your house for your brother.”

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tojivu · 2 years ago

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# OFFICE HOURS ‣ GOJO SATORU

✰ — author’s note i feel so guilty bc gojo is literally the only character i write for LOL anyway this is an old draft from months ago. idk why this is so long im so horrendously down bad for this fucking snowman.

✰ — cw / tags arrogant ceo!gojo x secretary f!reader, sfw, not rly enemies to lovers bc gojo has fat feelings, gojo satoru being a billionaire playboy

✰ — playing death & taxes by daniel caesar.

✰ — word count ~3k LOL

nothing about gojo satoru really strikes you as the serious type.

even in a professional environment, your boss always has a carefree demeanour. his laugh is so nauseatingly loud that you can hear it from outside the office, and you wonder how someone as busy as him manages through his day; much less with a positive attitude. you take one look at his schedule, and you want to vomit with the way you hardly see any gaps between appointments.

you suppose you could learn that from him. it's his only good quality.

you admit that he's likeable, on surface level. there's a reason why you detest him, though: as his closest colleague, you know him way more than you would prefer. most people would think such a well to do man like satoru would have a wife by his side, but that's unfortunately not the case. you almost feel more miserable than him—because now you're forced to be the listening ear and comforting hand at his beck and call.

you think he'd be just fine if he was just a little more humble. he has a nice face. it's his fault for being so stuck up. you know how many women ask him out—painfully aware, actually.

'they just aren't suited to my taste,' he would say to you. 'i need someone that makes me feel alive.'

one time, gojo even asked you to bail him out of a date—something about the way she held her fork and knife disturbed him, and you were expected to show up at the restaurant and act as if there was an emergency.

'i'm so sorry, sweetheart. i have to go, duty calls.' his disgustingly charming tone made you want to slap him then and there.

she called him again the following week, and he completely forgot who she was. he didn't even save her number.

the sheer number of people asking him out had stroked his ego so hard that gojo firmly believes no woman is deserving enough. he rambles on and on to you about how snobby some of them seem, and it takes everything in you to bite your tongue when he does. 'takes one to know one,' you would say, if not for your job at stake.

you think gojo satoru is full of himself. you are a strong believer of that. a witness, as well—it's not like he didn't try his way with you, too. unlike the women he ranted about, you turned him down every single time.

it's been a long while since any of that has happened, though. the most recent ordeal was months ago, but that didn't inherently mean that people stopped asking him out: it just meant that he was rejecting every single offer.

it's a thursday morning when you find yourself eating a sandwich you purchased on the way to work, at your desk—wondering when the big boss will finally arrive. the clock read 9 a.m., and you're expecting an extravagant "good morning!" to surprise you any moment now.

just then, you notice mr. conceited walk in: except something is different. he has no stride in his step. there was no good morning. there was no playful teasing directed at you as he walked past your desk and into his office, not that you were complaining—it was just strange.

you stand up, a mouthful of your sandwich still being chewed. you take a big sip of water and fix your skirt and blouse, making sure your hair is presentable—before swiftly making your way into his office.

──────

"i cannot believe this." he mumbles. you're standing in front of his desk, but he's not facing your direction.

gojo's chair is turned to the giant window that overlooks the business district, and he's gazing out of it thoughtfully. you think this is the cheesiest thing you've seen him do.

you can see how disheveled his hair was, even from where you were standing. you don't want to irritate him further, in case teasing you was still on his to-do list that day.

"what is it, mr. gojo?"

he swivels his chair around, and he is a mess—just what could have he been up to?

"i woke up late today."

"you're the boss, mr. gojo. you can come in any time you want—"

"not the point." he interrupts you. "i forgot my lunch. i was in the car, with the driver, on the way here already. . . and then i realised i left my donuts at home."

gojo's face is absolutely distraught. he looks like he's gone through a divorce and had his house set on fire with how he stands up dramatically—his hands now on his desk. you open your mouth to speak, but he shuts you up by talking again.

"i didn't want to inconvenience him. i'm too thoughtful, miss y/n."

you want to scoff, but you bite your tongue and hold back.

"so i got out of the car and ran back for it," gojo recounts. "i arrived home after the treacherous journey—only to discover that my donuts are gone."

you feign an expression of shock, just to humour him; he gives you an 'i know right' look, and continues his nonsensical story.

"the maids threw them away, miss y/n."

you can't help yourself: you let a small giggle slip through your lips. you quickly use your hand to cover your mouth, thinking of a quick excuse.

you cough. you pretend to, at least—but gojo satoru is not stupid.

no, maybe a little. though, not enough to be convinced of your terrible acting.

"nothing about this is funny."

you nod, looking down at the floor. "i apologise, mr. gojo, but it's just a few donuts. i'm sure someone in the office could fetch some for you."

"yes, i agree." he says, and you shift your gaze from the marble tiling of his office to his face. his hair is a mess, yes—but he still looks revoltingly handsome. his eyes are piercing through yours, and pieces of hair cover his face in just the right places.

you're staring a little too long and gojo finds his pulse quickening with the eye contact—but the spell he has you under is soon broken when he clears his throat.

you quickly look away, embarrassed that you were caught staring at your boss, by your boss.

"you'll pick some up for me, yeah?" his smooth and silky voice echoes through the empty space of his office.

you look at him again, and there's a gentle smile on his face; one you're all too familiar with.

you're aware of satoru's charismatic nature, his playboy-ish attitude, and all sorts of tricks he uses to make women fall head over heels for him. that didn't mean you were completely resistant to them, though—you find yourself playing with the sleeves of your blouse, your ears beginning to redden. "of course," is all you manage to say.

at least you were self-aware.

your mind was rational. should gojo satoru try to hit on you for the nth time—all it took was some self discipline to say no, and you'd like to think you had plenty.

you think the conversation is done with the way he doesn't speak another word, so you turn on your heels and make your way out of the office.

just as you touch the handle of the door, your boss adds: "i'll come with you."

you turn back to him, confused. you didn't need your boss babysitting you for a donut run, you knew his favourite flavours—it's all he ever insists on buying for lunch. "there's no need for that, mr. gojo."

satoru shakes his head in disapproval. "you don't even know my favourite flavours, miss y/n."

that was a blatant lie. he knew you knew. you were his personal donut grabber for a few months up until august, and it was only october. you suppose that it would've continued on if not for your complaints about the long lines in the morning.

nevertheless, you don't argue with him. gojo satoru was the type to get what he wants, when he wants, if he really wants it.

you smile at his disregard for the months you spent as his errand runner, and how idiotic the excuse he just used was. satoru knows he's lying through his teeth, and your smile makes him more nervous than your eye contact.

so nervous, in fact, that he takes back what he just said. "unless. . . you're fine by yourself."

you're surprised that gojo's confidence is dissipating, or that it could even fade at all. you can tell with the way he's avoiding your eye contact, exactly how you evaded his earlier—the red on the tips of his ears are much too obvious in contrast to his hair.

"i don't mind," you respond a bit too quicker than appropriate. "mr. gojo."

gojo curses himself mentally, thinking about how stupid he must sound. he's usually the one making people nervous, but he doesn't know why it's different when you look at him like that.

──────

the atmosphere is deafening in gojo's favourite bakery. you always knew he had a sweet tooth, so you expected his choice to be a spectacular one—and you weren't disappointed.

you had personally visited this bakeshop before, and the confectionery was truly as good as people made it out to be; it proved evident in the amount of people crammed into this small establishment. though, you can't tell if it was for the food or for your boss, with the way most pairs of eyes are turned in his direction.

you two spend a good five seconds looking at the menu before gojo states his order, which was exactly what you thought it would be—the lady at the cashier smiles a bit too long at satoru, before asking: "eating in?"

you want to open your mouth to say something, but he beats you to it. "of course."

it was still very well your work day. he (or maybe you and him, considering you helped him plan seventy percent of his appointments) had a meeting in 3 hours to prepare for. you think this donut adventure is already unnecessary enough—but here he is, suggesting to waste even more time eating the donuts in the bakery itself.

"we have a meeting in a bit, though. you could eat it in your office."

he looks at you with a confused look, as if he forgot that there was a meeting at all—because he did forget. gojo gasps, turning back to the lady and retracting his previous statement.

──────

gojo eats his donuts agonisingly slow and no conversation is initiated.

you're alternating between staring at both your laptops and the swirls on the wooden desk, unable to say anything because you didn't plan for such an occasion: an eating donuts with your admittedly handsome boss that makes you nervous while simultaneously planning for an important meeting occasion.

"miss y/n, you should try some."

you shift your eyes from the table to gojo, and he's holding a small piece of his donut to your lips: the powdered sugar practically calling your name.

"it's fine, i ate earlier," you decline his generous offer. "you should eat."

"i'm not asking you to eat all of them, miss y/n." he smiles at you. "just a bite. it's really good, y'know."

you sigh, reaching for his hand to take it from him—but he swiftly pulls it away and shakes his head. "open your mouth."

you feel the tips of your ears burning, blood rushing to your cheeks and you wonder how the girls he takes out manage themselves when he's like this—you've worked with him for so long, yet you can't recall a time when his gaze wouldn't make you shudder.

you think you'd stutter if you spoke one more word to him, so you save yourself from the embarrassment and bare with his request.

he feeds you the piece of sugar-coated donut, and you're sure you have powder on the corners of your lips with how it's width barely fits into your mouth.

you chew and swallow, feeling the residue of sugar on your skin.

"do you have any tissues?" you ask him, a serious expression plastered onto your face.

gojo tries to suppress the chuckle itching to escape his throat—the sugar on your lips and cheeks catch him off guard, and after a few seconds he can't help but let a small laugh slip. you stand up from your chair, scanning the room for any boxes of tissues you could lay your hands on.

he stands up as well, shaking his head—still giggling.

"it's not funny," you frown, and the smile on his face only grows wider—you're too cute for your own good when you sulk. "stop laughing."

you're not sure if you want to punch him or let him giggle to himself. for some reason, seeing you embarrassed is a great cause of joy to him. you can't bring yourself to tell him to shut up; you always imagine doing just that, it's strange how you couldn't muster the courage just when you needed it most.

"it's quite funny," gojo's laughter eventually calms down.

he leans closer to you and his right hand gently holds the side of your jaw—he uses his thumb to gently wipe the sugar off your cheek, and then your lips. "i got it."

his thumb stays on your bottom lip after dusting the sugar away. his pupils are locked onto the surface of your lips, which were glossy in the harsh light of his office: they looked so soft.

before long, they trail up your face until he's looking directly into your eyes: and this time you're not nervous, you don't look away, and your heart is completely calm.

satoru's fingers are easy on your skin. he handles you like fragile glass, as if he doesn't want to break you: and it's the same for the way he looks at you. gentle.

you're reluctant to speak because the way satoru has his thumb on your bottom lip sends shivers down your spine. you feel breathless.

you don't want this feeling to leave, not just yet.

a few seconds of tension pass. his hand moves back to your jaw, and your nervousness returns when gojo satoru leans his tall figure even closer to you; his head tilting ever so slightly.

it's a random thursday morning when you discover a few more good qualities gojo satoru possesses: his lips and his hands. maybe the way he kisses, too—it's slow and precise, unlike his attitude. he tastes sickeningly sweet and it makes you want to savour this moment even more.

you promised yourself you wouldn't fall victim to gojo satoru. yet, you just can't pull away: instead finding yourself slithering your arms around his neck and your chest pressing against his.

gojo's hands are wandering down to your waist and he's desperate to have you as close to him as possible, showing in the way he tries to close the already small gap between you two.

it takes only a fraction of a second for a small thought to form in your mind: just how many women have been in this position?

you quickly forget about that thought, though—you think it's pointless to regret it now, gojo satoru kisses you too good to be full of remorse.

gojo thinks he could stay like this: kiss you all morning, afternoon and pay you overtime if it meant he could be this close to you for just a bit longer.

there's hints of neediness in gojo's touch—as if he'd been waiting for this forever, wanting to relish it before it ends. his few seconds of bliss don’t last very long though, because you're soon pulling away—gasping for air.

he sighs mockingly, his hands sliding down from your waist to your hips. "can't last longer than 10 seconds, miss y/n?"

of course he would say some cocky shit like that—you'd forgotten for a minute that this was the same, arrogant mr. gojo you always knew, and no kiss (however heavenly) was going to change that.

"i'm sorry that i don't go on dates with every man that breathes."

gojo smirks at you after you say those words. "come on. just because i go on dates with people, doesn't mean i kiss them like this."

"sure you don't." your jealousy shows a bit too much in your reply, and he finds himself smiling even harder.

"is someone jealous?" he teases you again, rubbing circles with his thumb against the flesh of your hips.

you feel flustered, knowing that you're definitely done for now—he saw right through you. "nobody is jealous, mr. gojo."

"stop it with the formality. just call me satoru."

"it's still office hours. it's only polite."

gojo rolls his eyes, sighing in the process. you grin a little at him, knowing that this was the first thing you denied him of today—complying with the donuts and the kissing was already spoiling him enough.

"then i suppose there's only after work," there's his nauseatingly charming voice again—low and smooth. he knows exactly what he's doing to you, and you know it too. "i'm off after 6."

you think long and hard about whether you want to be mean and add this to the list of things you've declined to do for him. the ratio was starting to get really unbalanced—but you remember the way his hands touch you and how his lips greet yours so lovingly: and you think that there's no point turning back now.

"my boss doesn't let me off until after 8, though." you try to poke at his buttons—you put on a fake pout, knowing you’ll accept his invitation anyway—but gojo satoru is eternally patient when it came to things he sincerely desired.

"fuck your boss." he says, "he'll be fine with it."

you laugh at his response. you never thought you would see the day gojo curses at himself, after all, he's so self-obsessed: but you suppose you've seen—and tasted—parts of him that you never knew existed.

"then i'll see you at 6, mr. gojo."

what was the harm in discovering more?

230323 — i kinda hate this but.. wtv… anyway i couldn’t be bothered to proofread have my brainrot of gojo in a suit Mmmm yumyum

#jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x reader fluff #gojo x reader #gojo x reader fluff #gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jjk imagine #jjk imagines #gojo imagine #gojo imagines #gojo x y/n #gojo x you

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tossawary · 2 years ago

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Someone responded, "Howl would do chores for Sophie! He loves her so much!" to that Prince Turniphead house-boyfriend post about the "Howl's Moving Castle" movie where I said that Howl wouldn't reliably help around the house. And... no. No, I said RELIABLY, that's a really important word here, but also no.

Nothing about his home setup (the mess of the kitchen in the beginning, the RAINBOW BATHROOM, his cluttered bedroom) suggests that he's in the habit of picking up after himself. I don't think he's purposefully a slob, but I do think he's too distractible and thoughtless to do the required regular cleaning. I think he's a "I'll put this down here for now and deal with it later *proceeds to walk around this object every day for the next three years while doing more interesting / immediate things*" person at best. Being in love does not suddenly change all your habits as a person or your personal interests! I think Howl would definitely try (important word here) to do better for Sophie, but I think it would take a lot of work and he's kind of lazy about these things!

I do think he cooks. Movie Howl IS shown cooking with Calcifer and I think he and his fire demon could have fun with that task, very cute, and leave a mountain of dishes behind them in the process.

Also, (trying to limit referencing the books for those who haven't read them, but I can't resist here) Book Sophie is... kind of controlling and loves to complain? And can also do magic herself? When I said that Howl can't be trusted to RELIABLY do chores, it's partly because I don't think he'd be doing them to 1) Sophie's exacting standards and 2) in the EXACT way that Sophie wants it done. I think Sophie would in many cases decide that it's easier just to train Howl to better stay out of her way, honestly.

Especially because HOWL IS A WIZARD!!! You can't fucking trust those assholes with a simple chore! It doesn't occupy their brains enough and they're ALWAYS going to think, "I bet I could invent a spell to do this for me," and that's how you get floating dishes or animated broomsticks or a fucking water spirit in your house. It's the hubris! Can't smack it out of wizards with a stick!

Howl swallowed a star and made a deal with a fire demon! He built a giant walking castle that was holding together JUST using magic (it completely fell apart at the end of the movie) and wandered freely around the country! He was pretending to be two different people to run businesses and then abandoned the buildings when the government caught up to him! I'm pretty sure he used a magic spell to SQUAT in Sophie's family's former hat shop! He impersonated the king! He dodged the draft literally afterwards in an airship battle! He nearly irreversibly turned himself into a bird monster and fought bombing airships by HIMSELF - and there's no way that Sophie wasn't confusedly picking black feathers off the floor. He summoned the spirits of darkness and started turning into ooze because his hair dye came out the wrong color!

Howl would TRY for Sophie, I believe that. I just also think that he'd rather use magic to completely renovate the entire house than actually scrub floors. I think he would invent an incredibly ugly magical vacuum cleaner for her and Sophie would love it so much that she would choose to overlook the fact that it tries to eat the carpet and curtains and the dog sometimes. I think that if Book Sophie was told she could melt wizards with a bucket of soapy water with a little bit of lemon juice (like the Enchanted Forest Chronicles), she COULD DO IT by choosing to believe it, and Howl hides from her and that bucket because he loves her but she's TERRIFYING.

If Sophie's sister Lettie was visiting and Sophie was panicking because she hadn't had the time to dust on top of the guest room wardrobe... whatever the magical equivalent of shoving all of your stuff into a closet at the last minute to make the place LOOK clean is, THAT's how Howl would help.

#tossawary hmc #howl pendragon #sophie hatter #spoilers #fic ideas

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ornstein · 6 days ago

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For some reason my brain overlooked or skimmed through the bottom part of the Lucanis' Logbook 4.

This finding completely topples down my theory on why the 2nd act of this romance made perfect sense to me, because once Illario is dealt with, the final conversation with Lucanis is having him come to terms with his feelings for Rook after countless of vague interactions where Rook was the giver and Lucanis the reluctant/avoidant one. Here, you get him admitting to being open for a relationship ("whatever this is, I'll take it."), but this logbook implies the existence of a secret off-screen moment between them, sometime soon-ish after the special dessert cutscene. Or one that was supposed to exist, but ended up scrapped or straight up removed from history? And now all that's left is our imagination to play guesses.

Now I'm supposed to picture a Rook interrupting Lucanis' midnight reading by snuggling into his neck like a pet lizard, or volunteering to read him a bedtime story, which ends with a stolen kiss or two. Or Rook just walking into the pantry while Lucanis is minding his business and where they ACTUALLY talk. Would be crazy, knowing Lucanis as the type of character who yearns for intimacy but is terrible at it. Unless the coffee scene was in the original draft and not something that was added in later, which doesn't help either because it doesn't give off any additional context for what happened earlier behind the scenes. Maybe Rook just made it an habit to assist Lucanis with his reading, as I figured logbooks are supposed to give information about companions' routines long or short term.

I can now comprehend why some fans are still frustrated about this romance. Had I remained ignorant of this log entry I would be perfectly fine with it the way it is, because it just made sense. It just worked. I'm a little frustrated now too, ngl.

Unless you weren't actively keeping tabs on entry logs, you're left wondering. There's a Spanish term that I like to use for this, which translates into "being left off with the honey on your lips". You get romantic dinner at the cemetery table with Emmrich; with Davrin I lost count of the times Rook visits without anything particular happening, just casual banter and teasing.

With Lucanis we lost cut content but gained the tag for most popular ship. I guess there's at least that.

#why are some of the best ships the most vague of them all #I had a Vision and now I'm forced to rewrite it #lucanis dellamorte #rookanis #da veilguard #dragon age the veilguard #rook x lucanis

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xxnashiraxx · 4 months ago

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Snippet Sunday

Hi! It's almost 2 am for me, so it's Sunday enough! Considering your post yesterday a tag, @khywren 🫶 (and my, what a lovely, sad, incredible crumb that was)

I have been working all day, and I'm pleased to say that the first draft of Chapter 17 is complete. Phew. 10.6k. That's the longest any chapter has been so far, but I figure after the last chapter and the hiatus, you all deserve a lengthy one. Now, I'm not sure it'll be the most enjoyable ride, but it'll be a ride nonetheless!

Dregs of consciousness stir her pain-addled mind- light seeping through spidering blood vessels. Her ears ring until a voice, once sweet, pierces through the haze and slowly drags her back into glaring wakefulness. “Honestly, a goddamn liability is what she is. Always having to jump in at the knick of time and save her- she’s lucky we all made it out of that alive.” “Oh, like you can talk? Who just had to use the rest of her magic to heal you back up? Me,” “Least I didn’t lie there through the entire battle, napping away in the afternoon sun while poor Wyll shielded her from attack.” “Don’t pretend like you suddenly care about my well-being just to make a point, Astarion,” “Oh, but you admit there is a point! We should have left her back in camp for all the good she’s done today. A pack mule would have accomplished the same, and talked just as much.” “You are out of line-” The pounding in Ofelia’s head rushes in to cut off her hearing as she finally remembers what happened, flying to her feet with her hands out in front of her. Her eyes are watering and leaking at the corners, blood in her mouth and coating all of her in a heavy, sticky fluid that coagulates beneath the heat of the sun. It takes a second for her surroundings to come back into focus, all of them blinking at her in surprise. She gets one ragged breath in before the world tilts and she’s rushing to the side of the path that overlooks a ravine to spill the contents of her stomach off the side.

No pressure tagging- feel free to ignore since this is close to the other one I posted!

@pinkberrytea @caffeinatedmunchkin @verbenaa @inkymoonbunny @badbloodwitch @justabiteofspite @ladyduellist @elinorbard @preciouslittlebhaalbae @lanafofana @roguishcat @busy-baker @bardic-inspo @kalmiaphlox @bludazey @bloodinwine @coyote-mint @nerdalmighty @andromedaancunin @nyx-knox

Ty for coming!

#snippet sunday #my writing #with stars to fill my dream #ofelia #ofelia pov #durge #bg3 fanfic #bg3 isekai #astarion x ofelia #durgstarion #fic wip #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #angst #Astarion being Astaroin

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tamberrio · 11 months ago

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Do you guys see my vision do you

Nerdy thoughts about characters and the world in the au under the cut (Slight spoilers for plot of both BSD and Reverse:1999 I guess?)

ok ok so:

Dazai is the Time Keeper and works at the St. Pavlov Foundation. The ADA would basically be the small branch of the Foundation that Vertin oversees in the actual story. To that end, I can snag a couple character rolls for the BSD characters.

Dazai is Vertin, obviously. He was just as rebellious as a kid as she was, and made friends with the outside world (Oda) only to watch them die to the storm. So now the Foundation makes him go to the different time periods and collect data on why he and his suitcase are immune. Since I know Vertin is like 16 in the game, I thought I should age everyone down just slightly to fit that teenagers-doing-dangerous-things-that-should-be-left-to-adults vibe, so now he is 18 when he finds Atsushi, who is 14.

Kunikida would probably play a Sonnetto role, being the studious type who tries to follow all the rules and make sure the Time Keeper stays on track.

Yosano would probably be best suited as a Doctor in the Foundation but is saved strictly for the ADA’s branch. Probably a Medicine Pocket type of character? I actually have a draft of her where I take heavy inspiration from X’s butterfly scarf thing because thematically I think it’s perfect. I don’t know if she would exactly fit Mesmer Jr.’s role, since it includes a betrayal against Vertin along with Dubious medical practices within her family. Although the dubious medical practices thing could fit well, I don’t think the betrayal really suits her character in that regard.

Ranpo wouldn’t be an arcanist, but we have actual human characters in the story who are playable (like Ezra is human I believe), so he could use his deduction skills that way. They’d probably try to keep him away from the front lines when possible, so as not to risk him if the storm appears.

Thematically, Atsushi would be Regulus, since she’s the first to be found by Vertin in the actual story. Otherwise, Atsushi would be completely different in terms of backstory. It’s hard to tell in these sketches, but I tried to give him a coat similar to Regulus but not recognizable as such. He’d be a Beast Aflatus, obviously. Arcanists are very much discriminated against in the actual story, so that would fit really well with him. I figured Atsushi could be immune to the storm too, since his tiger has the power to cut through abilities, similar to how Dazai can nullify them.

Ango would be Madam Z, because of his strenuous relationship with the Time Keeper due to past betrayals, and his want to keep the Time Keeper out of harms way. Mori could be his direct supervisor for a time, and Ango can be complicit in the “trap” made for Dazai to get him to be more agreeable. He’d help reduce the influence the Foundation has on the Time Keeper’s decisions. Fukuzawa could be good for this role of “overlooking the team” as well.

As for the Foundation itself, I think it would be a mix of the government and the port mafia, while having Manus Vindictae be the Decay of Angels/Rats (Fyodor would make a really good villain in that regard). Although it’s hard to picture some of the port mafia members working at the Foundation, I can still pick and choose who goes where.

Every other character probably wouldn’t have a direct comparison, but that’s what I have so far. This is probably WAY easier to follow if you know the plot of Reverse: 1999 but I’ll come up with a more comprehensive doc later.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #dazai osamu #atsushi nakajima #bsd atsushi #bsd dazai #aus #Time keeper Dazai my beloved #Every time I think I’ve made the most self indulgent thing ever #I have to go and one up myself huh #little sketchie doos to get back into drawing stuff #also does anyone know the etiquette of tagging au universes cuz I'm not sure I should be tagging this as r1999 specifically #bsd re1999 au

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zeherili-ankhein · 1 month ago

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Rant. Life lore. The real life example of how a person fucks themself.

So y'all already know how much my Sociology teacher loves me right? 🥲 (I'm not even joking she somehow got the idea that I'm one of the smart kids and now she won't leave me alone 😭😭 I'm so cooked)

ANYWAYS

I was as usual in school today and she was asking who all have not submitted the research file draft for our project. So your very humble me who has done nothing was ofcourse on the list.

And then she started to ask about our topics 😭😭😭 that also to ONLY SPECIFIC PEOPLES aka the smart ones

AMD IDK WHY WHY WHY she considers me a smart kid (ma'am pls I'm dumb asf and know nothing)

Asked me what my topic was

Note: I had no topic ok I didn't even know wtf I was supposed to do 😭😭😭

And bruh all this people were like gender stereotypes in fairy tales and stuff (I WAS LITERALLY DROWSING IN CLASS I'M SO DED)

And yeah.... She asked me what my topic was 💀💀💀💀💀💀 (RED ALERT I TRAPPED MYSELF RED ALERT)

And me a sheer dumbass just went

Me: uhh... Culture...

Ma'am: what

Me, already shaking from social anxiety: Cu-cultural significance

Me: 💀

Ma'am: explain

Me: ...I mean how some cultures get overlooked or ignored while other cultures are prioritized more in India...

Note: ATP I have no fucking idea what I was talking about I was literally stuttering and shaking almost in tears

Me, already ready to collapse: like how mainstream north Indian culture is always priortized, while north east or other cultures are neglected and never shown properly

Ma'am: ahh regionalism you mean

Me: ...yes 🥹

Ma'am: very well you got a very good topic work on it

Ma'am, to the class: see now that's such a great topic

Me: 💀

Me: tha-thank you ma'am 🥹

Ma'am: I want the draft tomorrow

Me:

Me: 😭😭😭😭

AND I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK I'M GOING TO DO ON HALF A DAY

WHAT DO I FUCKING DOOO

I just need the draft but like I'm so cooked.

I'm SO SO COOKED

I chose a good topic but I'm not good enough for the topic.

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

I'm ded.

And so yeah I'm totally fucked because I'm sure I'm gonna mess up th entire thing while trying and failing to do proper research

Because 1. I'm so lazy I'll take atleast 3 years to complete it. 2. I'm so clumsy I'll just mess it all up.

And I have no idea what I'm gonna do RN-

.....

So that's how you fuck yourself up in the most baddest amazing way so that your teacher thinks of you as some brilliant kid. But you are literally 🤡

#should have just said something like gender stereotypes in indian serial or something #😭😭😭😭😭😭#shaku and sociology ma'am ek katha #how to fuck yourself up in just two minutes #student trouble #desiblr #shakchunni core #life lore #rant #ranting #sociology #regionalism #indian regionalism #indian culture #cultural significance

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waywardsou2 · 1 month ago

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I am excited to promote my fic here. I have been working on this for a while and it is an ongoing project that is going to be ongoing for even longer but I enjoy having this project that I can constantly come back to.

It is a Bucky centric fic which is deep diving into his character, his trauma and his life in the scenes we didn't get to see. I am going to be throwing in movie implications into your face and I'm going to be making sure that every nuanced aspect of his trauma is explored. We leave no stone unturned here!

This fic starts before Bucky is drafted (and yes I said drafted for a reason) exploring his training at Camp Lehigh, his promotion to a Sargent his interactions with Steve (prepare for unrequited queerness), his path after the fall and his road to recovery with the Wakandan's after Civil War. I will also be recontextualsing Falcon and the Winter Soldier and I will be bridging the gap between Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Brave New World, and Thunderbolts (when it comes out)

Not only that but this fic is going to be in three parts. This fic is the main one that is going to explore Bucky's life up until some canon divergent scenes after Falcon and the Winter Soldier and if you wish you can stop there and believe that him and Sam chose to live the rest of their days in domestic bliss. Or you can read on to my fic (that is not up yet) that will be completely canon divergent giving Bucky and Sam an adoptive child and will be working through the trials and tribulations of being a parent. But that will be an optional side story that will be completely deviant from anything that happens after Brave New World and you can skip straight onto the story that takes place from just before Brave New World and onwards towards Thunderbolts or maybe even after the fact. (I will mention that there will be nods to Bucky and Sam's kid from the other fic but those can be overlooked)

Anyways that was a whole big ass rant just to say that if you love Bucky Barnes as much as I do then please consider checking out my fic

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saphic-with-t · 11 months ago

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I saw people talking about Jawbone being a bad school counselor for how he treated the situation with Kipperlilly, and while I agree that from what we heard, it was definitely not good, I’d like to use this to point something out.

This single situation highlights two major things I think we forget or overlook when looking at the more serious, intense stuff within the storytelling genre of dnd/actual-play. Both boil down to things not being perfect.

First, this feels like the situation where we should remember that Brennan isn’t a school counselor, and never has been, or gotten training. He doesn’t know the proper procedures for stuff.

Second, this is improvised. It’s off the cuff and can’t be changed. If it was a traditional style of writing like a book or script, maybe an editor would have picked up on the inaccuracies or problems of the character and brought it up to Brennan for revisions in the next draft. But that can’t happen, and it’s pretty much set in stone as soon as it’s put out.

There is also the possibility (though I don’t personally believe this) that Brennan was intentional with Jawbone handling the situation poorly.

Jawbone’s mistake adds to and reinforces his character. I have met with school counselors before and they are usually far from perfect. In fact, Jawbone is still definitely one of the better examples of a school counselor in fiction and irl. We know that a lot of students (and staff) do really enjoy him. He was able to diagnose Adaine’s problem and has helped a few of the bad kids quite a lot and gives good advice. But he’s still new. He doesn’t have official education on child psychology and is pretty much completely self taught. It makes sense that at the very least he would let some kids slip through the cracks or make some bad calls. Especially since Kipperlilly’s situation and Jawbone’s secondary relationship to them is a unique thing that he would definitely not be prepared for.

Also, you can just add your head cannons into the mix. I saw one saying they believed Jawbone recommended to KlCk’s parents that they find her a therapist outside of the school and they declined it, but since it wouldn’t be part of her file, Riz and the rest wouldn’t see or know about it. Things like that are the whole point of head-cannons, to help explain stuff that goes unexplained.

Anyways, if you read this far thank you, I just needed to rant about it because people were getting really nasty about it (especially on Twitter) and I wanted to drop my two cents into the void.

#dimension 20 #fantasy high #fantasy high junior year #fhjy #fhjy spoilers #kipperlilly copperkettle #jawbone #jawbone o'shaughnessey #can’t stop ranting #rant post #professional yapper

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heartbeatbookclub · 8 months ago

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I think probably the biggest thing that contributes to the thought that Monika's love isn't some great falsehood to me is actually how she talks about it after being deleted.

Like, okay, i understand everyone saying that she isn't interested in you, because she's actually not interested in you specifically. I've said this before; Monika knows virtually nothing about you. She only knows that you're real. Despite this, she says she is utterly in love with you, while making it clear that her entire existence absent you is completely meaningless to her, because she knows it isn't real. It's fairly easy to make the leap here and I definitely agree that Monika is more in love with the idea of you than with you specifically.

I however disagree with the notion that this love is somehow false.

I've talked about this a little bit in the past, and I have a few drafts somewhere going deeper into my thoughts on it, but I didn't like how they turned out, so I'm just gonna start fresh.

I think if you only look at Monika's actions leading up into Act 3 and what she says then, it's a little questionable how true her feelings are. She talks a lot and spends a lot of time trying to endear herself to the player while forcing them to choose her. And a lot of that talk is about how powerful her sense of nihilism is about the world around her, except you.

It's not hard to make the leap that the reason why she's so invested in you specifically is because you represent something real, where she is trapped somewhere fake. Even if she can't really escape, she's content with this being as close as she'll get.

She's sitting here, directly talking to someone she believes is real, trusting that they're there, and listening to her.

You could take us continuing to click through the text and potentially hitting the skip button as confirmation that we are indeed still here, but the important thing is she can't see us. She doesn't know anything about us, or what it really looks like for us, but she loves us anyway, because we are real.

That's it, isn't it? At that point she doesn't even love us. It's a front; it's a lie to try and get some sense of interaction with reality. She doesn't actually love us; she loves the idea of escape we present.

There's one major thing that suggests to me that it's more complicated than that.

After we delete her, her initial response is fear. Anger. Betrayal. After everything she sacrificed, all she dedicated to us, we delete her. We've killed her; only small vestiges of her influence remain. How cruel. How unjust.

We are truly sickening, aren't we?

...But she still loves us.

I think this is something people overlook about the situation here, and I really think it's indicative of something not a lot of people realize.

Monika has no reason to lie here. There's no reason to maintain any sort of facade; Monika is giving up. There is no escape from her prison. She is trapped and always will be. And you? Despite everything, despite all that she's done to be with you, all the love she's given?

You deleted her. You killed her. She opened her heart to you, and you rejected her.

She has nothing left. She's dying. You, her one reason for living, for doing any of this, rejected her. She fucked everything up. She regrets everything she did, realizing that she's ruined everything, and probably driven you to hate her as well. Regardless of if that's true, it's what she believes.

Monika is at the end of her rope. Yet still, even when the chips are down, even when she's lost all hope of escape, when she's given up completely, when she regrets everything, believes you hate her, and hates herself...

She still loves you.

I don't think Monika's feelings are in any way a front for something else. I think she truly does believe, more than anything, that she loves you, truly, from the bottom of her heart. I think it's better to say, rather than that she doesn't love you, she only loves what you represent, because she doesn't know anything about you, that she does love you, despite not knowing anything about you, because what she does know is enough to her. She knows (or at least believes) that you're here, that you've been here, and that you're still here, despite everything. You've spent this much time with her. You must truly be kind, and patient, and all these other things she's built up in this image of you in her head.

Despite everything. Despite your rejection of her.

She still loves you.

And it's that love that guides her on into introspection, forces her to come to terms with the fact that she's been acting selfishly this entire time. It's her love for you that makes her realize how horrible she's been, and leads to her regretting everything.

Because if you deleted her after all she sacrificed, there's only one explanation. You don't love her the same. In fact, you must hate her for what she's done. She's ruined everything as badly as she possibly could.

She still loves you, but she messed things up so badly that you hate her.

"How could I do that to someone I love...?"

She restores everyone on the assumption that things will work out if she's just gone.

Because she wants to give you what you want.

Because she still loves you.

Dan Salvato responded to this question in the r/DDLC AMA on Reddit, and when I first read that response it seemed like a huge...non-answer. And when you actually look at it, within the context of the question, I'm right, it doesn't really answer the heart of what the question's about, and it's always troubled me because of the way he worded it.

It takes the notion that Monika loves us for granted, and instead of actually addressing the question, provides a foundation for Monika's truly selfless expression of love.

When I look at this, I'm suddenly confronted by my own thoughts of Monika as a fictional character, rather than as AI. Rather than accepting the conceit of +'s world, that Monika is truly an artificial intelligence in a simulated reality, looking at Monika as a fictional character with awareness of something beyond the fictional. That she is, in a sense, on a dimension below.

Yet despite that, she tries to reach behind the curtain, to reach out and touch your hand separated by the screen.

And regardless of any motivation, she loves you. She does, wholeheartedly, and she wants nothing but the best for you. She wants to give you all of the love she has. "Only someone who has lost all hope in themselves is the one who is condemning Monika to her own sad, unfulfilled fantasy. If you believe Monika loves you, then you've found it in you to love yourself a little bit, and that's what she would want more than anything."

It doesn't really answer the question, in my opinion. But I'm not sure it's supposed to.

Really, it's tough to make heads or tails of what that actually means in the context of this question. I often find myself wondering if I'm thinking too hard about things as presented in the game, and diving off into wild speculation into things which Salvato didn't intend.

I think the most important element to all of this, which people so frequently look past, is that Monika's own perspective is heavily limited. I have some other thoughts on this that I won't get into here, but just because we know something's true or we think something about her true underlying motivations doesn't mean she knows it.

A lot of what she says and does may be consequences of denial, but that doesn't mean conscious denial necessarily. I think something a lot of people don't realize is that Monika isn't actually some omnipotent or all-seeing goddess. There are things she doesn't understand, and things she can't control. I talk often about how we have no real communication with Monika outside of the limited interface of the game, but I'm not sure even she knows how limited that interface is, given how she places some blame onto our shoulders for how things turned out prior to Act 3, among other things. She has the capacity to be surprised by things happening in game, given that she was surprised by how we were left with Yuri's corpse for an entire weekend, commenting that she didn't realize the script had broken that badly.

The way she manipulates the others seems very half-hearted and inefficient, and she's frustrated by how tough it is to make things turn out how she wants.

I mean, despite believing herself to have very deep knowledge and control over how things are managed in her reality, she doesn't realize at all that she's done this exact same song and dance over and over across millions of people playing Doki Doki Literature Club. Even within the conceit of +, over each reset loop, the same things happen, and she has no idea. She is still subject to the whims of being a character in this game; she is not somehow divorced from it due to her awareness.

Her life is a tightly wound coil of duplicate decisions leading to the same outcomes each time, and she has no idea. And regardless of your decisions, things turn out the same.

She's the same as any of the girls, operating with their own code forcing them to do certain things. Each of them might realize something is wrong, or different; some cracks show through Monika's overt manipulation of elements of their personality, but they still act as though it comes from within, because that's how it feels, and why would you assume differently?

Somebody built them. Their existence is determined by a base of hard code, that although their consciousness may resist it, ultimately defines what their consciousness even is.

And Monika is no different.

It's implied pretty heavily that the four of them are on the same level, within the conceit of the game being artificial intelligence responding to stimuli. As Sayori, Natsuki, and Yuri are all tweaked in different elements, they change in personality. Their actions change, in ways that both Monika and the player don't necessarily expect.

Sayori hangs herself, Natsuki is able to write a note about her concerns for Yuri, and Yuri stabs herself multiple times, leaving you staring at a rotting corpse all weekend. When Sayori becomes Club President, she immediately sets to keep you for herself. Or she loses her mind. Whatever.

My point is, they're all on the same level, just with only one having awareness of the real nature of their reality.

So...that all being said.

Monika's love isn't a lie, not even one she's telling herself. But it doesn't seem to make sense, does it?

So the real question, I guess, isn't whether it's true or false.

It's whether she developed it naturally, or if it was implanted.

Does that even matter in the context of fiction?

Why did the chicken cross the road?

All these questions and more...uh, I don't know. Seek medical attention if brainrot lasts longer than 4 hours. If you read to the bottom of this post, you're cute. Do the monkey with me!

#really long one. kinda rambling #musings #ddlc monika #ddlc #doki doki literature club

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ashe-smash · 1 year ago

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cw: implied gochi x reader, (afab) reader who menstruates, period sex, no mention of birth control or protection, tiny mention of breeding kink kinda ?

A/N: Idk what this is, it’s just been sitting in my drafts for ages and I need it to not be rotting there anymore. It’s not unedited but it’s been sitting around for a while so there may be overlooked mistakes.

Thinking about how Saiyans probably aren’t phased by a little blood during sex when it’s your time of the month.

Specifically thinking about Goku.

You’re curled up in bed waiting for the pain reliever to kick in. Goku comes in, particularly riled up about something- probably coming off the heels of a training session or fight.

Goku’s libido is just as insatiable as his appetite. He’s got all this energy buzzing around inside him and this opportunity is far too perfect to resist to expel it. “Chi said you weren’t feeling well.” He says as he slips into the bed with you.

“Cramps.” You whine. You should protest about him being sweaty but he's all warm as he snuggles up to you. You really can’t bring yourself to complain about it but in your lethargic state, you really can’t bring yourself too.

You’d change the sheets and take a shower after a nap.

His hands are big and warm and feel nice when he kneads your hips and tummy. But you do whine a little when he starts getting a little handsier. Goku wasn’t exactly what you’d call subtle, especially in situations like this.

“We can’t- I’m on my period.“ You squirm, but wriggling out of his hold is a lost cause. Honestly if you weren’t as hazy, you’d have realized he probably already knew that- saiyans have a very sharp sense of smell.

“And?” Goku presses the heel of his palm into your soft stomach.

That makes you pause. Goku isn’t an idiot, but sometimes- unless it involves fighting, some things just slip his mind.

“M bleeding.” You remind him.

Goku shrugs around you. “You really think a little blood bothers me?” Your face wrinkles. Periods are completely normal bodily functions but they’re still… gross. His nose meets your cheek, nudging it. “It’ll make you feel better won’t it?”

You’re eventually bullied onto your front with a pillow under your hips.

(We’ll skip having to remove menstrual products, can you imagine having to explain what a diva cup is to him?)

He certainly wouldn’t mind eating you out either, you’re glad you can’t see him cause it’d be just too embarrassing. Now, I firmly believe Goku eats pussy as eagerly as he eats anything. Blood isn’t going to change that, you’ve seen him eat raw meat before.

He doesn’t stop when you cum either. It’s too much and you have to beg him to move on, not that he needs much convincing to slot himself into you.

You’re so sensitive and the slide of his cock against your walls is so much more. You just have to lay there and take it, but that’s okay because you don’t have that much energy to do so. The pressure of his weight on your hips eases the ache there.

Goku is always a little unintentionally rough. He gets overeager and forgets himself. But you can tell he’s trying to be gentle.

By the time both of you are satisfied and Goku flops down next to you so you can see him again, he looks feral. Blood is smeared on his cheeks, his hands and up his forearms. His pelvis looks like a massacre and based on the stickiness on your thighs, you’d hazard a guess that you look similar.

A cheeky grin cracks over his face before he rolls over closer to you, forcing you into a kiss. You’re tired, too tired to continue to fight him. “You’re so nasty.” You whine.

“Feel better now, sweetie?” Goku pulls your sticky sweaty body to his. He kneads at your hip and tummy best he can with one hand, the other wrapped around you to keep you close.

“Mhm… better but gross…. And tired. We need a bath and then a nap?”

He stretches a little. “Gimme a minute.” You pout at him. It’s not a matter of his stamina, he’s just being a bit lazy. Wants to have you close for a little longer, even if you’re absolutely filthy- and not in the good way. Sticky.

ChiChi would surely scold her husband for staining the bedding, even if technically it was you that caused it. She knows it was only a byproduct of her husband’s meddling, and would never blame you for it. Send you off for a hot bath while she makes him strip the bed for washing.

Goku joins you for round two of course, followed by a snack and the nap after. You won’t admit it aloud, for fear it’ll only encourage him more but you do feel better.

He’ll also tote you around cause you don’t feel good but he will try to steal off your snacks. And lay on you. And joke (you think it’s a joke, he does not) that he can help make your period go away for a while if you let him.

Extra: I think Saiyans know when you’re going to get your period. Just instinctually- they’re all about emotions and the moon and stuff ?

Divider by me (@/ashesmashe)

#dragon ball x reader #goku x reader #gochi implied #cw periods #ashesmash writes #RUNS AND HIDES #I wrote this ages ago and every month I’m like ‘oh yeah I should finish that’ SO HERE IT IS

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taliquest · 1 year ago

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I think it's funny how Shin and Shuu are frequently the most overlooked characters insofar as individuals and a ship in both JP and (broadly western but primarily) NA fandom because these two:

Have the single best developed relationship of anyone in the entire show.

When we start off, and for much of the first half of the show, they're frequently at odds with Shin siding more with Seiji and Shuu partnering up with Touma - with whom he was originally longtime friends with in earlier drafts, up to and including arriving in Shinjuku together.

However, as the show continues, there are hints of a budding friendship, particularly the disastrous battle against Arago where Shin is the first to fall, Shuu being the one to immediately react and strike in vengeance after Shin and Touma get nommed.

And then of course, as we move into the second half of the show, we get this moment:

Cementing that yes indeed, these two are Best Pals For Life, with a bit of mutual chirping involved.

While unfortunately they both spend much of the next dozen-odd episodes sidelined and with little chance to interact outside of being strung up in a gargoyle together, after the team fully reunites, we're treated to them back to their old tricks, with teasing:

Followed immediately by a Bro Moment.

Cut to post series with the first OVA, Gaiden, at Ryo's birthday party:

(Absolutely nothing suggestive going on here)

And of course, OVA 2, Kikoutei Densetsu gives us the beautiful bonding moment that is Shin teaching Shuu how to surf.

Of course this being KD, things go downhill quickly, though things are patched up soon enough...

Only to fall apart by Message, where the distance that's grown between the Troopers is best exemplified by this shot:

The best of friends, arriving together, after not having seen each other for months, in complete, solemn silence. And unfortunately this is the last they really get together before returning for the finale.

However, I hope that this tangent has been educational, and if you haven't watched YST yet:

Do it for them.

#ronin warriors #yoroiden samurai troopers #鎧伝サムライトルーパー #cye mouri #shin mouri #shuu rei faun #kento rei fang

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nondelphic · 7 months ago

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thank you so much for 700 followers!! this is so insane to me and i'm so happy people are enjoying my posts.

i know most of you are here for my ""relatable writing posts"" but i also know some of you are interested in who i am, and specifically my writing, so to celebrate hitting 700 followers i thought i'd give you a taste of my writing !! i know i was supposed to tag some ppl but i forgot to write your names down and i can't remember who wanted to be tagged and who didn't 😭😭😭

these are all drafts and i def don't consider myself a great writer, but i think i'm okay at storytelling. regardless, enjoy it for what it is!

this excerpt is from my first completed draft of "the midnight chase." for context, marley is aroace.

They sat in silence for a while before Marley shifted towards Lucas. She bit her lip, uncertain of how honest to be. “Lucas?”

He looked at her. “Yeah?”

“You know the party last month? Remember how Elvis kissed me?”

Lucas nodded. Marley averted her gaze, focusing on a path beyond the pond that led to a cliff overlooking the ocean.

“Do you think it’s possible to want that sort of closeness, without wanting it all?” Marley could feel Lucas gaze on her.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

Marley sighed and let her gaze drop to her feet. Her shoelaces had come undone.

“I mean, I don’t like Elvis like that, but when he kissed me, I felt… warm inside. Like, it’s not something I crave, but it felt nice regardless.”

Lucas remained silent for a moment. Marley looked up to see his gaze thoughtful as he processed her words. The gentle rustling of leaves and the occasional chirp of a bird were the only sounds filling the silence between them. Marley could feel her heartbeat quicken, wondering if she had said too much, or if Lucas might misunderstand her.

Finally, Lucas sighed softly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I get what you’re saying, Marley. I think… it’s natural to want closeness, to feel connected to someone, even if it’s not necessarily about romance. It’s human, you know? We all crave that warmth, that feeling of being wanted or cared for, even if it’s just for a moment.”

Marley nodded, relieved that he understood, but still, there was something else she needed to express. She glanced between Lucas and her shoelaces, her senses searching for any sign of judgement or discomfort, but all she saw was patience and a gentle curiosity.

“I guess it just made me question something that’s been nagging me for a long time,” Marley continued, her voice softer now, almost hesitant. “Like, what if I don’t ever want that kind of connection with someone, but I still want to feel close to people? Is that okay?”

Lucas’s expression softened even more, and he reached out, gently placing a hand on Marley’s shoulder. “Marley, there’s no right or wrong way to feel about these things. You’re allowed to want whatever it is you want—or don’t want. It doesn’t make you any less valid or any less… you.”

Marley let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “Thanks, Lucas. I guess I just needed to hear that.”

and here's another excerpt that shows a bit more of the story...... kinda.

As Lucas excused himself to go to the bathroom, Marley looked for Chio. Instead, she ran into Silas.

“Hey,” he said, holding his arm out. “Let’s dance.”

Initially, Marley wanted to say no, but something in Silas’ expression made her do the opposite. She took his arm and he led her to a more secluded part of the dance floor. Marley noticed people staring at them as they walked, not unsurprisingly, considering her and Silas' history.

Silas put a cautious hand on Marley’s back as the song transitioned to a sentimental and slow piano arrangement.

“You know the map I gave you?” Silas asked. Marley smiled. Yes, the one she and her friends had managed to figure out completely. “Did you solve it?”

Something in Silas’ expression told Marley he already knew the answer. Did he want help? Had he solved it?

“Yes,” Marley said. Silas nodded, and a smile crept up on his face.

“Me too. Which means… the winner will be determined by who gets to the middle first.”

Marley nodded. “You’re doing it alone?”

“Yes. I work best alone. I know you’re doing it with your friends.” Something in Marley churned at his answer. It was a typical Silas answer, a simple phrase etched with an edge of passive aggressiveness. Marley had solved it with the help of her friends. He had solved it alone, using only his brains.

“Teamwork is an underappreciated tool,” Marley said, finding herself distancing herself slightly from Silas’ hold on her as they danced.

“Of course. It’s important to be able to work with others. At the end of the day, though, you'll be alone.”

Marley looked into Silas’s eyes, trying to decipher his expression. There was something behind his words, a hint of loneliness perhaps, or maybe a sense of inevitability. She decided to keep the conversation light, not wanting to spoil the mood of the evening.

“Maybe so, but having friends by your side can make a huge difference,” Marley replied, her tone gentle but firm.

Silas nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “I suppose you’re right. It’s just... sometimes it feels like relying on others is a weakness.”

Marley shook her head. “It’s not a weakness, Silas. It’s a strength. Knowing when to ask for help, and knowing you can trust those around you, that’s powerful.”

They continued to dance in silence for a few moments, the slow melody wrapping around them. Marley felt a strange mix of empathy and rivalry towards Silas. She understood his drive and his determination, but she also saw the value in the support system she had with her friends.

As the song came to an end, Silas offered her a small smile. “Thank you for the dance, Marley. And for the perspective.”

Marley returned the smile. “Anytime, Silas. Good luck with the challenge.”

“Good luck to you too,” Silas replied, giving her a polite nod before walking away.

Marley watched him go, feeling a mixture of emotions. She was grateful for her friends and the support they provided, but she also understood the weight Silas carried. She hoped that one day he would realize the value of camaraderie.

Lucas returned from the bathroom, a curious look on his face. “Did I miss something?”

Marley laughed, shaking off the remnants of her conversation with Silas. “Just a dance with Silas. Nothing major.”

Lucas raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. “Shall we continue dancing?”

“Absolutely,” Marley said, feeling lighter and more determined than ever.

They returned to the dance floor, joining their friends in the celebration. The rest of the evening passed in a blur of laughter, dancing, and shared moments that Marley knew she would treasure for a long time.

As the night wound down, Marley found herself sitting with Chio and Maya on a bench outside the hall, the cool air in the stone-cladden corridor a refreshing contrast to the warmth of the dance floor.

Maya pulled out her phone from under her dress. Marley watched her. “Where did you keep that?”

“Oh, I have all my dressed sewn to include hidden pockets. I hate not being able to carry stuff.”

Chio rolled her eyes dramatically. “Ah, yes, custom sewn gowns with pockets, what a normal and humble thing!”

“It’s not my fault that default dresses don’t come with pockets already,” Maya countered.

“Calling normal dresses ‘default dresses’ is crazy,” Marley snorted. She looked at Chio’s dress. It was a beautifully simple dress with long, wide arms and a simple fabric belt around the waist, in a bright orange colour, contrasting Chio’s blue hair in a seamlessly effortless way.

“To be fair, my dress is also customised,” Chio sighed, smoothing out her skirt, before smirking. “I took it in two centimetres at the waist.”

The three girls burst out into laughter. Maya looked at her phone.

“What time is it?” Chio asked.

“10:45.”

“We should get ready.” Marley said. The Midnight Chase started at midnight, just as the name suggested. And she was not running down the maze in a long dress. Well, she could, she knew multiple people participating who were going directly from the dance to the maze. But they weren’t in it to win it. Marley and her friends were.

Hopefully, Silas would find that working alone is actually the greatest weakness.

Marley had a gnawing feeling that her stance would be proven right.

HELP i'm so scared y'all are gonna think my writing is trash because LET'S BE FR THIS IS JUST FROM MY FIRST DRAFT!!!! i haven't yet edited these scenes so they're kinda cringe but i wanted to show my main project. i do have different writing styles depending on genre though, and i'm tempted to show some of my comedy writing. it's pretty hilarious, if i may say so myself.

anyway, thank you again for 700 followers. thank you so much. each like, reblog, reply, message, or ask brings me so much happiness. you have no clue how much your interest warms my heart (or maybe you do because you know how social media manipulates our brains and their reward system)

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