#don’t be mad when the plot twist is set up to be a plot twist

[valengory1234]

So many people are up in arms about Luke being so sweet only to become a traitor later

Like y’all?

What do you think makes it a plot twist??

[uluvjay]

Return of the Mad-M. Verstappen

Max Verstappen x fem! Reader

In which Max allows the anger he’s been burying to come through, or Mad Max makes his return..

Warnings?; degrading, kind of asshole max, hair pulling, unprotected sex (A NO NO), talks of throwing things at people, slight George Russel hate (it’s for the plot sorry), use of the word cunt, sorry for any errors I missed!

You weren’t surprised when the helmet went flying across the garage, you’d seen it coming over the past few races.

The way his fists would clench when he returned from another race where he hadn’t made podium, the way he’d curse to himself in Dutch when the fia gave him a penalty they didn’t give to other drivers doing the same thing.

Yes the few wins he’d secured were nice and you were positive that if it wasn’t for them he would’ve blown up a long time ago.

You owed George Russel a thank you basket for pushing him over the edge, the way they’d raced each other the past few weeks pushing max closer and closer to the edge. And finally after George’s dirty moves in the Spanish Grand Prix the anticipated return of Mad max happened.

You were cautious as you pushed open the drivers room door, nobody had even attempted to even approach Max since he’d entered the garage with his lion printed helmet flying at a wall.

“Go away” he grumbled from the small couch in the room, arms crossed as his foot tapped against the floor.

“It’s just me” you announced shutting the door behind you, making sure to twist the lock.

He picked his head up slightly blue eyes scanning over your body, the helmet he so gracefully chucked at the wall in your hand.

“What are you going to do with that?”

You sighed at his attitude, “nothing, picked it up along my way”

He scoffed, “should’ve chucked it at the fucking stewards with that bullshit penalty.”

You sighed setting the helmet down before moving to sit next to him, “unfortunately that would be assault and that’s not something we want. You’re already a point away from a race ban.”

Blue eyes were quick to snap towards you filled with a dangerous hue that you hadn’t seen for a long time.

“They gave me points on my license? You’re fucking joking right?” He snapped.

“I wish I was, it was unfair but they felt like it was intentional.” You sighed.

He scoffed moving to his feet now pacing the room as he removed his race suit, profanities and complaints spewing out as he changed.

Just as he was sliding on his pants a knock sounded at the door, “Max mate we need you for media”

It was Christian, at least they hadn’t sent the poor Pr girl to get him.

“Fuck Media, they can all fuck off and so can you.” Max spat.

You winced at his words knowing they were mean but this is what happens when you provoke an already irritated Lion.

You stood to your feet unlocking and opening the door just enough so you could see Christian.

“I’ll get him out, just give me a minute and he’ll be down.”

“We need him now Y/n” the Brit sighed.

You rolled your eyes at his impatience, “Yeah well that’s not going to happen, give me five minutes and he’ll be down.”

You don’t allow him a response before shutting the door and turning towards your Dutchman.

“I’m not going down there” he laughed but it was dry, mocking, like he could give two fucks about anyone or anything and what they had to say.

“Max”

“No, you want me to do it so bad then go do it yourself. Tell them I don’t give a fuck and it was that cunts fault.” He shrugged spitefully eyes locked on yours.

You walked to where he was now standing by his massage bed large hands gripping the edges in irritation.

“Look I know you’re mad but please just give them something so we can pack up and go home.” You pleaded looking up at him.

The triple header had been long and grueling and all you wanted was to climb into bed with your boyfriend and cats and sleep the next few days away before he was due at Redbull headquarters.

You weren’t paying attention to his hands until one was tangled in your hair angling your head back, a whimper escaping your mouth at the sensation.

“You don’t tell me what to do, got it? If I wanted your fucking opinion I would’ve asked for it.” He spoke sinisterly, eyes sharp and voice deep.

He was quick when he spun you around your front pressed against the massage bed while he pressed into you from behind.

You couldn’t help the way your thighs rubbed together at the feeling of his hard cock against you, the grip he had on your hair sending shocks down to your wet core.

“Fucking slut, this is turning you on isn’t it?” He scoffed.

You whimpered at his words, it was sick how his degrading words made you feel. The way the slick was spreading on the insides of your thighs you both knew he’d find a pool when he reached his hand between your thighs.

And he did.

Max growled at the feeling when he slipped his beneath your sundress, his thick fingers not wasting any time as they slid your panties to the side.

He was rough but you didn’t mind especially not when he slid his fingers inside you, a moan breaking out before you could stop it.

“So fucking needy.”

“I had a bad race and you think you can tell me what to do? Must’ve forgotten your place. But don’t worry baby I’ll remind you.” He smirked.

It was dark and sinister not a drop of sympathy behind those blue eyes and curled lip and you felt it in the way he ripped his fingers from your cunt.

You whimpered at the loss but it didn’t last long before he was pulling his pants and boxers down in one swift go.

It wasn’t long before your dress was bunched up around your waist, panties pulled down just enough for his cock to reach your cunt.

He doesn’t prep you like he usually would. There’s no need to.

You’re soaked, his cock pushing through your dripping folds with ease. And there’s nothing nice or slow about the way his cock splits you open.

“Shit.” You breathe the burn from the stretch of his thick cock was to good, the pain mixing with the pleasure causing your brain to short circuit.

He gives you a little of his cock before pulling out half way and then slamming back into you, his pace brutal as his hand twists in your hair yanking you flushed against his chest again.

His voice is steady when he speaks again, “Take it like the slut you are, always willing to take my cock huh?”

You nod cluelessly the pleasure blinding as your nails dig into the table in front of you, you’re positive there will be rips in the material by the time he’s done with you but you couldn’t care less right now.

“Yeah I know baby, I know. Anything for me to fuck my girl.” He cooed mockingly, voice mean.

He fucks you so deep. Bottoming out with each thrust.

He’s grunting in your ear, deep and raspy just the way you like. You can hear his low curses in Dutch his breath hot on your neck.

You can feel him against you, all over you. His toned chest pressed against you, every thrust of his hips makes your ass jolt from the roughness and pace of the thrusts.

His cock hits your g-spot effortlessly with each thrust, brutal, sharp, unrelenting as he chases his high.

This isn’t about you, he’ll make you cum but you’ll be paying for it later on the plane wether that be on your knees for as long as he says or letting him fuck you until he says you can cum.

You gasp when his lips meet your ear tongue teasing before he nips at it the pain sends jolts of pleasure through your body.

Max chuckles when your cunt clenches around him, you were his dirty slut and he basked in the fact nobody but him knew that.

You cry out when he tugs on your hair, it’s hard and the pain is sharp but there’s no denying the fact you’re attracted to the pain. Not when a moan follows behind it.

“You’re such a whore, act so fucking sweet and innocent but all you want is to be fucked dumb.” He growls voice hot with pleasure but you can still hear the anger lingering.

His accent is thick, one you swear he’s losing some days but not when he’s like this. When he’s got nothing but sex and pain on his mind. No that’s when the part of him he worked so hard to control comes through.

He’s got himself buried so deep inside of you that you feel everything, every vein and ridge on his bare cock.

You sob out as the feeling in your lower stomach grows stronger by the second, your body is so fucking hot, sweat making stands of hair stick to your forehead.

“M-max. Fuck-I’m so close.” You whine body trembling against him.

He grunts at the sound of your dazed voice, “yeah I can feel it. Go ahead and cum for me like a good little slut.”

And you do.

It hits you hard, your mouth drops open but nothing comes out. Your vision blurs as that band in your lower stomach snaps.

You can hear max moaning from the way you’re clenching him, convulsing around his cock just the way he likes.

He starts fucking you harder, hips snapping into you at an ungodly pace as he chases a high of his own.

And you can feel all of it when he does, his strong arms wrap around you caging you against his body as his thrusts grow wild.

He cums inside of you with a low grunt, curses spilling free as he fucks you through his high, body shaking as he comes down.

You two stay like that for a while, allowing each other to catch your breath. You’re still panting when he pulls away hands holding your waist to steady you on your shaky legs.

You’re not expecting him to spin you around so quick but he doesn’t give you much time to think about it before his lips are on yours.

His grip on your cheeks is strong, nails digging into your flushed cheeks puckering your lips on his own as he takes what he wants.

He kisses you like a starved man, it’s hot and heavy, his tongue devouring yours.

And finally when he pulls back he gives you a once over pulling your panties off completely he shoves them in his pocket.

He doesn’t speak a word as he grabs the blue and orange cap sitting at the edge of the massage bed sliding it on his damn head.

“I’ll be back in twenty minutes, be packed and ready because we’re leaving.” He states clear as day, not allowing you any room for discussion.

And right before he opens the door he turns back to you, “And don’t put anymore panties on, you won’t need them for the plane ride home.”

-

[pedriscroquettes]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐔𝐘𝐄𝐑𝐎 ✮ FRANCO COLAPINTO

summary. you hated franco for stealing your friend’s seat not knowing that it’d lead to a night of regret.

warnings. enemies to fwb’s, p in v, semi public s3x, major plot twist at the end, & cheating. franco & reader match each other’s FREAK! 18+

a/n. gif by argentinagp! i love latinos!

YOU HAD PROMISED everyone on the paddock that you wouldn’t judge the new driver too quickly. The week leading up to his arrival had been spent reminding yourself that he didn’t steal Logan’s seat on purpose yet you were still mad. You had grown quite fond of the american over the past months and losing a friend had made you bitter. You couldn’t bring yourself to blame Logan for losing his seat so you resorted to the newly arrived brunette.

“He doesn’t bite.” Alex whispers as he notices the glare you’re sending the brunette.

“But he scavenges.” You murmur as the press surrounds the rookie.

“It’s not like he killed Logan.” Alex scoffs.

He didn’t but it felt like he had. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the way the media had already forgotten about your friend and put Franco on a pedestal. He had just arrived a day ago and already he was flaunting himself as the next Hamilton reincarnate. You turn around too frustrated with yourself for hating him when you didn’t even know him.

“Hola.” A thick accent interrupts your thoughts. You hesitantly turn around only to be met with the guy who took your best friend away. “Those colors don’t suit you.”

“Excuse me?” You replied shockingly wondering where his sense of entitlement came from.

“Ah, lo siento. I meant blue would look better on you.” His cheeks change hues realizing his words came out wrong.

“It would If I cared about Williams.” You smile sarcastically watching as his smile falters. “I’ve gotta go but score at least one point, yeah?”

Franco stays still in disbelief wondering if his comment on your clothes had completely pissed him off. Was his english really that bad? Did he come off too strong? He wondered if the rest of the paddock would hate him or if he was just overreacting.

“Don’t worry about her mate. She’s very reluctant to new people. Give her time.” Alex shrugs.

As the weekend progresses you spend your time between the Alpine garage and the trailers. You were lucky Alex and Lily had agreed to spend the whole weekend with you. You stared at the street as Leo climbed into your lap making you pet him. Practice had just started and you couldn’t help but keep a close eye on Williams. You had began to mindlessly rant to your friends over your encounter with the rookie and how it would most likely take him months to replace Logan.

“When this weekend is over I’m taking you with me to workout because you need to relieve that anger.” Lily laughs.

“No, seriously. You’re acting like he’s committed first degree murder when he had nothing to do with Logan leaving.” Alex sounds concerned.

“Look, I know I sound crazy but I swear there’s something off about him. Plus, y’all do remember the comment he made about me right?” You tried to validate yourself.

“English isn’t his first language it was an honest mistake. Either way he just took that Williams to Q1.” Lily motions towards the screen.

“Whatever. Are we all still on for Sunday?” You asked referring to the plans the drivers had made after the race.

“Obviously. Although we may need to monitor you all night to make sure you don’t damage the new rookie.” The two of them laugh as you sit there annoyed.

The sun was beginning to set as you made your way back to the Alpine garage. Your short white dress was the perfect outfit to keep you cool during the blazing heat of the summer. You were excited to spend the afternoon debriefing with Pierre until you run head first into someone. You try to balance yourself by holding yourself against their chest and as you slowly bring your head up you brace yourself for the apology you’re about to make. But then you see his face and that apology never makes it out your mouth.

“Do you not watch where you’re going?” You scoff at the Williams driver.

“I do. I do it very good actually. Or I wouldn’t be here.” He jokes. “It was you who couldn’t see well or else you would’ve seen me.”

“You’re quite full of yourself aren’t you.” You murmur as you fix your dress.

“People pay me to drive of course I am.” He pulls his sunglasses out his face to look at you directly. He has a glint of confidence in his eye and you can’t help but roll your eyes at his ego.

The two of you stood there alone as practice was long over and the drivers had gone back to their trailers to wind down. Your friends were probably going to ask you why you were late and you couldn’t bear the thought to tell them that you’d gotten into another argument with the rookie. You would get teased for it until the season ended.

“You know this whole hating me thing because you think I stole your friend’s seat, when he lost it because he wasn’t good enough, is so hot.” He smirks.

Any quick remarks you once had were now completely forgotten. His words completely took you by surprise and now you were just confused. Had he taken your witty words as flirting? Had you mistakenly led him on? Or was he just being a prick?

“Though, you could put that mouth to better use.” He says loud enough so only you can hear.

Your cheeks heat up at his comment and you can’t help but feel flustered at his words. Suddenly even the short dress you were wearing wasn’t enough to keep you cool. You instinctively bite your lip as you try to think of anything to say to him but you’re utterly speechless. He’s finally gotten under your skin and he hasn’t even raced yet.

“There’s something genuinely wrong with you.” You say.

“Adiós nena.” He smiles at you before wandering off leaving you all alone to process what had just happened.

The rest of the walk to the Alpine garage is awkward and quick. You try your best to store the encounter with Franco in the back of your mind. You do a bad job at it because his words echo in your mind for the rest of the day. You don’t tell anyone what happened that day because it was weird and also you weren’t even sure what had happened that day.

It’s finally race day and you brush off your white skirt as you walk towards the paddock. You’d meet the girls in the Ferrari garage as Charles had wanted to surprise Alex with a girl’s day. You kept your hands above your eyes to protect them from the sun while subtly trying to ignore the camera flashes headed towards you. As you approach the garages you pause for a little. It had become a tradition for you to greet Alex before any race, a superstition that began when Pierre won the Italian Grand Prix, but now you were hesitant to visit the Williams garage.

You sighed coming up with the decision that an awkward conversation with the Argentine rookie shouldn’t stop you from visiting one of your closest friends. You do a 180° heading straight for the garage. It’s a short walk due to you walking as fast as possible to Alex’s booth. The engineer’s greet you already recognizing your face from the past couple of races. There’s a huge group of familiar faces in the room except the Thai. Your eyes drift around hoping to find him so you’re not late to meet up with your friends but you can’t find Alex anywhere.

“He’s with Lily.” A voice spooks you.

“Franco.” you sigh. “What are you doing here?”

“I work here. The real question should be why are you here?” His condescending tone irks you as he plasters that dumb smirk on his face.

“That’s none of your business.” You reply. “Tell Alex I was looking for him. I’ll be on my way now.”

He grabs your wrist before you can turn on your heels stopping you. You’re now completely face to face with him that you can practically feel his body warmth.

“Something tells me you came looking for me using your friend as an excuse.” He says below a whisper.

“Did your parents teach you that the world revolves around you? Has it ever occurred to you that you are not as important as you think you are?” You scoff. “I’m here for Alex and I would be here for Logan too but you ruined that.”

“Ay, boluda.” He laughs in disbelief. “It seems the only condescending person here is you because guess what? I earned this seat. My parents sold our house so I could be here meanwhile your little friend just spent his trust fund and wasted it.”

You run out of remarks at that. You’d spent all this summer terrorizing him unaware of who Franco really was. Although you weren’t going to apologize, you were too proud for that.

“It’s okay though I wouldn’t expect for a pretty dumb little thing like you to get it.” His voice goes hoarse. Your mind goes blank at his words unable to register his hand ending up on your waist pushing you into him.

Those are the last words he says to you before he abruptly pulls away leaving you alone to process the encounter. Your hand instinctively goes to the necklace on your neck caressing it as you try to regain your breath. You can feel how warm your cheeks are and instantly feel embarrassed at the weird tingly feeling in your stomach. Most importantly you couldn’t believe that out of all the people here Franco is the one who put you in this state.

“Oh, good you’re here! Hopefully I’ll get points today because of you.” Alex smiles at you.

“Go crush them. I have to go though have to meet Gasly before the race. You know go over his strategy for the race.” You stammer trying to find an out of the Williams garage.

“Yeah mhm.” He waves you off. “The two of you better show up to the party! Last one before the break!”

The Ferrari garage erupts into cheers as Charles makes it on the podium again. Alexandria and Lily both scream into your ear as both their boyfriends score points for their teams. Meanwhile you stare blankly as the screen as it shows both Alpine cars outside of the points. Then as if the Universe was making fun of you, Franco shows up on the screen celebrating his P8. You hated him, you hated his confidence, you hated the way he took Logan away from you, but most importantly you hated him because the sweaty messy hair he was showing off made you weak. Your mind instantly replayed this morning’s conversation and you found yourself dizzy.

“Are you okay? Is it cuz you guys didn’t get any points today?” Lily tries to console you.

“No, it’s not that.” You give her a fake smile. “This whole weekend has been kind of too much for me and I think I’m starting to feel the effects. I’m gonna go to the trailers but I’ll see y’all at the party later?”

“Feel better love! Wear something slutty!” Alexandria yells as you walk off.

The pink dress you had picked out for tonight was beginning to annoy you. It was incredibly short so you didn’t know if you should pull it up or down. And knowing Franco would be there made you overthink your idea not wanting to give him the impression that you had dressed up for him. You internally roll your eyes at yourself for even thinking about changing clothes because of a man. That wasn’t you. The effects of the rookie began to scare you.

You don’t waste anymore time heading out the suite and straight to your Uber. It was a short drive and the bouncer didn’t last long finding your name on the list. Lily and Alexandria immediately started screaming at the sight of you and welcomed you into the round table. Most of the drivers were still at the track recovering from their race so thankfully you sat next to Lily with no one to your right. You hoped Alex would hurry up so you’d get to gossip with your friend.

“That rookie ended up with points. I think your hate fueled him.” Lily teases you.

“Are we really going to talk about him, right now?” You sigh.

“He proved you wrong of course we’re gonna talk about it.” She says

“It was pure luck.” You spit out unaware of the brunette walking towards your table.

“What was?” The familiar voice makes you shiver. Lily can’t help but laugh as how wide your eyes go. You slowly turn around to meet the guy that had been torturing you this whole weekend.

“Oh, nothing-” Lily tries to save you.

“Your race today. It was pure luck.” You say defiantly being too stubborn to retract your words.

“Pure luck?” He repeats in disbelief.

“She didn’t mean it-” Lily tries to come to your rescue again.

“Oh, no. I meant it. He’ll be ending up P12 in the next races. I guarantee you won’t see anymore points after this. You’re just here on a test drive and then? Every one will forget you were ever here.” You take a swig of your drink. You don’t even register the malice behind your words being too heated to even comprehend what you’re saying.

His face heats up and his cheeks change hues as he registers your words. You blink and he’s gone. He wanders off to who knows where and it’s then that you register what you’ve told him. You warm up and suddenly you’re dizzy.

“What the fuck?” Lily whispers. “You better go find him and apologize.”

“He started it!” You whine.

“No, you did. You’ve hated him since he arrived when he’s done nothing to you.” Her words make you feel bad. “Now, go find him.”

You stand up adjusting your dress as you scan around the club looking for him. You wander off in hopes of finding him before he leaves. Why was it so hard to find a tall brunette in a crowd of average height people? You give up after five minutes resorting to asking the bartender if he’d seen your ‘friend’ and suddenly you found yourself outside. Franco is leaning against the wall looking at his phone but he’s wearing glasses now.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses.” You squeak afraid that you’d scare him off.

He looks up at you not saying a single word. Your presence pisses him off and he starts to walk away. You follow him to the back of the bar stopping him before the two of you got lost.

“Look, I didn’t mean anything I said. I’m sorry.” You play with the hem of your dress being too afraid to look at him.

“Did he fuck you good?” His face is stern.

“W-what?” His words catch you off guard. The temperature around you somehow getting warmer.

“Logan. Did he fuck you good?” He asks again with a meaner tone. “That’s why you’re mad at me, right?”

What you and Logan did behind closed doors was private, something no one else knew. Something you thought the two of you had managed to keep in secrets. Your cheeks flare up at Franco’s discovery. Were you really so bad at hiding your secrets? If he knew then who else did? You were fucked.

“Franco you don’t know what you’re talking about.” You try so hard to lie. His smirk makes it known that he doesn’t believe you.

One minute you’re lying to his face and the other he’s right in front of you eyeing you down. You can practically feel his body warmth as he invaded your personal space. He had one upped you, again. The innocent facade he had in front of your friends was completely gone.

“Ay, que linda que sos.” His thumb traces your cheek. The touch lingers, your cheeks heating up at the contact. “You’re such a terrible liar.”

“There’s something seriously wrong with you, you know that?” You barely say above a whisper.

“No, there’s something wrong with us.” His hand travels down your cheek to your neck.

That last word throws you off because it’s true, the indescribable pull you felt to him was insane, the two of you were insane. You were tired. You were tired of hiding secrets, Franco’s personality, but most importantly you were tired of pretending. Pretending that you didn’t want Franco. So, you do what you do best when you’re tired. You relieve yourself. You pull Franco by the shirt and kiss him ignoring the feel of his glasses hitting your face. He quickly turns the two of you around your back hitting the wall allowing for balance.

The two of you barely pull apart for air losing yourselves in the kisses. His brunette curls find their way into your fingers while his hands sit perfectly on your waist. The kiss grows heated as you pull him closer to you, feeling him. His hand begins to wander down your thighs, pulling them apart and wrapping your leg around his waist. You can feel yourself grow wetter at the new position and then you remember that your friends were still waiting for you.

“Franco, wait.” You groan.

“What? What happened?” He pulls away quickly.

“Everyone else is still waiting for us. You need to be��” You pause debating if this was really a good idea but had anything you’d done lately been a good idea? “Quick.”

He takes that as a challenge immediately pulling you in for a kiss again. The kiss is messy and needy with your hands in his hair and his hands massaging the inside of your thighs. The cool breeze hitting your exposed skin as he lifted your dress up. The roughness of the wall is soon forgotten as he brings his fingers down to your thighs, gliding them teasingly before placing them on your clothed core.

You can’t resist the groans that escape your throat as his cold fingers come in contact with your core. It’d been many weekends since anyone had touched you like this. He swallows your noises with his mouth as he kisses you. Your hands grip his arms as he begins to move his fingers around your folds, spreading your wetness. You remember that it’s been a while since the two of you walked outside and pull his fingers away.

“Franco. We don’t have time.” You gasp in between kisses.

He picks you up adjusting you against the wall while you dig your hands into the hem of his boxers. It doesn’t take long for your hands to venture down and feel him. Your stomach flutters at his size and how he feels. He quickly pulls you away before placing his tip near your entrance. Your morals long gone you grind on him wanting to feel anything. It’s pathetic the way you’ve gone from wanting him out of the sport to wanting him inside you and he notices it too by the way he smirks at you.

You’re about to lash out when he starts entering you slowly. If it wasn’t for him holding you then you’d have lost your balance already at the intrusion. He stills himself waiting for you to adjust to the new feeling. When he notices that you’re ready he pulls out before thrusting back into you, this time filling you to the hilt. It was almost as if he fit perfectly inside you.

“Fuck.” He groans as he fills you completely.

You’re not quite sure anyone’s ever felt so disgusting. You don’t even try to contain your moans as he continuously thrusts into you at a fervent pace. He feels so good inside you hitting spots no one else had before. His fingers leave mark on your hips as you take him fully. He looks down to where the two of you are connected and audibly groans at how well you’re taking him.

“Oh my god.” You whine as he increases his speed.

His hands come back done to your folds rubbing them in circles as he tries to pleasure you even more. Your hand joins his showing him where you need him the most. You can feel your slick coating his dick as he rubbed you. You begin to feel a familiar knot in your stomach as he fucks you into the wall. His hand cups your jaw as he pulls you into a long sloppy kiss.

It doesn’t take long after for you to come undone around him, your walls squeezing him as you reach your peak. He won’t last long with the feeling of you milking him. Soon enough he’s coming inside you, his warm cum filling you up. The sight of the two of you is disgusting and nasty.

The two of you break away from each other and catch your breaths. You lower your dress back down while Franco takes his glasses off to clean them. You check yourself for any runny mascara, or smudge lipstick, and even run your hands through your hair making sure you don’t look insane.

“We should head inside.” You murmur.

“We’re not gonna talk about this?” He scoffs.

“There’s nothing to talk about Franco. At least not know when everyone’s waiting for us.” You scold him. “We’ll talk next weekend.”

You head towards the bathroom first, Franco surprisingly waiting for you outside. The two of you walk in within a minute difference a smile adorning both your faces. At least until you spot Pierre next to Lily and you’re brought back to reality. You don’t waste time running towards the frenchman hugging him as you sit right next to him. Franco can’t help but stare at you in confusion as he notices Pierre’s hand trail too far down when hugging you. But then he spots it. Pierre wearing an identical necklace to yours but instead of a P it adorned your initial. His eyes go wide.

“I see you and my girlfriend have finally made up.” Pierre greets him.

“Your girlfriend?” His demeanor changes with the news. “I didn’t know.”

Pierre begins to explain how the two of you don’t like to be very public about your relationship. You can visibly see the moment in which Franco’s face goes pale. The next few weeks for you are hard racing between the Alpine garage and your girlfriends. Not to mention the quick pit stops to the Williams garage to wish Alex good luck. It’s a shame you get very little time with the rookie but he makes it work. In the end you really hope he doesn’t get a seat for next year, you can’t keep doing this.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

📊 How to Use Tropes Without Turning Your Story into a YA Checklist

You can tell when a book was written by vibes and TVTropes alone.

It’s got: ☑️ the reluctant chosen one ☑️ the love triangle ☑️ the mysterious brooding boy™ ☑️ the sassy best friend ☑️ the dead parents ☑️ the villain with daddy issues ☑️ the scene where someone says “you don’t know what I’m capable of” and walks away dramatically

And like… that’s fine.

Tropes are tools. But here’s the thing: they are starting points, not story goals.

If your plot reads like it was drafted by a checklist in a Pinterest caption, it might be time to recalibrate. Here's how to actually use tropes without turning your book into a YA Mad Libs generator:

─────── ✦ ───────

🧩 Tropes Are Patterns--Not Presets

A trope is a pattern, not a requirement. It’s not a law. It’s not a plug-and-play feature. And it’s definitely not your plot.

The “enemies-to-lovers” arc? That’s a container. What you put inside it, that’s where the originality lives.

The goal isn’t to avoid tropes. It’s to do something interesting with them.

→ Why are they enemies? → What does the “love” cost them? → What happens if they fail to become lovers?

Tropes don’t carry the story. The conflict does.

─────── ✦ ───────

⚔️ Complicate the Familiar

Here’s a trick: if a trope feels too easy, break it in half.

Examples: → “Reluctant chosen one” → okay, but what if they wanted it, and then hated it once they got it? → “The mentor dies” → cool, but what if the mentor fakes their death to manipulate the protagonist? → “Sassy best friend” → no. Make them real. Give them pain. Give them depth. No more walking punchlines.

Tropes are scaffolding, not shortcuts. Add weight. Add doubt. Add betrayal.

─────── ✦ ───────

🕳️ Interrogate Why You’re Using It

Ask yourself: → Do I love this trope or do I feel like I have to include it? → Am I doing this because I’ve seen it done… or because it serves my story? → Is this trope the only interesting thing about this scene?

If your answer is “because that’s what YA stories do,” delete it. Go deeper.

─────── ✦ ───────

💔 Tropes Aren’t Substitutes for Character Arcs

You can’t use “grumpy x sunshine” and call it development. Tropes are flavors, not meals.

Give us: → Choices with consequences. → Conflicting values. → Character growth that costs something.

Otherwise? Your grumpy guy is just a Pinterest moodboard with a pulse.

─────── ✦ ───────

🧨 Use Reader Expectations Against Them

You want to use a trope and not make it predictable? Weaponize it.

Example: → Start with a love triangle. Let the MC fall hard. Then have both love interests realize they’re in love with each other. → Use the “chosen one” trope… but make it about dismantling that myth entirely. → Introduce the “villain redemption arc” and let them choose to stay bad because it makes more sense for them.

Set up the pattern. Then snap it in half. That’s how you surprise a jaded reader.

─────── ✦ ───────

Final thoughts from your local trope goblin:

→ Tropes aren’t the problem. It’s treating them like a checklist instead of a narrative engine. → A good trope doesn’t make your story good. How you twist it does. → If a story reads like it was built from Tumblr quotes and nothing else—it’s gonna flop.

So go ahead. Use the trope. Then ruin it. Make it weird. Make it hurt. Make it yours.

—rin t. // story mechanic. trope thief. YA bingo card burner. // thewriteadviceforwriters

Sometimes the problem isn’t your plot. It’s your first 5 pages. Fix it here → 🖤 Free eBook: 5 Opening Pages Mistakes to Stop Making:

🕯️ download the pack & write something cursed:

[demie90s]

More uconn x reader!!!! The team gets snowed in and has the day off. They build snowmen, have a snowball fight, drink hot cocoa, and it ends with a movie night. Lots of fluff, warmth, inside jokes, and someone falling asleep on someone’s shoulder

Snowed In, Spoiled Rotten

UConn WBB x fem!reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: Practice got canceled. Snow piled up. We built snowmen, had a snowball war, and drank too much hot cocoa.

Warnings: Pure fluff, team bonding, comfort, light physical affection, warmth

Word Count ~ 0.5k

We were supposed to have morning lifts. But when Ayanna threw open the dorm blinds and yelled, “AHT! It’s givin’ shut all this down!” we all knew what time it was.

Snow. Thick, fluffy, unforgiving snow. Covering campus like the season just declared war on hoop dreams.

Geno texted the group chat at 7:13 a.m.

Geno’s Favorite Set of Headaches😛

Practice canceled. Stay inside. Don’t get hurt. Don’t do anything dumb.

So naturally—by 7:45—we were outside, bundled like toddlers with no sense, already launching snowballs at each other.

Aubrey built the saddest excuse for a snowman anyone had ever seen. His eye was crooked, his body was lopsided, and KK named him “Lil Geno.” Paige said it looked like someone rolled a pile of laundry into the street and left it.

Nika showed up late wearing ski goggles and a bomber jacket like it was the Olympic Games. She immediately tackled Jana into a snowbank. Inês was crying laughing. Azzi screamed when someone threw snow down her back. I may have done that. No one can prove anything.

Ice pulled out her phone to document the madness—just in time to catch KK and Ice dragging a full trash can lid across the parking lot like a makeshift sled. They both ate shit and slid straight into a snow pile. Nobody helped. We were too busy screaming.

Eventually we gave up and went inside, cheeks pink, hands numb, breath fogging up the dorm lobby.

Caroline had already set up a cocoa station like this was The Great British Bake Off. Marshmallows. Whipped cream. Cinnamon. Azzi made hers look like a Pinterest post. Aubrey dumped so much cocoa powder in hers it looked like chocolate soup.

“I don’t trust light hot chocolate,” she said. “It gotta be dark or it ain’t real.”

We dragged every pillow and blanket from the dorm into the common room and turned it into a full-fledge nest. Paige took over the remote. Of course. Everyone booed. She picked a throwback rom-com anyway, so she stayed.

At some point, someone dimmed the lights. Nika was sprawled across one of the couches like a house cat. KK stretched across two beanbags with a hoodie pulled over her head, snoring by the first plot twist. Ice had a bowl of popcorn on her chest and didn’t move once.

Azzi ended up next to me, legs tucked under a blanket, shoulder warm against mine. She passed me one of those fancy little chocolate squares like it was contraband. I didn’t say anything. Just took it.

Somewhere near the end of the second movie, I felt her head lean into mine. Soft. Gentle. Not dramatic. Just… comfortable. Like we’d done this a hundred times. I didn’t move.

Outside, snow still fell. Slow and silent. Inside, the room was full of half-whispers, tired laughs, the low hum of a movie none of us were watching anymore.

By the time the credits rolled, half the team was asleep.

Someone snored. Someone kicked a blanket off. Someone whispered “shhh,” and got shushed back.

I didn’t say anything. I just looked around, smiled to myself, and leaned my head against hers.

Best day off we never planned.

@xxsnowxx213 @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @zizi-bee-yapping @kaliblazin @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey

[augustvandyne]

Hey! could you please right a natasha x wife r? Idk if you remember when the avengers have to take refuge and they have to go to clints house (he's reluctant bc he has a secret family only nat knows about)? well could you write it so it's actually nats family that no one knows about? and she's super reluctant to take them there

everyone's alive and no one knew she had a family (not even clint) and the timeline is SUPER wack bc plot twist, yelenas already there. the avengers are hurt nat didn't tell them and they're kinda mad too

nats wife doesn't like having them there bc it's her home and they're putting them all in more danger then they normally are in. the kids don't like them either bc they 'take their mom away' or something like that (but the kids adooore their aunt yelena)

this is super long I'm sorry but the idea has been plaguing my head and I feel like it would be fun to read about. thank you and have a great day!

hi! yes! don’t worry about it being too long, i’ll listen to and write whatever thoughts you have.

safehouse

You and Yelena were baking a cake when pack of Avengers came piling through the front door.

You were expecting Natasha later in the week, and alone. Not with the danger that is literally standing in your doorway.

That was the best part of this place, there was no danger. Nat left work at work, and when she came home all she focused on was her family—you, Yelena, and your two lovely children.

So you were definitely surprised, and not happy, to see the other five Avengers.

You walk further into the living room, and when Nat sees you, her face is immediately apologetic.

“Babe—“

“Who are all these people?” Yelena comes and stands beside you in the living room, staring up at all the men.

“This is Steve, Clint, Tony, Thor, and Bruce. They’re my friends,” Natasha shrugs.

“Uh, no, we’re not your friends now,” Clint crosses his arms with sass.

“They’re the Avengers,” You correct your wife. “And they shouldn’t be here.”

“Listen, I wasn’t going to even bring them here, but—“

“It’s our fault, ma’am,” Steve interrupted.

“Oh, here we go,” Tony throws his hands in the air.

“What?” Steve whines.

“First the language, and now the manners. Good god,” Tony rolls his eyes.

“Okay, take it elsewhere. More preferably, back to where you came from,” You fake smile, earning a glare from Nat.

“Where are the kids?” Nat asks, and you get the feeling she needs to talk. Alone.

“Upstairs in the playroom. Yelena, why don’t you take them outside to play on the swing set?” You ask sweetly.

“Ah, gotcha,” Yelena gave a look to Natasha that said, good luck.

The kids say hello to Nat, made faces at the men still in your living room, and then squealed with joy out the door because their mama is home.

You looked away from the door and back up at the Avengers once again. Nat softly grabs you by the arm and pulls your towards the other side of the living room.

“What are they doing here, Nat?” You lean closer, your foreheads slightly touching.

“I had no other choice,” Natasha’s raspy voice makes it hard not to forgive her.

You sigh and purse your lips.

“Really,” Nat insists. “If there was any other choice, I would have made it. We just got into a little trouble, and need to camp out for a few days.”

You made a vow not to ask what trouble she was in, so you kept your mouth shut when she says this.

“Okay. But if there’s even a little bit of damage to the house, they are paying for it,” You lift your head up and walk back towards the group, Natasha following close behind.

Nat glances your way, then back at the boys, “We can stay here. But only for a few days.”

“So this is where Lady Natasha goes every time she takes off,” Thor nods.

“Yes. A home we didn’t even know about?” Bruce shakes his head.

“I can’t believe you never told me,” Clint looks genuinely hurt when Nat looks at him. “I thought we were friends.”

“Yeah, what he said,” Tony puts his hand on his chest.

You roll your eyes and head back to the kitchen before the cake burns, letting your wife deal with her friends/fellow Avengers.

You finish the frosting Yelena had started, and ice the cake once it comes out of the oven. You then start on dinner. Something easy everyone can enjoy—pasta.

Dinner goes about as well as you thought it would.

Nat and the kids catch up. She just saw them a week or so ago, so there isn’t much to catch up, but you love watching Natasha play and talk with the kids.

You try not to laugh as the kids keep making faces at the guys.

Your daughter starts to kick Tony in the shin, to which him and your daughter start having a staring contest.

“Okay, what are you guys doing?” Nat asked.

“Your tiny agent keeps kicking me,” Tony says, never taking his eyes off the smaller girl.

“Okay she’s not an agent, and it’s probably because you take her mother away every chance you get,” You sighed with frustration. “Good she’s kicking you, maybe you’ll leave then.”

“Y/n—“

“I’m sorry,” You look at your wife. “I said it was okay, even though you’re putting us it more danger. But, I will try to be civil, but only for Natasha.”

“Thank you.”

Later in the night you had assigned everyone to places in the house to spend the night.

Yelena had volunteered to spend the night with the kids, so at least two people could bunk in there, and it was fine by you because the kids adored Yelena.

So two people slept in Yelena’s room, you had one in the living room, and two in the guest room downstairs.

“They are mad at me, you know?” Nat brushed through her hair.

“They’ll get over it. It’s a safe house,” You wrap your arms around her waist from behind. “You are supposed to keep it secret.”

“I know,” Nat turns so you two are face to face. “I love you, and thank you for letting us stay here. We’ll be out of her in two days, tops.”

“Good,” You plant a kiss on the side of Natasha’s mouth.

“But I might not be back for a while,” Nat cups your cheek in her hand.

“I had a feeling,” You look down.

“I’ll just have to make it up to you.”

“How about you start now?” You lift a brow and squeal as your wife picks you up and puts you on the bed.

Danger aside, you loved having your wife back in your arms, and you were granted with just that from this crazy mission.

[thealexchen]

idk if this is an unpopular opinion but I like LIS 1 bad slang like yes it’s ridiculous but it was memorable and just funny to me it added to the appeal of the game

Oh, I agree. Looking back, I believe that people thought that outdated slang = bad writing, when in reality, LiS does a great job with "less is more" storytelling, even compared to Lost Records.

Bloom & Rage intentionally has a lot of fluff and "in-between" scenes (Swann's interviews of the girls, Swann calling a friend and walking with them to the cabin, the entire summer montage, the campfire before Truth or Dare) to immerse the player in the slow summertime setting. But in the first LiS, the writers were really smart with telling the story as tightly as possible so no extra expenses were wasted. Before Max recognizes Chloe in her truck, the player can only know of someone named Chloe through Max’s journal and context clues, but you don’t have to read it if you don’t want to. Then instead of a drawn-out reunion scene, Max recognizes Chloe in a snap, and the next scene picks up in the middle of their conversation, so there's no unnatural "Wow! I can't believe I ran into my long-estranged best friend of five years whom I neglected to contact and feel a lot of guilt over!" "I know, what are the odds? I'm going to act excited but I also resent your actions!" exposition. Their choice of words and body language during their strained catch-up in the truck peppers in exposition much more naturally than haters give the writers credit for:

“‘Oh, and thanks, Chloe!’ After five years, you’re still Max Caulfield.” (Shows off Chloe’s sarcastic side and her annoyance at Max, and this line indicates they know each other already)

“I thought it would be quiet here. Feels so weird to be back.” “So I guess Seattle sucked hard?” (Indicates that Max used to live here and Chloe has known her long enough to know where she moved to, so they clearly have history)

“So you came back to Arcadia for a teacher…not your best friend.” (Now the writers establish their prior friendship and Chloe's grudge)

“My step-douche has a boatload of tools. Maybe you can fix it at my place... And he actually is a tiny tool! Welcome home, Max.” (Establishes that Chloe's bio dad is out of the picture and we find out why/how shortly later, shows off Chloe’s snark more, establishes David and Chloe have a strained relationship through Chloe's creative and derisive nickname for him, reveals that Chloe truly missed Max even though she's mad at her, and sets up the next scene at Chloe’s house by giving them a destination and reason to go to her place.)

It’s all very tightly written and still manages to showcase both of their personalities and character flaws (Max’s indecision and flakiness, Chloe’s impatience and simmering resentment). The cutscenes are also short and to-the-point, but the moments of calm let the player go at their own pace. And that’s not even touching on the pacing, drastic tonal shift, plot twists, cinematography, and visual and environmental storytelling that makes this game so memorable.

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ stay the night (stay forever?) ]❜

━━━ .°˖✧ requested by anonymous ˚₊ ⊹

ft. edmund pevensie x f! reader — the chronicles of narnia

╰₊✧ you met your boyfriend’s family for the first time and spend the night┊1.3k words

setting: modern au, england after the golden age contains: established relationship, college students who are high school sweethearts, cuddling & falling asleep together, suggestive stuff at the end

➤ author's note: i need to rewatch the movies soon T-T sorry this was so short! i’m sort of braindead when it comes to writing for some reason

all of edmund’s siblings have met you before in passing, but never exchanged any more words than greeting and quick introductions, so one could feel the excitement in the air when he decided it was finally time for a formal meeting. it was difficult to find a weekend when everyone was free for this event with the schedules of so many people to consider, leaving them all angsty with anticipation in the days leading up to the moment you would grace them with your presence. 

they weren’t quite sure why they were so nervous when you’re the one who had to win their favor by being brought into their home. prehaps it’s because they were so curious about this girl who won the heart of their disagreeable brother, the one who often turned up his nose at the prospect of romance and never seemed entertained by thought. even if you find yourself to be the most ordinary girl in the world, all of the pevensies know that there’s a special sparkle in you which attracted him to you.

“oh my god, what if they hate me?” you groaned. “i mean, weren’t you guys royalty in a previous life? i’ll probably fuck up something stupid like my table manners…”

“royalty in an alternate dimension,” he corrected, reaching out to take your hand in his, “my brother and sisters aren’t that bad, trust me.”

“why don’t i believe you?”

“you’ll be fine, i promise.”

you knew he only said that because of his experience of typical sibling bonds as the youngest brother and a middle child, but your stomach can’t help but twist from anxiety. of course, you’ve heard from him about their endeavors from a foreign land called narnia, originally thinking he was taking you for a fool before wondering if he had gone completely mad because of what sounded like a fantasy plot his mind managed to concoct. you said you believed him, but to this day, you still have no idea if he was telling the truth or not. 

it wasn’t a dealbreaker if he wasn’t, maybe it was just an extremely elaborate joke in his family that he was trying to pass on to you. you’ll only know when you meet his siblings— and a small part of you hoped every world was real because, not only will it mean you’re dating a king (which was a perk but not a reason), it also means that there’s more to this world than what meets the eye.

as the two of you finally approached his front door, you dropped his hand and hastily wiped yours on your skirt in hopes no one would notice how sweaty your palms had become as your boyfriend started to unlock the door. your heart was beating faster than the day you decided to ask him out up to your ears, barely allowing you to hear him get greeted by his mother and welcome you in. you swallowed the thick saliva that pooled on your tongue, taking a deep breath and following him into the house. 

there wasn’t anything particularly special about the house itself, just your typical english home with reliable wooden furniture and some potted plants, but it felt so warm and comforting to enter. 

as edmund took your coat and bags to hang, you heard people chatting nearby, seemingly unaware that you two had entered, and you couldn’t help but strain your hearing a bit to listen in to the voices you assumed to belong to his siblings. 

“look, i’m just surprised that edmund got a girlfriend before me, that’s all. i mean, how did he manage to pull before i did?”

“sue, just because he can be disagreeable at times doesn’t mean he isn’t as lovable as you are.”

“i’m not saying he isn’t lovable! he can be wonderful whenever he takes that stick out of his arse, but i’m just saying that i thought there would be a certain order when we would be bringing out partners home, and ed… isn’t exactly at the top.”

“well, now i’m curious what your list looks like— also, come help me clean this smudge off the window! i want to make a good impression!”

“you can barely even see it! come sit down, they’re going to arrive at any minute, and you’re running around cleaning like a maid. she won’t care about some smudge that’s hidden by the blinds.”

“i see that you all are already bickering,” the younger brother laughs, interrupting their conversation as he leads you by the wrist into the living room where they were all hanging out. they all looked sheepish when they were caught, the sisters blushing a faint pink, and the brother chuckling while scratching the back of his head. “anyways, everyone, i want you all to meet the girlfriend,” he introduced. 

you waved shyly and told them your name, although you’re certain they already knew.

“you’re so pretty!”

“i can see why edmund fell so quickly.”

“would you like a biscuit?”

you quickly realized that they were nothing like you expected as they gave you a grand tour of their house, showing you their rooms (peter’s room was messy with rugby equipment scattered about), showed you all of their pets (lucy loves taking home strays to nurse them back to health), and had long conversations that made you lose track of time (susan was knowledgeable with witty and interesting things to say). you knew they would be friendly, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t expect them to be like the nobles from the movies: off-standish and prideful people who would turn their nose up at you for minor flaws. they were nothing like that, casual and fun, just as nervous and awkward as you, but it quickly vanished and was replaced with an atmosphere that was comparable to meeting old friends.

“mom! do you think she can stay the night?”

“of course, she can, sweetie.”

lucy smiled at the answer, “what should we do next? we have a lot of board games—”

“now hold on a second, she’s my girlfriend, but we’ve barely had a moment to spend time together since we came home!”

“you two have been together for like three years, i think you’ll live if we spend tonight as a family instead of just the two of you.”

he pouted at his older brother’s words before motioning for you to follow him, “come on, let’s go to my room.”

“remember to leave the door open!”

“alright!”

edmund’s bedroom was so unique to him with the dark color scheme, an entire wall of books on the shelves, and a chessboard placed neatly on the edge of his desk, ready to play at any moment. you situated himself on his bed with a bowl of popcorn as your boyfriend set up the dvd before joining you. “did you have fun today?”

“yeah, your family is really nice…” you answered, starting to feel tired after a long day of merriment. 

“i told you you would be fine.”

as the movie droned on, you found yourself dozing off, leaning into the warmth radiating from his body. you were asleep before the film even ended, and edmund moved carefully to make sure you wouldn’t wake up as he grabbed the remote to shut off the television and moved the popcorn from your hands to the bedside table. (you’re so cute when you’re resting. he’s only ever seen you in this vulnerable state before when you were napping with your head against the table back in high school before getting scolded by the teacher.) he placed a tender kiss against your temple and snuggled beside you, spending the next few hours as a cushion for you to lie against while scrolling his phone like the night owl he is until he received a text from his brother.

“you two better not be doing anything suspicious.”

“??? with the door wide open??”

“i’m just saying” “not under our roof”

“i cant believe you”

“look if you’re doing anything” “just stay safe” “i’m your older brother i’m just looking out for you so that you dont get your ass beat by mom in case anything happens”

“we aren’t doing anything” “i’m not having this discussion with you, i’m going to bed.”

“good night” “don’t do anything”

“blocked”

request:

could u do a modern edmund pevensie x reader where they like have a sleepover together for the first time and she bonds with his family 🙏🙏

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Partners in Crime 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, Lee Bodecker

Summary: you’re left reeling after your divorce but the chaos has only begun. (short!reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The sheriff swings around in a U-turn. Traffics stops for him even without his siren wailing. You lean into the door as he straightens out and weaves into the lanes. He steers back towards the mall to retrace his steps. 

You’re already thinking of that handcrafted decor shop around the corner from your building. You might find something there if you dare to venture within. How many times have you passed and shied away at the crystal tear drop lamp and the lush velvet stool. You let out a breath slowly, careful not to let the sigh grow too loud. 

“So, what d’ya do then?” The sheriff asks, startling you from your internal plotting. 

“Um, oh, just... I work at the pharmacy. Stock shelves,” you admit with shame. 

“Hard work,” he remarks. From anyone else, it would be mocking, but he sounds oddly genuine. “Too bad your day off got spoiled.” 

“Yeah, I guess, but...” you tap your fingertips together, “it’s okay.” 

“Hmm,” he hums as he slows, his blinker clicking loudly, “sounds like you’re used to disappointment.” 

That cuts. You shrink back. You’re sure he meant nothing by it but it’s true. You don’t expect anything but so today is hardly daunting. 

“A little. I...” you stammer. People don’t ask about you. They look past you, through you. As much as your grandmother’s saved your ass, she never talked about your old life. It was a forbidden subject. “I just got a divorce.” 

You don’t know why you said it. Maybe because you hadn’t said it out loud before. It feels like a rock sinking in water. 

He clucks, “now that’s too bad. What kinda man would leave a thing like you?” 

You peek up and meet his gaze in the rear view. A tide washes over you. You look down and shrug. You won’t mention that it was long awaited. 

“It’s fine.” 

“It’s okay, it’s fine,” he echoes, “you say that a lot.” 

You inhale sharply and frown, “sorry--” 

“Don’t needa be,” he affirms as he stops again, this time by the mall lot. You look up at the sign in confusion. He’s bringing you back? 

He rolls over the dip in the curb and across the straight white lines across the tarmac. You crane and look around, trying to figure out what’s going on? Maybe he’s just cutting through to avoid the lunch time rush. 

He stops and idles near a set of metal doors to the rear of the mall. You twist this way and that then look to the front seat. Before you can ask what’s going on, the passenger door opens and someone gets in. Someone! That man. The one with the mustache. 

But the sheriff doesn’t respond with shock or outrage. He doesn’t get mad. He just nods at the man and leans into the gas pedal. Your heart pumps painfully. 

“Sheriff?” You eke out. 

The mustachioed man chuckles but says nothing else. The officer doesn’t answer you either. You pull against your seat belt and touch the plexiglass divider, “sheriff? What’s going on?” 

He stomps on the break and the motion forces you back against the seat. You let out and oomf as the impact knocks the wind from you. There’s another laugh from the furry-lipped criminal. What’s happening? 

“What are you doing?” You whine. 

“He said she was quiet,” the man in the passenger seat mutters. 

“She’ll calm down,” the sheriff says. 

“Hey! Please,” you lean forward again and hit the thick barrier. “Tell me what’s going on--” 

“Don’t make me come back there, pussy cat,” the passenger warns and smirks at you over his shoulder.  

“Now, darlin’,” the sheriff drives the limit, coolly following the current of traffic, “you hush up back there and don’t get yourself all worked up.” 

“You said—he's--” you stutter, your breath hitch as your heart beat builds tempo. You writhe and clap your hands to your chest as it racks. “He’s-- help!” 

You gulp in breaths but they only make your head throb. Your lashes flutter wildly as panic rings in your ears. Something bad is happening. They know each other. They are working together. But why? 

“Well you just told me you were all alone and you work a job you ain’t like, kitten,” the sheriff tuts, “so why you actin’ up when we’re takin’ you away from all that?” 

“Taking...” you murmur through shallow heaves, “away...” 

You can’t breathe, you can’t think. You rock back and forth, clawing at the seat belt to find the buckle. You unleash it and keel over your lap. You cradle your head as the world thrums around you. 

“Can’t... can’t... breathe--” 

“I told you not to work yourself up,” the sheriff says, “let’s count to ten, darlin’, you do that for me?” 

“Can’t... can’t...” 

“One,” he says firmly. 

“Can’t--” 

“If I gotta pull over, I ain’t gonna be so nice,” his voice dips an octave, “now count with me, kitten. Ten.” 

You quiver and cough, “n-nine--” you blow out and suck air back in, “eight--” 

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, “keep goin’.” 

“Seven,” you wisp and shake around another burning inhale, “six...” you hug your spinning head, “five...” 

You continue the countdown until you get to one. You stay still and silent. Your chest is achy but not bursting. You close your eyes and meter your breathing. This cannot be real. 

“She’s a nervous one,” the other man intones. 

“She’ll settle,” the sheriff assures as the tires spin and the motor hums. “Just gotta take time.” 

“Oh, I got time,” the passenger chortles, “hey, sweet stuff,” there’s a tapping on the glass, “hey,” he calls you by your name. You wince and slowly lift your head. You look up at him with misty eyes, wide with terror. “There you are. Nice to meet ya,” he winks, “Lloyd, but you can call me sir.” 

Your lip quivers and you shake your head. You stare at him, blinking dumbly. He smirks as his eyes rove over you. 

“You’re a cute one, huh? Can’t wait to have some fun with you,” he taunts. 

You whimper and drop your head down again. You don’t understand. You thought the worst thing that could happen had happened. Your grandma, your lawyer, everyone said it was all over. That you’re free.  

How the heck did you walk into another cage? 

“Ah, stop it,” Bodecker snips, “you’re gonna get her upset again.” 

“I’m just introducing myself.” 

“Sure,” the sheriff drawls skeptically, “you always do know how to make things worse, don’t ya?” 

“I said I’d be nice. I’m being nice,” Lloyd blusters, “damn it, officer, I’m abiding the law.” 

His last few words are slanted with mimicry of the other man’s accent. Bodecker huffs and the engine accelerates. You stay curled up, completely paralysed to the situation. If you stay like that, it might just not be real. Hiding never helped did it. Turn out, neither does running. 

[tomhardystories]

Part 22

The rain whispered against the windows, the city humming like it always did - distant sirens, someone shouting downstairs, a dog barking in the hallway like it paid rent. But inside, it was quiet. Warm.

Jules curled up on the couch, feet tucked beneath her, a mug of tea perched on the armrest, a blanket draped lazily across her legs. She hadn’t changed out of her blouse from earlier; her makeup was slightly smudged, hair half-up, half-falling in that careless way that made her look lethal. Effortlessly lethal.

Across the room, Tom stood by the bookshelves, flipping through a novel he’d only half-finished. The soft glow of the lamp bathed him in gold: grey t-shirt, bare feet, a few tattoos peeking from beneath the sleeves. Hair a little messy, thanks to his own fingers. Relaxed. Completely at ease. And hers. So very clearly hers.

She watched him like a cat watches the sunbeam - unbothered, content, aware. And then, she gave him The Look.

Her gaze drifted from his hands to his jaw, then to his mouth, before circling back. A tilt of the head, the smallest smile. No words. Just an eyebrow raised. The message was clear: You. Now. Bedroom.

Tom paused, caught her eye. "...What?" he asked, already knowing exactly what.

She didn’t blink, didn’t shift. Just licked her bottom lip slowly. "Nothing. You just look like trouble. The good kind."

He laughed under his breath, tossing the book onto the table and crossing the room in four slow steps. He stopped in front of her, his expression teasing. "You sure? You looked so comfortable. I wouldn’t want to interrupt your very serious blanket moment."

She set her mug on the table with a clink, leaned back into the cushions, and tugged him down by the hem of his shirt until their faces were inches apart. "Interrupt me."

He followed her - of course he did. When Jules gave The Look, the only options were compliance or madness. And Tom had chosen madness long ago.

She led the way with that lazy sway in her hips that made him want to both worship and throttle her. She turned with a smirk. "You comin’?"

"You ask that like it’s a question."

The bedroom was dim, rain trailing its soft fingers down the window panes. Even the city seemed to understand it had no business interrupting them now.

Tom closed the door behind them. They stood there, looking at each other.

No rush.

Jules walked toward him like she was stepping out of a dream, no modesty, no pretenses. Just power. And him, utterly caught in it.

As soon as she was close enough, his hands slid beneath her blouse, palms firm against her waist. "You looked at me like you wanted to ruin me" he whispered against her collarbone.

"No. I looked at you like I wanted you to ruin me. Don’t twist the plot."

Tom chuckled low in his throat, but the sound died the moment her hands slid beneath his shirt and she kissed just under his jaw - that one spot that always made him lose composure. He exhaled, long and shaky.

 "You’re trouble."

 "I know."

Clothes came off with reverence, not haste. There was time. There was always time for this. He kissed her slowly, deeply, like he was reminding her of every reason she ever gave him that look in the first place. She arched under his touch, breath catching, fingers dragging down his spine like she was trying to memorize the shape of him all over again.

And then he paused, leaned over her - eyes heavy but warm - and whispered "Say it."

Jules smirked. But there was no sarcasm in her voice when she answered. Only something softer. Something more exposed.

"I want you."

"No" he murmured, brushing her hair off her cheek. "Say IT."

She hesitated. And then - slowly, like it tasted unfamiliar on her tongue but truer than anything -  she whispered: "I love you."

"Good" he breathed, his mouth finding hers again. "Because I plan on ruining you properly."

And then, as always with them - it wasn’t about the chaos or the noise. It was about the rhythm. The trust. The quiet moans, the held eye contact, the way his hand gripped hers tight when she whimpered his name into his neck. He moved like he knew her better than she knew herself. Because he did. And when she fell apart beneath him, gasping, he didn’t say a word. He just held her. Tight. Pressed a kiss to her temple. 

And she whispered, almost laughing, voice shaking: "Jesus, Tom."

"What?"

"You’re gonna kill me one day."

"Better men have tried." 

The next morning came in through half-open curtains and the gentle hum of a city that did not care they had barely slept. But they cared. They were very aware of how little sleep they got. And how worth it it was.

Jules stirred first, barely. Her hair was a tangled mess on the pillow, mascara ghosted under one eye like she'd survived a glamorous war, and the sheet was sliding dangerously low on her hip. She winced when she stretched, one leg brushing against Tom's. 

"Oof. My legs are mad at me."

Tom, eyes still closed, smirked. "Tell them to take it up with management."

"They will. Strongly worded email incoming."

He cracked one eye open. "Subject line: ‘Too Many Orgasms: A Complaint.’"

"You joke," she mumbled, flopping dramatically onto her back "but there was a moment last night I saw God. And then immediately saw blackout stars."

"That was just me turning the light off."

"Romantic and environmentally conscious. You’re a threat."

He reached over and gently pushed her hair back from her face, fingers lingering in the softness behind her ear. There was no tension in him - not even a hint. Just quiet satisfaction and sleepy affection. "You okay?"

She nodded, then looked at him. His morning face was a thing of dangerous beauty - the tousled hair, the scruff, the barely-there smirk that said yeah, I know exactly what I did last night. "A little destroyed, in a good way. I feel like I did a full-body workout."

Tom stretched, one arm over his head. "Because that’s exactly what happened."

"Don’t get cocky."

"Bit late for that, sweetheart."

She groaned but smiled anyway, pulling the blanket over her head. "You’re so smug in the mornings."

"I have reasons."

He peeled the blanket down just enough to kiss her nose. "Tea?"

"God yes. You’re a saint."

"I’m a menace. But a well-caffeinated one."

In the kitchen, he moved like he always did: shirtless, focused, and humming some old song under his breath. Jules watched from the doorway, wrapped in the duvet like a queen who had survived the battlefield and now wanted eggs.

"You know what would be perfect?" she said. 

"Let me guess. Sourdough toast, avocado, poached egg, and me feeding it to you in bed like you’re Marie Antoinette."

"Finally, you get me."

He handed her a mug instead, kissed her temple, and whispered "Maybe later. After round two."

She grinned over the rim of her tea. Oh, he was dangerous. "Breakfast first. I need to carb-load. I’ll need the energy if you plan on ruining me again."

"Who said I was planning?"

"Oh no."

"Too late."

Round two was inevitable. You could call it chemistry. You could call it madness. Jules would’ve called it scheduled destruction. 

Breakfast had been served with appropriate levels of sarcasm. She sat at the kitchen counter, Tom at the stove flipping eggs like it was some culinary foreplay. She wore his t-shirt, practically swimming in it, and her knickers - black cotton, functional, dangerous - and nothing else. Her legs swung idly as she drank her tea and watched him like a hawk watches a very sexy mouse. 

"You know" she said "for someone who could definitely kill me with his bare hands, you’re weirdly good at plating food."

"Years of feeding cast and crew. Also: I am a man of many mysteries."

"You’re a man in grey sweatpants, and frankly, I’m having a hard time pretending I care about the eggs."

He raised an eyebrow and slid her a plate anyway. Sourdough. Avocado. Poached eggs. Stupidly perfect. "Eat" he warned. "Fuel up. You’ll need it."

"For… what exactly?" 

"You know what for."

Fifteen minutes later, she dropped her fork and wiped her mouth like she was done with the formalities of civilization. "Okay" she announced. "I’m ready."

"For what?"

"You know what."

He took a sip of coffee. Calm. Controlled. Smug. "Say it."

"You are so annoying."

"Say it."

She stood up, walked over, straddled him in the chair like it was a boardroom negotiation and she was about to close the most indecent deal of his life. "I want you to take me" she said sweetly, hands on his chest "in the bedroom, or right here if you're impatient, and ruin me. Again."

"Better."

They did make it to the bedroom. Barely.

Clothes were discarded with less care this time. The slow-burn reverence of the night before had given way to a hungry kind of familiarity - they knew exactly what they wanted and how to take it. 

He pinned her to the bed with the weight of his body, kissing her like he’d missed her for days instead of minutes. Her laugh broke between kisses, breathless, eyes shining. 

"You’re…ugh…too good at this."

"You say that like it’s a complaint."

"It is. You’ve set unrealistic expectations. For the male population and my spine."

Tom laughed against her throat, then bit her gently where he knew she was most sensitive - her gasp was immediate.

"I’m flattered."

"You should be arrested."

"That’s a third date conversation."

This time, it was faster. More desperate. Less poetry, more muscle memory.

She clung to him like gravity had become optional, like if she let go, she’d float away. He was still quiet, like always - focused, present - whispering things between her moans: her name, curses, endearments she’d pretend to mock later but secretly hoard. 

She, on the other hand, lost the ability to form complete sentences somewhere around minute four. 

"Fuck, Tom…oh….Jesus."

"Not him, darling."

"Shut up... don’t stop... don’t stop."

And he didn’t. 

Afterwards, they lay tangled in the sheets, both of them sweaty and wrecked and deeply smug about it. 

Jules stared at the ceiling. 

"I regret nothing."

"You say that every time."

"Because it’s true. And also, because my legs no longer work and I need you to fetch the tea I left in the kitchen."

He laughed, kissed her shoulder, and stood up without a word. 

"You’re going to walk naked?"

"Didn’t you say I had unrealistic expectations to live up to?"

She groaned into the pillow. "You’re insufferable."

"You’re insatiable."

"And we work."

"Somehow" he agreed, smirking as he walked out. "Mostly because I bring tea and stamina."

It started around 4 pm. -  the tension. They had spent the day pretending to be civilized adults: errands, groceries, a stop at the bookstore where Jules had a full-blown meltdown in the poetry section, then a late lunch at their favorite hole-in-the-wall Italian place where Tom somehow ended up charming the waitress and negotiating with the owner for an extra tiramisu. 

All very normal. All very public. 

And all layered with a hum of something... else. 

By late afternoon, Jules could feel it in her spine. In her belly. Tom had that look. That quiet storm brewing behind his eyes, the one he never announced but always delivered on. 

He wasn’t overly handsy. Wasn’t saying much. But every brush of his fingers against her lower back, every half-second longer he held her gaze, every time he stood too close behind her while she reached for something - it was deliberate. And it was working. 

By the time they got home, Jules was a live wire. She kicked off her boots, dumped her tote on the floor, and turned to find him watching her from the kitchen with a glass of water in his hand. That was it. That’s all he was doing. But he looked like he wanted to devour her.

"What?" she asked, trying to sound casual. 

"Nothing."

"Liar."

"You look…" He tilted his head. "Amazing."

She rolled her eyes, but her pulse jumped. 

"I’ve been amazing all day" she muttered, stalking toward him. "You’ve just been pretending not to notice."

"I noticed" he said softly, putting down the glass. "I just wanted you to suffer a little."

She let out a breath that sounded like a laugh, but wasn’t. It was a warning. "You really want to play this game with me?"

He nodded, barely. "I do."

And that’s when round three began - not with a kiss, not with clothes ripped off, but with the slow, delicious unraveling of control between two people who had waited just long enough. 

It began in the kitchen. The same kitchen where he’d made her tea that morning. Where she’d threatened to ruin his life with her thighs before breakfast. 

Now it was golden hour, and the entire room was dipped in honey, the light catching in her hair and painting her skin like she was some kind of walking, swearing, beautiful disaster. She walked up to him without saying a word. He didn’t move. Didn’t smile. Just waited. 

Their tension had matured over the course of the day - like wine, like revenge. It was no longer playful. It was focused. 

She touched his chest lightly, then lower, fingers slipping beneath the hem of his shirt like she owned every inch of him (because she did), and pulled it upward. He lifted his arms silently and let her take it off.

"Finally" she muttered. "I’ve been thinking about this since the parking lot."

"Which part?"

"All of it. This. You. The way you looked at me when I dropped my keys."

"That was an accident, right?"

"Maybe it was."

She pressed her body against his and kissed him like she had all the time in the world and no patience left whatsoever. And he kissed her back like he was trying to memorize every second of it.

He picked her up like she weighed nothing - she let out a surprised yelp and wrapped her legs around him, laughing into his mouth. He walked them to the bedroom with steady confidence, dropping her gently on the bed like he was delivering a precious artifact. 

And then... he paused. 

Because this time - this round three - wasn’t about speed or urgency. It was about intent. He stood at the foot of the bed, looking at her. His eyes tracing every line of her body, slow and reverent, like she was something sacred and rare. 

Jules swallowed. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because you’re mine."

She blinked. And then smiled - small and secret. "Damn right I am."

He peeled her clothes off with maddening care. Not rushed, not greedy - just precise. Every button, every strap, every inch of skin revealed like he was unwrapping something he’d waited months for. 

When she was finally bare beneath him, he hovered over her, kissing her slowly. Her mouth. Her neck. The inside of her wrist.

"I missed this" he whispered. "This version of you."

"Which one?"

"The one that stops pretending she’s not vulnerable."

She closed her eyes. Let him have that one. Let him kiss her chest like it was something worth worshipping, let him explore every inch of her with a quiet, deliberate hunger. 

By the time he finally moved inside her, she was already arching, already breathless. Her hands tangled in his hair, her mouth everywhere - jaw, shoulder, collarbone. The rhythm was slow. Unhurried. They didn’t need to prove anything. This was about presence. About knowing each other too well and still finding new ways to say: you ruin me. 

At one point he whispered something in French. She didn’t understand it, not really - but she felt it. The way he gasped after, the way his body clenched around her, the way his hand found her cheek.

"Again" she whispered. "Say it again."

"Regarde-moi pendant que je te prends." he breathed. 

After, they stayed tangled. Bare legs, damp skin, messy hair, pounding hearts.

"Round three was my favorite" she mumbled against his chest. 

"You say that every fucking time."

"Yeah, well, I have a short memory."

"Lucky for me."

She looked up at him, sleepy and smug.

"You gonna get up and make me tea?"

"Absolutely not."

"Then I guess we’ll just have to stay here. Naked. Possibly until morning."

He smiled. Kissed the top of her head. "Tragic."

[thegirlwiththemost-cake]

Dutch(ab*sive)Xreader(ab*sed)

Hello, this is my first time writing a fanfic (I’ve written before obviously I only meant this is my first post), if you don’t like my writing, block me. It’s THAT simple :)

If you guys don’t mind, the MC in the fanfic (you) is already established. You don’t have a name (ambiguous) but you are mentioned as half black, half white, with curly brown hair and brown eyes. You are also American, with also implied mentions of r*cism.

I don’t allow people copying my work btw, anything of the sort will get reported.

tags/warnings: MDNI heavy angst, dark romance, physical abuse (receiving), emotional manipulation, domestic violence themes, toxic relationship dynamics, coercion, fear-based loyalty, racial marginalization, colorism, rough sex, possessive sex, breeding kink undertones, ownership kink, dubious consent, cockwarming, semi-public tension, dacryphilia (crying kink), power imbalance, manipulation kink, degradation (verbal and emotional), size kink, manhandling, emotional dependency, stockholm syndrome elements, rough language, light choking, dirty talk, praise kink twisted into degration, loss of agency themes, internalized racism, unsafe s*x (no c*ndom mention), p in v, missionary, canon-era setting, dutch van der linde x half-black!reader, no use of y/n, explicit content, p*rn with plot, hurt/comfort with heavy emphasis on hurt.

_____

You were sitting on the edge of the bedroll, pulling at a loose thread on your skirt.  The camp outside was mostly quiet. Little Jack running around barefoot in the wet dirt, Marybeth reading a hearty romance book like the devoted bookworm she waw, Josiah nowhere to be found. A few people still talked low around the dying fire, but nobody was paying you any mind. Nobody ever really did.

You heard his boots first. Heavy. Slow. You didn’t even have to look up to know it was Dutch.

He stepped inside the tent, not saying a word. His shadow stretched long across the dirt. You kept your eyes down, hoping if you stayed small enough, he’d just walk past you. But he didn’t. He stood there for a long second. Watching you.

When he finally moved, it was quick. His hand cracked across your cheek—not hard enough to leave blood or bruise deep, but enough that your head snapped to the side and your eyes watered. You stayed still. You knew better than to pull away. Knew better than to show him weakness. 

You got used to this. There weren’t even any signs of his abuse.

“You don’t listen,” he said low, almost like he was telling you a secret.

You nodded, fast, hands trembling in your lap. Your mouth was too dry to answer.

Dutch crouched down in front of you, one hand gripping your chin tight between his fingers, forcing you to look at him. His eyes weren’t angry. They were calm. Worse than angry.

"You make it so hard sometimes, girl," he said, voice soft, almost tender. "I don't wanna do this."

You could smell whiskey on his breath. You could smell the smoke in his coat. You nodded again, because that’s all you could do. All you could do without him getting mad. He sighed and let your face go, brushing his thumb once over the spot he hit like he could erase it. Like it meant nothing. What he left on you didn’t turn blue or purple, it hallowed you out completely.

Because he does it again, and again, and again. Until you was nothing but a map of his anger, his frustration, his lust, his passion, his blinded versions of love. There were no livid welts, no angry red lines or purple splotches to reflect the violence within him and spill onto your exterior. Only you could feel the touch of his hands as they ran their course beneath the skin, leaving you wracked with the sort of ache that needed no bandages and no salves.

Above all, the cruelty of it was in the familiarity. The way Dutch's touch lingered, possessive, claiming ownership. The way his voice, now low and almost tender again, hid the cruelty in the harshness that preceded it.

Because you’d felt this before, haven’t you? The cold fingers pressed sharply against the flesh, the concrete brutality of his will. The way his eyes could cut and wound more than any whip ever could.

You were used to this.

The instant shock of it had faded within you, leaving only the ache of expectation. Like the dull, persistent throb of an old injury, still painful but grown accustomed. A constant reminder of what was.

Sometimes, in moments of rare quiet, you thought of leaving. Of walking away and never looking back. Camp included. Sanctuary included. Dutch included.

But where would you go?

He was your haven. Your hard, unyielding refuge in a world that had no place for a girl like you. One as not quite white as the real ladies and the townspeople and not black enough to pass among the maids, railroad workers and fieldhands you sometimes slipped food to. Born half of each, you didn't fit anywhere. Not in this country. Not in the free land of America. Not in this world.  

Dutch saw you. He made a place for you.

No matter how his hands might grab roughly, however hard his words cut in to break you.

He saw you. In a way no one else truly did. Beneath the soft brown skin, the curly hair, the gentle curves. He looked beyond the skin others judged you by and found value. Found a purpose for you along his path.

Dutch saw you. He did. No one else ever had. Oh, they'd looked, sure—the leers and sideline glances followed you everywhere, sticky and inescapable as flypaper. But looking wasn't seeing. Not truly.

Men like Mr. Magistrate and the others, they just wanted a pretty plaything to admire and disparage in equal measure. A bit of dark sugar to sweeten their evenings. Before him, you’d been nothing. No man's woman and no woman's friend - too tan to be properly desirable, too light-skinned to be safely invisible.

But Dutch?

He looked into you and saw. The girl behind the colour, the womb-child his blood would one day make women envy.

Wasn't that worth something? More than just a chance to flee to some distant city or Mighty fortress?

"You know I love you," he said.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t know how.

He stood up slow, fixing the cuffs of his shirt like nothing had happened. Then he looked at you again, like he was waiting for you to say something.

You swallowed hard. Your jaw ached.

"I’m sorry," you whispered.

Dutch smiled then — not warm, but proud. Like you’d finally done something right.

"Good girl," he said, and turned to leave.

Fear and confusion tangled through you, as familiar as the well-worn grooves of a favorite chair. You couldn't deny the ache, the dull throb of pain that always lingered after one of Dutch's... conversations. But beneath that, lesser but no less constant, was the hollow desire to please him. His abuse felt like a necessary evil.

You sat there a long time after he left, hands still on your lap, trying not to cry. Because you knew if you cried, he’d see it. And next time, he might not be so gentle. 

The next morning, the camp was alive like nothing ever happened. Pots clanged, horses snorted, somebody laughed too loud over by the wagons.

You moved slow, careful not to wince. Your face still throbbed, but no one noticed. Why would they? There were no marks they could see. Just a dull, aching weight under the skin. You sat near the fire, shelling peas with Tilly and Mary-Beth. They chatted easy, smiling about some fella they met in town, but you barely heard them. You kept your head low, your hands steady. You knew better than to draw attention to yourself.

"Hey," Tilly said, nudging you with her elbow. "You alright? You seem... quiet." Your heart fell to your underwear, had she noticed? But however, you forced a smile. “Just tired," you said. Tilly shrugged, accepting it. Why wouldn’t she? 

Tired was normal. Tired didn’t raise questions.

Dutch walked by just then, talking to Hosea. His coat was open, hands moving as he spun another one of his big ideas. He quietly sat on a chair in front of Hosea’s tent. You felt his presence even when he didn’t look at you. That heavy pull of him, like a rope around your throat.

Nobody knew.

Nobody saw.

Not even Arthur, who usually caught every lie the camp spun. You weren't even sure if you wanted them to see. If they knew... what then? You weren’t sure if they’d believe you. Not about Dutch. Not about their "father," their "leader."

You didn’t belong anywhere.

Not out there, where you were too dark to be safe. Not in here, where your skin kept secrets that lighter skin couldn't. You were invisible in a camp full of people who thought they loved you.

Later that day, you caught Dutch watching you across the fire. His mouth curved into a small smile — not cruel, not sharp. Just soft. Like he really did love you. Like you were his. And maybe you were.

Maybe that’s why you didn’t run.

—-SMUT PART, CAN BE SKIPPED—-

The stick of the chair groaned under Dutch’s weight when he shifted, his knee knocking against the side post lazily, careless, like he couldn’t even be bothered to hide how wound up he was getting just sitting there; you caught it right away—the taut line of his thigh, the flex of his hand against the wood, the way his eyes, those deep, black-water eyes lifted slow and heavy from Hosea’s face to yours, dragging across your body like he owned it already.

He looked at you.

And it wasn’t just a glance, not something he tossed over without thinking; it was deliberate, sharp enough to catch the breath right in your throat, hot enough that even the dry dust in the air felt like it thickened between you—his mouth twitched up at the corner, just a little, not a smile, not a smirk, but something darker, heavier, something that said he knew you saw the way he was getting hard in his pants, that he wasn’t ashamed, that he wanted you to see, that he wanted you burning up just like him.

He was a man. Of course he had urges, wants, cravings, needs. It was obvious he was wanting. And you were attracted to him, how else did you come to be his?

You felt your knees go loose under your skirt, felt the thin cotton catch against your sweaty skin as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, throat dry as a bone; you hated how your heart kicked up every time he looked at you like that, how your body betrayed you, lighting up under his gaze even when your ribs still ached from the last time he’d pressed you up against the canvas wall of the tent, his hand fast and punishing across your side where no one would see.

Still…

…You turned without a word, slipping between the tents like a ghost, your pulse thrumming so loud in your ears it drowned out the low murmur of the gang behind you; you didn’t have to look over your shoulder to know he would follow, didn’t have to check—Dutch didn’t need coaxing when he wanted something. You wanted him to chase you, to catch you, to claim you. 

You ducked into his tent, the canvas sagging heavy in the heat, the smell of leather and tobacco hanging thick; you barely had time to catch your breath before you heard it—the soft tread of boots behind you, the shift of the flap—and then he was there.

A single step, two at most, and he stood before you.

Looming. Towering. Trading his generous height to loom, to hover.

Dutch reached out, his large and rough hand cupping your cheek. Finger and thumb curling, possessive in their attention.

He pressed closer, until he could feel the whisper of your breath, the quick inhale, the racing of your pulse. His voice was a low and intimate rumble. "You know what I want, Sugar.”

You could feel the heat of him, the rigid line of his cock pressing against you through his pants, hard and thick and urgent.

He wanted you. That much was blatantly clear.

And, may heaven help you, you wanted him too.

“Darlin’,” he said, low and rough like gravel dragged across wood, voice a breath against your ear.

Your heart stuttered, your body answering before your mind could catch up—your fingers fisting in the front of his shirt, dragging him closer, your mouth catching his without thinking, desperate, messy, your teeth scraping his lower lip and his hand coming up to cup the back of your head, fingers winding tight in your hair.

He kissed you like he meant to devour you, no slow burn, no gentle teasing—just heat and need, the bruising press of his mouth stealing your breath; His hand slid down, cupping your ass through your thin skirts, squeezing hard enough to make you whimper into his mouth, "Mnnh", your legs were already trembling.

Dutch broke the kiss only to bite a line down your throat, sharp little nips that made you gasp, hands fumbling at your waist, pushing your skirts up around your hips, rough, uncaring; his mouth trailed lower, teeth scraping along your collarbone, while his hand slid between your thighs, two thick fingers pressing against the damp heat there through your drawers.

"You feel that?" He growled against your skin, breath hot and filthy, "All this wet for me?"

You whimpered again, hips bucking against his hand, your voice a broken, needy thing, "Uhhnn, Dutch—"

He made a sound low in his chest, something between a growl and a purr, and you barely had time to breathe before he hooked his fingers in the waist of your drawers, yanking them down with a rough tug that had you stumbling against him; he caught you, of course he caught you, one strong arm banded around your waist, holding you upright, holding you still, like he always did.

His pants followed swiftly after, the button and zipper surrendering just as promptly before you tugged the fabric down lean thighs, thick calves. The sound of denim hitting the tent floor seemed to echo in the charged air.

Your hand reached down, nimble fingers working at Dutch's belt, unfastening it with fleeting ease. The leather strap slid through the loop with barely a whisper. The evidence of his arousal sprung free like a jack-in-the-box, the thick, turgid flesh slapping against the soft swell of your belly. The heated length throbbed, already slick with building need. The plump head wept with want, his pre-cum smeared against your hip bone.

You licked your lips unconsciously, desire clawing at you as you gazed down at his impressive manhood, hard and urgent against you. A sense of feminine triumph raced through you.

You felt the heavy drag of his cock against your bare thigh, hot and slick at the tip, and instinctively you reached for him, your hand wrapping around the thick, pulsing length of him, feeling him twitch against your palm.

He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, forehead dropping to rest against yours for a heartbeat, voice thick and cracked, "Goddamn, girl..."

He didn’t waste time, didn’t give you a second to think—just lifted you up, hands gripping your thighs, hauling you against him so fast your head spun, your back hitting the rough wood pole in the centre of the tent with a soft thud; you wrapped your legs around him automatically, skirts bunched up around your waist, the cool air kissing your bare skin.

Then he was pushing into you, slow at first, the thick head of his cock stretching you open, inch by aching inch, until you were full to the point of pain, a sharp, delicious ache that had you throwing your head back with a ragged cry, "Aaahhhnnn—!"

He groaned against your neck, voice wrecked and hungry, "Fuck, girl, so tight—so goddamn sweet—"

His hips started to move, slow and deep, grinding into you with every thrust, dragging a helpless, breathless moan from your lips each time, "Uhhnn—mnhhh—!" your fingers digging into the broad span of his back, clinging to him like a lifeline.

It was rough; it was desperate, but there was something else too—something soft buried underneath the heat and the hunger—the way he kissed your temple between thrusts, the way he murmured broken little things against your skin, half nonsense, half confession, like he needed you just as much as he needed air. He was always at one with words. A poet. A charmer, everyone said. A man at home in the gaudy, guttering glow of the bottle lamps. The kind of man who could talk the Devil Himself into handing over his pitchfork.

Your body burnt for him, every nerve ending lit up like fire, and even though fear still curled cold in your gut—fear of what he could do, what he had done—you couldn’t help the way you clung to him, the way you pressed your mouth to his jaw, whispering his name like a prayer.

"Dutch—Dutch—"

His rhythm faltered when you said it, his arms tightening around you, his cock driving deeper, harder, the wet slap of flesh against flesh filling the small, sweltering space.

His other hand gripped your thick thigh, high up, fingers sinking into the tender flesh as he hoisted your leg higher. The new angle let him drive into you harder, deeper, the thick head of his cock kissing a spot so deliciously sensitive that you saw stars. That made your angels on your two shoulders sing.

“Dutch... oh god, D-dutchhhhhh…” You tried to scream his name, to cry out in ecstasy, but it emerged a muffled, garbled mess.

You felt yourself unravelling, felt the tight coil in your belly snap, pleasure tearing through you so hard it left you sobbing into his shoulder, "Nnnnahhh—!"

He groaned low and deep, hips stuttering, and then you felt it—the hot flood of him spilling inside you, his whole body shaking with the force of it, his mouth pressing hard against yours in a kiss that was all teeth and breath and desperation.

For a long moment, you just clung to each other, bodies slick and trembling, the world outside the tent fading away until there was nothing left but the sound of your ragged breathing and the thud of your heart against his chest.

And still, even as he set you back down on shaky legs, even as he tucked himself away and straightened your skirts with hands that were almost gentle, his fingers lingering on your skin, you felt it. His hunger. His ownership. And you? You were the most important piece. The queen on his chessboard, the treasure in his chest, the very reason he bothered to carve out this sanctuary marooned in a hostile world.

[ethicaltreatmentofcowplants]

ARAMINTA: So here we are!

LILAC: Wait - is that thing getting closer? Will I have to ride it?

ARAMINTA: No, you won’t have to ride her. Duchess is only here because she hasn’t quite maxed out TEMPERAMENT, and Dodo’s getting tense moodlets from his lack of skill building. They’re working together.

LILAC: He’s still a Slob?

ARAMINTA: Anyways. 

LILAC: So he’s still a Slob.

ARAMINTA: Welcome back to the third in our series of gardenside chats, where we will be discussing what’s different about Round One-

LILAC: And whether my sanity will survive the journey.

ARAMINTA: Now this will be the first time when eliminations occur. Once all the households are played, a final points table will be tallied, and we will unfortunately have to bid a sad farewell to three contestants.

LILAC: Oh, I can think of one or two who you wouldn’t be sad about.

ARAMINTA: It’s about who you take to, Lilac, not me. This will also be the first round where a skill building system comes into play. Basically at the end of your household’s rotation, your total sum of skills will be added up, and they will count towards your points along with friendship and romance.

LILAC: And while I obviously can’t be eliminated - although it would make quite a plot twist if I was - my skills have been cheated back down to zero too. Apart from PAINTING and KNITTING since those are tied to already completed aspirations, and WELLNESS since I have a glitch where I won’t run anywhere.

ARAMINTA: Also since this is the first time contestants will be playable for the Watcher, we will learn what they think of you in terms of attraction level.

LILAC: Oh, I have a pretty good indication already. (winks)

ARAMINTA: Attraction level as well as compatibility and sentiments will also remain. As the Watcher is using the time decayed version of First Impressions, those sentiments will eventually fade - with hopefully new ones to replace them.

LILAC: So in sum, a contestant’s score will come from friendship, romance, skill, attraction, compatibility and any positive sentiments?

ARAMINTA: Exactly. Moving on - we have some viewer submitted questions. This one is for Lilac - alright, don’t be concerned with what my feelings may be. 

LILAC: You are a precious blonde pony and we should always be concerned with your feelings.

ARAMINTA: Thank you, but please don’t worry. On Mad About Dodo, did you want me to win?

LILAC: Initially, no. It’s not that I didn’t want you to win, but that I took time to warm to you.

ARAMINTA: (wryly) That I hear a lot.

LILAC: What won me over was the second day, when Dodo made a joke that was uncomfortable for Lyric and you called him out. I thought ‘okay, this girl is genuine. She has principles - she’s not just telling Dodo what he wants to hear. She’s not afraid to risk her place in the competition to do what she thinks is right.’ And maybe he thought as much too.

ARAMINTA: He wouldn’t have meant to make them uncomfortable. But I wanted him to apologise, or at least to not make jokes like that to them ever again.

LILAC: And you weren’t even that close to Lyric, were you?

ARAMINTA: I liked them, and have a lot of admiration and respect for them. However I didn’t bond with them as much as I did some others. Perhaps if we had spent more time together.

LILAC: We’ve seen how saying anything other than someone being your best friend forever can get twisted, but nothing wrong with that. If anything it’s more admirable that you stepped up for someone else when you had a much stronger bond with Dodo at the time.

ARAMINTA: Awww, thank you so much, Lilac! Next question: which contestants are you looking forward to spending more time with the most?

LILAC: Basically anyone who I felt like I still didn’t have a sense of after the introductions, though I get that three hours in front of live cameras isn’t exactly the most natural and authentic setting in the world. Piper - I’ll be looking to see if there’s a spark. We vibed but we had no romance at the end of our time, although it’s very early in the competition still.

ARAMINTA: Exactly. I had no romance with Dodo at the end of his introductory round, as did a lot of other castmates who eventually fared well.

LILAC: Well you had Leo to contend with. If ‘buzzkill’ were a pixel…

ARAMINTA: (laughs) He’s not so bad.

LILAC: Neither is bacteria in small quantities. Another is Sage. I feel like she was a bit… intimidated, maybe? Hopefully she’ll be more at home once we’re together in a household. Okay, question for you now. What advice will you give to the contestants?

ARAMINTA: Make friends. Not out of some kind of strategy - this isn’t Simsvivor - but because this is such an unique experience, and you’ll want to have people through the other side who get it. Also life will just be easier for you and you’ll have less regrets if you do. 

LILAC: Right. Plus I’m only one Sim so you’re gonna need to fill your social meter in other ways. Also being LOYAL traited, I’m looking not just at how someone gets along with me - but how they treat everyone else around them.

ARAMINTA: (silence)

LILAC: I am, Minta - I swear! (laughs) Trust me, I know the difference between what I’m looking for in a partner and someone who may or may not be a good-

ARAMINTA: And sometimes a pixel simply needs a change of scenery to make life changes. One of the most important things I learned from Mad About Dodo is that not everyone comes into their save file with the ideal set of circumstances for them to thrive.

LILAC: Oh, thriving at villainy is still thriving. And another for you: why did you take this gig?

ARAMINTA: While I don’t think it was down to any malice, I felt like the contestants on Mad About Dodo could have - and should have - been better protected.

LILAC: Yeah, you were in the hands of a megalomaniac who viewed you all as dolls from his toy box and had fun with you accordingly.

ARAMINTA: Leo is… impulsive. Not uncaring, but impulsive. And he tends to be more of a ‘big picture’ thinker and not so considerate of the finer details. Anyway, once I learned that a bachelorette would be held in my home world, I wanted to do what I could to ensure that the cast would have a safer experience. With it being in Henford, I felt some kind of… ownership and responsibility, I suppose you could say.

LILAC: Two very foreign concepts to some others.

ARAMINTA: Not being the producer or the director, I won’t have as much pull. As the host, however, I hope that I can be an advocate for the needs of the contestants. Along that note: any concerns so far?

LILAC: The competition has attracted a lot of outdoorsy, country types. Which I get, given- (waves hand at the lot). And they should do well. I’m not concerned about that. But I’m a city girl through and through. There’s something about a place with some… bustle, that makes me come alive in my bones.

ARAMINTA: Normally I’m the anxious one. I think that’s more of a question for the fourth round.

LILAC: I think so too.

ARAMINTA: And if it comes down to that? Well, there’s one residential lot in San Myshuno that isn’t an apartment. Finally: can we deduce anything at all from the introductory round?

LILAC: That you’re a much better host than Leo?

ARAMINTA: (laughs) Oh, too rude!

LILAC: But true! You didn’t completely centre yourself, and you knew when to fade into the background and when to come forward and keep the conversation going. And you didn’t wow-wow with any-

ARAMINTA: And that is all for now! Best of luck to you, Lilac. Just continue to be genuine - and try to have a good time with it. What wasn’t shown so much on screen was that hardships aside, we did also have some fun on the island. This is an adventure and the opportunity of a lifetime, after all.

LILAC: An adventure I can undertake without even leaving my home lot? Perfect for a LAZY sim.

household one: day one should go up at 10 pm* my time

*GMT 10 am |  EST 5 am |  PST 2 am

lyric by @micrathene-w, dodo by @akitasimblr

[that-fangirling-bitch]

Sorry to all the Powerless fans, but I have shit I want to get off my chest. This probably isn't going to be my last post on this debacle but I want y'all to read this with an open mind. I'm respecting you opinion on loving the book. just as you will respect mine for hating it. and perhaps plagiarism might not legally apply here, but the word copying felt too little.

Enjoy the Book If You Want—But Don’t Be Fucking Blind

Look, you can like Powerless. Seriously, go ahead, have fun with it. But for fuck’s sake—don’t stay ignorant. What Lauren Roberts has done isn’t just some harmless coincidence. It’s a big-ass issue that’s been popping up again and again in the book world, and no one seems to be taking it seriously. And yeah, it’s driving me insane.

This trend on BookTok and Bookstagram where people act like plagiarism is just “aesthetic inspiration” or whatever the hell? It needs to die. Fast. Plagiarism isn’t just lazy writing—it’s stealing. Straight-up stealing.

I might get a little mad and messy here, but I need to tell ya'll this.

1) Fact Check, assholes

In case some of y’all missed it: Red Queen came out years before Powerless. YEARS. This isn’t even debatable. So if you’re running around claiming Red Queen copied Powerless, I love to break it to you—but you’re dead wrong.

If anything, Powerless is the one that copied. Check the damn publication dates. It’s not hard. Stop jumping into drama without doing basic fact-checking, because you're just making it worse.

2. The Writing? … It Was Rough

I tried reading Powerless, I really did. But holy shit—it was a struggle. The worldbuilding was paper-thin, the characters were bland as hell, the banter was straight-up cringe, and the whole thing just felt like a Frankenstein’s monster of every overused YA trope smashed together without a single original bone in its body.

And it wasn’t just “inspired” by popular series—it felt like it copied them. Scene for scene. Word for word in some places. You can feel it.

Like tell me this book doesn’t feel like a bootleg combo of:

Red Queen

The Hunger Games

Divergent

The Selection

Shatter Me

The Young Elites

And look—I’m not saying those books are gods of originality. Most stories borrow things, especially in genres that recycle tropes. That’s normal. But the difference? Those authors took inspiration and actually built something new with it. They created their own stories, their own worlds, actual twists of originality

And yes I acknowledge the fact that Aveyard herself said that Red Queen was a mix of the trending tropes and a common storyline put together. I've read and enjoyed Red Rising, one of the books Aveyard was have said to plagarized and I can definitely see the inspiration, but that's it, it's inspiration. Victoria actually did put in effort and manage to make RQ her own. She drew from inspiration, not plagiarism

Powerless didn’t. It felt like Roberts just pulled the most, absolute most popular scenes from those books, copy-pasted them, sprinkled in some cheap-ass romance of her own, and called it a day. That’s not homage. That’s just a straight-up ripoff.

And it’s fucking disrespectful to authors who actually worked to create something of their own.

3. What Even Was the Plot?

Honestly? I still don’t know what the plot was supposed to be. It was a mess. The world made no sense, the message (if there even was one) got completely buried, and the whole thing felt like it existed just to push a lukewarm romance that barely had any chemistry, aside from all the tropes in the genre, odd writing, and bad banter.

And I’m not even hating on romance—it’s amazing when it’s done well. But if you’re gonna set up this whole dystopian/fantasy world and then do nothing with it? Why even bother? Give us something. Anything. Just make it make sense. Give us something to truly root for, romantic or political.

4. Stop Making Excuses—Especially the “It’s Her First Book” One

Now here’s the part that really makes me wanna scream: the people defending Lauren Roberts by saying, “It’s her first book, give her a break.”

Nah. Fuck that.

Red Queen was Victoria Aveyard’s debut. The Hunger Games was Suzanne Collins’ first YA novel. I'm sure that is the same for so many of these amazing authors out there... And guess what? You don’t see any of them pulling this same bullshit, do you?

Being new doesn’t give you a free pass to steal.

Plagiarism isn’t something you accidentally do because you’re “new.” Come on. I’m 100% sure she knew exactly what she was doing—and the fact that people are still out here defending her, calling themselves “readers,” and supporting that kind of behavior? Disgusting.

You don’t support reading and writing by excusing theft.

5. Y’all Are Defending the Wrong Damn Book

The wildest part? People are out here calling other books plagiarized while defending Powerless with their whole chest. Like, are we reading the same shit?

Plagiarism is real. It’s serious. And way too many people are out here brushing it off because their fave is involved. That’s not how it works. If we’re gonna hold authors accountable, let’s at least do it fairly.

So yeah, love what you love—I’m not here to tell you not to enjoy your favorite books. But don’t act like Roberts didn’t rip off half the YA genre just because the book made you feel something. Feel things and acknowledge the harm. Both can be true.

Please just learn the difference between inspiration and theft. Do your research. And stop giving passes to authors who don’t deserve them. If Lauren Roberts does change her ways, let me know, I'm all for a good book.

[eeunoia]

ENHYPEN Series

sinag — psh.

chapter one

synopsis: waiting for a great plot twist in your life, the ruthless and powerful mafia boss park sunghoon forced his way in to it.

pairings: park sunghoon x oc

word count: 3k

warnings: a contains violence, guns, killings, abuse, obsessive love & other stuff. if you can't take this stuff, feel free to scroll away. let me know if i missed some.

note: i didn’t proof read this lol, anywayy ask are open for your messages. thank you so much for reading.

© 2023 eeunoia — all rights reserved.

here ‹ prelude | chapter two › here

Tonight is the night before your flight for the said business trip your boss has told you. Everything was set already. Accomodation for two weeks, your passport and the things you packed for the whole thing is all prepared.The only thing that you forgot was to tell your boyfriend about it. It was kind of your fault since you’ve kept missing the chance of breaking the news to him. He’s also pretty busy lately, always out with either his friends or officemates.

You snapped back to reality when you heard the beeping sound of your apartment door. Worried, but also excited to see your boyfriend again after two days, you jumped off from your seat to come greet him. The two of you decided you’ll have dinner together tonight to make up with days you didn’t spend time with one another.

You imagined the two of you enjoying your dinner, talking about the past days of your lives that you missed, catching up with one another and just moments you will share intimately as a couple. But all of that came crumbling down your feet when you saw him entering drunk.

“Are you drunk?” your words falls from your lips even before your mind can process it.

He smiles and it was enough to tell that he’s so not himself right now. Even if he can walk by his own, his mind is surely intoxicated by alcohol. He reeks off alcohol that made you furrow your brows that it upsets you.

“I cannot believe that you are drunk right now! We said we will have dinner tonight.” you didn’t even bother helping him take his shoes off. You crossed your arm and stare at him with disappointed look.

“I’m not...” he stalls with his words. “...drunk.” he top it off with a hiccup. You rolled your eyes and walked towards the dining table where all the cooked food were neatly placed.

“Wait, babe. Don’t be mad.” he even tries to come after you, shaking his head a bit like it will solve everything.

“I’m sorry,” he starts. “It was a rough week in the office and everyone wants to go out for a few drinks. I couldn’t decline because I don’t want to seem like I’m killing the fun and not being there for them.” he continued to blabber and almost all of his words were familiar. His reasons seams like it has been repeated. It was honestly tiring even for you.

“Please don’t be mad. I made it. I’m here already.” he smiles and walks over to you. He leans in and you tried not to move away to make him upset. The strong smell of alcohol clearly insinuates that he didn’t have just a few drinks, but you didn’t comment on that. Instead you let him place a chaste kiss over your cheeks once.

“Okay. Take a sit so we can eat. I’ll serve you a soup to help you shake off the alcohol in you.” he seems fine with it, the smile on his face remained as he walks over to his sit.

You stood up and started taking care of your boyfriend while thinking of a way you can open up the thing about your trip. Its tomorrow already and even if you two have days you don’t meet each other, your boyfriend hates it whenever you go far from him. It was seriously a redflag, but since you aren’t really into going out of the country anymore, it was a non-argument matter. You just leave it as it is for the sake of the relationship.

“Here,” you placed it in front of him as you told him to dig up.

You start to slowly eat too, not really enjoying it. A part of you are still upset for him showing up drunk, another part are nervous. A very big chance of him getting upset about it was already expected by you, but he cannot do anything about it.

“Oh, right..” your eyes looks up to him when he suddenly talked after taking a sip from his soup.

You looked at him with anticipation.

“I’m quitting my job.” he dropped it like he was just announcing you that he will get a haircut.

Your hold to your utensils loosen as you try to process what he just said. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m quitting my job. I submit my resignation letter today.” and then he casually went back to his soup.

You have no words. You don’t know what to say or if you have the energy to say something. He is really not the type to exert effort into something. Countless times he has done this already. Quitting his job out of nowhere, depending on you.

“Why? I thought you’re doing great.”

He swallows first and shrugs his shoulder, unbothered. “I can’t stand my boss. He’s too cocky and he always just see wrong in everything I do. It’s like he just targets me without any sense. You will not understand!” he even waves his hand like as an act of dismissing the topic.

“Then how are you suppose to pay for your rent? Your bills and food?”

His head lifts up and he mindlessly roams his eyes around your apartment.

“I can crash here for the mean time.” he says, “You wouldn’t let your boyfriend sleep on the streets, right? Come on, Ae.” he gave you this pitiful look on his face.

“You can’t be serious, Luke.” when you said those words, you saw how his expression changed.

He looked utterly pissed with the way you said those words to him.

“Don’t act all might just because you are enjoying your work! It won’t be too long, just until I find another work.”

You shut your eyes for a while and slowly lets go of your utensils then brush some of your hair away from your face. Here you thought you will have some time you can enjoy and let out your stress about work and your parents, only to be slapped with another set of problems.

“Okay.” you says since its not like he gave you other choice. He’s your boyfriend and you know you don’t have the will to let him leave in the streets.

“Thank you, babe. I promise I will make it up to you!” he sounded so giddy after securing a spot on your apartment.

“Can you drive me tomorrow?” your eyes dropped to your food, avoiding his gaze because you can feel yourself feeling worried about how he will react.

“Sure! To where?”

“The airport.” you gulped and raised your head to look at him. His brows furrowed out of confusion then he tilts his head.

“To the airport? Why?” he already have an idea in his mind, he’s not that dumb. But he wanted to hear it from you because he can’t believe it. He doesn’t even want to believe. You hate going out of the country.

“My boss is sending me there for a business trip and seminar—” the clash of his spoon to his bowl interrupted you.

“Your boss?” he scoffed. “If I know he’s just using that as an excuse to spend time with you. Is that how you get promotions?” his accusation made your stomach twist. The words coming out from his mouth just don’t make sense to you. He is being unreasonable and you are feeling so upset about it.

“Don’t even go there! You know how hard I work for this job!” your voice raised that made him annoyed. It shouldn’t be like this, but because of all the things going on lately you’re mentally can’t deal with it in a calm way.

He stood up, smashing the table. “Yeah, right.” and with that he grabs his things before heading towards the door of your apartment.

“Go drive yourself tomorrow.” he sarcastically uttered before he slammed it close behind his back.

You rest your head on the back of your hand while feeling so stressed. The night was ruined and you have no idea where did it take turn. It was suppose to be a great dinner.

After letting yourself space out and process things up, you decided to be the more mature in the relationship.

“Hey, Luke. Uhm,” you sighs and gently massaged your temple while you leave a message in his voice mails. “I’m sorry if I just told you about the trip. I promise that I will be alone there and my boss will be here so there’s nothing to worry about, babe. I know you’re probably stressed up about work too, I shouldn’t have shouted. Call me, love you.”

You stared at your phone for a couple of minutes. The picture of you and your boyfriend looked cute, but for some reasons you can’t feel anything special from it. Luke has been your boyfriend for a year and its fun with him. He’s goofy and caring. He might lack at some point, but you love him. And he loves you. It’s just normal for couples to argue from time to time.

You almost didn’t get any sleep because of it. The next morning, you did drove yourself to the airport after not receiving and calls nor messages from Luke. Maybe he’s really upset and mad about it. While waiting for your flight, you fidget with your phone hoping he will call or anything. Your heart feels a little heavy thinking that you will be away from him for tqo weeks and you had a fight before leaving.

When you are asked to board the plane already, your feet felt heavy every step you take. Before handing your ticket to a staff, your head craned to look over your shoulder. No familiar sight of your boyfriend anywhere. Right there you are slightly wishing for a movie like scene where the main lead guy will come running for the girl main lead then they will hug and kiss. None of that happened.

While sitting on your seat, a small idea occupies your mind unknowingly.

‘Is he not the main lead on your story? Is Luke not the one for you?’

A week later.

Sunghoon’s jaw clenched as he stepped on the accelerator of his car. His mind blank and his grip on the steering wheel was tight, continuously cursing people silently.

His eyes darted at his phone when he saw his friend’s caller id flashing.

“Hello.” he lazily answered.

“Where you are right now, Hoon?” it was Jake.

“On my way.” he responded before swiftly checking his side mirrors if there’s any vehicle behind. Once he’s clear, he steps on speed again to pass the cars in front of him.

He clicks something to his phone, “Ni-ki, update on Jungwon’s location.”

“Sending it to you as we speak, hyung.” the younger one says from the other line.

He didn’t replied and so Ni-ki talked. “Hyung are you using your sports car again? Make sure to park a few blocks away from the warehouse! Your car is so loud I can hear it from the other street.” he complains.

Sunghoon hears chuckles from the call, probably from their other friends that are connected right now and listening. He smirks and click his tongue to the side of his cheeks.

“I can be as loud as I can if I want because I will make sure none of them will walk out alive from that fucking warehouse.”

“Yeah yeah, just get here faster hyung.” Ni-ki teased him.

“I can’t believe they think they can get rid of Jungwon hyung this easily? We are given brains for a reason.” Ni-ki blabbers that made his other hyung chuckle.

Sunghoon smirks as he made a turn towards a more secluded part of the town. Soon no facilities or houses are seen, this time its more trees and fewer street lights. Its surely a perfect spot to take someone and torture them without getting interrupted by anyone.

“I don’t know, Ni-ki. I feel like you will do the same if it were for your girl.” Sunghoon says taunting him.

Jake chuckles lightly and shakes his head while listening to the two. It was a normal thing already.

“Whatever hyung! At least I don’t search for someone you aren’t sure if she truly exists.” that was a button you shouldn’t push with Sunghoon.

Even before he can say something, Sunoo went in between.

“Enough bickering both of you. Geez, you act like kids all the time. We’re in the middle of something serious here.” they can almost see him rolling his eyes.

“Thanks, Sunoo.” Jake grins.

“Where are you, Sun?” Sunghoon says as he slows down his car after noticing that he’s getting closer to the pinned location Ni-ki sent him.

“I’m here already, hyung. Hurry up.”

“Almost there.” he stops his car and went to the back of it. He opens the back to get his gun. One big gun, sniper use. Then one small gun that have a silencer, incase he needed something more convenient.

“Finally,” Ni-ki whispers. “I thought you forgot how map works and you got lost.”

Sunghoon raised his fist and act like he will hit Ni-ki, but the younger one already pulled Jake to shield him. It was funny because he was taller from the latter and so Sunghoon can still clearly hit him.

“You two stop it. Jay and Heeseung already sneaks inside. Sunghoon hyung you need to go and find your spot.” Sunoo.

He nods and approached Ni-ki to give him a slight pinch to his ears when he saw someone walking out from the warehouse.

“Don’t move, Riki,” he instructs and quickly rest his hand holding the gun at Ni-ki’s shoulder.

One click to his gun and he didn’t miss. The man fell to the ground lifeless without any of his alliance knowing.

“Nice shot.” Jake compliments.

“Thanks.” and he starts moving inside to go at a higher place for better view of the warehouse.

Thankfully, he find a ladder that leads towards an upper part of it. The moment he carefully made his way to go look down to what’s happening, he saw Sangwon beating up Jungwon. Not just him, he’s surrounded by a lot of guys.

“Do you have eyes on the target?” Jake talks on their intercom.

“Target lock.” he whispers and points the gun to Sangwon.

“Should I kill him on the spot?”

“No. At least give that honor to the love birds.” Ni-ki stated and he can hear grunts from him. Seems like he’s taking care of the people outside.

“Okay. Give me a signal, Jake.”

He waits patiently even though his hand were already itching to pull the trigger and send a bullet straight to his head. The sight of his friend being beaten up surely isn’t pleasant to watch to.

“Now.”

After hearing that, Sunghoon effortlessly sniped Sangwon and some of the guys around Jungwon. The baffled look over Shaun and Mr. Cha’s face made them look even more stupid for Hoon. It didn’t made him feel any better or made his mood lighter. If anything, he’s starting to feel bored and want to end them all at once.

When he saw Jay and his Heeseung hyung getting in the scene, he leans over a metal railing then silently watch. He’s so sure his presence are still unknown by the masterminds, but he doesn’t care. This is usually what Sunghoon enjoys. He love it whenever his target are unaware of the danger that awaits them.

In the mafia world, there’s also a food chain. The most influential and powerful mafias are at the top of it or what they call predators, while the ones beneath them are like their preys. And Sunghoon’s a predator. He’s definitely and no doubt a predator, hunting for its prey. He loves it. He loves being at the top of the food chain.

“Why don’t you get down here and join us, Hoon?” Jake asks.

“I can perfectly see you guys from up here.” he says before letting out a sigh.

“Besides, I’m very pissed right now so if I go down there, I might take the spotlight an kill them on the spot. They ruined my vacation.” he added.

Jake chuckles, clearly know what he’s referring to. He was about to leave the country for his vacation, in other term to go search for this girl. It was already known around their friend group.

“Hyung, for a correction, you aren’t on a vacation. You’re on a hunt.” Ni-ki teased.

“Fuck you Nishimura. Who even agreed to take you here?”

“Heeseung hyung did! And besides, I was the one who searched for Sangwon’s whereabouts.”

“I sniped him down.” Sunghoon says like as if challenging the younger one.

It would’ve been yet another unstoppable bickering, but thankfully Sunoo manages to stop them. They all took care of the situation and Sunghoon silently withdraws from the scene.

“Boss.” he hold his phone near his ears while puffing smoke from his cigarette. He’s leaning over his car, trying to relax himself.

“Ready my plane, Icarus. We’re flying tonight.” he instructed his assistant before ending the call and tossing the cigarette to the floor.

He opens his car’s door and swiftly puts some of his stuff inside.

“Leaving already?” his head snaps to the side and saw his friend.

“Yeah. I have to go somewhere.”

Jake nods his head. “Jungwon’s beaten badly and got shot, but he will be fine.”

Sunghoon smirks, “He should be. He owes me one.” he says. They both chuckle and even without saying it, they knew this is something they will always do in a heart beat.

“I will go visit Jungwon, but I’ll take my leave for now. Just do the honor of informing our friends.” Sunghoon says and went closer to give Jake a dap.

“Oh don’t worry, dude. I’m sure they already know even if I don’t say it.” and he grins.

“Whatever.” and he went inside his car.

“Go find her.”

“I will.” he answers confidently and drove away from his friend, with a small hope inside his heart that this time, he will find you.

here ‹ prelude | chapter two › here

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[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

Dangancember 2024 - Danganronpa Top 24 Class Trials - NUMBER 2🥈: Danganronpa 2 Case 5

//I'm willing to bet that almost EVERYBODY thought this one was going to get Number 1 on this list, and to be fair, when I did a ranking years back, it DID get the reward for my best case back on Reddit.

//But in case this list, compared to that one, isn't evidence enough, my opinions have changed a bit.

//I feel the need to remind everyone that this ranking is based primarily on my general feeling of each of these cases, taking into account the characterization, investigation, general mystery, plot twists, etc. If we were ranking this purely on investigation and mystery, without my personal feelings towards a case involved, this one would be Number 1.

//When it comes to Danganronpa cases, Game 2 Case 5 is not just the crown jewel; it’s the one everyone expects to see perched at the top of any "best trials" list.

//And yes, I hear you already, "Oh, how predictable. Case 5 at the top? How original!"

//But let’s face it, sometimes the popular opinion is popular for a reason. I don’t do contrarianism for sport, folks. If something’s obvious because it’s correct, then I’m not going to waste time pretending otherwise.

//Could I have slapped some other case here, like 1-2 or V3-1, to make things spicy? I think it's spicy enough that this one isn't Number 1, but that aside, we’re not here for hot takes; we’re here to appreciate brilliance, and Case 5 is absolutely, unequivocally, that case.

//Now, let’s address the elephant in the room, or perhaps the giant robotic animal mascot if we’re staying on brand. This case is legendary for reasons beyond just "it’s good."

//Put simply, there is no other video game or mystery-themed franchise that could pull this case off OTHER than DANGANRONPA.

//It’s part mystery, part madness, and 100% the kind of twist-riddled storytelling that no one can replicate. You’d need the full chaotic toolkit of Danganronpa’s narrative rule-breaking, character complexity, and absurd-but-brilliant logic leaps. Without those, you’re just a murder mystery fan with a dream.

//Why does this case stand out so much? Because it takes what we think we know about how these games work, how mysteries work, really, and throws it straight into Monokuma’s metaphorical incinerator. In most murder mysteries, the setup is fairly predictable: Person A offs Person B, usually for some selfish reason, like wanting freedom or holding a grudge.

//Danganronpa usually follows that formula, with the added twist of a deadly game show setting. But then along comes Case 5, flipping the script so hard it leaves you reeling. It doesn’t just upend expectations; it takes them out back, ties them to a rocket, and blasts them into space.

//And yet, it’s not just shock value. Beneath the twists and turns, this trial is meticulously crafted, intertwining its revelations with the overarching story in ways that make your brain do somersaults. It’s equal parts emotionally devastating and intellectually satisfying. If you’re a fan of intricate mysteries and gut-punching twists, this case isn’t just going to impress you, it’s going to live rent-free in your mind forever.

But don’t take my word for it (well, okay, do, since you’re reading my review). This case’s reputation precedes it. If you’ve played it, you know. And if you haven’t…well, let’s just say, the bar for storytelling in murder mystery games is about to be set unreachably high.

//Let's dive in!

//Let’s be real: by this point in time, you’re knee-deep into this game, so many are dead, and you know something’s about to go down with Nagito Komaeda. The ominous buildup and his increasingly unhinged behavior practically scream, “Buckle up, this is gonna get wild.”

//So when you eventually stumble upon his body, it’s not exactly shocking that he’s the victim. What is shocking, however, is everything else about this chapter. The setup, the stakes, the twists, and oh boy, the absolutely brutal state of his corpse. Seriously, if you thought previous trials in this game had upped the ante, Chapter 5 snaps the bar in two and sets it on fire for good measure.

//The setup alone is chaos incarnate: Nagito has hidden bombs around Jabberwock Island and cheerfully announces that if they go off, the entire island and everyone on it will sink straight into the ocean. Naturally, this sends the remaining students—Hajime, Chiaki, Fuyuhiko, Akane, Kazuichi, and Sonia—into panic mode as they scramble to defuse them.

//Just when they manage to avert what feels like certain doom, they discover a warehouse is suddenly engulfed in flames. Conveniently (or suspiciously?), fire grenades are nearby, and the group decides to toss them into the inferno in an attempt to extinguish it.

//Crisis averted, right?

//Wrong.

//When the smoke clears, they find Nagito’s lifeless body inside, and it’s unlike anything the series has thrown at you before.

//Let’s talk about that body discovery scene because…wow. Danganronpa doesn’t shy away from gruesome, but Nagito’s death takes the cake. His body is covered in cuts, there’s a knife stabbed straight through his right hand, and, as the pièce de résistance, a massive spear is impaled directly through his chest. It’s horrifying, grotesque, and easily one of the most graphic and unforgettable discoveries in the entire series. If you’re not audibly gasping by this point, you might need to check your pulse.

//But here’s where things get really interesting: despite being the victim, Nagito is also the villain of this chapter. His death isn’t just the result of some random grudge or desperation; it’s an intricately planned act designed to manipulate and torment everyone left alive.

//It’s peak Nagito. Brilliant, twisted, and utterly maddening.

//I don't know if I can talk about Nagito himself without repeating things that I've already said, because he’s come up multiple times in this countdown already (and spoiler alert, he’s not done yet), and for good reason.

//Calling him "memorable" feels like the understatement of the century. This guy is the embodiment of chaos, and his very existence has transcended the game to become a full-blown meme.

//But there’s a reason for that: Nagito isn’t just weird; he’s fascinating. He’s the kind of character who sticks in your brain long after the credits roll, equal parts horrifying and hypnotic.

//What makes Nagito so unique is his complexity. On the surface, he seems like an unassuming guy with a fairly mundane talent. But peel back the layers, and you’ll find one of the most manipulative, unsettling, and downright creepy characters in gaming history. His self-loathing is palpable, but it’s overshadowed by his ability to twist every situation to his advantage, or just to create absolute bedlam at ease.

//He’s so committed to his warped version of "hope" that he’s willing to employ the most extreme, morally dubious methods to achieve it. In many ways, he’s the second game’s true antagonist, even if he doesn’t fit the traditional mold. Fuck Junko and Izuru.

//And Case 5 is essentially Nagito’s magnum opus. It’s the culmination of everything that makes him such a standout character: his intelligence, his unpredictability, his disturbing charisma, and his willingness to do whatever it takes, even die, to prove his point. The result is a chapter that feels less like a murder mystery and more like an elaborate psychological chess match.

//So, while Chapter 5 might technically be about solving Nagito’s death, it’s really about unraveling Nagito himself. His influence permeates every aspect of the case, making it one of the most unforgettable and genre-defining moments in Danganronpa history.

//The investigation is okay, but again, as I said for 1-2, it's how they all culminate into the trial that it really works, so let's not waste any more time, and actually get into talking about that.

//For starters, I want to say that the pacing of this trial is BRILLIANT. Every twist and turn feels meticulously timed to keep you on the edge of your seat, while the ideas introduced all tie into the case’s central themes, on top of being innately shocking.

//When the students first discover Nagito’s body, the sheer brutality of the scene makes it look like he was tortured for information before being killed. There are cuts all over his body, a knife impaled through his hand, and that massive spear skewering his chest like the world’s most horrifying centerpiece. It screams “murder most foul,” and naturally, the students start theorizing about who could’ve done something so horrific.

//But quickly, they realize that it wouldn't make sense for someone torture Nagito for information if his mouth was duct-taped shut. Though Kazuichi especially argues for it, that one little detail flips the entire narrative on its head. If he couldn’t speak, then the torture couldn’t have been for interrogation.

//The students realize this, and their next leap in logic is to suspect that maybe Nagito wasn’t murdered at all. What if he orchestrated his own death?

//After all, this is Nagito we’re talking about, a guy who thrives on chaos and has a disturbingly cavalier attitude toward his own life. Using the rope attached to the spear, it seems plausible that he could’ve rigged a setup to drop the weapon onto himself, making it look like an elaborate suicide.

//This is...somewhat true. But in true Danganronpa fashion, the obvious answer is never the correct one. The suicide theory falls apart under closer scrutiny, leaving the students, and the player, scrambling for answers.

That’s when the horrifying truth comes to light, and boy, does it hit like that fire truck that killed Celeste.

//Nagito set up the scene so that the warehouse he died in would catch on fire once the students opened the door. To get through, the rest of the group grapped a bunch of fire grenades to put the fire out, and all of them grabbed at least one, and threw it into the flames.

//However, this single act causes them to plummet head first into the trap that had been set for them.

//Nagito, ever the agent of chaos, actually rigged one of the fire grenades with lethal poison gas. When the students threw the grenades to extinguish the warehouse fire, one of them tossed the poison grenade, dispersing the gas and killing him. Suddenly, what seemed like a murder mystery or a suicide case becomes something far more twisted.

//And here’s the kicker: nobody knows who threw the poison grenade. Not even the person who actually did it!

//By mixing the poison grenade with the others, Nagito ensured that the identity of his killer would be COMPLETELY RANDOM. This wasn’t just a murder; it was a gamble, a deadly game of Russian roulette where none of the participants even knew they were playing. As I said it’s the kind of mind-bending twist that only Danganronpa could pull off, and it perfectly encapsulates Nagito’s philosophy of chaotic hope.

//Monokuma obviously knows which student threw the poisoned grenade as well, and obviously, if the students get it wrong, they are ALL SCREWED.

//The brilliance of this setup is how utterly hopeless it makes the trial feel. Class trials are all about deduction, piecing together clues, and eventually uncovering the truth. But how do you solve a case where even the killer doesn’t know they’re the killer?

//For the first time in the series, it feels like there’s no way forward, no light at the end of the tunnel. The murder is, quite literally, impossible to solve using traditional methods. It’s a masterstroke in subverting the player’s expectations while also reinforcing the themes of despair and uncertainty that define the series.

//This moment also highlights why Nagito is such a standout character. Only he could come up with something so convoluted, so meticulously planned, and yet so chaotic at its core. He turns the class trial, a system designed to uncover truth and punish the guilty, into an instrument of despair.

//By making the killer’s identity random, Nagito forces the group to confront the idea that justice might not always be attainable. It’s a chilling reminder of how far he’s willing to go to prove his warped ideals about Hope and Despair.

//Thematically, this case is a perfect storm. It pushes the students to their absolute limits, not just intellectually but emotionally as well. How do you come to terms with a murder that has no clear perpetrator? How do you move forward when the very foundations of the game’s rules have been shaken?

//The trial becomes less about solving the mystery and more about grappling with the moral and philosophical questions it raises. It’s a level of depth and complexity that sets it apart from anything else in the series.

//Of course, this wouldn’t be a Danganronpa trial without a good dose of drama and tension. Watching the students wrestle with their guilt, fear, and confusion as they try to piece together the puzzle from start to finish, and then reach the absolutely horrifying situation they land in, is both heartbreaking and riveting. The stakes, genuinely, never reach higher than this, and the outcome feels completely uncertain and TERRIFYING.

//By the time the truth is revealed, you’re left in awe of the sheer audacity of the writing. It’s the kind of storytelling that leaves a lasting impression, long after the game is over.

//Ultimately, what makes this so effective is how it combines narrative brilliance with gameplay innovation. It’s not just about what happens, but how it makes you feel as a player. You’re questioning everything you thought you knew about how these trials work. It’s a case that breaks the rules, challenges your expectations, and delivers a story that’s as thought-provoking as it is shocking.

//But if you thought we were done, no, we aren't quite yet. What comes after this kicks the trial into a, somehow, HIGHER gear.

//Despite Nagito’s seemingly impossible-to-solve murder, the students DO manage to piece together the truth. And the resolution is haunting, depressing, and brilliantly layered, as it ties back to one of the game’s longest-running mysteries:

//The identity of the traitor.

//Monokuma drops the first breadcrumb early in the story, mentioning that the island was prepared for specifically 15 students but somehow, this group ended up with 16.

//This anomaly immediately plants the suspicion that one of the students is a traitor working for, what we eventually discover, is the supposedly evil "World Ender Organization." It’s a mystery that looms over the entire game, and Nagito, being Nagito, becomes obsessed with uncovering the truth.

//This obsession drives much of Nagito’s increasingly erratic behavior. His bizarre stunts, from his cryptic speeches to the explosive warehouse gambit, are all rooted in his desperation to expose the traitor. Though his motives aren't quite what they seem.

//The events of Chapter 5 are essentially his ultimate gambit for this mission: an elaborate plan to force the traitor to reveal themselves by staging an unsolvable murder.

//But this isn’t just about solving a mystery. Nagito, in his twisted logic, decides that sacrificing himself is a small price to pay if it means exposing the traitor and their connection to the World Ender. If everyone else has to die as collateral damage? Well, that’s just fine with him. It’s peak Nagito, both brilliant and horrifying.

//But...if this plan is at risk of killing everyone, and the poisoned grenade was thrown by a random person, how exactly was it supposed to work?

//What makes this trial so exceptional is how it builds on a recurring theme in Danganronpa 2: the way characters use their Ultimate Talents to achieve their goals. Each case in the game showcases this idea in unique ways.

Teruteru uses his cooking skills to conceal a murder weapon.

Peko exploits her swordsmanship to stage a clever escape.

Mikan manipulates her role as a nurse to fabricate an alibi.

Gundham weaponizes his hamsters to immobilize his victim.

//But this trial falls into this theme while also switching it up, by making the victim the one who uses their talent to manipulate the outcome. And Nagito’s Ultimate Lucky Student talent once again takes center stage, and its application here is as ingenious as it is unsettling.

//Nagito’s luck is unlike Makoto’s relatively tame version in the first game. It’s tangible, almost supernatural, and eerily consistent. Whether it’s winning a game of Russian Roulette with an almost fully loaded revolver in Chapter 4 or orchestrating the chaos of this trial, Nagito’s luck always seems to tilt events in his favor, even when it’s to his detriment.

//This trial showcases his mastery of his talent, as he uses it to create a scenario so convoluted that solving it requires an extraordinary leap of faith. It’s a testament to how his character embodies the unpredictable nature of luck, both as a tool and as a weapon.

//When the students are left with no other options, Hajime proposes a bold theory: the person Nagito was targeting with his poison grenade must be the traitor. With the clock ticking and no clear path forward, the group takes a gamble and calls for the traitor to reveal themselves. And here’s where the trial delivers one of its most gut-wrenching twists.

//Instead of the group uncovering the traitor through deduction, the traitor steps forward voluntarily. It’s Chiaki Nanami, the Ultimate Gamer and a beloved figure in the story.

//Chiaki’s betrayal is particularly heartbreaking because of how central she’s been to the trial system in Danganronpa 2. She is effectively Hajime's equivelant to what Kyoko was for Makoto, being his closest ally, and often providing critical insights and support during investigations and debates. Her calm demeanor and love for her friends make her an endearing presence, so her reveal as the traitor feels like a betrayal not just to the characters but to the player as well.

//Even if I've always felt Chiaki might be a bit overrated, it’s hard not for me to feel a pang of sadness as the truth comes to light. And yet, this reveal also solidifies the brilliance of Nagito’s plan. His twisted methods worked: he exposed the traitor, even at the cost of his own life.

//Genuinely, the reaction to Chiaki stepping forward as the traitor is one of the most soul-crushing scenes in the game thus far, and for good reason.

//Chiaki is the most perfect candidate to play the role of the final killer in this game, because she’s the one student on the island that everyone universally adores. She’s the epitome of the "can do no wrong" character. Which for me personally, is something I've never liked about her, but it does work in the buildup to this revelation.

//She’s sweet, dependable, and always there to lend a hand during trials with her sharp insights and calm demeanor, just as her supposed "father" Chihiro was. The same applies to Kaito in V3, as he's the universally loved wildcard who shoulders a heavy emotional weight heading into the endgame.

//So, when Chiaki confesses to being the traitor and asks the group to vote for her so they can save themselves, her classmates react in the most predictable way possible: absolute, unrelenting denial.

//Instead of nodding grimly and doing what needs to be done like every other time, they outright refuse, dragging their heels like stubborn toddlers who don’t want to eat their vegetables. Watching this unfold is both heartbreaking and oddly hilarious, as it highlights just how much the group collectively loves her.

//Hajime, bless his poor, conflicted soul, finds himself in the unenviable position of having to convince the group to face reality. This includes arguing against everyone, particularly against Sonia, who is especially resistant to the idea.

//Imagine trying to sell an unflattering truth about someone universally beloved while standing in a room full of people who would rather rewrite history than accept it. That’s exactly what Hajime has to do. Everyone goes to great lengths to deny Chiaki’s guilt, even twisting their earlier testimony to absolve Chiaki, and it’s like watching a courtroom drama where the defense lawyer loves their client so much they’re trying to argue the laws of physics out of existence.

//What makes this sequence so powerful is how the game adjusts its tone and pacing to reflect the emotional gravity of the situation. The trial’s usual high-energy minigames, complete with intense, upbeat tones and kickass music, suddenly shift into something quieter, heavier.

//Take Sonia’s Rebuttal Showdown, for instance. The usual sword-clashing music is replaced with a somber track, setting a melancholic mood. This silence isn’t just an absence of sound, it’s a deafening reminder of the emotional stakes at play.

//Even Hajime’s iconic "No, that’s wrong!" line is replaced by more desperate, sorrowful dialogue, hammering home the fact that despite arguing against, her, he, above EVERYBODY ELSE HERE, wants to accuse Chiaki THE LEAST.

//But he knows he must. She’s essentially asking him to kill her so that the others can live, and he’s left with no choice but to comply. It's tragic, raw, and incredibly effective storytelling.

//As if the emotional gut punches weren’t enough, the trial then drops a bombshell about the overarching narrative: the Future Foundation, which had been framed as the antagonist group, are actually the good guys. Chiaki and Monomi, as their representative, was working against Despair all along.

//This twist retroactively reframes the story, making Chiaki’s betrayal feel even more bittersweet. Monomi’s steadfast support of the group also takes on a new light, as her actions were driven by a desire to protect them, not manipulate them like they all believed. It’s the kind of twist that makes you sit back and rethink everything you’ve assumed about the game up to this point.

//And then there’s Nagito, whose insane brilliance looms large over this trial. At first, his actions seem designed to expose Chiaki as the traitor and ensure her execution. But after the trial, it becomes clear that his motives were far more complex, and arguably even more unhinged.

//After discovering that the other students were former Remnants of Despair, key players in Junko Enoshima’s plans, Nagito developed an intense self-loathing and a burning hatred for his classmates that completely paralleled his initial admiration of them. In a bizarre twist of logic, he decided the traitor was the only good person among them and concocted this elaborate trap to ensure their survival.

//Nagito’s plan, of course, hinges on his Ultimate Luck, which he uses to make the trial seemingly impossible to solve, and his hope was that Chiaki, as the traitor, would survive by default while the rest of the group received a wrong verdict and were executed. It’s a plan so convoluted and morally dubious that you almost have to admire the audacity of it.

//However, it’s also hilariously short-sighted upon reflection. Killing everyone except Chiaki would have effectively handed victory to AI Junko, whose goal was to plunge the world into even greater Despair. Of course, Nagito had no way of knowing that, but it's still funny to think about that had Hajime and Chiaki not been able to stop his plan, Junko would have won.

//In hindsight, Nagito’s plan might seem downright idiotic, but it’s this blend of genius and madness that makes his character so compelling. The sheer absurdity of his actions adds a layer of dark humor to the trial, even as the emotional stakes reach their peak. It’s a masterclass in how to balance tension, tragedy, and character-driven storytelling.

//The effectiveness of this lies in how it forces you to confront uncomfortable truths. Chiaki’s true identity, Nagito’s madness, and the group’s denial all intertwine to create a narrative that’s as heartbreaking as it is unforgettable.

//It’s a rollercoaster of emotions, packed with twists and turns that redefine what a Danganronpa trial can be. If the goal was to leave a lasting impression, this chapter more than delivers. And let’s be real: who doesn’t love a trial that combines emotional devastation with a side of absurdity?

//The revelation that Chiaki unknowingly threw the poison grenade ties everything together in a tragic bow. The class trial’s conclusion sees Chiaki and Monomi executed in a sequence that’s as heart-wrenching as it is inevitable. Nagito’s gamble paid off, but at what cost?

//The fallout from this trial leaves the remaining students reeling, their hearts shattered and their resolve tested like never before. It’s a moment that defines the series, not just for its shocking twists but for its emotional depth and philosophical complexity.

//What makes this trial so effective is how it uses every element of the Danganronpa formula to maximum effect. The mystery is intricate and satisfying, the stakes are sky-high, and the emotional weight of the characters’ decisions is palpable.

//It also serves as a perfect showcase of how the class trial system can be manipulated. This concept is revisited in Danganronpa V3, where Kokichi and Kaito pull off a similar stunt to challenge Monokuma’s control.

//I want to end this review by going over basically all the key points of why this trial is amazing, even though I have already done some analysis here already, and I admit, a lot of this will be repeating myself.

//But to make this review as official as it can be, I need to make sure the information is presented well. I can break down why this trial is fantastic into 5 main catagory's.

#1: This trial massively subverts the formula.

//The Danganronpa series has a well-established formula: a murder occurs, the class investigates, a culprit is identified, and they’re executed. Rinse and repeat, right? It’s a satisfying loop for those who love unraveling mysteries and piecing together evidence, but just as you start to feel like you’ve cracked the game’s rhythm, this trial throws an absolute curveball.

//The Danganronpa series thrives on its formula of uncovering killers, but Case 5 in Goodbye Despair flips the script in spectacular fashion. Instead of a straightforward murder, it begins with what looks like a suicide, leaving players and characters scrambling to make sense of Nagito’s maddeningly intricate setup. With no clear culprit, the trial forces you to rethink how cases are solved entirely.

//Nagito’s genius lies in using his Ultimate Luck to orchestrate an elaborate plan where every clue feels like a trap. By staging his own death and planting conflicting evidence, he creates an unsolvable mystery to expose the traitor among his classmates. This subversion of expectations turns the investigation into a mental labyrinth, testing the player’s logic like never before.

//The trial doesn’t just break the usual flow; it’s a deep dive into Nagito’s twisted obsession with hope and despair. His plan, theatrical and chaotic, challenges everyone to grapple with impossible choices. It’s peak Nagito—equal parts brilliance and insanity.

//Speaking of...

#2: Nagito’s Genius and Madness

Nagito's role in Case 5 is nothing short of mind-bending, as he masterfully pulls double duty as both the victim and the mastermind. Only Nagito could turn his own death into a trap, complete with poison, a fire grenade, and a spear, because why use one method when you can use three and confuse everyone in the process?

//It’s a move that’s equal parts genius and absolutely unhinged, perfectly reflecting his complex character.

//What makes this setup so effective is how it’s not just a murder but a moral battlefield. Nagito’s goal isn’t just to die but to force his classmates to uncover the identity of the traitor hiding among them. This escalates the already high stakes into a psychological tug-of-war, where trust erodes and tensions boil over.

//Nagito’s twisted ideals of hope and despair come to life in this trial, making his actions as brilliant as they are baffling. His chaotic orchestration is both a testament to his intellect and a reminder that, in the world of Danganronpa, no situation is ever as simple as it seems, especially when he is involved.

#3: Chiaki's Death

//Chiaki's reveal as both the killer and the traitor is an emotional wrecking ball disguised as a plot twist. Up until this moment, Chiaki has been the group’s rock, dependable, sweet, and seemingly incapable of harm.

//Learning she’s the traitor completely flips the script, forcing one to rethink every smile, every piece of advice, and every moment of quiet solidarity they’ve shared with her.

//It’s like finding out your favorite cozy sweater has been secretly plotting against you this whole time. The twist doesn’t just pull the rug out from under you; it sets the whole floor on fire.

#4: The Complexity, the Detail, and the general Presentation

This trial is a masterclass in making players second-guess everything they thought they knew. From unraveling how poison ended up in a fire grenade to deciphering Nagito’s absurdly elaborate setup, the mechanics of this case are both brain-bending and deeply satisfying.

//Every tiny clue matters, and the game’s pacing doles out twists like it’s hosting a plot twist buffet, except every dish leaves you more anxious than the last.

//The atmosphere is dialed up to eleven, with every element working in perfect harmony to mess with your emotions. The ominous tension builds like a slow-motion train wreck you can’t look away from, and when the trial reaches its devastating crescendo during Chiaki’s execution. It’s the musical equivalent of someone punching you in the soul, ensuring the emotional impact of this case lingers long after the trial gavel falls.

And #5: The Themes and Emotional Impact

//Nagito's actions are the embodiment of his twisted mantra: hope born through despair. His scheme is a masterstroke of chaos, forcing the group to grapple with betrayal, sacrifice, and their commitment to surviving together.

//Chiaki’s tragic death serves as a painful but pivotal moment, galvanizing the group to push forward despite their grief. It’s a gut-wrenching reminder of the game’s central theme: even in the bleakest moments, hope can still shine through, though it might leave you sobbing into your controller.

//Unraveling Nagito’s convoluted plot is satisfying on an intellectual level, but the real punch comes when you realize the cost of discovering the truth.

//Chiaki’s confession, laced with bittersweet acceptance, and the group’s collective sorrow turn the courtroom into a theater of heartbreak. By the end, you’re not just grappling with the logical fallout of Nagito’s manipulation, you’re left questioning your emotional capacity to survive the gauntlet of despair Danganronpa throws at you.

//And...that's about it. There really isn't that much to say that hasn't been said already. Ultimately, this trial is the most series-defining chapter in Danganronpa history, and every other trial should stand by its example.

//It encapsulates everything that makes the series special: the blend of hope and despair, the unpredictable twists, and the deeply human conflicts at its core. It’s not just a murder mystery; it’s a philosophical puzzle, a character study, and a testament to the creative heights of the genre.

//No wonder it stands tall as one of the best moments in the series, if not its crowning achievement. And personally, I do believe that it's hands down the best case in the entire franchise.

//...

//Except for one...

[dezdrev]

Deal with the devil

A fanfic inspired by the show “grotesquerie”

Summary: Charlie drives you home from your therapy session, furious with you. He finds another way to take him anger out on you.

Authors note: this is inspired by the show “Grotesquerie” by Ryan Murphy. This is how I picture season two to go. I will be adding new characters, settings, and plot twists. Again THIS IS INSPIRED TO THE SHOW!!! I hope yall enjoy!!!

TW: mentions of murder, torture, domination and pain kink. HEAVY SMUT!!!

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The ride home with Charlie was quiet, you were still shaking from the encounter with Lois and he was still furious with you. But he wasn’t going to scold you or yell at you, he knew how to get you to speak without doing that. He noticed your shaking and body language, you looked terrified and he started getting nervous. While he thought you were concerned by the session, you were truly concerned about the recent murder. The photo looked exactly like your dream, almost worse. You felt terrible, you knew that Charlie and Lois were both mad at you. But as much as Charlie was mad, he was worried. He puts his hand on your knee and starts to explain his feelings without blowing up.

“I know you feel like you can’t tell me about these things, but you need to trust me. I only want to help you and I can’t help if I don’t know the truth. Baby I’m really worried about you, you’ve gotten no sleep this week and you’re looking at walls all the time like someone’s there. If you’re going through another episode, you need to tell me now.” He lectured.

He seemed genuine, his words felt calming to your current tension. You needed a distraction from all of the stress, and his lecture was helping a lot. All you could do was stare at him, the sudden oxytocin flowing through your body was making you sweaty, craving his touch more. You move your leg to make his hand go up to your thigh. He looked at you and raised an eyebrow. he knew what you wanted and was willing to give it, but he wanted to teach you a lesson for lying to him more. He wanted you to know that you were his and only his. He grips your thigh tightly while explaining more of his lecture.

“I want you to start talking to me about these issues more, I can’t stand to see you suffer my love. You have this issue where when you need to tell me something, you make me fight it out of you. I don’t like it when you do that.” He continues.

“I know.” You say quietly.

“I’ll be better I swear baby. I’ll do whatever you want just please don’t be mad at me.” You continue.

Your response made him get goosebumps, and his eyes were all over your body. All he could think of was what he wanted to do to you, even the thought of it made his pants tighten. He brings his hand higher up your thigh, and while he looks at you he takes his hand off you and put its on the steering wheel. He was teasing you, and the grin on his face let you know that this was your punishment for lying.

“I would never judge you for what you’re going through.” He assures you.

When you got home, you quickly went inside to check your phone and you see a text from Lois.

“Meet me at the police station at 4:45.” It said.

You assumed that she just wanted more information from you so you threw your phone on the couch and went to kitchen to grab a bottle of wine. Charlie comes in the living room to see you with a bottle of red wine one hand and two glasses in the other. He also notices your phone, which was still open sit Lois’s text displayed on the screen. He picked it up and read the text.

“Why did Lois text you to see her at the police station?” He questions.

“Oh she just wanted to ask me more about my dreams.” You responded.

“Okay then. But if she starts messing with you, call me. Okay?” He asks

“Of course love.” You said.

“Drinking already?” He asks as he holds the glass.

“No, we are drinking. I feel like we’ve had a pretty shitty week and we deserve a day to destress.” You explain.

Charlie’s eyes were all over you, wherever you went he was there. He was still mad at you for lying, but he wanted to take his anger out a different way. As he grabs the glass of wine from your hand, he starts questioning your little “date with Lois”.

“I don’t understand why you still talk to her. Do you truly believe anything that she says?”

“Not really, but she might be-“

“You can’t believe anything that she says Violet, she’s crazy and I don’t want her filling your mind with stupid accusations.” He interrupted.

“Promise me that you won’t believe her.” He said

His questioning made him look like he was guilty of something, but all you could do was agree to his promise. You trusted that he wouldn’t do something like what Lois accused him of, but he was guilty of something.

Charlie was mesmerized by you, he couldn’t hold his temptations much longer. He starts to bring his hand to your neck, pulling you closer to him. Before you could react, he pulls your lips into his creating a rise of heat in your body. Your eyes slowly close with passion and he starts pulling you closer to him. His grip on your neck was tight, but you wanted more. You start to bite his lip, drawing blood.

“More…” he moans.

You start to bite down harder while licking the blood off of his wound, the taste of iron seeping into your mouth. You take your teeth off of his lip and slowly start to trace your bloody tongue to his throat. You start kissing his neck, nipping at it with your teeth. He threw his head back, craving more of your wet mouth on his body. He craved the pain you gave him, it gave him a spike of pleasure. You start biting down on his neck, the harder you bit the more he whimpered. He takes his hands to your waist and throws you on your back. He smiled, showing his mouth covered in blood. As he licks the blood from his lips He starts to unbuckle his belt, bringing it to your wrists. The tightness of the belt almost cut circulation from your arms, but he didn’t care. He starts walking to the kitchen and grabs a pair of scissors. When he comes back he gets on top of you and starts cutting your shirt off your body, fully exposing your chest only in a bra. He starts teasing you with the scissors, running the blade across your stomach. The cold touch mixed with the sharp blade made you shiver.

He throws the pair of scissors across the room, causing a big noise to hit the floor. He gets on his knees and starts kissing every inch of exposed skin, slowing sucking on your stomach. He goes lower and lower until he reaches your thighs. He starts unbuttoning your pants and bites down on button of your jeans, using the support of his teeth to bring them lower with his mouth. You are fully exposed on the couch with only a bra and panties on. He slowing starts to kiss your legs bringing his body up with him, worshipping every inch of you. He takes his mouth off of you, leaving the warm bloody marks of his kisses go cold on your legs.

“I wanna try something…” He says softly.

“Do you trust me?” He asks.

You shook your head yes, pleasure flowing through your body. He starts to bring his mouth back to your body, kissing and licking every inch of your thighs. He crawls up to your pussy, grabbing your panties with his teeth and slowly brings them to your ankles. He puts his hands on your thighs and pushes them away, slowly kissing your inner thighs before bringing his mouth to your entrance, kissing it gently.

Your body reacts, a tiny whimper escapes your lips trying to keep composure. He starts to bring his hand to your face, his fingers going into your mouth as he sucks on your clit. His tongue going up and down on your clit, teasing your entrance. Each moan escaping your lips got louder, feeling Charlie fingers trying to shut you up only fueled you more. You started sucking on his fingers, biting them with each moan you let out. The pain from your bites made him groan again your pussy. You could feel your orgasm coming and with each tease Charlie did with his mouth made you closer to the edge. Your mouth drips his name from your lips which only make him crave your taste more. He takes his mouth back to your clit, gently biting on it. A yell escaped your lips, which made him cover your mouth with his hand. Your orgasm flowed through your body and you bite down on his fingers, making him scream in agony and pleasure. He takes his mouth off of your pussy and starts crawling back to your face, His chin glistening with waters. He starts to take his belt off of your wrists and brings his hand to your jaw, clenching it tightly. He pushes your head back, making you jolt in pain.

“Stop fucking lying to me.” He says angrily.