#new stranger things gate

[alcalystrasz]

I know a lot of bylers are bored so here is a new gate I had the idea of. @teambyler made a similar gate called Castlegate which says that Mike and Will are going to rebuild the castle together. Note that I didn't know it before making my post :)

So, I present to you: Castlebyersgate

So, in my mind whats Castlebyersgate? It is a theory that says that Mike rebuilt Castle Byers while Will was in California, so he could remember him and also use it as a way of saying "sorry" because of what happened in S3 when Will destroyed this place. It can have 2 branches, either he just rebuilt it as Castle Byers or he rebuilt is naming it Castle Wheeler-Byers.

Annnd, it it also a theory that says that Byler is going to share their first kiss in this very same place.

It could be either in the Upside Down or in the real world, doesn't really matter honestly.

So yeah, what do you guys think? Do you believe in Castlebyersgate?

[bylertruth3r]

Is that Mike's room? The yellow curtains👀 and it's open(the "look behind the curtain" thing) and if we get a "I love you" "I know" reference during the byler love confession? Because we already have "I didn't say it" "you didn't have to" plus there's a Han Solo and Leia parallel during the byler rink o mania fight

[silver-horse]

I discovered something huge about Rolan and Cal and Lia!

I hope I am the only one who didn't realise this until now but Cal and Lia are NOT Rolan's actual siblings.

I killed them just to use speak with the dead spell on them and Rolan's corpse said he has no family. He said only Cal and Lia are brother and sister and "Cal says I am family, but..." and the way he said it is so sad.

[squeeb100]

11 Fundraiser Boost

Hello all. Please take a moment to take a look at these fundraisers from Gazan families who have approached me. I took a moment to try to condense some information here for better reach. If you have money floating around from the holidays, consider sharing your wealth! I have included any vetting information I could find, but I am not a vetter and the information is not exhaustive. 

Depending on the reach this gets, each person kicking in just the bare minimum would be a huge boost for any of these campaigns. If you can't, consider reblogging. I don't have a large platform.

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@mahmoudfamily12: $28,894/$50k goal; reblogged by 90-ghost (https://www.tumblr.com/90-ghost/756899215473606656?source=share)

Mahmoud Alkhaldi: “For 116+ days, me and my family have been under intense bombing and warplanes rockets in the Gaza strip. I’m asking funds to evacuate (5) members of my family from Gaza to a safe place in Egypt, including my younger brother (Mohammed, his wife, and his 1 and half year son Yasser), and me and my fiancée Sujood).”

GFM: https://www.gofundme.com/f/helping-gaza-family-to-get-out 

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@aboodfamily44: $60,184/$85k goal; vetting discussion here https://www.tumblr.com/aboodfamily44/768580577809039361?source=share

Abood and his wife Maria need help evacuating to save their lives. They have been displaced more than 10 times. 

GFM: https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-abboud-from-the-war 

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@ayooshs-stuff: new fundraiser, $2614/$50k goal; vetting  by gaza-evacuation-funds https://www.tumblr.com/gaza-evacuation-funds/760224788809695232/todays-vetted-fundraisers 

Ayoosh is a schoolteacher who needs help evacuating her parents and 8 siblings, surviving amidst high food prices, reconstructing their home, and purchasing a car. Her GFM transfers have been stopped and she has started a new campaign on Chuffed. 

Chuffed: https://chuffed.org/project/help-my-family-evacuate-from-gaza-aya 

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@somiafamily2: $2076/$60k goal; northgazaupdates post about them: https://www.tumblr.com/northgazaupdates/769415338283728896/my-friend-please-help-me-i-didnt-get-donations?source=share

Mohammed needs money to feed his hungry children, one of whom has an eye injury. Two of his children were martyred in the attacks and he was injured.

GFM: https://www.gofundme.com/f/sbmare-pleas-help-me-and-my-family?lang=en_US&utm_campaign=fp_sharesheet&utm_medium=customer&utm_source=copy_link

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@aliataalhallsg: $5,238/$10k goal;  #373 on @gazavetters list

Ali is 24 years old, from a family of 9. He has lost his job and his home and needs help with the basic survival of his family amidst this genocide. “Now my family and I dream of living in a warm house with electricity, water, food and proper medicine and to have the basics of life Please donate to help my family survive the war and meet our basic needs. We hope you all can help us get out of Gaza and I will be grateful, thank you.”

GFM: https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-ali-survive-and-evacuate-gaza?attribution_id=sl:c227dd4e-b400-4461-9391-87ebdb3a9219&utm_campaign=natman_sharesheet_dash&utm_medium=customer&utm_source=copy_link

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@gazahanan5: $38,162/$100k goal;  #140 on @gazavetters list

Hanan and her family, including her three young children, are struggling to survive right now. She needs money for food, shelter, diapers, and the basic necessities of life for her hungry family and children. 

GFM: https://www.gofundme.com/f/9s6zht-please-help-my-family-in-gaza?lang=en_US&utm_campaign=fp_sharesheet&utm_medium=customer&utm_source=copy_link 

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@mohammedhabib90: $12,516/$30k goal

Muhammed is 24 years old and has lost many of his relatives. He and his family are raising money to evacuate, but they are in northern Gaza and struggling to survive as they are having trouble securing food. 

GFM: https://www.gofundme.com/f/p7y8p-help-us-to-recover?utm_campaign=p_lico+share-sheet-first-launch&utm_medium=social&utm_source=whatsapp 

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@eslamfa16: new fundraiser at $1,730/100k goal

Vetted by: Bees and watermelons line #175 click here

@el-shab-hussein line #308 click here

@90-ghost click here

Eslam is a schoolteacher from gaza who needs money to treat and feed her sick daughters, ages 5 and 10, who are suffering since they’ve been displaced. They need money to evacuate, survive, reconstruct their home, and own a car. Her transfers from GFM have been paused and she started a new fundraiser on Chuffed.

Chuffed: https://chuffed.org/project/119968-help-eslam-save-her-family

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@ahmadhammad1998: $10,134/$20k goal. Reblogged by @90-ghost https://www.tumblr.com/90-ghost/765142775423467520?source=share 

Ahmed Hammad needs help saving the life of his very sick 3-month-old Mohammed, who cannot receive mediciation and nutrition under these conditions. Ahmed’s mother is also sick, and he has lost his father, brother and sister. 

GFM: https://www.gofundme.com/f/xxxx-excape-xxxxx?modal=share&source=fundraiser+sidebar 

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@yousef-fals: new campaign at $2781/$100k goal; reblogged by @90-ghost https://www.tumblr.com/90-ghost/758888274107498496?source=share 

Falestine needs help to get milk, diapers, and medicine for her 8-month-old, Youssef. It is just her and her baby, as her husband has already escaped. She would like to evacuate, but she and Youssef are living in terrible conditions and also need basic necessities. She has started a chuffed campaign due to issues with her previous one. 

Chuffed: https://chuffed.org/project/119559-help-falestine-and-family-survive-the-gaza-crisis 

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@ranafam7: vetted by association with Ayoosh https://www.tumblr.com/dlxxv-vetted-donations/766386655846383616/this-campaign-is-vetted-by-association-through?source=share 

Rana and his four children are living in terrible conditions and are starving. It is very cold and wet and they are struggling to survive. Flour and milk cost $1000/week and they need to save money to evacuate. GFM: https://www.gofundme.com/f/donate-to-help-rebuild-home-education-centers

@90ghost @northgazaupdates2 @palestinegenocide

[readwritealldayallnight]

Something something you’ve been seeing this new guy for a few weeks now, sparks aren’t flying between you two but he’s hot, pays for your drinks, only mostly stares at your tits when you’re talking, and best of all he consistently fucks your brains out at the end of each date, so you’re in no rush to break things off yet

Something something he asks you out on another date but says his car is stuck in the shop for a while, asks if you wouldn’t mind being a ‘real bonnie lass’ and picking him up from work, swearing up and down that he’ll make it worth your while in bed tonight

Something something you’re surprised when the address he gave you is a well fortified military base, unable to recall if he’d ever mentioned what his job was in the first place, but visions of his mohawk between your legs tonight silences any apprehension as you pull through the gates

Something something you shoot him a text from your car to let him know that you’re here, but the reception is shoddy and you end up walking around a bit in hopes of finding better connection so the message can go through

Something something you’re focused on your phone screen, smiling to yourself when you finally see the text become delivered, hardly noticing when you walk into a brick wall of a man, dropping your phone to the ground

Something something you both bend down to pick it up at the same time, hands connecting and instant sparks flying through your fingers, letting out a genuine laugh when you end up knocking your forehead against his and falling on your butt

Something something the tall, masked stranger offers you a hand up, never letting go of you as you start talking, the two of you hitting it off instantaneously, hardly paying attention to the sky around you steadily growing darker and darker, each word slipping past his lips in that deep, gravelly Manchester accent of his has you forgetting why you were here in the first place, until he asks

Something something, you explain you’re here to pick up a friend for what’s supposed to be a fourth or fifth date, though you don’t see things going much further, especially now that mister tall, dark and handsome is standing before you, a vision plucked straight out of your wildest fantasies brought to life

Something something, Johnny finally looks away from the recruits long enough to see to see your text, unaware that his plan to show you off as his newest sweet piece of ass to his mates has quickly turned into his Lieutenant stealing his girl right out from under his nose

[stranger-theory]

chat reply to this if we wanna start #bruisegate

can’t wait to see mike wheeler get whacked in the face while trying to protect will (he’s the most protective boy in the world and i love him)

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - FIFTEEN

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: angst; mentions of abortion, grief & health issues;

Rafe was a hundred percent sure the lack of oxygen made him delirious.

His palms were still clammy from the panic attack earlier—vision spotty, heart galloping so hard it scared even him. Sarah had stared at him like he was a mangled dog limping on the freeway and for once, she hadn’t said anything smart or mean, just driven him home without a word. No fight with her that night, he hadn’t screamed at her, hadn’t said something he’d regret—he kept his shit together for once. He said thank you, but his sister didn’t need it when she’d grown up watching him break down and build back up a thousand times, never quite whole.

Therapy hadn’t miracled him into some new person or whatever. He wasn’t going to start quoting mantras and hugging strangers in the street. He was trying, alright? Not to ruin everything he touched, not to say shit that hurt people only because he was hurting. It wasn’t gonna happen overnight—he knew that, it might not even occur in a year. But cleaning the water with you, of all people, that was something, a start and he had to start somewhere, or he’d drown.

That’s why he was parked outside your place, headlights off, keys still in the ignition, trying to talk himself out of going in. His fingers hovered over his screen guessing you’d follow up your text with a quick “nvm” or “that was a mistake.” But nothing came, just that green bubble, staring back at him, fucking terryfing.

This had to be some kind of trap, you hadn’t said two nice things to him in the past four months, except tonight, but his brain was foggy.

Rafe rubbed his face, still buzzing with adrenaline, a headache forming low behind his eyes, he should just go home, stop chasing something that always seemed to blow up in his face. But his hand was already on the door handle, legs half-numb as he stepped out into the night air. His heart started doing that thing again—erratic—and he wondered if he was about to pass out on your front steps.

That’d be poetic.

He was idling outside your gate, the one that used to open the second his Range Rover pulled up, he knew the code, now he had to buzz, like a stranger.

Rafe hated that.

He pressed the button, swallowing hard, already regretting it. He half-expected silence, or your voice telling him to go to hell. Instead, there was a click, then the slow swing of iron, groaning open like it, too, couldn’t believe you’d let him in. By the time he reached your front door, his hands were damp again, chest aching with everything he wasn’t saying.

Then—door swings open.

You didn’t make him knock, there you were barefoot, dressed in some enormous hoodie he hadn’t seen in months. Hair twisted up, eyes dark from either crying or just not sleeping. You weren’t supposed to look like that.

“Hi.”

“Hi?” he echoed, like a fucking idiot. It came out raspy, his throat wasn’t working right, still scratched up from earlier. His lungs hadn’t fully clocked back in from that panic attack and now this. “…You let me in.”

“You rang the gate.”

You seemed tired, not just physically, and he did that thing again, almost stopped breathing because air wasn’t a thing he deserved around you.

You stepped aside, sighing. “Come in. Before I change my mind.”

He did, swallowed hard, and crossed that threshold like he was sixteen again, sneaking in past curfew, scared your dad would catch him, but now it was just the two of you. You sat curled into the corner of the couch across from him, arms wrapped around your knees while Rafe sat stiff on the edge of the opposite one, elbows on his thighs, hands clasped like he was praying.

(He was.)

He dragged a hand down his face, his lungs were feeling funny again, but it wasn’t a panic attack this time, it was you, sitting right there, after all this time. He wanted to say something, but everything in his brain came out wrong before it even hit his mouth.

So he sat and you stared. This is probably where she slaps me, or tells me to get the fuck out. Or worse, says nothing, he thought.

He wanted to tell you that he hadn’t slept right in weeks, sometimes he thought he saw you out of the corner of his eye, and his body would react like you were real—as if he could still fix it. He wanted to admit he’d been spiraling, white-knuckling his days just to get through without texting you, begging or showing up like this.

"You're not gonna say anything?"

You looked like you’d bolt if he breathed wrong.

Rafe blinked, looking away. "I don’t know where to start."

That made your mouth drop, not quite a frown but close, he tracked it, all the little changes in your expression like they were landmarks in a city he used to live in. He didn’t know if that map still existed for him anymore.

“Start somewhere.”

Where the fuck was “somewhere”? Before the fight? Before he said all that shit he didn’t mean because it was easier to make you hate him than admit he couldn’t live without you?

“I didn’t think I’d be let in.”

“I didn’t think you’d show up.”

Everything felt surreal, as if he’d left his body behind in the car and now he was just watching this shit play out on a TV screen. You across from him, this house, this conversation—civilized, if you could even call it that. He didn’t know how to be calm around you, maybe this was hell, he died somewhere between the panic attack and your driveway and this was just the afterlife: stuck in a loop with the one person he couldn’t stop loving but always hurt.

“I don’t know how to talk to you anymore,” He confessed, his leg bouncing, nervous energy bleeding out of him. None of you were yelling, crying, rolling your eyes like usual, that scared him.

He kept seeing it in his head, how things used to be—even after a screaming match, you’d curl into him like nothing ever broke. you'd text him "come over" at 2 a.m. and he’d be there in ten, because it was understood. It was always understood.

Even when the world felt like it was falling apart, when his dad was on his ass, when he was fucking up every other part of his life—you were the one place he didn’t have to explain himself. This didn’t feel like the two of you, more like strangers in borrowed skin.

Rafe hated that he kept looking for you—the old you, who would tilt her head and laugh through her nose and throw a pillow at him when he said something stupid. The girl who could read him in a second and didn’t need him to find the right words. You didn’t look like her anymore, that was a good thing.

What the fuck happened to us.

He was what happened, if he hadn’t shut down, pushed back, said the worst thing at the worst time—he dropped his gaze to the floor, hands flexing again against his thighs. There was so much he wanted to say, but none of it would change what he’d already done.

You still weren’t uttering a single word, and he was starting to feel like he couldn’t sit here another second without doing something—saying something, but then, as if you'd taken a peek inside his excuse of a brain—

“I think we should get our excuses out of the way.”

He looked up.

Your hands were fidgeting—thumb picking at your sleeve, eyes not quite on him. God, he remembered those hands, you used to touch his face like he was something soft, you hadn’t touched him at all in months.

“I mean it. No more bullshit.”

“What are you talking about?”

You met his eyes.

“I mean, I’ve got my own shit to say,” you said. “So if you’ve got something to say, I want to hear it now.”

He suddenly felt sick, his ears were ringing again, the way they had earlier when Sarah pulled the car over and told him to “breathe, Rafe, it’s anxiety, not a heart attack”.

“…I don’t know how to say it right,” he muttered almost swallowed by the quiet. “Every time I try, it comes out fucked.”

“Give it a try.”

You didn’t say anything else, the you go first was visible in your eyes.

That was the least he could give you, right? He’d been taking and taking, his soul already hurt from just the thought. But you were offering him honesty, one chance, without the screaming, the throwing things.

Rafe cleared his throat, eyes glassy and wild and stupidly, desperately hopeful. Alright, somewhere. Fuck it.

“I regretted it the second you left.” It it hurt to say it, “I didn’t say it then. I was too—” He laughed once, humorless. “—too proud. Too fucked up, drunk.”

He rubbed his palms against his jeans, focusing on everything he hadn’t said properly for months. It haunted him, how your face had crumpled but you still didn’t cry in front of him—too proud or too hurt or both. The sound of the door slamming after you was louder in his head than the gunshots from his worst nights.

“The shit you said that night… messed me up. I know I messed you up too, but—” He stopped, jaw flexing. “I didn’t think it would come from you.”

That was the part no one ever understood.

He could take the hits, the rumours, Ward yelling in his face, his so-called friends talking behind his back. Even Sarah calling him an asshole—he could take all of that. But you? He’d spent so long thinking you saw him, even when he didn’t deserve it, especially then.

When you threw his pain back at him that night, when you looked at him like he was just another spoiled rich boy crying over his daddy—fuck, he’d felt something in him break in half.

“I thought you’d get it,” he admitted, swallowing hard. “That’s the part I couldn’t stop thinking about. You—of all people. You lost your whole family. You know what that’s like. You were there when my mom died. We were kids, but you were the only one who talked to me about it. I thought—” He shook his head. “I thought it would be like that again. That when my dad—when he was gone… I thought if anyone would understand what that felt like, it’d be you.” His mouth twisted. “But you didn’t.”

He blinked, and his vision went fuzzy again—not from panic this time, just pain, remembering too vividly.

“I deserved it, I really did. But that night?” he said, “I couldn’t forgive you. You weren’t wrong—" He bit his cheek, hard, until the taste of blood hit his tongue. “—but it was you. And I didn’t want to stop loving you. That’s why I didn’t chase you, just drank, a lot, figured I’d black out enough nights and eventually stop thinkin' about it.”

Another dry laugh.

“Didn’t work, if that wasn’t obvious.” He leaned forward again, elbows on his knees, “I kept waiting for you to come back, thinking any day now, you’d text me. Say you were sorry too. But you didn’t and I didn’t know how to fix somethin' you were the one who broke last.”

His pride had cost him everything, but it was never stronger than his hurt. And even now, with your hand resting on your stomach and his gut screaming, he was still reaching for the version of you who used to understand him without either of you saying a word.

Rafe swore that was it—you were gonna walk out, leave him sitting there like some pathetic, washed-up version of the guy you used to love.

“Is that why you started seeing Sofia?”

"I didn’t…" He paused, shaking his head, dragging a hand down his face. “I didn’t see her like that.”

You didn’t say anything, just nodded, slow and silent: go on.

“She was the bartender at the club. I’d see her when I went in—most of the time I was drunk off my ass anyway. Half the time I didn’t even remember what I said to her. I didn’t know her name for a while.” He hated himself for saying it out loud. “She was just there.”

His leg started bouncing again, and he didn’t even notice.

“She asked if I was okay once. That’s all it took, one person acting like they gave a shit. And I was pissed at you, I was pissed at everything, but mostly I was pissed at myself for not being okay and for needing you anyway.”

His hands came up, gesturing vaguely between you.

“I kept thinking—you left me. You left. When I needed you the most, and I knew I’d done so much wrong, pushed you so far that you didn’t have anything left to give me, but… I still thought you'd understand. I thought if anyone was gonna sit with me in grief, it’d be you. But you didn’t, you treated me like I was a fucking monster, it didn’t matter that I’d just buried my dad. All I was, was Ward’s son, and not just some kid trying to make sense of losing the only parent he had left.”

You looked like you wanted to interrupt. You didn’t.

“And I know he was a bad man. I know that, ’m not fucking delusional,” Rafe snapped, voice rising for a second, frustrated with himself, before softening again. “But he was still my dad. The guy who used to drive me out on the boat at sunrise and teach me how to cast without tangling the line. He was still the man who told me I could be something. Even when he lied through his teeth—he still said it.”

He dropped his eyes to floor again, voice going nearly hoarse.

“And I missed him. I still do, even when I hate him, I miss him. You made me feel like that was something to be ashamed of.” When he spoke again, it was almost a whisper. “That’s when it clicked. You were gone, you weren’t coming back. And I wanted to hurt you like you hurt me. I didn’t even realize you were already hurting, mourning me while I was still sittin' right fuckin' next to you.”

His eyes lifted slowly to meet yours again.

“That’s why I didn’t stop her,” he said, quietly, defeated. “When she kissed me the first time… I didn’t stop her. Because I wanted you to know what it felt like, to feel what I’d been feeling every second since the door slammed behind you. I wanted it to hurt when you found out.”

Rafe saw your jaw twitch, you were trying not to cry or scream or both while he admitted what you’d already known in the deepest part of your chest. He hated that you were sitting so far away, arms wrapped around yourself when all he wanted was to cross the space and warm you up with everything he hadn’t known how to say until now.

He hated that he’d ever wanted to hurt you.

“You didn’t have to make it worse.”

His head dropped, ashamed, nodding. He knew, fuck, did he know.

“You could’ve called. Texted. Showed up like this—months ago.”

“I didn’t know how.”

“You did. You just didn’t want to.”

You were right, he had let pride drag him deeper into the hole, let the silence rot what was left between you because at least in the silence, he didn’t have to see your eyes look at him like that.

That night—shit, that night—he’d said things he didn’t even remember, the kind of bullshit you don’t come back from. It scared him sometimes, what he’d become. He’d wanted to win the fight more than he wanted to keep you, twisting his grief into something cruel the following weeks, just to make you bleed a little too.

Rafe swallowed hard, voice low now, ashamed. He rubbed the back of his neck.

“I didn’t even like her,” he admitted, a little more broken. “Not like that. She was just… there, a good friend. She wasn’t you, didn’t ask questions, didn’t expect anything from me. And I hated myself more every time I saw her because I knew what I was doing. I was punishing you, for something I couldn’t admit was my fault too. I didn’t think there was anything left to fight for.”

His voice cracked for real this time.

“That’s the difference between us,” You muttered. “You give up when it’s hard. You made it look easy.”

“I needed you to hate me enough to stop trying.”

You let out the breath you’d been carefully holding.

“Congrats. It worked.”

“I didn’t want it to. I was a mess. Still am. I never stopped—”

“I thought I was going to die when I saw you together, Rafe.”

Your eyes weren’t angry or accusing, just….sad.

“I—I saw you in the bathroom,” you continued, “Thought I was going to throw up right there in the hallway.”

Rafe’s heart stopped.

“The door was open just a crack, enough to see her.” You swallowed hard, and he could see how your hands were shaking now. “She had her arms around your neck. You were smiling, laughing even. You kissed her neck, she was touching. You fucking let her.”

His soul caved in.

“I stood there for maybe ten seconds. Long enough to see you tie the strings of her bikini behind her back like you’d done it a hundred times already.” You let out a little laugh, but it sounded so wrong. “It used to take you five tries to tie mine without getting flustered.”

He felt sick to his stomach.

You shook your head slowly, eyes closing.

“It felt like someone had just reached into my chest and ripped my heart out. I couldn’t breathe, my face went cold, and all I kept thinking was you didn’t even flinch.”

Rafe opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His heart was fucking breaking.

You tilted your head, blinking up at the ceiling, trying to keep it together. “I slept on the bathroom floor that night, in your hoodie, because it smelled like you. Didn’t eat for two days.”

A pause.

“And I still would’ve taken you back if you’d just shown up. Said you were sorry.”

Rafe couldn’t take it anymore. “I was sorry,” he said, hoarse. “Every second. I swear to God, I just didn’t think I—”

“—deserved it?” you finished for him, not unkindly. “You didn’t.”

He flinched.

“But I would’ve still tried,” you whispered. “Because I loved you that much.”

No vindication or closure. Rafe pressed his fingers to his temples, exhaling hard, his whole body burning with guilt.

“I didn’t like her,” he repeated, knowing it couldn’t erase what he’d done.

"You liked her enough to keep her around."

“She was there. That’s all it was, she wasn’t you. I couldn’t even look at her without thinkin' about you.”

You shook your head, eyes gleaming. “Then why didn’t you leave?”

He looked at you, words choking in his throat. “Because I was scared you’d already moved on. You were gone for two months, I felt like a stranger."

You let out a bitter breath, “You were a stranger. The moment you let her touch you like that… you stopped being mine.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, a punishment, he deserved worse.

“I didn’t know how to come back from it,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“You don’t come back from something like that."

He nodded, devastated. “I never stopped loving you, that never changed.”

You looked at him for a long time, it almost hurt worse than all the yelling in the world — because you weren’t angry anymore. You nodded once, slowly. “I know. But that doesn’t make it hurt less.”

Your eyes were still fixed on him, lips parted like you wanted to say something else but weren’t sure where to start.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said that night.”

That pulled his eyes back to yours.

You nodded to yourself, needing to work up to it.

“I was angry. I was—I was tired.” You sat back, and pulled your knees tighter into your chest. “From watching you ruin yourself over and over again for someone who didn’t give a single fuck. You were breaking your own heart every day, and I couldn’t do anything but watch.”

He didn’t say anything, just watched you like he was trying to breathe you in all over again.

“I knew he was your dad, what that meant. But watching you keep chasing something you were never gonna get from him—his love, his pride, a real apology—it made me so fucking angry, it was killing you and I couldn’t save you from it. Every time I tried, we fought, when I tried to be patient, you snapped. Even when the good moments were good, they started to feel like pit stops before the next fight."

You bit your lip, eyes glossy.

“So yeah, I said shit I shouldn’t have said. I threw your grief back in your face, it wasn’t right. It was fucked up. And I hate that I did it, because I do get it—I do know what that kind of loss feels like and I still made it about me in the moment. That’s not fair, you didn’t deserve that, especially not from me. I'm sorry."

You weren’t done.

“But you’re not the only one hurting” you continued, “You weren’t the only one grieving. I lost you, little by little, every time you pushed me out and let Ward pull you in. It felt like I was loving someone who didn’t want to be loved anymore and I broke, too.”

Rafe blinked fast, chest rising with shallow breaths while you were still picking at your sleeve, eyes down.

“And you were right, back then. When we were younger, you were always the one to fix it. Every time we’d break up, even if it was just for a week or two, you came crawling back. Even when I was the one who started the fight, even if I flirted with someone else afterward to piss you off.” Your voice wobbled, but you didn’t stop. “You were always the one who showed up.”

His head dropped for a second, eyes squeezed shut.

“I told myself that made me better than you somehow,” you murmured. “I had the upper hand because I could make you come back, but that was just me being a bitch, you weren’t the only one who needed to grow up. You weren’t coming back and I didn’t want you to.”

That was the part no one ever understood.

Not the Cut High Society who asked what kind of psycho gave up a Cameron. Or your old friends from college who wondered why you weren’t mourning louder. None of them got it, you didn’t stop loving Rafe, you’d just spent so long dragging his broken pieces out of the fire that eventually, you forgot you were burning too.

You both looked at each other, older than you used to be, still cracked in all the same places, bleeding a little. “I had to be better on my own and I have been.”

You didn’t say it with pride, but you had learned how to exist without him, even when it broke you. Rafe’s eyes flicked to your stomach.

You rubbed your hand over it, “I didn’t tell you before because I wasn’t keeping it.”

You weren’t keeping it.

He couldn’t blame you, not when he’d made it feel that way. His gaze dropped to your hand resting gently over the swell that wasn’t there yet, still small, but he saw it now. He wasn’t supposed to know. that’s what killed him most still, you hadn’t even told him because he’d already proven he wasn’t worth telling.

“You weren’t gonna keep it,” he repeated, like saying it might help it sink in.

You gazed up at him again, eyes wet, but no tears spilling. “No.”

“Because of me?”

You didn’t need to answer. He already knew.

His heart was splitting open, right there on the floor between you both, and he still couldn’t move or close the gap. Couldn’t hold you the way he wanted to because you’d already had to learn how to live without him.

“It wasn’t fair,” you tried not to twist the knife even as you twisted it. “To bring a baby into that… into what we were.”

Rafe nodded once, a jagged little motion because it hurt to agree, so fucking bad. You weren’t wrong, but that didn’t make it easier.

“I would’ve been better,” he sounded completely desperate now, his voice breaking. “If I’d known, if I’d—fuck, if you’d just told me, I swear to God, I would’ve been—”

“You don’t get to promise that now,” you said, but there was no venom in it, only resignation. “That’s why I was so upset when Topper found out, called the clinic.”

“Have you talked to Topper?” Rafe asked, he already knew the answer but needed to hear it from you.

You shook your head. “Not yet. I will.”

He nodded once, “He meant well.”

“I know,” you said quietly. “He’s not a bad person. Just… socially dumb.”

That almost made Rafe huff out a laugh, but it didn’t quite land.

“I think he was trying to protect you.”

“And I didn’t need protecting,” you snapped, “I needed someone who wasn’t gonna treat me like a bomb about to go off.”

That shut him up, because it was true. You’d needed stability, and all they ever gave you was a headache. He knew better than to push you when it came to family matters, so he changed the subject again.

“You didn’t go through with the abortion."

“I was past the legal limit in North Carolina. The place he called was in New Mexico.”

“New Mexico?”

“I had to fly there.”

“But you didn’t.”

“There were… complications.” You didn’t elaborate, your voice was already trembling, “They said it might mean I can’t… that I might not be able to…It wasn’t my choice anymore.”

Your voice died, you didn’t say it, but Rafe heard it.

He felt like he’d been shot.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice pitched up, breath hitching, "Why didn’t you tell me you were hurting?”

“Because you weren’t mine anymore, Rafe.”

He blinked, and it hit him all at once. The beach clean-up, you fainted, he manhandled you into the car, yelled at you in the parking lot. Told you to stop being dramatic. Dragged you to the hospital because he thought you were being reckless.

He forced you there when you were already in pain.

“I didn’t know I was sick then. I thought I was just tired, it wasn’t until the bloodwork came back that they realized something was wrong. Dr. Harris said it was severe anemia, that if I had gone through with it… I might not have made it through the bleeding.”

Rafe’s breath left his lungs like he’d been punched. “Jesus.”

Your lip trembled even though you were trying so hard to stay composed. “They said even keeping the baby might… it might not save me either. Giving birth could be just as dangerous. And the baby might not make it.”

Rafe wanted to crawl away.

“And you’ve been going through this alone?”

“I’ve had Sarah. She’s the only one that knows.”

His eyes flicked to the side like maybe if he didn’t look at you, it would hurt less to absorb all of it, the guilt drowning him.

“She should’ve told me,” he muttered, but even that felt weak, it wasn’t Sarah’s burden to carry.

“I told her not to,” you said softly. “I begged her.”

That part gutted him all over again, you were in pain—but you didn’t trust him with it, you’d believed so deeply that he wouldn’t show up, that you chose to suffer in silence.

“I don’t know how I let it get this bad,” he whispered.

“I do,” you said, without accusation. “You stopped seeing me. I was standing in front of you, hurting, and you were too busy trying to be someone else’s son.”

Rafe pressed a hand to his face, red-rimmed eyes that happened when he was trying not to cry. “I see you now.”

A weak apology wrapped in a confession he should’ve made months ago. It was a small thing, such a simple sentence, but it cracked something in you, too.

You swallowed hard, “It doesn’t change everything.”

“I know.”

You both sat there in that painful stillness. So much unsaid even after everything, the past had finally caught up to both of you and didn’t know where to go from here.

“Were you scared?”

“Terrified.” You didn’t let him look away. “I was scared every second. Of what was happening, of what it meant, of what I was gonna do. And I was more scared of telling you than I was of bleeding out.”

He winced but you didn’t stop.

“If I told you, and you didn’t show up, it’d break me in a way I wouldn’t come back from. And if you did show up just to make it about you, to throw it back in my face like you did everything else that scared you—” You shook your head, blinking hard. “I couldn’t survive that version of you.”

“I wouldn’t have—” he started, then stopped. “I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

He rubbed both hands over his face, then through his hair like he was trying to physically pull the memory of who he’d been out of his skin.

“I’m not letting anything happen to you.”

It was the first time in a long time you felt like you weren’t bleeding out alone.

You watched him, and for the first time in months, he didn’t look like the boy who broke your heart. He was a man trying to find a way to put it back together—piece by piece, even if it was too late.

You took a shaky breath, “I don’t want to get back together.”

Rafe didn’t flinch outwardly, but inside, there was a bomb. It was fair, and he knew that, he expected it. The words ricocheted in his head, over and over. It made sense. Fuck, it made perfect sense. He’d been a ghost of himself, lost in Ward’s shadow, drowning in every toxic version of what he thought strength was supposed to be. He’d made you feel alone when you were most vulnerable, hadn’t seen you when you were falling apart.

“I didn’t say all this so you’d take me back. I just…” He exhaled shakily, head in his hands. “I need you to know I’m sorry. And that I—I’m still here. I can’t change how bad I fucked up, but I can show up now. However, you’ll let me.”

He observed you again, eyes rimmed with guilt and love that had aged in the dark, misshapen but still there.

“I’ll drive you to the appointments. Sit in the parking lot if you don’t want me in the room, do the night runs for ginger ale or whatever the fuck else you need. You don’t owe me anything back.”

He wasn’t offering to fix it so he could be your boyfriend again, he was offering because he could finally see past himself.

“I don’t want you to go through any more of this alone.”

He was a boy you'd loved so hard you forgot how to live without him once. And now here he was, offering to stand beside you, to hold space, to carry what you couldn’t anymore.

“You say that now, but you have no idea how bad this could get. I might not make it,” you reminded him. “There’s a real chance this ends with me gone, and if it doesn’t, it could still mean I’m sick."

You weren’t trying to be cruel, he understood that, you were being honest.

“I know it’s serious, but—”

“No,” you cut in, “You don’t know. This doesn’t end with you waiting outside the delivery room and me holding the baby with a tear-streaked smile.” Your voice failed you. “This could end with a funeral, mine, the baby’s, or both. And if that doesn’t happen, if I survive, it still might not feel like a win. I might never stop resenting that I didn’t get to choose.”

He hadn’t just failed you, he’d failed everything he ever said he’d protect. He could taste the bitterness in his mouth, that acrid sting of regret, it made his bones ache. Of course you had a right to be angry.

Rafe’s fingers twitched in his lap, itching to reach out. To touch your knee, your hand, your shoulder, anything, but he didn’t dare.

“They took that from me, my body did,” you admitted, “I don’t know who I’ll be when this is over. I don’t know what will be left of me, if I’ll still be someone who can look at you without seeing every moment I didn’t get to make for myself.”

He didn’t know who he’d be either. What if you died? He couldn’t unsee it now—your body going limp, blood-soaking sheets, hospital lights, helpless. What if you lived and he lost you anyway? Could he watch you walk away—alive, whole—but still broken in all the places he helped crack? He loved you so fucking much it made him hate himself.

And that love—it didn’t ask for pretty endings or promise healing, it watched you, knowing the most honest thing he could do was not fix it, but feel it with you.

“We can be friends, maybe.”

Friends.

It wasn’t a bad word, but for him, it wasn’t neutral when it came to you. He’d tasted your breath and held your dreams and mapped the small places only lovers know, he’d once believed you were it for him.

But that’s what you needed and that’s what you could give, this time—this fucking time—he wasn’t going to take what wasn’t his.

“I’ll be your friend.”

The words nearly choked him. It was how it started, wasn’t it? All those years ago—mud-streaked knees and popsicles melting down your wrists, sunburns and scraped palms, long summer days, nights spent hiding from the storm under porch roofs, hearts still too young to know what they'd grow into.

He stared at you, the girl he’d known since she wore glitter nail polish and refused to eat the crust on her sandwiches. The woman you were now, trembling and brave and a thousand kinds of soft steel.

“I’ll be whatever you need.”

So what if he only ever got to be the one who drove you to your appointments and waited in parking lots and left ginger ale on your porch when you were too sick to eat? That was love too. Rafe let out a breath like he’d been holding it since he was seventeen.

He could do that, he would do that. It wasn’t closure, it was a better version of grace from two people who’d seen the worst of each other.

“Sarah told me you’re in therapy.”

Rafe blinked, like you’d spoken in a language he hadn’t heard in years, the conversation rerouted so quickly it gave him whiplash.

“…How does she know I’m in therapy?”

You gave a half-hearted shrug, “Wheezie.”

A dry chuckle escaped him—one of those stunned, of course kind of laughs. He shook his head slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Should’ve known,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “Girl has ears like a bat. Probably listened through the vents.”

That tugged a smile out of you.

“It’s not…a big deal,” he added, “I mean, I guess it is, but it doesn’t feel like it yet. It’s just me sittin' there trying not to lie to someone who’s already read through all my bullshit before I’ve even said it.”

“It is a big deal, Rafe.”

He peered down at his hands, they were shaking. He tucked them under his legs. “I only started recently. Didn’t think I’d make it past the first session, almost didn’t go in.”

“But you did.”

“I kept hearing your voice—old stuff. Before I started proving you wrong.”

It stung because you remembered those days too, when you believed in Rafe so fiercely it made you blind.

“I wanted to be that guy again,” He confessed, and the guilt in his voice was so sharp it could’ve cut glass. “Not for you. Well—yeah, okay, maybe a little for you. But mostly for me. I didn’t like what I saw in the mirror anymore.”

You reached over then—hesitating for only a second—and placed your hand over his.

His breath hitched, the tears coming suddenly, stinging the backs of his eyes before he could shut them down. He stared down at your hand resting on his, a goddamn miracle he didn’t deserve.

Jesus Christ, he thought, I forgot what this felt like. It was pathetic, really. He’d gone so long without this kind of softness form you, he didn’t know how to take it. You were still offering him pieces of something when you had every right to keep it to yourself.

Rafe was so touch-starved for you, from how you used to bump into him in the hallway, or grab his wrist mid-argument to make your point, or how your leg would press up against his under the table and you didn’t move away. He missed all of it.

He turned his hand slowly, almost scared you’d pull away. When you didn’t, he slid his fingers through yours like muscle memory.

“I’m glad you went.”

He sniffed hard, wiped his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, “Yeah, turns out I really am fucked in the head.”

“Don’t say that. I’m serious,” you said, squeezing his hand once more, then pulling away before it became too much. “You’re not fucked in the head. You’re hurting, that’s not the same thing.”

Rafe almost whimpered. He swallowed it down fast—the sound sat heavy in his chest. Your hand left his like it had never been there, and he ached in the space it used to be. His fingers twitched, they hadn’t gotten the message you were gone.

He wanted to grab your wrist and put your hand back.

He didn’t. He sat there, palms burning with the echo of your touch, trying not to look as desperate as he felt. Get a grip, he told himself. He wondered if you felt it—how much it had cost him not to lean in when you pulled away.

His throat burned. “Feels the same. Still got a million things wrong with me, still get mad too fast, still got shit I haven’t unpacked.”

“I know. But it’s not the same, is it?”

Rafe gave a small nod, that wry little smile faltering as fast as it had come, it didn’t reach his eyes. “Nah, it’s not.”

He knew you two were broken people, bruised by what they’d done and what they’d lost, sitting in the ashes of something that might’ve once been beautiful, trying to decide if they could still survive what was left.

Rafe wanted to try, more than anything.

It was the closest thing to forgiveness you could offer and it would have to be enough. Healing wasn’t going to come as an apology or a promise. It was going to be long, ugly, forged in therapy sessions where he had to say things out loud that he’d spent years trying to ignore beneath anger and loyalty and all the wrong kinds of pride.

“Why tonight?” He gripped his own thigh like if he let go, he’d lose the nerve. His voice scratchy, “Why’d you answer my text tonight of all nights?”

You spine straightened like it was a question you hadn’t wanted to ask yourself, either.

“Was it ‘cause you felt bad for me? A-after the gala?”

“Rafe—”

He exhaled, eyes wet again. “W-Was it pity?”

“I missed you.”

You missed him.

It was enough for the part of him that still woke up reaching for a body that hadn’t shared his bed in months, that still kept your contact saved with a heart next to it, even after you’d blocked him.

He recognized that tilt of your chin when you were holding in too much. He used to kiss that jaw. Bite it, even, when you were play-fighting on sun-drenched bedsheets. Now all he could do was watch.

Rafe’s shoulders hunched, chewing on the inside of his cheek, “I missed you more.”

“I’m scared. That even this—whatever this is—"

“I’m scared too,” he cut you off, with that same wreckage in his voice.

It nearly destroyed him, the way you were looking at him—memorizing him. You used to kiss like that. It felt almost wrong, like opening a box you’d locked for good.

It wasn’t reunion or redemption or the kind of love that got wrapped in ribbons and returned in the third act. It was grief, stretched between two people who used to finish each other’s sentences and now could hardly finish a conversation without bleeding all over it.

Then, almost like it wasn’t real, you asked, “Do you ever wish we’d never met?”

Rafe looked at you like you’d just shot him with a rifle, his breath hitched, his lips parted— “No. Fuck, no.”

You nodded slowly, maybe you did, he wouldn’t blame you if you had wished that, no matter how good it started, it left bruises when it ended.

“I think about that sometimes. Not because I didn’t love you. But because I did and lost myself in you. And then I lost my body and the baby. And now… I don’t know who I am without all that loss.”

He was shaking his head. “You didn’t lose the baby.”

“Not yet.”

Rafe had no words that wouldn’t sound like hope, and that felt cruel now. You’ll be okay, or the baby’s strong, or we’ll get through this, those were promises made in ignorance. And his therapist had told him just three days ago, “ignorance isn’t innocence. It’s just fear in nicer clothes”, and while he hadn’t understood it at the time, he understood it now.

“Do you h-hate me?”

“No.” It hurt more than a yes would’ve. “I don’t hate you, Rafe. I just… don’t trust you.”

“Do you think—” he started, stopped, tried again. “Do you think I could ever be the kind of person you’d let in again?”

You looked at him, long and sad.

“I think you could be, I just don’t know if I’ll be around to see it.”

[thesuperiorrobin]

New Year’s resolution~

Pairing: Damian Wayne x Fem! Reader

Summary: Damian’s stuck with a plan for the next year.

Word count: 1.0k

Warning: none.

He’s got everything set in his head. After your first day a few years back, Damian knew you were the one he wanted to spend his life with, the one to grow old and be buried side by side for all entirety with. The word love was such a foolish thing to hike growing up, it was something he was taught by his mother and grandfather: “Love is a blinding thing and is nothing more than a weakness to all,” and it stuck with him until he met you, both 16 on New Year’s Eve just a few minutes before the time struck midnight—out and about far away from his family.

No lie, Damian Wayne was an angsty teen. At the time, he wanted nothing to do with his rowdy and chaotic family, along with the drunken strangers that seemed to be coming and going through the minor, seeing as his father was throwing yet another charity event. He managed to escape them that night, slipping away through the window and past the gates. Damian takes a stroll around the Gotham streets. The streets are never this quiet, but everybody’s with family, even the night's villains. He can hear the yells and laughter through the thin walls of the building as he passes by, and all he does is roll his eyes and kick a rock down his path.

A figure runs by, and it catches his eye, and as curious as ever, he follows, all that training comes in handy. He makes no sound, footsteps as quiet as ever, and his breathing barely makes a peep. He follows them up the Stoop of a building that leads to the top, hiding himself as he goes unnoticed by the person. That person pulls their hood down, revealing a you, a young woman around his age, their bag is thrown onto the ground as they kneel, unzipping it open to reveal food. Food that was meant for cats.

He watches for a minute, and not long after he hears the faint meows of multiple cats coming out of the shadows, some older and some much younger. They all gathered around the you, happily enjoying the food while some rubbed their heads against your leg.

"You can come out now. I know you're there," you call out, but it doesn't startle Damian. Although he is a bit shocked that you knew he was there, he clears his throat, revealing himself to you as you keep your back turned for a minute before glancing over your shoulder. Your eyes locked in with his green ones briefly before humming and looking away. "What’s the Damian Wayne doing out and about at this time just a few minutes before the new year starts? Shouldn't you be at the charity event?"

"I'm not suited for those things" his voice is quiet, but not quite enough for you to not hear "And you? Shouldn't you be with family at this time, it's almost midnight"

"Nosey are we?" You tease slighting leaving Damian to roll his eyes at you "My parents work with you Dad, so they're at the charity event too"

"They left you behind?"

"No, it was more of I didn't wanna go, big crowds with people I don't even know and pretending to be nice to me aren't my thing" You shrug slightly, and it goes quiet for a second before you look over your shoulder once more "wanna help me feed them? They won't bite"

Damian stays silent, as he moves forward and finds himself kneeling beside the you, the sound of crumpling paper could be heard from underneath. They find warmth, as they cuddle up closer to him, some finding their way in his coat and he lets them. Damian had always had a soft spot for animals. He takes a glance that you, soft smile painted on your lips as you hand feed a baby cat that’s cuddled up in your coat for warmth.

“My name’s y/n by the way” You take a glance at him, catching his staring and he turns his head to the side embarrassingly.

“Y/n….” He repeats, your name rolling off his tongue well, “Well you already know my name” his tone wasn’t cocky, no, it was more of an annoyed one. You hum, glancing down at the newspaper Damian seemed to be kneeling on, and as ironic as ever, his face was plastered on the front with a headline.

“Don’t think I can miss it when your face and name are practically everywhere” you chuckle softly pointing at the paper below him, and as he looks down Damian frowns slightly before glaring back at you.

“How hilarious” rolling his and a comfortable silence falls between the two of them, and it isn’t long before it is disturbed by loud ‘booms’.

Damian’s startled, taking action and going into a fight stance positioned. There wasn’t a single sign of threat anywhere near, just the sudden boom noises repeating over and over.

“Oh look!” You shout, catching his attention as he follows your gaze up in the sky “The fireworks!” The sky’s filled with color—and not the type that turns them red, orange, and yellow but the type that turns them purple, pink, blue, and green. You glance down at your phone, time reading 12:01. “Can’t believe I started the new year with Damian Wayne…” you chuckle, glancing back at him but frowning “Why are you standing like that? You look like you're ready to fight someone”

Damian clears his throat, awkwardly fixing his position as he glances at you with a scowl “This will be the first and last New years we’ll spend together”

“I wasn’t expecting another New Year with you” you shrug “wanna feed the dogs next?”

You two, did in fact, spend the next seven New Years together.

Two as friends and the rest as lovers.

And as the ball drops to the countdown from ten to one, you two share a sweet kiss when everybody wishes one a happy New Year and as you two pull apart, Damian stares at you lovingly as you smile back. The only thought in his head was thinking of ways he was going to propose to you the following year, or maybe he’d do it sooner.

Well…… I'm so late but HAPPY NEW YEARS. This was actually supposed to be posted on the 1st of January but I lost track of time I'm sorry 😭

[aeniiverse]

ANNOYING NEIGHBOR NEXT DOOR

Synopsis — you thought the idea of having a new neighbor was nice, everywhere would be peaceful you and the new neighbors would exchange one or two greetings anytime you collided in the hallways but Minjeong makes you view it all differently now

Contains — fluff, strangers to enemies to lovers (in y/n’s head), strangers to lovers (in Minjeongs head), neighbors au , golden retriever x black cat, nickname: princess grumpy and clownjeong, Minjeong is head over heels, y/n thinks Minjeong is annoying at first, kissing (once), mention of a man (y/n goes on a date with a man)

WORD COUNT — 11k

A/N — I just have a thing for when idols are so loser/puppy coded 🙏🙏 had so much fun writing this 😭

You weren’t asking for much just a bit of peace and quiet.

After six long months of enduring your current neighbor’s obsession with playing electric guitar at ungodly hours (always off-key, always with the passion of a man fighting demons), you’d nearly cried when you saw him hauling boxes out of his apartment. “I’m finally free,” you whispered to yourself, forehead pressed against the peephole like you were watching the gates of heaven open.

The day he left, you lit a scented candle, ordered takeout, and played lo-fi music at a responsible volume, basking in the silence like it was a luxury spa. No more screeching solos at 3 a.m., no more mystery smells wafting under your door. You even dreamed of a future where you and your new neighbor might exchange polite nods in the hallway maybe even a friendly wave if things got real wild.

So, of course, the universe decided to spit in your face.

Because that very night, at exactly 12:03 a.m., the bass dropped.

You were jolted awake like someone had thrown you out of a moving car. The walls vibrated. The floor thumped. There was shouting, cheering, even…..and was that a dog barking? You blinked at the ceiling in confusion, wondering if you’d been dropped into an underground club by accident. But no, this was your bed. Your home. Your sanctuary. And whoever had just moved in next door was trying to turn it into Coachella.

Your first instinct was denial. Maybe they were just celebrating. A little housewarming moment. It was their first night, after all who were you to judge?

Then the clock hit 2:37 a.m. And then 4:19 a.m. And then, when the sun was beginning to rise at 6:01 a.m., the music finally stopped, right around the time you had to drag yourself out of bed for work.

You stared at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, half-asleep with pillow lines etched into your cheek, and said out loud: “I hate her.”

You hadn’t even seen her yet. All you knew was that your new neighbor had the audacity to throw a full-blown rave on a Tuesday night like she was allergic to peace. But it didn’t matter you already hated her.

And thus began the war.

The next few days were a study in chaos. While you clung to a strict 10 p.m. bedtime and folded your laundry like a normal adult, she lived in a completely different universe. One where music blasted at random hours, someone was always laughing (suspiciously loud and way too attractive), and packages kept piling up outside her door like she was running an online shopping empire.

You finally saw her a week later. And you were prepared to give her a tight-lipped smile, maybe a passive-aggressive “Hey, how’s the soundproofing in your place?” if the opportunity arose.

But the second she stepped into the hallway, your brain short-circuited.

Because she was unfortunately hot.

Like, unfairly hot. Hoodie hanging off one shoulder, damp hair from a shower, iced coffee in hand even though it was cold outside. She looked like she walked straight off the set of a coming-of-age Netflix drama, and your brain decided to betray you by going completely blank.

“Oh hey,” she said, giving you a smile that was way too bright for 8:30 a.m.

You blinked. “Huh?”

“Neighbor, right? I just moved in.” She extended a hand, which you stared at for a second too long before awkwardly shaking.

“Y/N,” you managed.

“Minjeong,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”

It wasn’t. But you couldn’t say that out loud.

Minjeong gave you another smile, then walked off humming a song you’d definitely heard through the wall at 2 a.m. the night before. You watched her go, equal parts stunned, annoyed, and deeply concerned by how nice her shampoo smelled.

That’s when you made your first critical mistake: you decided she was the enemy.

You convinced yourself that she was the type who wouldn’t remember your name in a week. That she didn’t care about being a decent neighbor. That her whole vibe, hot, effortlessly charming, chaos incarnate was a personal attack on your carefully constructed life of order and adulting.

Meanwhile, in Minjeong’s head, something very different was happening.

Because from the moment she saw you bedhead, hoodie with your office logo on it, slippers shaped like cats. she was, in her words, “done for.” She talked about you for ten minutes straight to her friend Ningning that afternoon.

“She’s so cute,” she said, dramatically sprawled across her couch. “Like, ‘excuse me’ cute. Like grumpy librarian meets off-duty model. She has these little sleepy eyes and I think she judged my coffee order and it was kind of hot.”

“Did she smile at you?” Ningning asked.

“Kind of. In a way that said, ‘I hate you but I could also fall in love with you if you stopped being annoying.’”

“You’ve known her for five minutes.”

“That’s enough.”

From that day on, Minjeong made it her mission to win you over. She started with greetings. Always cheerful. Always a little too loud. Always with some oddly specific detail about her day you didn’t ask for.

“Hey, Y/N! I got a blender! It’s pink!”

“Morning! You should try this new place downstairs. They make this disgusting matcha latte I can’t stop drinking.”

“Hey, you looked really focused yesterday when you left for work. Like, very serious. Do you do spy stuff?”

You responded with polite nods. Barely-there smiles. The occasional grunt when you were too tired to pretend.

You were convinced she was messing with you. No one could be that cheerful at 7 a.m. Especially not someone who hosted parties with that many screaming people and three separate Spotify playlists labeled “Vibe Only.”

And yet despite your best efforts you found yourself noticing things.

Like how Minjeong always held the elevator door open for you, even when you were at the end of the hall. Or how she complimented your outfits in weirdly specific ways (“That blazer makes you look like you just won a court case and I’m into that”). Or how she never seemed to mind your half-dead zombie face in the morning and even once said, “You’re like… charmingly exhausted. It’s kind of your thing.”

You tried to stay annoyed. You really did.

But the thing about Minjeong was she grew on you. Like mold. Hot, annoyingly persistent mold.

The final straw was when she knocked on your door at 9 p.m. on a Friday with two bowls of ramen and a sheepish smile.

“I may have accidentally broken my stove,” she said. “Do you wanna eat this with me or let me suffer alone?”

You stared at her. Then at the ramen. Then back at her.

“…Fine.”

You told yourself you were just being polite. That it was a one-time thing. That this didn’t mean anything.

But an hour later, you were laughing at her impression of your building manager, and she was sitting way too close on your couch, and the thought floated into your head uninvited:

You’re in trouble.

You weren’t paranoid. You were just observant.

It started with the elevator. You’d always had a good rhythm going. leave the apartment at exactly 8:37 a.m., elevator arrives by 8:39, and you’re out the lobby doors by 8:42, no interruptions. It was your sacred little ritual. Peaceful. Predictable. Perfect.

Until Minjeong started showing up.

At first, you chalked it up to coincidence. People lived in the same building. Elevator overlap was bound to happen. But then it happened again the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that. Every single morning, without fail, the doors would slide open and there she’d be: oversized hoodie, iced coffee in hand (yes, still in winter), eyes lighting up like she was happy to see you.

“Morning, Y/N!” she chirped on day five.

You didn’t respond. You just stared at her and shifted to the farthest corner of the elevator, clutching your bag like it could protect you from whatever chaos she radiated.

“You always leave around this time, huh?” she added, like she didn’t already know. “I should’ve guessed. You seem like a very… punctual person.”

That was it. You narrowed your eyes.

She was tracking your schedule.

You didn’t have any proof, not really but deep down, you knew. No one just accidentally showed up that many times in a row. She was either trying to annoy you on purpose or attempting some weird form of social ambush. Either way, you weren’t having it.

So you left earlier the next day. 8:27 a.m. Just to be safe.

You strutted down the hallway feeling smug. Minjeong wouldn’t be expecting that. She’d probably still be in bed, dreaming about whatever hot people dream about. You were halfway to the elevator when—

“Y/N?”

You stopped in your tracks. Turned. And there she was.

Standing in front of her door. Holding a bag of trash. Looking far too surprised to be innocent.

“Oh! Didn’t think I’d see you this early,” she said, smiling like she hadn’t just given herself away. “Taking the trash out too?”

You glanced at your work tote, your blazer, your very obvious lack of a trash bag.

“No,” you said flatly. “I’m going to work.”

“Oh. Right.” She shifted awkwardly. “Well… have a good day!”

You walked into the elevator without responding, hit the button, and as the doors closed, you muttered under your breath: “Stalker.”

You tried to switch it up even more after that. Left at different times. Took the stairs. Waited until the last possible second. Nothing worked. Minjeong was always there sometimes miraculously appearing just as you were unlocking your door, sometimes already waiting in the lobby “just hanging out.”

And it wasn’t just in the mornings.

She bumped into you at the coffee shop near your building.

“Oh hey! I didn’t know you came here too!” she said on your third visit, as if she wasn’t very clearly sitting at the window watching the door.

You ran into her at the laundry room.

“Wow, same laundry day? That’s so domestic of us,” she said, dropping her basket with a dramatic sigh like you were starring in a sitcom together.

You even saw her at the tiny corner market two blocks down.

“Oh my god,” she gasped, grinning. “Are we… synced?”

You almost dropped your basket.

You weren’t dramatic. You weren’t. But you were convinced Minjeong was following you. No one was that coincidental. No one was that present all the time. You’d never met someone who appeared more often than your own reflection.

Your group chat was torn.

You: she’s stalking me. I’m serious. She’s like a flirty ghost that refuses to be exorcised

Jisoo: …are you sure you’re not just finally making a friend?

Nari: is she hot

You: yes but IRRELEVANT

Jisoo: this sounds like a Wattpad fic

Nari: she’s into you

You: SHE’S INTO ANNOYING ME

But even they had to agree that the coincidence level was suspicious.

It all came to a head the day you went for your usual lunch break walk to clear your head from your hellish job, only to spot Minjeong sitting on your bench. The one you always claimed under the tree, away from all the noise and pigeons and people who breathed too loud.

And she was just… there. Drinking a smoothie. Wearing sunglasses. Waving.

You stopped walking.

“No way,” you muttered, turning back toward your office building. “I’m hallucinating. I’m under stress. That’s not real.”

“Y/N!” she called. “Hey! Do you wanna sit?”

You turned slowly.

“How do you know I come here?”

She blinked. “I didn’t! I was just… passing by.”

You stared at her. “You live 20 minutes from here.”

“Exercise?” she tried.

“It’s a Tuesday.”

“Exactly. Cardio Tuesdays.”

You stared harder.

She finally cracked, giving you a sheepish grin and pulling her sunglasses up onto her head.

“Okay, fine. I might’ve overheard you on the phone once. Saying this was your favorite lunch spot.”

You blinked. “You were listening to my phone calls?”

She winced. “No! I mean. I was coming up the stairs and you were outside your door and talking loudly and I have really good hearing and maybe I just… remembered.”

You just stared. For a long, silent moment.

“…You’re so weird,” you muttered, walking past her and sitting down anyway because you weren’t going to let her take your bench, even if she was wearing stupidly nice sunglasses and had a stupidly cute dimple that showed up whenever she was nervous.

She perked up, scooting over like you hadn’t just insulted her.

“I don’t get it,” you said finally, watching her sip her smoothie. “Why are you always around me?”

She blinked. “You make it sound like I’m haunting you.”

“You are.”

Minjeong looked at you for a long second.

Then shrugged. “I like being around you.”

You turned to her slowly.

“You don’t even know me.”

“Sure I do.” She counted off on her fingers. “You like your coffee black unless it’s a Monday, and then you get it with caramel. You always take the elevator unless you’re mad, then you take the stairs. You hum when you’re concentrating. You say thank you to the mail guy even when he’s grumpy. And you pretend to hate me but I bet you’d miss me if I stopped showing up.”

Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

“You’re insane,” you said.

Minjeong smiled.

“You didn’t deny it.”

You scowled and turned away, hiding the warmth rising in your face behind your cup.

You were not falling for her.

Not even a little bit.

You were just… concerned. She was obviously obsessed with you. You were just trying to survive. That was all. Nothing more.

Still, later that night, when she didn’t show up in the hallway like usual, you found yourself staring at your peephole for a suspiciously long time.

Not that you missed her.

You just liked… knowing where she was.

For safety reasons.

Obviously.

You’d almost convinced yourself it wasn’t going to happen again.

Almost.

After all, it had been nearly a week since Minjeong’s last impromptu DJ set featuring bass-heavy remixes and the occasional scream-laugh echoing down the hallway. You’d thought naively, so foolishly that maybe she’d grown out of it. That she’d settled into adulthood, learned the sacred unspoken rule of Apartment Peacefulness, and realized normal people didn’t party on weeknights.

But then Friday night rolled around.

And at exactly 11:56 p.m., the music started.

At first, it was just bass. The kind that vibrated through your mattress like a second, more annoying heartbeat. Then came the chorus of voices, shouting, singing, laughing, like a horde of frat boys had possessed her living room.

You stared at your ceiling, dead-eyed. Hands by your side. Mentally writing your resignation letter.

It was louder than the last time.

Somewhere around 2:00 a.m., someone yelled “DO A FLIP” and glass shattered.

You were fully feral by then exhausted, furious, and moments away from snapping. You tried earplugs. Then a white noise app. Then your emergency calming playlist (ironically, it included whale sounds). Nothing worked. The floor trembled every time the bass dropped.

By 3:27 a.m., you were throwing things into your overnight bag like you were escaping a war zone. Which, in a way, you were.

You texted your friend:

You: coming over. not dead but might commit crime soon.

Jisoo: is it the hot neighbor again?

You: she’s SATAN with lip balm.

Jisoo: door’s open. there’s leftover pizza. bring your rage.

You packed your office clothes, toiletries, charger, and one incredibly petty note you debated sliding under Minjeong’s door on your way out.

You didn’t, though. You were better than that.

Barely.

You left the building with dark circles under your eyes and a migraine forming behind your left eye, muttering curses with every step as the party raged on behind you.

Sleeping at Jisoo’s was bliss. Silent, pizza-filled bliss.

You got six whole hours of uninterrupted rest, a luxury you hadn’t had in weeks. And the next day, you even managed to survive work without collapsing or snapping at anyone. The anger was still there, buzzing low in your chest, but it was buried beneath a thin veil of exhaustion and iced coffee.

It wasn’t until after work, when you finally trudged back into your building hoping for nothing more than a hot shower and your own bed, thats when you saw her.

Minjeong. Leaning against her door. Holding what looked like a box of cookies.

And her face lit up the second she saw you.

“There you are!”

You blinked. Paused. Considered turning around.

“I didn’t see you at all today,” she continued, walking toward you like you were happy to see her. “I thought something happened. Were you okay?”

You stared at her.

Then pointed to her apartment. “You mean after your rave last night?”

She winced. “Okay, yeah. That was maybe a bit much.”

“A bit?”

“I didn’t think it’d go that late! People just… kept coming.”

“Because you INVITED THEM.”

Minjeong blinked, clearly taken aback. “Whoa. Are you mad?”

“No. I’m exhausted. There’s a difference.”

She hesitated, then held out the box like it was a peace offering. “I brought cookies?”

“I left my own apartment because of you.”

She froze. “Wait. What?”

You sighed, shifting your bag onto your shoulder. “I couldn’t sleep. Again. So I packed a bag and stayed at my friend’s. Because I literally couldn’t take another night of… whatever the hell that was.”

Minjeong looked genuinely stunned. She lowered the box slowly. “You… left?”

“Congratulations,” you said dryly. “You threw a party so loud it evicted me.”

Her mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. “Oh my god.”

“I don’t think you get how loud it is. I work. I need sleep. And you treat this place like a musician afterparty venue.”

Minjeong looked like she wanted to melt into the floor. “Y/N, I’m… I didn’t know it was that bad. I thought it was just kind of background noise.”

“You had conga lines in the hallway.”

“…Okay, that might’ve gotten out of hand.”

You let out a breath and leaned against your doorframe, suddenly too tired to keep the full force of your anger alive. The truth was, you didn’t even want to fight. You just wanted her to get it. You wanted her to take something, anything seriously for once.

Minjeong stepped back, rubbing the back of her neck, looking a little smaller now.

“I didn’t mean to drive you away,” she said, voice softer. “That wasn’t… I thought maybe you didn’t mind it anymore. You hadn’t complained in a while.”

“That’s because I was trying to be civil. And delusional, apparently.”

A pause. Then, quieter: “I missed seeing you today.”

You blinked. “What?”

She glanced up at you, looking suddenly sheepish. “You’re… always around. Not in a weird way!” she added quickly. “I just… like running into you. Even if you’re grumpy.”

You stared at her, floored by how earnestly stupid that sounded.

“I literally left because of you.”

“I know. I messed up. Big time. But I wasn’t trying to be a bad neighbor. I just…” She hesitated, then shrugged. “Got excited. I haven’t lived alone before. I kind of went overboard. And I didn’t realize how much it was bothering you until now.”

You studied her face. For once, she wasn’t smiling. No smug grin. No flirty wink. Just a slightly panicked, flushed Minjeong, fidgeting with the corner of the cookie box like it held all her regrets.

“…You really didn’t know?”

“No. But I do now.”

You crossed your arms. “And?”

“I won’t do it again. Promise. No more parties. Not even a little one. Just quiet Minjeong. Book club Minjeong. Baking show Minjeong.”

“…That last one better not be code for another rave.”

She laughed, weakly. “It’s not. I swear.”

You stared at her. Then, reluctantly, reached for the cookie box.

“I’m only taking these because I’m hungry. Not because I’m forgiving you.”

“Got it. No forgiveness. Just food-based tolerance.”

You turned to unlock your door, but paused when she added softly:

“I really am sorry, Y/N.”

Something about the way she said it made your chest pinch.

You didn’t look back. Just muttered, “You should be,” and closed your door behind you.

Still… the cookies were warm.

And you hated that they were kind of good.

You weren’t planning on inviting her.

Of course you weren’t. Why would you?

Game night was a sacred event. A no-chaos, no-stress, friend-only sanctuary held in the cozy confines of Jisoo’s apartment, complete with snacks, wine, and passive-aggressive Uno wars. It was not for random neighbors who threw parties at ungodly hours and wore smiley socks like a personality trait.

And yet there she was.

Minjeong. Standing in Jisoo’s doorway, clutching a bag of chips and a six-pack of soda like she belonged there.

You stared at her. She grinned.

“Hey, neighbor.”

You turned slowly to your traitorous friend. “Jisoo.”

Jisoo didn’t even pretend to look sorry. “She was in the hallway, I think she came to visit her friend soooo, I invited her. You said you were trying to be civil.”

“Civil doesn’t mean social,” you hissed.

“She brought chips,” Jisoo replied, entirely unhelpful.

Minjeong held them up. “They’re spicy-flavored. Like your attitude.”

You blinked. “What?”

She winked. “It’s a compliment.”

You stared at her. Then at Jisoo. Then back at Minjeong. “You can’t just show up. At my friend’s apartment. During game night.”

“She’s my friend now too,” Jisoo cut in, already leading her to the couch. “We talked about Taylor Swift in the hallway for twenty minutes.”

You looked like you might combust.

“Let her stay,” Nari added, flopped upside down on the floor. “The drama’s fun.”

“I’m not dramatic,” you snapped.

“You stormed into the group chat last week and said you were going to buy noise-canceling grenades,” Nari said. “That’s not drama, that’s war.”

“I was venting.”

“You also called her a noise goblin,” Jisoo added.

Minjeong gasped in mock offense. “You called me a goblin?”

“A noisy one. And it was accurate.”

She shrugged, plopping down beside Nari. “I accept it. Goblins are kinda cute.”

“Why are you like this?” you muttered, sitting as far from her as possible.

“Genetics. Charm. Possibly divine intervention.”

The games began.

And much to your dismay, Minjeong wasn’t bad at them. No, she was the worst kind of game night guest, the kind who got overly competitive and overly charming. She made jokes. She got high-fives. She somehow convinced Nari to partner with her in Pictionary even after drawing a “dog” that looked like a loaf of bread.

She kept looking over at you, too. Like you were in on some inside joke you never agreed to be part of.

You ignored her. Or tried to.

Halfway through Uno, Minjeong stacked three “draw fours” on you with a smile that made your blood pressure spike.

“Sorry, Y/N,” she said sweetly. “It’s just the game.”

You slammed your cards down. “You’re enjoying this.”

“I’m enjoying you.”

The room went dead silent.

You blinked. Hard. “What.”

“I meant this. This vibe,” she corrected quickly, cheeks flushing. “You. Us. Uno tension. It’s electric.”

“I will actually fight you.”

“Please do,” she said. “I’d let you win.”

Jisoo made a noise like a dying kettle.

“Okay, hang on,” Nari said. “How are you two not dating?”

You and Minjeong spoke at the same time.

You: “We’re NOT.”

Minjeong: “…We’re not?”

You turned your whole body toward her. “Did you think we were?”

She blinked. “Well. No. But like. Spiritually?”

“What does that even MEAN?”

“You bicker. You storm into hallways. You leave me cupcakes and glare at me in elevators. classic enemies to lovers pipeline,” You looked like you’d swallowed a lemon. “It was ONE cupcake. Out of guilt. And you all need to stop reading fanfiction.”

Nari shrugged. “Can’t help it. You two have the tension of a slow burn.”

“There is no tension.”

“You’re literally vibrating.”

“That’s called rage.”

Minjeong smiled. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”

You stood up.

“I’m going home,” you announced.

Jisoo tugged your wrist. “No, no! Y/N, come on, it’s just teasing.”

“I’m not doing this,” you muttered, grabbing your coat. “I came here to play Uno and make fun of Nari’s drawing skills. Not get shipped with the world’s most obnoxious neighbor.”

Minjeong stood too, looking surprisingly serious for once. “Hey—Y/N. Wait.”

You paused. Eyed her warily.

“I’m sorry if I ruined your night,” she said. “I wasn’t trying to make fun of you.”

Your brows furrowed. “Then what were you trying to do?”

Minjeong opened her mouth. Closed it. Shrugged, helpless. “I don’t know. Be near you?”

You blinked. Again.

“Why?” you asked, genuinely confused.

She let out a laugh, soft and slightly exasperated. “Because I like you. Even when you’re mad at me. Even when you call me names and act like being near me is torture.”

“It is.”

“I don’t believe you.”

You scowled. “You should.”

She smiled. “Then why’d you stay at game night this long?”

“I was trying to be polite.”

“You flipped me off during charades.”

“Politely.”

Jisoo groaned loudly from the couch. “Can you two just kiss already?”

“WE’RE NOT—!”

Minjeong leaned in suddenly.

You flinched back, eyes wide. “What are you doing?!”

“Nothing!” she said quickly, hands up. “I wasn’t—I wasn’t gonna kiss you. I just—got excited. You looked soft.”

“I will shove you.”

She beamed. “Do it.”

You shoved her shoulder. She laughed.

You hated that it sounded nice.

You left eventually, claiming you had work in the morning (you didn’t). Minjeong didn’t follow, but she waved from the hallway like she hadn’t just publicly embarrassed you and/or sent your brain into chaos.

You walked home feeling… confused. And annoyed. And warm.

But mostly annoyed.

Because now your friends thought you liked her.

And worst of all, you couldn’t stop thinking about how her smile had looked when she said she liked you.

You were not falling. You were just… disoriented. Sleep-deprived. Emotionally harassed by Uno.

Yeah. That was all.

Definitely.

You were asleep.

Blissfully, deeply, finally asleep wearing your ugliest pajama set (neon green shorts and a t-shirt that read “nap queen” in cracked glitter) and drooling into your pillow when the world ended.

Or at least, that’s what your brain assumed when the blaring WEE-OOH WEE-OOH of the building’s fire alarm shredded through your dreams like a chainsaw.

You bolted upright, heart racing.

“What the—”

WEE-OOH WEE-OOH

“Are you kidding me?!”

You flailed for your phone, knocked it off the nightstand, cursed creatively, and finally caught sight of the building text notification: Fire drill. Do not panic. Please exit calmly.

Exit calmly?

You were in glittery pajamas and bunny slippers.

There was no calm.

You grabbed your keys and phone, stomped out of your apartment, and joined the parade of annoyed residents spilling out into the cool night air like sleepy, grumpy zombies.

And of course.

Of course.

There she was.

Minjeong. Dressed like a K-drama lead in joggers and a hoodie, leaning against a tree like she posed for the emergency.

She spotted you immediately. Her smile bloomed like spring.

“Hey, neighbor.”

“No.”

She blinked. “No?”

“No, you don’t get to speak to me right now.”

“I wasn’t the one who caused the fire drill,” she said, eyes crinkling as she tried not to laugh. “Though, if I had known you owned that shirt, I might’ve.”

You looked down at yourself.

Nap Queen.

You considered dying on the spot.

“Shut up,” you muttered, folding your arms tightly. The wind blew. You shivered slightly. Not enough to be noticeable. Totally manageable. You weren’t cold. Nope.

Minjeong tilted her head. “Are you shivering?”

“No.”

“You look cold.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“You want my jacket?”

“I want you to spontaneously combust.”

“That would probably trigger another fire drill.”

You glared. “That’s the goal.”

She grinned anyway. Then, without asking, she started shrugging off her hoodie.

You held up a hand. “Do not.”

“Too late,” she said, stepping forward and gently wrapping it around your shoulders.

It was warm.

It smelled like fabric softener and vanilla and something slightly citrusy and stupidly nice.

You immediately wanted to hurl it into a sewer.

But it was warm.

You stiffened. “I don’t want this.”

“You literally just called for me to combust.”

“I was being dramatic.”

“You’re always dramatic.”

“Take it back.”

“Nope.”

You looked down at the hoodie, oversized and soft and covering the worst of your glowing nap queen shame. You scowled.

“This doesn’t mean I’m cold,” you mumbled.

“Of course not,” Minjeong said, eyes dancing.

“And it doesn’t smell good.”

“I didn’t say it did.”

“It smells… aggressively normal.”

She nodded solemnly. “Totally unremarkable.”

You turned your face away so she wouldn’t see the smile trying to betray you.

She didn’t press further. Just stood next to you, not touching, occasionally glancing your way with a look that made your stomach feel like it was doing cartwheels.

Which was dumb.

Dumber still was what came next.

“Hey,” she said after a few minutes. “I think I dropped my phone. Can I use yours to call it?”

You blinked. “Uh. Yeah. Sure.”

You unlocked your phone and handed it over without thinking. Because you’re nice. Or at least functional. And she looked genuinely concerned.

She dialed.

And her phone immediately rang inside her hoodie pocket.

She froze for half a second, then slowly pulled it out and smiled sheepishly. “Oh. Wow. Would you look at that?”

You narrowed your eyes. “It was in your pocket the whole time?”

“Must’ve fallen in.”

“You’re wearing joggers with no pockets.”

“I have mysterious thighs.”

“…What?”

“Thanks for the help,” she said sweetly, handing your phone back.

You stared at her, but your sleep-deprived brain was too foggy to clock anything suspicious. You just muttered something unintelligible and stuffed your phone away.

The fire drill ended. You returned to your apartment. You shed her hoodie, cursed the part of you that thought it smelled nice again, and threw it over a chair.

And maybe, maybe you washed it the next day.

But only because you were going to give it back.

Definitely not because you kept sniffing it like a lunatic every time you passed it.

At night, after work, you stood in front of her door with the hoodie folded neatly and a small sticky note attached.

You pressed it against the wood, knocked once, and power-walked back to your apartment like the building was on fire for real.

The note read:

”This is not a thank you.”

She texted you three hours later.

Unknown Number: so it’s not a thank you but it’s clean and smells like flowers?? suspicious.

You blinked.

Who was this? Why did they know about the note? Why did your chest tighten in a weird, fluttery way?

You: who is this??

Unknown Number: seriously?

it’s minjeong lol. from last night. pajama queen. remember?

Your stomach dropped.

You: how did you get my number?

Minjeong: i got it from you yesterday?

You: ???

when?

Minjeong: during the fire drill. you called my phone remember?

You stared at the screen, mind blank.

Then it clicked.

You: YOU DID THAT ON PURPOSE?!

Minjeong: i plead the fifth

and yes

You almost threw your phone.

You: you manipulative little—

Minjeong: smooth. the word is smooth.

You: blocked.

Minjeong: no you’re not

You weren’t.

And worse, you were smiling.

A little.

Maybe.

You were trying to live a normal life. A peaceful, quiet, normal life. One that did not involve your neighbor appearing at random intervals like a lovesick golden retriever with boundary issues.

But Minjeong did not understand the concept of "normal."

And worse, she had started calling you, God help you…..Princess Grumpy.

It began on a random Tuesday, as most horrors do. You had stepped out to grab your mail, still in your work clothes, hair in disarray and a very visible stress induced coffee stain on your blouse. Minjeong was there, leaning against the wall with her phone in hand like she lived for dramatic entrances.

“Morning, Princess Grumpy.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Is this a delayed insult or a head injury?”

Minjeong grinned, unbothered. “Neither. It’s a nickname. It suits you.”

You stared at her. “I don’t need a nickname.”

“But I do,” she said brightly. “I need at least one endearing term to whisper to myself when I’m making breakfast and thinking about you.”

You actually dropped your mail.

“What—”

“Anyway,” she said, skipping past your impending spiral, “you coming to the building event on Friday? There’s karaoke. I want to see if your singing voice is as angry as your resting face.”

You turned on your heel and walked straight back to your apartment.

That should’ve been the end of it. But no.

She started using it everywhere.

“Morning, Princess Grumpy!” when you passed each other in the hall.

“Looking good, Princess Grumpy,” when you came back from the gym, half-dead and sweating like you’d just fought for your life in a war zone.

“Princess Grumpy, you left your delivery at the front door. Again.”

You tried to fight back once. You called her “Clownjeong.”

She gasped. “Did you just give me a nickname back?”

“I insulted you.”

“Yeah, but like—affectionately.”

“I was going for mild psychological warfare.”

“You’re so cute when you threaten me.”

You blocked her number for ten minutes after that.

It didn't help.

Then came the hoodie return. Again.

You’d already given it back once with a note that said “this is not a thank you.” So when she somehow left it outside your door again (this time with a packet of your favorite chips tucked inside), you stormed across the hall and banged on her door.

Minjeong opened it with a smile. “Hey, Princess Grumpy.”

You held out the hoodie. “Stop returning this. I don’t want it.”

She tilted her head. “Then why do you keep washing it so nicely?”

“I have standards, okay?! I wasn’t raised by wolves.”

“And the chips?”

“Bribery doesn’t work on me.”

“Then what does?”

You blinked. That shouldn’t have felt like a real question.

You shoved the hoodie into her hands and turned to leave, only for her to call after you: “See you later, Princess G!”

You didn’t slam your door.

But you definitely closed it with emphasis.

You tried not to think about it. About her. About her dumb smile and her dumber nickname and how she seemed to be infecting every part of your day like a very pretty virus.

You still didn’t like her.

She was loud, and chaotic, and annoying.

But the worst part? The absolute worst part?

You noticed when she wasn’t there.

Like on Thursday, when you didn’t run into her in the hallway at all. Not in the morning. Not at night.

No “good morning, Princess Grumpy.”

No obnoxious grin.

And you, you, the hater, the indifferent, the emotionally bulletproof missed it.

You sat on your couch that night, hoodie-free and annoyed at how quiet the building felt.

You even opened your door for a second, just to… check.

No Minjeong.

You closed the door.

You didn’t sigh.

(Not out loud.)

The next morning, she was back.

With two iced coffees, one of which she held out to you with a sheepish grin. “Got you one. Didn’t see you yesterday.”

You frowned. “Were you looking for me?”

She shrugged. “Only a little.”

You took the coffee. Just so she’d go away.

Not because it was your exact order. Or because the straw was already unwrapped and ready, the way you liked. Or because the corner of the napkin had “for Princess Grumpy <3” scribbled on it in the world’s most offensive cursive handwriting.

You drank it.

It tasted good.

You hated her.

You really, really hated her.

That night, you were walking back from the trash chute when you ran into her again.

Minjeong, in pajama pants and a tank top, hair up in a messy bun. She looked sleepier than usual.

“You okay?” she asked, blinking at you.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re making your grumpy face.”

“I always look like this.”

She smiled. “I know.”

You stared at her for a beat. “Do you really think I’m grumpy?”

“I think you’re adorable,” she said instantly, like she’d been waiting to say it.

You stared harder.

She didn’t back down.

“You’re very annoying,” you said, finally.

“And you like me anyway.”

You walked away.

Your ears were burning.

The next time you saw her, she had a bracelet wrapped around her wrist made of little pastel alphabet beads. You spotted it while she was talking to someone outside the building, laughing about something dumb.

The bracelet spelled: P R I N C E S S G

You choked.

Later that evening, you saw her in the hall and pointed at it accusingly. “Is that about me?!”

She glanced down, deadpan. “You think I have multiple princesses in my life?”

You groaned. “Why are you like this?!”

“Down bad,” she said cheerfully. “Terminal case.”

You were pretty sure you were catching something too.

You didn’t want to name it yet.

That night, you found yourself smiling at your phone when she texted you something dumb.

Minjeong:i just realized you’ve never actually smiled at me. like at me. not once.

You stared at the message for a long time.

Then typed:

You: good. i’d hate to encourage you.

Minjeong: so it’s on purpose?

You: obviously.

Minjeong: so you think about me?

You didn’t respond.

You didn’t have to.

She was right.

And that was the problem.

You didn’t want to go.

You’d made that very clear to your sister five times, in five different tones, including one voice note where you pretended to be choking on your own excuses.

She didn’t care.

“You’ve been single since birth,” she said. “It’s not cute anymore.”

“Thanks, love you too,” you muttered as she shoved the date’s number into your phone and threatened to block Netflix until you followed through.

So now here you were, standing in front of your apartment, dressed in something *date-ish,* trying not to physically cringe every time you adjusted the neckline.

You checked your phone for the tenth time.

Any second now.

And as if summoned by the gods of bad timing, the door across the hall opened.

Minjeong.

Of course.

Her eyes landed on you instantly. She was holding a cup of instant noodles in one hand and a spoon in the other, her hoodie slightly off one shoulder and her hair in a high bun like she’d just rolled out of a Pinterest board.

She blinked at you.

Paused.

Then: “Whoa. You look...”

You braced yourself.

“...like you’re going to a tax-themed gala.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Like, very responsible. But also tragic.”

You stared at her. “That’s the worst compliment I’ve ever received.”

She grinned. “You’re welcome.”

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your bag. “I have a date.”

You said it casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like it wasn’t specifically said to see how she’d react.

Minjeong went still.

Then she laughed, a little too quickly. “A date? With who? Mr. Responsible Gala?”

“His name is Jason,” you said, hating how defensive you sounded. “He’s a dentist.”

“Sounds thrilling,” she said, with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Will you guys be discussing plaque or...?”

You glared at her. “Not everyone likes karaoke parties at 2am and naming houseplants.”

“Yeah,” she said, “some people like dates with guys who wear button-ups unironically.”

Before you could retort, a horn honked from outside.

Minjeong looked toward the sound. Then back at you.

There was something in her expression, tight, unreadable.

“Well,” she said, taking a bite of her noodles, “have fun.”

You turned and walked down the hallway, ignoring the way her eyes felt like a magnet at your back.

The date was fine.

Okay, no, it was awful.

Jason was nice. In the same way white rice is nice. Safe. Bland. Acceptable in emergencies.

He talked about teeth. A lot.

Like… a lot a lot.

You weren’t sure how molar structure turned into a twenty-minute TED Talk, but somehow, it did. The highlight of the night was when he accidentally knocked over his water and tried to blame the table for “being too slippery.”

By the end of it, your face hurt from all the fake smiling.

When you got back to your building, all you wanted was to rip off your shoes, crawl into bed, and erase the whole night from your brain.

You didn’t expect the knock on your door.

It came twenty minutes after you got in, just as you were wiping off makeup and aggressively texting your sister a strongly-worded “NEVER AGAIN.”

You opened the door.

Minjeong stood there in sweats, holding a bag of popcorn in one hand and a DVD of Shrek 2 in the other.

“I come bearing comfort cinema,” she announced.

You blinked. “What?”

“Just thought you might need it. After that disaster of a date.”

“It wasn’t a disaster.”

She raised a brow.

You crossed your arms. “I had a great time.”

She looked at you. Looked at the ponytail already forming in your hair and the way your mascara had been wiped half off.

“Really?”

You hesitated. “Yes.”

Minjeong held up the DVD. “Okay, then you won’t need this iconic healing film.”

You stared at it longingly.

“I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh.”

She started to turn.

You gave in.

“Okay, wait maybe it was a little boring.”

Minjeong smirked like a cat who just watched a bird fly into a window.

You stepped aside without a word, letting her in. She sauntered to the couch like she owned the place, tossing the popcorn onto the coffee table and flopping down dramatically.

You followed, grabbing a blanket and collapsing next to her with a sigh.

She held out the DVD. “Come on. Donkey’s waiting.”

Halfway through the movie, your head somehow ended up leaning on her shoulder.

You weren’t sure when or how it happened, but there it was your cheek resting against soft cotton, her breath slow and steady beside you.

She didn’t say anything.

You didn’t move.

You told yourself it was just because you were tired.

But then she spoke, voice quiet.

“So... Jason.”

You groaned.

“I’m just asking,” she said innocently.

“Why?”

“Because you’re my favorite source of weekly drama,” she teased. “And because I can’t believe you wasted an outfit on a man who probably say ‘moisturizer is for women.’”

You snorted.

Minjeong smiled, triumphant.

“He did call vegan cheese unnatural,” you admitted.

“I knew it. Dates with men are never the best”

You sighed. “My sister forced me into it.”

“Ah,” she said, “sibling betrayal. The deepest cut.”

You glanced at her. “You really showed up with Shrek because you thought I’d come back sad?”

“No,” she said, and then, after a pause: “Yes. But mostly I just wanted to see you.”

You stared at her.

She didn’t look away.

And then, in the softest voice:

“Glad you’re home, Princess Grumpy.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you.

“You’re such a weirdo.”

“Your weirdo?”

“Don’t push it.”

Minjeong leaned back, smug.

You let her stay a little longer than necessary when the movie ended.

Just until the credits.

Maybe a bit after.

But that didn’t mean anything.

Not yet.

You fumbled with the keypad like it was a math test you hadn’t studied for.

The numbers glowed mockingly under your finger as you squinted, missed, and cursed softly under your breath.

Three wrong tries.

The lock buzzed angrily.

You shushed it.

“Don’t yell,” you whispered, as if the door could hear you. “I’m trying my best…”

Minjeong, standing casually in the hallway, watched the scene unfold like she was at a live comedy show. She hadn’t said anything yet just leaned against the wall in her hoodie and sweats, sipping from a juice box of all things.

You hadn’t noticed her.

Not until you swayed a little too far to the left and almost kissed your welcome mat.

A pair of hands caught you.

Strong, warm, and annoyingly familiar.

“Oh my god,” Minjeong murmured. “You’re so drunk.”

You turned around, blinking up at her like she’d just appeared out of nowhere. “Minjeong?”

“That’s me.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why are there two of you?”

“There aren’t.”

“Suspicious.”

She laughed, still holding onto your waist as you tried to balance. “Need help getting in?”

You gestured vaguely at the keypad. “The door hates me.”

“What’s your pin?”

You looked at her. Considered. Then blurted, “It’s my cat’s birthday and my childhood address.”

She stared. “That helps me in no way at all.”

You leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered the actual numbers into her ear.

She punched them in with expert calm, like she hadn’t just been given the keys to your kingdom. The lock clicked open. You blinked.

“Wow,” you said. “You’re smart.”

“And you’re really drunk.”

Minjeong guided you inside with gentle hands, closing the door behind you and helping you kick off your shoes. You immediately face-planted onto the couch.

“I was at a bar,” you mumbled into the cushion. “With my sister. She wanted to celebrate… something. I don’t remember. Probably me being alive.”

“Well, I’m glad you are,” she said lightly, moving to the kitchen and grabbing a glass of water.

She returned and handed it to you like she’d done it a hundred times before. “Drink.”

You took it without argument.

“You always take care of people like this?” you asked between sips.

Minjeong shrugged, settling into the armchair across from you. “Only the ones I like.”

You squinted at her.

Then laid back dramatically, one arm across your eyes. “You’re too nice.”

“I’m literally just giving you water.”

“No, you’re like… a good person. It’s irritating.”

“Sorry?”

“And you smell nice.”

She laughed again, the sound warm and stupidly comforting. “Okay, now you’re just saying things.”

You sat up suddenly, finger pointing at her like you were in a courtroom drama. “You are nice. Too nice. Like, let me help you with your groceries, water your plants, listen to your drunk rambling nice.”

“I am currently doing all of those things.”

You nodded. “Exactly.”

There was a beat of silence. You stared at her. She stared back, amused.

Then, with a sigh, you slumped back down.

“Ugh.”

“What?”

You mumbled into the pillow, “I think I’m slowly falling for you.”

The room went silent.

You didn’t notice. You were too busy groaning at yourself.

“Why are you so… Minjeong-y?” you whined. “You’re like sunshine but also chaos.”

Across from you, Minjeong was frozen.

She blinked once.

Twice.

“…What?”

You lifted your head groggily. “What?”

“What did you just say?”

You frowned. “I said I hate bike lanes. Too narrow.”

“No, before that.”

You squinted. “I like… popcorn?”

Minjeong stared. Her ears were visibly red.

“You said you were falling for me.”

You blinked. “I did?”

“You did.”

“Did I say it in a cute way or like, scary?”

Minjeong just stared at you, wide-eyed and pink in the face.

You sat up straighter, suddenly realizing the full weight of what had just come out of your mouth.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” she said, voice soft. “Oh.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

You groaned, covering your face with both hands. “Forget I said that.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“You have to.”

“You literally just told me I smell nice and you’re falling for me. This is my Roman Empire now.”

You peeked at her through your fingers. “Are you laughing at me?”

“I’m blushing because of you,” she said, flustered and very much not meeting your eyes.

You stared. “Wait! you’re flustered?”

“I’m trying not to combust.”

“Oh my god.”

Minjeong buried her face in her hands. “This is worse than when I called you Princess Grumpy.”

“You still call me that!”

She peeked out between her fingers. “And you let me.”

You groaned, flopping onto the couch again. “This is the worst night of my life.”

“No, that was your date with Jason the dentist.”

“Shut up.”

Minjeong giggled.

You groaned louder.

After a minute of mutual internal crisis, Minjeong said, more quietly now, “You really meant it?”

You hesitated.

Then: “Maybe.”

She nodded, still red, still smiling like someone had just given her a hundred free kittens. “Good to know.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re very smug for someone who’s not supposed to know how I feel.”

She raised both hands. “Hey, you’re the one confessing things on your couch like we’re in a teen rom-com.”

You stared at her.

She stared back.

Then you asked, “Do you want to help me learn to ride a bike?”

She blinked. “What?”

“I said earlier. I never learned.”

Minjeong laughed. “Oh. I thought you were joking.”

“I joke about a lot of things. Not about wheels.”

There was a pause. Then Minjeong stood.

“Alright, drunk girl,” she said, reaching for a throw blanket and tossing it over you. “Sleep it off. Tomorrow, we’re getting you a helmet.”

You peeked out from under the blanket. “You’re gonna teach me?”

Minjeong gave you a smile, sweet, warm, sincere. “Of course. Princess Grumpy deserves to fly.”

Your heart did something very stupid.

You looked away. “You’re so annoying.”

She leaned down, tucking the blanket around you gently.

“And you’re falling for me.”

“Shut up, Minjeong.”

But your smile gave you away.

You regretted everything the second you saw the bike.

It was bright pink.

With a tiny silver bell.

And a matching helmet that had glitter stars on it.

“This is bullying,” you said flatly, staring at the monstrosity on two wheels.

Minjeong beamed like she’d just unwrapped a present. “You said you never learned. You didn’t say you had standards.”

You gave her a long, pointed look. “I will push you off this thing.”

“You’d have to catch me first.” She patted the seat. “Come on, Princess Grumpy. Time to fly.”

You muttered something not-so-princess-like under your breath but stepped forward anyway. It was early enough in the morning that the park was mostly empty, and the little path she’d chosen was tucked under a line of trees, secluded and shaded.

You didn’t miss how Minjeong was already pulling out her phone.

“Don’t even think about it,” you warned.

She grinned. “Too late. This is historic. First bike. First bruised ego. First scraped knee. First—”

“First time I punch you?”

Minjeong just laughed, lowering her phone and setting it aside. “Okay, okay. We’ll start easy.”

You looked at the bike again. “It has streamers.”

“Bonus style points,” she said cheerfully. “Now, get on. I’ll hold the back.”

“Promise you won’t let go?”

There was something vulnerable in your voice, something that made her expression soften.

“I promise,” she said, voice quieter now. “I’ve got you.”

You nodded once, and she moved behind the bike, one hand gripping the back of the seat, the other hovering near your side. With shaky hands, you got on, feet finding the pedals.

She didn’t laugh when you wobbled.

She didn’t tease when your knees knocked together.

She just stayed close, steady.

“Okay,” she said gently, “start pedaling.”

You did.

Slowly. Cautiously.

Minjeong jogged beside you, hand still on the seat. “That’s it! Look at you! Natural disaster!”

“You mean natural talent?”

“Nope. You’re a disaster, but a charming one.”

You laughed, almost losing your balance. “Don’t make me laugh, I’ll fall!”

“I told you I’m chaos and sunshine!”

You got about fifteen feet before your foot slipped and you panicked, skidding sideways into the grass.

Minjeong caught you before you could fully hit the ground, arms wrapping around you in a blur of motion. You ended up half on her, half on the grass, breathing hard and laughing.

“You said you wouldn’t let go,” you mumbled.

“I didn’t,” she said softly. “You just got too fast for me, Tour de France.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t move.

She didn’t either.

The sun filtered through the trees, dappled and warm on your faces. You were close enough to hear her heartbeat, steady beneath her hoodie. Her hands were still on your arms, and yours were gripping the fabric of her sleeves.

It would’ve been easy to look away.

You didn’t.

“You okay?” she asked.

You nodded. “You?”

“Always.”

And then, before you could ruin it with a joke or say something to deflect, Minjeong inhaled deeply.

“Can I tell you something?”

You hesitated. “Yeah.”

She didn’t let go of you. Just shifted a little so she could see you better.

“I think I’ve liked you since the first time you yelled at me.”

You blinked. “The day you threw a massive party, woke me up and made me evacuate the building?”

Minjeong smiled. “Yeah. You were angry and exhausted, I just started to see you differently”

You groaned. “Tragic.”

“I thought you were hot.”

You blinked again.

“What?”

“I did,” she said simply. “Still do. But now I know you’re also stubborn, dramatic, kind of awkward, and you make this scrunchy face when you’re confused. Like now.”

You touched your face. “I do not—”

“You totally do,” she laughed, then looked down, tone softening. “And… I think I really like you. Not in a ‘you’re pretty’ way. But in a ‘you make everything feel a little better’ way. Even when you glare at me. Or insult my socks. Or pretend you hate me.”

You opened your mouth.

Closed it.

Then opened it again.

“I don’t think I’m falling for you,” you said.

Minjeong’s face faltered for a split second.

“I know I am,” you finished, and her eyes snapped back to yours.

“I’ve just been trying to be sure,” you admitted. “Because I thought maybe I was just getting used to you. Or that you were just really persistent and weird and eventually I’d start tolerating you.”

Minjeong snorted. “Romantic.”

“But then you… remembered my favorite snacks. And gave me your jacket without asking. And showed up with popcorn after my date. And you’re so nice and soft and confusing—”

“I’m confusing?”

“Yes,” you said, a little breathless now. “Because I spent so long being annoyed by you and now I kind of want to kiss you.”

Minjeong blinked.

Then: “That’s really good timing.”

“Why?”

“Because I kind of want to kiss you too.”

You stared.

She smiled, all dimples and shy hope.

You leaned forward without really thinking eyes slipping closed, lips brushing hers in the softest, most hesitant way.

It wasn’t fireworks.

It was better.

It was quiet and warm and slow. Like falling asleep next to someone you trust. Like laughing into someone’s shoulder. Like a promise with no words.

When you pulled away, she looked dazed.

“You’re good at that,” she murmured.

“I learned from watching movies,” you said.

She laughed, and the sound was bright enough to chase the morning chill away.

“Come on,” she said, brushing grass from your elbow. “You’re not done learning.”

“Thought we were having a moment.”

“Oh, we were. But now you have to actually ride the thing.”

You groaned.

Minjeong stood, offering you a hand.

You took it.

And for the rest of the morning, she didn’t let go.

It all started when you needed to borrow Minjeong’s phone.

Your own had decided to die a dramatic death in the middle of texting your sister. screen frozen, battery dead, everything unresponsive no matter how many times you pressed the power button like that would somehow revive it. So naturally, you stomped your way into Minjeong’s apartment to complain and steal her charger.

“You can use my phone if you need to text someone,” she offered sweetly, holding it out to you. “Just don’t open the ‘Photos’ app.”

“…Why?”

“No reason.”

That should’ve been your first red flag.

But you were distracted, so you just rolled your eyes and took the phone. Except the second you tapped the home button to unlock it, your entire soul left your body.

There, in all its poorly lit, mid-rant glory, was a photo of you.

Mouth open. Hands flailing. Eyebrows furrowed like you were giving a TED Talk about why pineapple on pizza was a war crime. You recognized the hoodie you were wearing, it was a night you stayed over a few weeks ago after Minjeong begged for “one movie and snacks,” which had turned into four movies, no snacks, and a heated argument about cereal brands.

“WHAT IS THIS.”

Minjeong, sipping from her juice box (of course), blinked innocently. “My lock screen.”

“WHY?”

“I like to be reminded of your passion.”

You stared at her. She looked pleased.

“This is the ugliest picture I’ve ever seen of myself,” you said, voice strangled.

Minjeong peered over. “Really? I think it’s cute.”

“Minjeong.”

“Like, look at how intense you are. It’s giving presidential campaign speech.”

“Minjeong.”

“You were yelling about how cereal is a capitalist scam, and I was moved.”

You covered your face with your hands.

“I’m breaking up with you.”

“You can’t. You haven’t even officially said we’re dating yet.”

You peeked through your fingers. “…Are we not?”

Minjeong tilted her head. “I mean, I think we are. You kissed me and then made me pancakes.”

“…So we’re dating.”

“Yeah.”

You sighed. “Then I am breaking up with you.”

She stood up and pried your hands off your face gently, holding them in hers. “You wouldn’t.”

“I have dignity.”

“You have a very expressive forehead and zero filter when you’re passionate about breakfast food.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re the worst.”

“You’re the prettiest ranting disaster I’ve ever seen.”

You tugged your hands away and turned to the couch with a groan, flopping face-down into a pillow. “I hate you.”

Minjeong sat next to you, patting your back. “No you don’t.”

“Give me your phone.”

“No.”

“I want to delete the evidence!”

“I’ve already backed it up to the cloud.”

You lifted your head and glared. “You’re sick.”

She looked proud. “You’re dating a sick woman. Congratulations.”

You threw a pillow at her. She caught it with a grin.

Later that evening, you were curled up on her couch with one of her hoodies draped over you, scrolling mindlessly through your now-charged phone.

Minjeong was in the kitchen, humming some song that didn’t match the beat while microwaving popcorn. You heard her muttering under her breath, something about “extra butter is the only way to live” and “if she judges me again I’ll just kiss her quiet.”

You pretended not to hear the last part.

When she came back, she tossed a piece of popcorn into your mouth like she was feeding a zoo animal.

“Caught it,” you said triumphantly.

“You’re amazing.”

“At eating.”

“At everything.”

You raised a brow. “Smooth.”

“Thank you. I practice in the mirror.”

You snorted, taking the bowl and shifting so your legs were stretched over her lap. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Minjeong leaned back with a smug smile. “I am very lucky.”

There was a moment of quiet, the kind that always settled between you when things felt soft and good and easy. You hated how natural it felt, hated how your heart skipped a beat when she reached over to tuck your hair behind your ear, like she’d done it a million times.

“You really like that picture?” you asked quietly, half-teasing, half-curious”

Minjeong nodded. “I love it.”

“But it’s hideous.”

“Exactly. You’re not trying. You’re just being you. Loud. Dramatic. Nerdy. Unfiltered. It’s my favorite version of you.”

You stared at her.

“I mean—” she coughed. “I have, like, normal ones too. Cute selfies. Stuff from when you were sleeping.”

“You take pictures of me sleeping?!”

“Occasionally. It’s romantic.”

“That’s criminal.”

“I’m in love. That’s a defense.”

You paused.

She did too.

Neither of you moved for a second.

You looked at her. “You said you’re in love.”

“I meant it.”

You sat up a little, the popcorn bowl sliding off your lap.

“I haven’t said that yet,” you whispered.

Minjeong just smiled, like she wasn’t expecting anything, like she was already full just being near you.

You touched her cheek, just a light brush.

“I’m getting there,” you said softly. “I think… I’m really close.”

Minjeong leaned in, pressing your foreheads together.

“I can wait.”

Jisoo had texted you the most casual invite in the world.

come over. bored. bring your beautiful face and your opinions on whether cereal is soup.

You read it while Minjeong was brushing her hair on your bed.

“They want to argue about food definitions,” you told her, phone still in hand.

“Sounds like my kind of night,” she said, tossing her brush aside.

“You’re not invited.”

Minjeong blinked at you. “Excuse me?”

“It’s best friend bonding time. I’m going alone.”

“But I’ve already bonded with them. I’m Jisoo’s soulmate. Nari said she wants me in her will.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“I don’t make sense, and yet here you are. In love with me.”

You groaned into your hands. “Fine. Get in the damn car before I change my mind.”

Minjeong fist-pumped on her way to the door.

You didn’t warn Jisoo.

Honestly, you forgot.

The ride was full of Minjeong telling the Uber driver you were mad at her because she stole your last grape (you weren’t even mad), and by the time you rang Jisoo’s doorbell, you were distracted and half-annoyed and definitely not prepared for what was about to happen.

Jisoo opened the door, eyes lit up like usual then froze.

“Uh,” she said, blinking between the two of you. “Why is she here?”

Minjeong smiled innocently. “Surprise.”

“Why are you standing so close to her?”

You blinked. “Because we’re dating.”

Jisoo made a noise like a dying bird.

“YOU’RE WHAT?”

Minjeong stepped inside casually, brushing past her. “Don’t worry, she’s still grumpy and mean. But now she kisses me.”

You nearly tripped. “Minjeong!”

“What,” she said sweetly. “Too soon?”

Jisoo turned to you, eyes wide. “You brought your girlfriend to hang out like that’s normal?”

“It is normal!”

“No. Normal would’ve been you telling me you were dating the hallway menace.”

“She’s not—ugh.” You stepped inside too, glaring. “She’s not a menace anymore.”

“I’m reformed,” Minjeong added helpfully. “Ask your game night snacks. I only stole three last time.”

“You’re dating her,” Jisoo repeated, still stunned.

“Is that a problem?” Minjeong asked, and she tilted her head in that way that made her look way too innocent for someone who used to throw midnight parties like it was her life’s purpose.

Jisoo held up both hands. “No! No problem. Just—wow.”

Minjeong beamed.

“She’s literally glowing,” Jisoo muttered to you. “She looks like she won a bet.”

“She probably did,” you said under your breath.

Nari arrived twenty minutes later, holding bubble tea and absolutely not prepared.

“Hey, losers,” she greeted. “I brought—wait. Why is Minjeong here?”

You sighed. “Okay, we’re doing this again.”

“We’re dating now,” Minjeong said proudly.

Nari blinked. “Wait, for real?”

“Yes,” you said.

Nari looked at Jisoo, who nodded solemnly.

Nari looked back at you.

Then she burst out laughing.

“Oh my god,” she wheezed. “I knew it. I knew there was sexual tension during game night.”

“There was not,” you deadpanned.

“There was so much,” Minjeong said at the exact same time.

Jisoo groaned. “You could’ve told us!”

You folded your arms. “You guys liked her too much. I was scared you’d betray me.”

Minjeong gasped. “Betrayal? Me?”

“You’re so dramatic,” Nari said, sitting down next to her like they were already co-conspirators.

“She kissed me first, you know,” Minjeong added, leaning back smugly.

You threw a pillow at her.

It didn’t take long before everything slipped into its usual chaos.

Minjeong had claimed your seat like it was hers, Jisoo had grilled her on her most “annoying girlfriend habits” (there were many), and Nari had pulled out her Notes app like she was taking psychological data.

“And you knew you liked her when?” Nari asked.

“I didn’t know,” you said. “She was just…there. All the time. Loud. Smiling. Feeding me.”

“So you fell in love with her snacks.”

“No,” you muttered. “With her.”

The room went quiet for a beat.

Minjeong turned her head slowly, watching you like she hadn’t expected you to say that in front of anyone.

You didn’t meet her eyes.

Instead, you kicked her foot under the table and mumbled, “Don’t let it go to your head.”

She smiled so wide it almost hurt to look at.

“I won’t,” she whispered. “But thank you for saying it.”

Nari clutched her chest. “I’m going to cry. Who let you guys be real?”

Jisoo blinked. “Wait, is this why she’s been nicer lately? You’re soft now?”

“I am not soft.”

“You just said you fell in love with her.”

“Shut up.”

Minjeong rested her chin on your shoulder, smug and glowing and warm against your side.

“Wanna tell them how you said you *might* be falling for me when you were drunk and tried to enter your apartment with a grocery store receipt?”

“Minjeong.”

“Or how you asked if I smelled like marshmallows.”

You groaned into your hands.

Nari and Jisoo just laughed.

Later that night, after way too many snacks and way too much teasing, Jisoo pulled you aside while Minjeong was helping Nari clean up the table.

“She really makes you happy, huh?” she said softly.

You blinked at her.

“…Yeah,” you said eventually. “She does.”

Jisoo smiled. “You better tell her that properly someday.”

“I’m working on it.”

“She’s already head over heels, you know.”

You nodded. “I know.”

“And you?”

You glanced over at Minjeong, who was trying (and failing) to stack cups and accidentally knocked one onto the floor.

She looked up, met your eyes, and grinned like an idiot.

“…Yeah,” you said. “Me too.”

[bluemeetsyellowblahblah7437]

New gate?????

WHAT IS THIS COMMENT IM LITERALLY CRYING

[mcflymemes]

AS SAID BY ASTARION ANCUNÍN *  assorted dialogue from baldur's gate 3

you are mine. no one can change that.

i wish... to drink. and be drunk.

you haven't earned the right to stare at me like that.

you could scream bloody murder out here and no one would ever know.

we should find a tavern and celebrate.

do my eyes deceive me? the gang really is all here.

i'd rather be the only dark power inside your body, if it's all the same to you.

you're cute, you know. in another life we might have been friends.

i don't hate you. because this is not you.

we just have to be vigilant. keep our wits about us.

you can try, but i will stop you.

do what you like. it's none of my concern.

i simply do not care.

we could do it, you know. we could rule the world.

i... i don't know what to say. thank you.

well that's just disgusting.

listen to me, damn it! i'm trying to save you, even if you're too stupid to see it.

believe what you want. i'm done with you.

you have no idea what i can do.

sounds like a delightful dinner plan. perhaps i'll join you.

forgiveness? you've never forgiven anything.

i don't need anyone to speak for me.

i don't owe you a damn thing.

don't worry. i'll keep watch tonight.

just don't ask me again.

is there anything else? any new and interesting ways you can waste my time?

i'll come to you tonight, when you're snugly wrapped in your bedroll and we can have a little privacy.

this time i'll make sure i'm quiet.

you're lucky i'm such an open-minded person.

why send anyone after me? i'm hardly a threat out here.

what are you waiting for? help me!

"you can do whatever you want" sounds terrifying, and it is, but there's opportunity in it, too.

i am so much more than what you made me.

hold very, very still.

i'm sorry, but could you excuse us a moment?

get out of my way. i'm in no mood to talk.

you didn't think i could do it? i'm hurt.

i appreciate your loyalty, darling, but i don't think you understand.

fair? nothing about this is fair.

i don't know who they are, but i have plenty of questions.

i'm glad to hear it.

i do believe you. i know you only did what you thought was best for me.

i just need some time to let it sink in.

you're so good to me.

safe? how can i ever be safe now?

well, hello. looking for a cuddle?

now that you're back with us, we need to have a talk.

how flattering. and disturbing.

please tell me this is important.

there's also gold, sex, revenge... quite the list, really. but failing any of those, i will always settle for shallow praise.

now just tell me i'm beautiful and we can call it a day.

i want to thank you.

you're a vision. and you're so much more than that.

this is all a game to you, isn't it?

for as long as i can remember, i've been used by others.

of course i was attracted to you. look at you, for goodness' sake!

i will forever remember what you did for me today.

that's what you've been waiting to hear, isn't it? that's what you want?

i have been waiting so long for you.

come, give yourself to me.

i'll take care of everything.

it's time to try living again.

i feel safe with you. seen.

we don't have to rush into anything tonight.

would it kill you to dispense a compliment?

looking for something?

honestly, you have no sense of fun.

i do appreciate your enthusiasm, but let's try to restrain ourselves a little.

would you like a tour? we can start with my tent, if you like.

everything was taken from me, too.

well, that could have gone better.

i don't know what you mean.

were you actually worried i was angry?

so what was it like? tell me everything.

i hope i'm not interrupting.

some day that soft heart of yours is going to be torn out of your chest.

what a party. we should do this again.

there you are. i've been waiting. waiting since the moment i set eyes on you. waiting to have you.

you've seen enough already.

i didn't want to lose control.

oh, don't be like that. not every problem has to be beaten to death, my dear.

wait! don't interrupt them!

let's not make trouble for some stranger.

my, this place is fun.

my past isn't exactly a happy story.

that was amazing.

it won't happen again. you have my word.

so many people need killing.

remember who saved you.

don't worry. i'm here.

[astonmartinii]

head in the clouds | lando norris social media au

pairing: lando norris x fem flight attendant!reader

there's no one more attractive than the stranger at the same gate as you at the airport and sometimes that stranger works on your best friend's private jet.

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo and 3,105 others

yourusername: violently hungover, don't tell my boss x

view all comments

user1: i need to be her

maxverstappen1: your boss follows you on instagram genius

yourusername: oh yeah lol but i'm still alive and i was still on time

maxverstappen1: you took a nap on the flight?

yourusername: it was about ten billion hours long so spare me the lecture

maxverstappen1: you're so lucky we're friends otherwise i'd fire your ass

yourusername: you love me too much to do that maxy (and i know way too much about you) x

user2: how did you get this job?

yourusername: nepotism babes x

danielricciardo: i think you masked it pretty well for the first three hours

yourusername: THANK YOU

danielricciardo: but i did hear you throw up around hour four

yourusername: nothing like a tactical chunder on your childhood friend's private jet

landonorris: i for one couldn't tell you were hungover

yourusername: well look who's my new favourite, you should fly with max more often

danielricciardo: he's only saying that cause he has a crush, I'M STILL YOUR FAVOURITE

yourusername: whatever helps you sleep at night x

landonorris

liked by danielricciardo, yourusername and 1,034,566 others

tagged: danielricciardo

landonorris: reunited and it feels so good 😊

view all comments

user3: always obsessed with this pairing

user4: they're cute but i know they're so annoying to fly with

danielricciardo: i knew you missed me :)

landonorris: of course i did you big sap

danielricciardo: so you didn't replace me with a younger and sexier version of me?

landonorris: not technically no

oscarpiastri: i'm just gonna take the compliment, thanks dan :)

danielricciardo: massive compliment, i'm extremely sexy

user5: thank the lord daniel is back who was going to make lando blush all the time?

danielricciardo: believe me he doesn't need me to do that when he flies on air max that's all y/n

landonorris: DANIEL?

danielricciardo: she took these photos - look at the blush. LOOK AT THE MATERIAL

yourusername: i think i'm just a better photographer than you two combined so i just capture my subjects well

danielricciardo: nope. i think lando just has a BIG FAT CRUSH

maxverstappen1: LMAO

yourusername: who wouldn't? (i'm shaking)

user6: wtf is going on here?

user7: i think we're witnessing bullying

maxverstappen1

liked by landonorris, yourusername and 892,330 others

tagged: georgerussell63, alexalbon, landonorris & yourusername

maxverstappen1: getting some padel in on the weekend off

view all comments

user9: max really puts his hyperfixations above his beef because who thought we'd see him playing with george after baku

danielricciardo: how did lando get through a whole session with y/n there he can barely get through a sentence around her

landonorris: why are you so obsessed with exposing me in public

danielricciardo: funny.

yourusername: he did very well, he took a few balls to the face but he took them like a champ.

maxverstappen1: i'm sure he'd rather be the one putting balls in your face. get it? his balls? sex?

yourusername: i got it, you're not funny pal

maxverstappen1: well i think i'm hilarious so

user10: poor lando is going through the ringer rn

yourusername: whipped all of your asses call yourself professional athletes?

alexalbon: you were freakishly good what is your trick?

yourusername: only time i'm not playing padel is when i'm asleep or on a charter with max it's the only thing i can be better than him in

landonorris: you're definitely better looking than him and like 10 million times nicer than him

yourusername: you're not too bad yourself norris, you've just bagged yourself an extra bag of peanuts next flight x

alexalbon: romance is dead

f1wagsupdates

liked by user11, user12 and 4,109 others

tagged: yourusername

f1wagsupdates: this is y/n y/ln potential new girlfriend of lando norris. she is a close friend of max verstappen, to the point that after she finished university and was without a job, he financed her education to be a air hostess, the job she now has on max's private jet. as far as we know she's never been in a public relationship but she also lives in monaco, is a padel enthusiast and has exchanged flirty comments with lando. also, she's a real one because she refuses to charter if jos wants to fly on air max - she slays for that one

view all comments

user13: if she's a longtime, potential childhood friend of max, the jos thing probably makes sense

user14: gosh she's so pretty

user15: giving your bestie a job and a life where you get to have her travel with you everywhere is really what nepotism should be

user16: for real where's my friend who will pay for me to learn to be a air hostess so we can hang out all the time

user17: i think her and lando would be cute

user18: and they would also make sense, they'd have a schedule that completely lines up and y/n would understand the sport and the lifestyle

user19: she also knows all of his friends already and they seem to get on with her

user20: "never been in a public relationship" she's just like us

user21: except she's gonna pull lando freaking norris and we're all still lonely

yourusername

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and 17,098 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: THE way to spend your saturday, perks of the job x

view all comments

user22: hey siri play that should be me by justin bieber

maxverstappen1: glad you could take a break from being a tourist to actually come watch me

yourusername: lies i'm always there you just don't know because i sit in hospitality so i can drink ;)

maxverstappen1: is that why my mum looked so happy to see me after sitting with you in hospitality?

yourusername: NO! sophie just loves me

user23: omg y/n and sophie just chill in hospitality? i love them

landonorris: i heard mclaren have great hospitality and actually has a cup of tea with your name written all over it

yourusername: hmmm we'll see if it beats the team who broke the cost cap on catering but i'm willing to take that risk

landonorris: i promise it's worth your time

danielricciardo: @maxverstappen1 look he's finally making a move 👀

maxverstappen1: ugh finally !!!

yourusername: yall mind? ACTUALLY i'm not coming back to red bull you're annoying

user24: has the bullying worked ?

mclarenf1

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri and 1,093,455 others

tagged: landonorris

mclarenf1: lando is back on the podium with a p2 finish with oscar just behind in p4 congrats papaya boys!!

view all comments

user25: LET'S GOOOOOO THE WIN IS COMING I CAN FEEL IT

oscarpiastri: congrats lando :)

landonorris: your podium will come oscar you're killing it right now

user26: omg faves i can't wait until the double podium

user27: y/n in the likes ..... 🤔 makes you think

yourusername: idk what you conspiracy theorists want to hear but you don't need to know everything that happens in the drivers' personal lives and i can like posts of my friends doing well

user28: so you're not together

yourusername: you people have the reading comprehension skills of a rock

maxverstappen1: congrats mate, try not to get too drunk tonight, air max is scheduled early in the morning 👍

landonorris: i'll be there no worries

danielricciardo: of course he will, his favourite will be there

landonorris: laugh all you will but i have a pack of peanuts promised to me

yourusername: i'll put salt in their drinks don't worry lando

maxverstappen1: i have done nothing wrong?

yourusername: i am in solidarity with lando

maxverstappen1: i'm ur best friend?

yourusername: he's cute :)

user29: you can't tell she doesn't like him back

danielricciardo

liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername and 1,209,778 others

tagged: yourusername, landonorris

danielricciardo: podiums give you balls. balls get you girlfriends.

view all comments

user32: HOLYYYYYYYYYY SHIT

maxverstappen1: they are not awake yet lol they're going to kill you

danielricciardo: i'd like to see lando try. y/n i am afraid of though.

maxverstappen1: you should be, a girl once threw a drink over me in the club for walking into her and y/n went feral. i was afraid and impressed

yourusername: had to protect your virtue max

maxverstappen1: much appreciated, probably the only time i've been attracted to you

landonorris: AND THE LAST TIME

user33: considering their new relationship just got exposed, they're doing pretty well

yourusername: oh we're waiting until daniel is in an enclosed space where if he tries to escape we all die :)

landonorris: he's going to regret this before such a long flight, esp with a hungover y/n

danielricciardo: is it too late to say i love you guys?

yourusername: free enchante merch and i'll drop it

danielricciardo: done.

landonorris: Y/N???

yourusername: what were we really going to do? plus i've had a crush on you for so long people would definitely know by now if i wasn't dead in bed

landonorris: you had a crush? why was i the only one getting bullied?

maxverstappen1: please refer to my comment about the feral club night

landonorris

liked by danielricciardo, yourusername and 1,237,903 others

tagged: yourusername

landonorris: on a scale of 1 - 10 how annoyed would you be if someone joined a particular club on your private jet?

view all comments

user35: THE MILE HIGHER CLUB?

maxverstappen1: you're banned from the bathroom now, get a UTI i don't care do NOT shag on my plane

landonorris: so is that a 10 definietly not?

maxverstappen1: i will make sure you will never be able to use it again if you have sex on my plane with my best friend

landonorris: understood 😅

yourusername: i don't know how you did it but you made your first post about me even less romantic than dan's and his mentioned balls TWICE

landonorris: but i love you so that's all that counts right?

yourusername: i love you too but i also clean that plane so no one will shag on it or i'll scrap them

landonorris: i get the message no mile higher 😭

yourusername: but at least you get extra peanuts and the best pillow for life

landonorris: you spoil me too much

oscarpiastri: happy for you mate, it was painful watching you mope around the garage

yourusername: awww you moped ???? that's so cute

landonorris: i moped because i really liked you and daniel made it his mission to embarrass me constantly in front of you

yourusername: babe i've cleaned dan's sick off the floor of the jet nothing he could say could make me not like you

landonorris: thank the lord cause if i didn't ask you out i think i may have combusted

yourusername

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 30,987 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: the 4am call times and mad max tantrums have all been worth it to meet you <3

view all comments

user36: god i have seen what you have done for others

maxverstappen1: now you're together i can say this, 1) i love you guys and i'm glad you're happy. 2) lando saw you once at a karting competition and had a crush ever since this was not new

landonorris: THAT WAS BETWEEN ME AND YOU

maxverstappen1: and he confessed that seeing you in your uniform is what finally pushed him over the edge

landonorris: STOP WHAT ARE YOU DOING

maxverstappen1: bro don't worry you guys are together, you're set for life

landonorris: thanks for having faith i guess?

maxverstappen1: BRO SHE IS SUPER DUPER IN LOVE WITH YOU

yourusername: he's not wrong

landonorris: hehehehehehehehe

oscarpiastri: he's literally sat in hospitality giggling and kicking his legs btw

landonorris: proudly so, my gf LOVES me

user37: lando got a gf before a win and i respect that

landonorris: i love you, can't wait for the rest of my life with you

yourusername: i can't wait, i'll even play golf with you x

danielricciardo: mate at least wait until the six month mark before you propose

landonorris: no promises x

note: hope you enjoyed, had this thought and i just had to do it. i'm working on requests and mamma mia p4!!

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

I’m a fierce believer and defender of Smooth Brain Astarion (affectionate).

I love that, if left to his own devices, he ends up dead in a ditch. I love that this pasty menace of an elf is a walking disaster. I love that his brain produces one coherent thought per day, only to have it backfire on him later on. I love that his first choice in freedom is to unapologetically be the worst version of himself. Because it makes sense. 

That’s what abuse and trauma do to your brain—they fuck with it. 

And in Astarion’s defence, the man didn’t have to use his brain for nearly 200 years—it’s probably the very thing that kept him as alive as he can be; to survive 200 years of pure shit. 

And what use is his brain when his days and nights are dictated by someone else for as long as he can remember? When he has no say in what clothes he wears. When he doesn’t get to choose what or when to eat. When his body and mind aren’t his own, distorted by torture and hunger and self-loathing, forced to obey his vampiric master. Why use his brain when his survival depends exclusively on his abuser’s whims? 

Astarion could’ve come up with the most brilliant plan possible to escape Cazador or save a mark from their doom, but he never stood a chance of succeeding—which doesn’t mean that he didn’t get punished for trying (or even thinking about it) anyway.

Existing under Cazador was a game he couldn’t win, so why bother playing? 

And it’s only by chance that Astarion’s autonomy is returned to him literally overnight. It’s only natural that he’s overwhelmed by his newfound freedom. How is he expected to make sound decisions when he can’t even recall a time when he could do and say as he pleased? 

Of course Astarion is a walking disaster when he finds himself on that beach after the Nautiloid crash—and he’s fully aware of that! That’s why it’s so crucial for him to get on the player’s/other companion’s good side.

He’s self-aware enough to be so insecure about himself that he would rather trust a stranger’s capabilities than his own. 

Being a catastrophe of a person is part of Astarion’s character journey. Not only does he have to reclaim his personhood, he has to learn how to depend on his own brain again and I think that's such a painfully beautiful, important message Baldur’s Gate 3 sends. 

Because healing isn’t pretty. Nor is it easy.

You’re not alright the moment you’re free of whatever horrors you had to live through—and that’s ok! There’s time and room for you to adjust. 

And the moment Astarion feels more or less safe within his new environment, when he’s fed and treated like a person worthy of respect and consideration, his insights, skills and perception are crucial assets to the group.

Astarion knows his art and literature, and although his little remarks are unhinged at times, he's genuinely witty. Even his objections are, considering the circumstances, absolutely legitimate.

Personally, I love seeing Smooth Brain Astarion become more and more secure in his judgement the more Tav/other companions trust and support him.

Astarion is smart, his brain’s just been stewed for nearly 200 years.

[fandom]

Top 23 of 2023

Have you been aching to get your hot little hands on 52 weeks of data around original posts, likes, reblogs, and searches, all weighted and ranked and tied up into categories with a nice little bow on top? Well, today’s your day! It should come as no surprise that Artists on Tumblr reign supreme: from stunning traditional art, jaw-dropping digital art, fanart, sculptures, textile art—you name it, basically—this year’s list shows that Tumblr truly is the home for art and artists. Thank you, Artists on Tumblr, for enriching our dashboards day after day. 

Rounding out the top three, we have two iconic shows: Good Omens is live-action, and The Owl House is animated, but both have a heck of a love story at their core. The second season of Good Omens blessed us with not one but two ineffably exquisite ships, while the final season of The Owl House broke and then healed fans’ hearts in equal measure. Thanks, @danaterrace! Actually, come to think of it, the Good Omens finale kinda did the same in reverse. Thanks to you, too, @neil-gaiman! We can’t wait for season 3. 

Speaking of heartbreak and healing, Our Flag Means Death’s second season offered both in droves. The entire cast gave stellar performances, and fans couldn’t have been happier to see the kinds of representation the show displayed. Last year’s #1 topic, Stranger Things, may have dropped a bit, but trust us, you wouldn’t know it from the amount of meta, fanart, and fics in the tag. And did you hear about the live-action adaptations of both The Last of Us and One Piece? They were a preeeetty big deal this year, too. Check ‘em out if you haven’t yet (lol, of course you have). And we’d be remiss not to mention the hugely dedicated fans, fanartists, and fic writers devoting their time to all things Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Y’all deserve a little pizza, as a treat.

2023 was also a year for blockbuster movies, which of course hasn’t escaped anybody’s notice here on Tumblr. Barbie smashed box offices worldwide and left us reeling with every re-watch. How can one describe Greta Gerwig’s pink-filled opus? It certainly is one of the movies of all time. Meanwhile, with its incredible animation and soundtrack, Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse introduced us to a whole new multiverse of Spider-People, opening the portal to a veritable flood of incredible OCs. And then, of course, we got a fresh perspective on an old classic when cinephiles introduced Martin Scorscese’s cinematic masterpiece, Goncharov (1973), to a new generation of film aficionados who resoundingly agree that it is, in fact, the greatest mafia movie ever made. We’re so glad this underrated film finally got the acclaim it has long deserved.

In the realms of gaming and tech, the long-anticipated Baldur’s Gate 3 has basically become everyone’s new favorite D&D/dating sim combination. Of course, the Pokémon franchise, games, shows, and Hatsune Miku collabs remain perennial favorites. Elon Musk’s purchase of Twitter, sorry, we mean of course X, made waves across the internet. Similarly, the Reddit blackout drove Redditors to new venues, and Tumblr users welcomed the folks from r/196 with open arms—we’re huge fans of your memes, y’all, and you fit right in. Welcome, we’re glad you enjoy the chaos. Here’s a fun fact: if we included post metadata in Year in Review rankings, #polls, introduced in January of 2023, would have been the #5 topic on Tumblr this year. Phenomenal. 

And, oh right. Taylor Swift had kind of a big year, what with the albums, the epic global tour, and the movie and stuff. Fantastic work, @taylorswift, the Swifties on Tumblr thank you for everything.

This is Tumblr’s Year in Review.

Artists on Tumblr

Good Omens

The Owl House

Barbie

Pokémon

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse

Critical Role

Goncharov

Taylor Swift

Genshin Impact

Stranger Things

The Last of Us

Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

Elon Musk

196

Star Wars

Our Flag Means Death

Crowley | Good Omens

LGBTQ

Cottagecore

Baldur's Gate 3

One Piece

Aziraphale | Good Omens

[verisette]

⌗ — 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 KATSUKI BAKUGO, GATE 3-A.

✈ IN FLIGHT SONG! 〔jam out while you board〕 :

⤷ sneak peek: How could I forget that face, I don't even know your name. I'm in love with a ghost girl, all alone in a lonely world I just really wanna find her.

✈ FLIGHT PLAN! 〔synopsis〕 :

You’re the new girl. The mystery transfer student with too many passport stamps and not enough memories to call “home.” You’ve spent your whole life moving, city to city, country to country, never long enough to fall in love or stay rooted. Relationships? Not your thing.

Now you’re finishing your final year at U.A., and this time, you’re staying put. No mess. No drama. No distractions.

Until him. Katsuki Bakugo. Your childhood best friend turned stranger. Loud, explosive, impossible to ignore… and maybe the only one who remembers who you used to be.

✈ BAGGAGE CLAIM! 〔content warnings〕 : childhood friends to strangers to lovers. emotionally constipated reader. pining bakugo. social anxiety rep. traditional writing with smau elements. fluff. angst. slowburn. miscommunication. oc character who will piss you off. chapter-specific CW’s provided.

✈ CABIN CREW! 〔character manifest〕 :

you : suitcase always half-packed. playlists for people you miss. soft hoodies. shy but observant. allergic to feelings. “always the new girl.”

katsuki bakugo : jaw clenched, fists looser than they used to be. quiet loyalty. eyes that burn. “one who stayed.”

mina ashido : glitter eyeliner and contagious laughter. hypes you up when you’re spiraling. pink sugar with a punch. “emotional support, gremlin.”

eijiro kirishima : loud laugh, bigger heart. snacks in every pocket. wants everyone to be okay. “ultimate wingman.”

✈ FLIGHT LOG! 〔archives〕 :

• 4 I 17 I 25. prologue : who am i? well, even i’m not so sure.

• 4 | 18 | 25. chapter 1 : childhood, interrupted.

• 0 | 0 | 25. chapter 2 : the girl who never stays.

✈ FREQUENT FLYERS! 〔taglist〕

27 | 50 comment to be added!

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[florencemtrash]

The Graveyard Shift: Chapter V

Simon Riley x f!Reader

Summary: Simon Riley is a lonely grave keeper in Victorian England who puts a marriage proposal ad in the London newspaper. He's ready to make his house a home, but can he convince his new wife that he can be her safe space, or will the secret she carries threaten their newfound happiness?

Warnings: abusive marriages (not Simon), allusions to SA (not explicit)

The Graveyard Shift Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

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Riley was vibrating with excitement. He paced back and forth along the rock wall, listening to the goats bleeping behind the gate and sniffing the air for a new, distinct smell. He stepped happily over root vegetables not yet dug up from the earth, but steered clear of the herbs and flowers.

Y/n slipped out of the forest, untying her skirts now that she would be free from any incriminating dirt. The last thing she needed was for Simon to discover her previous marriage and ask for an annulment. The thought of returning to London — back to the Hall family — made her skin crawl.

There was the small garden in the back of the house Simon had mentioned vaguely in a letter to her. Walled off by grey stone and with a metal gate to protect from the goats. Something stirred there, whining and jumping. She could see pointed ears float in and out of view as the animal struggled to look over the wall. 

She neared close. Simon had not mentioned a dog—

The dog cleared the wall, having slipped its paw in between the stones. A giant mass of brown-black fur hurled itself at her, catching her in the chest and sending her sprawling back into the ground. She screamed, throwing up her arms and pushing against warm fur that ached to get close. The dog licked her hands and face tasting dirt and clean soap as he wagged his tail furiously. 

“Riley! No!” Simon dropped the bundle he’d been carrying in the yard and sprinted over, hauling Riley off of his wife. The dog, upon feeling his owner's hand, turned obedient. He sat dutifully, tail thumping on the ground as Simon hurried to his wife. “Are you alright?” He grasped her arms, helping her up. 

Hair had been pulled out from her braids, wild and windswept, tracing the length of her neck in a way that had Simon swallowing thickly. 

“Come on, let’s get you inside. Riley, stay.” 

The dog whined but relented, leaping back over the rock wall with an ease that made Simon sigh in acceptance. 

Simon patted Y/n down with little propriety, clearing off grass and dirt and hay from her clothes and from her hair. When she felt his fingers at the nape of her neck she recoiled as though struck and Simon once again felt his stomach sour. 

“Why don’t you get cleaned up?” He offered instead of his hand, “I’ll get supper made.” When she hesitated, he murmured, “Please,” so wretchedly that she was almost overcome. 

She washed quickly, tying back her hair again with trembling fingers and wondering, once again, how she had come to be here in this place, married to a stranger she didn’t know. She quieted her breathing, controlled the shaking of her hands, and picked up her fear like it was clothing off the floor — something to be folded and hidden where it wouldn’t take up so much space. 

“Everything alright?” Simon set bowls of stew on the table, kitchen linen thrown over his shoulder. “I’m sorry about Riley. He knows better than to treat women like that. He just gets… excited.” 

“I am alright.” 

“Well then, please. Sit.” She obeyed him, waiting for him to take his seat at his table. Together they ate, silverware clinking as the fire crackled and popped softly in the background. 

Simon cleared his throat, rubbing the crumbs off his fingers as the meal neared its end. “What do you think?”

“Of?” 

“Everything. The house. The food. The dog.” Me.

“It’s all very nice.” 

“I’ve kept up the garden, but you can do whatever you want. I remember you mentioning it in your letter.”

“What?” She’d already forgotten exactly what she'd written. Except for of course the one sentence she’d written with a stone in her stomach — Never married.

“Y/n Hall of London, though originally born of Henley-on-Thames, Oxfordshire, where the weather is no better or worse than anywhere else. 25 years of age. Can sew, knit, cook, clean, read, and sing (passably). Would enjoy gardening if given the chance. Of small upbringing. Quiet and of respectable countenance. Never married.” Simon recited the words he’d memorized by heart. “I would like to hear you sing as well… passably, of course.” He added. 

The small tick in his wife’s lips was enough to make him smile. 

“Your dog.” 

“Hmmm?”

“He has a funny name. An…”

“Unoriginal one.” Y/n squirmed in her seat, worried that she’d offended him. But he only ripped the last crust of bread in two, leaving half on her plate and chuckling softly to himself. “I’m not a clever man, and it’s not a clever name, but Riley suited him.” 

“It does suit him.” She glanced out at the darkened sky. “Will he stay out tonight?” 

“I’ll let him in before bed.” He closed his hand around her wrist before she could clear the plates. “I’ll handle it. Go on to bed.” Y/n froze, hardly breathing as Simon lumbered to the kitchen. He filled the space with ease. Filled the entire house. Filled her eyes. There was no escaping him. 

Quietly she disappeared up the steps to the bedroom, feeling her dinner creep into her chest. She swallowed it down. She was married now. There were things that married couples needed to do. 

She washed her face. Dragged a clean, damp cloth down her arms and legs. Brushed her hair and rinsed her mouth. Undressed until she was left in only a shift. She sat at her vanity — one of only two things that had been labeled her’s — and waited. 

She didn’t hear Simon’s footsteps coming up the stairs and nearly jumped when she caught sight of him in the mirror. It frightened her how silent this man could be. It spoke of dangers she couldn’t prepare for. 

He hadn’t meant to scare her, he just… couldn’t help but look at her. 

Her hair was undone and he’d never seen a woman undressed before. Never seen such an expanse of smooth skin at the chest and legs. He was suddenly reminded of all the scars that marred his body, leaving ugly raised marks that split down freckled skin like horrid constellations. Some were recent, the product of a knife left the wrong way in the kitchen or a romp through the woods gone awry. Most were older, left by violent hands he had no desire to speak of. He didn’t want her to see them so openly. Not so soon.     

“You’re not in bed.” He busied himself at the wash basin, rubbing at his arms and the line of sweat at his neck to keep from looking at her.  

Wordlessly, Y/n made her way to the bed, sliding into the side closest to the door and laying very very still. He could have sworn he heard her mutter an apology as she did so. He looked away from her as he changed, and if she saw the scars clawing their way up his naked back, she made no comment on it. 

She was horrified. She wanted to look away. To bury her face under the covers and wait for him to come to bed and do what he wanted. But that felt like a mistake in the making. If she was to see him, she may as well see him now. She was prepared to see his mountainous back, the muscles that hid beneath layers of shirts. What she wasn’t prepared for were the lash marks criss-crossing across his back. Scars like those had to ache, even after the wound had long disappeared, puckering and pulling at delicate skin. 

When he began unbuckling his belt she did look away, cheeks burning with fearful anticipation. The mattress dipped down with his weight and she became all too aware of the heat he radiated beneath the covers. They laid there for some time, ramrod straight beneath the sheets. Downstairs she heard the soft pitter-patter of Riley’s nails on the wood. 

When he reached out for her waist she did nothing but close her eyes, watching only the red flicker of candlelight bounce against her eyelids. His hand was gentle against her hip. Careful. But he didn’t pull her shift up or down as she’d expected, only let his hand rest there, like he was testing the cold of an ocean. 

“You’re freezing,” he said softly. And so she was. Her blood had pooled to her heart, hell-bent on protecting such a fragile organ. He covered her with an extra blanket and after some consideration, snuffed out the lamp by the bed. 

Now there was another fear in Y/n’s heart as Simon took his place in his bed — that Simon would never touch her. That he wasn’t pleased with her. She’d heard of marriages annulled over less. 

“Will you not touch me?” Her voice was thin and reedy in the night. 

From within the darkness, Simon answered, “Not until you want it.” 

“I do want it.” 

“No. No you don’t.” 

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