#{MEMES}「Hell Frozen Over」

[gelidemperor]

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[vrstual]

ᯓ .ᐟ ⊹ The Girlfriend Contract

- part one.

ᯓ Pairing: Popular!Karina (Yu Jimin) × Cheerleader!Fem! Reader

ᯓ | When Jimin lies to her mom about being in a serious relationship, the last person she expects to drag into her mess is Y/n–the campus cheerleader she’s spent the last two years arguing with across lecture halls and parties. But now, to keep up appearances over the holidays, they have to fake date through family dinners, long car rides and even in school.

ᯓ Genre: Rivals to fake-dating to lovers, slow burn, college AU, family drama, soft angst, eventual fluff

ᯓ Warning: swearing, argument, a little toxic, family pressure.

ᯓ Content: 7k of words

part one. part two.

Yu Jimin wasn’t in love.

She’d made that clear enough times.

The guy from last week still texted her sometimes — a dumb meme or a photo of his cat — and she hadn’t blocked him, but she hadn’t replied either. Not because he did anything wrong. He just wasn’t what she wanted. No one ever was.

Not that her mom would believe that.

Jimin leaned against the kitchen counter, phone in one hand, a cooling cup of black coffee in the other.

She never understood how her best friend could be so different from her. Where she overthought, Heeseung floated. Nothing seemed to stick to him — not stress, not pressure, not the constant need to prove something. He just existed, unbothered and perfectly content in his own lane.

Sometimes she envied that. Other times, it annoyed the hell out of her.

She scrolled through her texts — mostly her group chat with Heeseung and some old party invites she never answered.

Half a pizza box balanced precariously on a pile of textbooks, a soda can sweated onto the corner of a magazine she never finished reading. The air smelled faintly like old takeout and peppermint gum.

“I swear to god, if Meredith cries one more time…” Heeseung muttered.

Jimin didn’t answer. She was too focused on the vibration of her phone lighting up again. It was her mother

Jimin stared at it for a second.

“You gonna answer that?” Heeseung asked, glancing over.

“She’s just gonna ask when I’m coming home,” Jimin muttered, already standing up. “And why I’m still single. Can’t wait.”

She slipped into her bedroom and closed the door gently behind her, pressing accept as she sank down onto the edge of her bed.

“Hi, Mom.”

Her mom’s voice was warm but clipped. “Jimin-ah. I’ve been calling.”

“I was busy. Sorry."

“Too busy to talk to your mother?” she teased lightly. “Are you still planning to come home on the 23rd?”

“Yeah. I already finished my suitcases."

A pause.

“You know, I don’t like you driving alone. That highway gets dangerous in the winter.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve done it every time to come home.”

“Just… you know I worry.” Her mom sighed.

Jimin nodded, even though her mom couldn’t see it.

“You don’t have to come alone, you know,” her mom said. “Wonyoung is bringing her girlfriend. They’ve been together almost a year now. Very sweet girl. Thoughtful. Studying medicine.”

Jimin didn’t reply.

“And Giselle’s new boyfriend is coming too, he's American. Apparently he’s learning Korean just for her. Isn’t that romantic?”

Still, silence.

“I just think… maybe it’s time you stopped pretending this doesn’t matter to you.”

Jimin blinked. “What doesn’t?”

“This. Being with someone who cares about you. You’re always so… distant. I know you’re busy with school, but you don’t even talk about anyone.”

“It's nothing to worry about, mom." Jimin said quietly.

Her mom sighed again — soft, but full of meaning. “I just want to see you happy, Jimin. That’s all. Not just smart, not just successful. Happy. With someone who looks at you like you matter.

That was the part that stuck. Jimin sat frozen for a beat too long, the lump forming quietly in her throat.

So she did what she always did when emotions got too close.

She lied.

“I’m not alone,” she said suddenly. “I… I’ve been seeing someone.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and for once, her mom sounded surprised.

“Oh? Really?” Excitement was running through her mother voice, she could sense it.

Jimin’s brain stalled. And then, without thinking, she said it.

“It's uh... Y/n."

A pause.

Her mom’s tone changed instantly — from excited to genuine curiosity.

“Y/n? That girl from the cheer team? The one from last summer Giselle's gala? She’s very pretty. I didn’t know you two were close, I thought you hated her."

Jimin forced a breathy laugh. “Yeah. Neither did I.”

“Well, I’m glad,” her mom said gently. “I really am. You could bring her over to Christmas you know!"

Jimin didn’t know what to say. She mumbled something about studying and hung up as soon as she could without seeming suspicious.

She sat in the quiet of her room afterward, staring at the floor.

Y/n?

Out of everyone?

She was so screwed.

-

Heeseung bit back a laugh, but it slipped out anyway — low and sharp. He couldn’t help it. For two years now, it had been tradition: every time Y/n’s name came up, he and Jimin would roll their eyes in sync, trading sarcastic commentary like it was a sport.

She’d complain about Y/N’s perfect routines, and he’d mock her perfect smile. It was a shared hobby at this point — hating on Y/n from the sidelines. So when Jimin stood in the doorway, looking vaguely shell-shocked and muttered, “I told my mom I’m dating her,” Heeseung practically choked on his drink.

“You’re joking,” he said between wheezes. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not—stop laughing, it’s not funny, Heeseung!” Jimin whined, smacking his shoulder with the back of her hand.

Heeseung doubled over, laughter spilling out now, almost gasping. “No, it’s hilarious. You? Dating Y/n? You’ve literally called her a walking ego devil in a cheer skirt.”

“That was one time,” Jimin muttered, crossing her arms.

“You said she practices her fake angelic smile in the mirror like a villain!"

"Okay, two times.”

Heeseung just shook his head, still grinning. “How the hell are you gonna fake-date someone you can’t even make it through a room with?”

Jimin flopped onto the couch with a groan. “I don’t know. But now my mom thinks we’re soulmates or something.”

“Well, good luck with her."

-

Jimin had been waiting—maybe an hour, maybe two—just outside the gym, tucked under the edge of the overhang by the side door. Rain slid off the roof in steady sheets, cold and relentless, soaking the tips of her shoes.

She’d run out of things to scroll through on her phone half an hour ago. Now all she could do was stare at the wet pavement and rehearse what she’d say.

“Hey, so this is going to sound insane, but I need you to pretend to date me for the sake of my mom’s sanity.”

No. Too direct.

“I told my mom I’m dating you, and now I might need your help not getting disowned.”

Even worse.

She exhaled, breath fogging in the cold. Practice usually ran late — Jimin knew that. She’d walked past the gym enough times to hear music blasting well past dinner. But it was really starting to feel like Y/N wasn’t coming out at all.

Maybe this was stupid. Maybe Y/N would laugh in her face. Or worse — tell the whole squad. Jimin could already picture it: her name and the word desperate flying through the hallways by tomorrow.

Still, she stayed. Because this was the only way. And if she didn’t ask — if she didn’t try — she’d be walking into Busan with a lie and no backup. That wasn’t an option.

The gym door creaked open. Jimin’s breath hitched.

There she was. Hoodie pulled over her cheer uniform, earbuds in, completely oblivious.

Jimin stepped out from under the overhang, heart pounding.

It was now or never.

“Y/n!” Jimin called out, but her voice barely cut through the rain — or the music playing through the girl’s headphones. “Y/n!”

Still nothing.

Frustrated, Jimin jogged forward, slipping slightly on the wet concrete before reaching out and grabbing Y/n’s shoulder. The other girl flinched, startled, twisting around sharply.

Y/n pulled one earbud out, blinking. “What the hell—?”

Jimin let go immediately, a little breathless. “Sorry. I just— I’ve been waiting.”

Y/N looked her up and down, taking in the damp hoodie, the ruined sneakers, the obvious nerves. Her brows lifted slightly. "Are you okay?"

Y/n didn't cared, in fact she was just confused.

“No,” Jimin admitted, voice sharp and awkward. “I mean, yes. Kind of. Can I talk to you? It’s… important.”

Y/N crossed her arms, skeptical but curious. “Did you really wait out here in the rain for me?”

Jimin nodded.

A beat passed.

“This better be good,” Y/n muttered, stepping back under the cover of the overhang. “Talk.”

“I thought we could discuss this in a café, it’s pouring rain and it’s—uh—cold…” Jimin said, her voice trailing off awkwardly as she realized how lame it sounded.

Y/N rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed, but the edge of a smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. "You’re gonna drag me out of the rain to talk in a café? What’s next? Do I get a flower and a soft jazz playlist too?”

Jimin rubbed the back of her neck, feeling the heat rise to her face. “No, it’s not like that. I just—It’s a lot to explain, okay?”

Y/N sighed but didn’t walk away. “Fine, whatever. Lead the way.”

Jimin exhaled in relief, hoping the warmth of a café would settle her nerves and that somehow, she could make this mess work.

-

“Okay, what the fuck is wrong with you?!” Y/N asked, her voice incredulous as they sat down in the café. She crossed her arms over her chest, still soaking wet but visibly irritated.

“It’s the first name that came to my mind, I swear!” she shot back, desperate to defend herself. “I panicked, okay?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Panic doesn’t usually make you pick someone you can’t stand and that can't stand you either!"

“I know, I know,” Jimin groaned, slumping in her seat. “But it just… happened. I thought I could get away with it. But then she—my mom—asked me to bring you home for Christmas.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, clearly thrown off. “What? Me? You want me to pretend we’re dating and then go home with you for Christmas? Unbelievable."

“Exactly,” Jimin muttered, looking anywhere but at her. “It’s not like I want to ask you, but… she’s really pushing it. And I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Y/N just stared at her, blinking slowly. “You’re asking me to fake-date you in front of your whole family… so your mom won’t be disappointed?”

“Please,” Jimin begged, her voice low. “I can’t go back home without some sort of backup. I can’t just let her think I’m this messed-up failure. You don’t know what she’s like.”

Y/N was quiet for a moment, then leaned back in her chair, still processing. “And what’s in it for me?”

Jimin bit her lip, her eyes flickering up to meet Y/n's. “I’ll do anything. Anything you want. Please.”

Y/n exhaled, a small smirk forming at the corner of her mouth. “Anything? Interesting…”

Jimin’s stomach dropped. “Yeah. I mean it.”

Y/N looked at her for a long, hard beat, and Jimin couldn’t tell if she was about to laugh in her face or agree. Finally, Y/n shrugged.

“Alright. I’ll help you out. But just so you know, I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it because I broke up with Jeno weeks ago and this will make him furious.”

Jimin let out a relieved breath. “Deal.”

A long pause.

Then Y/n spoke again, casually stirring the straw in her iced drink.

“So… what’s the storyline?” she asked, eyes narrowing just a bit. “What exactly are we supposed to do? Am I supposed to sell Minjeong on the idea that I fell for you in a night?”

Jimin sank further into her seat, visibly cringing. “I mean… yeah. Basically.”

Y/n snorted. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I didn’t say it made sense!” Jimin shot back, flustered. “It was a heat-of-the-moment, life-flashing-before-my-eyes type of decision.”

Y/n leaned in a little, her voice laced with sarcasm. “Right. So what’s our epic love story, then? Did we bond over our mutual hatred for each other? A steamy hallway makeout after cheer competition?”

Jimin blinked. “…Wait, that’s not bad.”

Y/n raised a brow, deadpan. “You are so lucky I’m bored enough to play along." She sighed. "Let's at least make it romantic."

Jimin blinked at her. “Wait… you’re actually taking this seriously?”

“If I’m going to lie to your mom and sit through family dinners between your family members, yeah—might as well make it convincing.” Y/N shrugged, a slight smirk tugging at her lips. “Besides, if I have to pretend to like you, I deserve Oscar-worthy levels of drama.”

Jimin scoffed, but there was the tiniest smile threatening to break through. “Fine. Romance it is.”

Y/n eaned forward, mock-serious. “So? What’s our meet-cute? Something dramatic. I want tension. A little forbidden energy. Give me the enemies to lovers arc.”

Jimin stared at her. “You want me to plot out a fake fanfic?”

“Exactly,” Y/N said with a satisfied nod. “You started this. Now we’re doing it right."

Y/n grinned, resting her chin on her palm as she eyed Jimin across the table.

“Also,” she added, voice almost playful, “I’ve always liked K-dramas with the worst tropes. So please, get creative.”

Jimin narrowed her eyes. “Worst tropes?”

Y/n nodded, unfazed. “Give me a tragic backstory. I want a dramatic rooftop scene. A tension-filled rain fight. Maybe even my jealous ex. I want to suffer.”

Jimin blinked. “You’re unhinged.”

“No,” Y/n said with a mischievous glint in her eye. “I’m committed to the bit.”

Jimin leaned forward, tapping her nails against her coffee cup. “Alright. New story. We met by accident. Late night. Campus convenience store.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“It’s pouring rain,” Jimin said, eyes distant like she was setting a scene in her head. “I was out of ramen. You were there for honey butter chips and cold brew.”

Y/n nodded slowly, already picturing it. “We reach for the same drink?”

“No,” Jimin smirked. “You drop your chips. I step on them. Instant tension.”

“Classic.”

“I apologize, kind of. You roll your eyes, say something smart. I snap back. But we’re both too tired to really argue. So we leave it there.”

Y/n sipped her drink, clearly invested now. “And then?”

“We run into each other again. Couple nights later. Same store. This time it’s late. Like, past midnight late. No one else around. You’re in sweats. I’m in my stupid hoodie. You ask if I always eat instant food this late.”

“And you say?”

"I say, 'Only when I can’t sleep.' And then you pause, just a second too long, and say, 'Same'"

Y/n smiled softly, leaning into the vibe. “So then what, we just keep running into each other?”

Jimin nodded. “Like fate. We never plan it, but somehow, we’re always there around the same time. We start sitting outside together. Talking. Bickering. You offer me your chips. I start bringing an extra drink.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Then something shifts.”

“Exactly,” Jimin said. “It’s three in the morning. We’re sitting on the curb, legs stretched out, talking about family and futures and shit we never tell anyone. You lean your head on my shoulder.”

Y/N blinked. “And that’s when we kiss?”

Jimin grinned. “Almost. But we don’t. Not yet. Just enough tension to make it hurt.”

“Oh, I love this one. It’s giving sad gay indie K-drama energy.”

“Right?” Jimin smirked. “Now we just have to convince my mom we’re emotionally intertwined and have a history that no one else could understand.”

Y/n smiled slowly. “She won’t stand a chance.”

-

The car ride to Busan started off in near silence. Rain tapped lazily against the windshield, and the highway stretched ahead like it was daring them to speak.

Jimin had one hand on the wheel, jaw tense. Y/n sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed, headphones in — but the music was off. She just didn’t want to talk.

Until she did.

“You drive like you’re allergic to speed limits,” Y/n muttered, not even glancing over.

Jimin scoffed. “I’d rather get there fast than be stuck in this car with you for an extra hour.”

“Charming,” Y/n said dryly, turning to look at her. “Remind me again why I agreed to this?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jimin snapped, “maybe because you begged for a dramatic K-drama moment and I handed you one on a silver platter?”

“Right, because nothing says romance like you glaring at me every time I breathe too loud.”

“I’m driving,” Jimin bit back. “I need to focus.”

“You need to unclench.”

Jimin hit the signal light a little too aggressively and merged lanes. “If you hate this so much, you could’ve said no."

“If I said no, I wouldn’t get to witness you crash and burn in front of your family. That’s worth the ticket.”

They were quiet for a beat. Just the low hum of tires on wet road, the occasional flick of windshield wipers.

Then—

“You always think you’re so much better than everyone,” Jimin muttered, not looking at her.

Y/n blinked, taken off guard. “Excuse me?”

“You walk around like you own every hallway. Like no one can touch you. Even now, sitting in my car, doing me a favor, and still acting like you’re above it all.”

Y/n stared at her. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Maybe not,” Jimin shot back. “But you make it really easy to hate you.”

Another beat. The silence this time was heavier. Then Y/n laughed — just once. A dry, disbelieving sound.

“Well,” she said, settling back in her seat, “that makes two of us.”

Jimin’s fingers tightened on the wheel.

They didn’t speak for the next twenty minutes.

But their thoughts were loud.

“I don’t pretend anything,” Y/n said sharply, sitting up straighter. “You’re the one lying to your mom.”

“Oh my god,” Jimin muttered, eyes fixed on the road. “Are we really doing this right now?”

“You started it.”

“You agreed to this!”

“Because I thought it would be funny, not—this.” Y/n gestured vaguely, annoyed. “I thought we’d take a few fake couple pics, smile through some awkward dinners, go home. Not—argue like we’re married in your beat-up Hyundai on the highway to hell.”

“It’s a Kia,” Jimin snapped, glaring briefly. “And you made it personal.”

“I made it personal?” Y/N laughed, incredulous. “You’ve been picking fights with me since sophomore year.”

“Because you’re infuriating.”

“Because you take everything as a personal attack!”

They were both breathing hard now, voices raised, heat building fast.

Then—

“You’re exhausting,” Jimin muttered.

“So are you,” Y/n said, quieter this time, not quite looking at her.

A long stretch of silence settled between them again, except now their breathing had slowed, tension simmering instead of boiling.

Outside, the rain picked up. Inside, the heat from the vents started to fog the windows a little.

“…I didn’t mean to pick you,” Jimin said eventually, her voice low. “Your name just came out. I didn’t even think.”

Y/n looked at her out of the corner of her eye. “I know.”

“I guess,” Jimin continued, “if I’m honest, it’s because… you’re always there. Like, in my head. Whether I like it or not.”

Y/n's brows furrowed, confused. “So you hate me but I live rent-free in your mind?”

“Don’t say it like that,” Jimin groaned, but the corner of her mouth tugged upward anyway.

Y/n bit back a smirk, then looked away. “You’re still annoying.”

“You’re worse,” Jimin muttered.

A small pause.

Then Y/n spoke, softer. “Do I look okay?”

Jimin glanced over, confused. “What?”

“For your family,” she said. “Do I look like someone you’d… bring home?”

Jimin blinked at her, eyes flicking from her face to the slight slump of her shoulders.

And despite everything — the tension, the insults, the years of barely tolerating each other — she answered honestly.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “You do.”

Y/n didn’t say anything after that. But she smiled. Just a little.

And Jimin didn’t admit it, but she saw it in the reflection of the windshield.

That was the first time the silence between them felt almost peaceful.

-

Y/n was stressed.

She told herself she didn’t care — obviously she didn’t care — but the second Jimin put the car in park in front of the house, her chest tightened like it had something to prove.

It was just a stupid lie. A favor. One awkward week with Jimin’s polished Busan family, pretend to hold hands at dinner, maybe smile for a few photo. That was the plan.

So why did her palms feel clammy? Why did her heart jump into her throat the second Jimin looked over at her and said, quietly,

“We’re here.”

The house was bigger than she expected. Not mansion-big, but definitely expensive. Warm yellow lights glowed from the windows, laughter spilled faintly from inside, and the front door was already cracked open like they’d been watching the driveway all evening.

Jimin didn’t move to get out yet. She just sat there, keys still in the ignition, fingers twitching on her lap.

Y/n swallowed hard.

She was used to pretending.

It was her thing, actually.

Hide her true emotions. No one ever saw past it — not her teammates, not her classmates, not the girls she flirted with when she was bored and didn’t feel like going home.

And for the longest time, Y/n liked it that way.

But something about this felt different.

Maybe it was the way the front door swung open and warmth spilled out — real warmth.

Or maybe it was the fact that the second Jimin’s hand brushed against hers at the threshold — not even holding, just a touch — something inside her chest flinched.

Not in fear.

In recognition.

She was good at pretending. Always had been.

They stepped out of the car, the cold evening air biting at Y/n’s exposed skin. Jimin walked around to the trunk, popped it open, and pulled out the suitcases with a grunt. Y/n didn’t move to help—just stood there, arms crossed, watching with her usual unreadable expression.

Jimin rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

“What?” Y/n said, feigning innocence. “You looked like you had it handled.”

Jimin groaned under her breath, dragging the suitcase toward the walkway just as the front door burst open.

“Jimin, sweetie!” a voice called out, full of warmth and sugar and just a pinch of chaos.

A woman rushed out into the night, arms already stretched wide, face glowing. She wrapped Jimin into a hug so tight it made the younger girl lose her grip on one of the bags.

“I missed you!” she said into Jimin’s shoulder, then pulled back to look her over like a mom checking for battle wounds. “Why do you look skinnier? Have you been eating? I told you to stop drinking iced americanos for dinner!”

“Hi, Mom,” Jimin replied, almost shyly. Her smile softened the edges of her usual sarcasm. She bent to pick up the suitcase again.

Then the woman turned to Y/n.

“And you must be Y/n! I'm Taeyeon!"

Y/n froze like a deer in headlights for a second before schooling her features into something charming — the soft smile she used at cheer fundraisers, the kind that got her free coffees and made teachers forgive late assignments.

“That's me” she said, stepping forward and offering a hand, just a beat too stiff.

But Jimin’s mom didn’t shake it — she hugged her.

Y/n’s eyes widened as the woman pulled her in, warm and familiar, like she’d known her for years.

“You’re gorgeous, oh my god,” Jimin’s mom gushed, stepping back and holding her at arm’s length. “And tiny! Jimin always had a thing for tiny girls, didn’t you, honey?”

Jimin choked. “Mom.”

“What?” she grinned, waving it off. “I’m just saying! When she was younger—”

“Okay, inside, now,” Jimin interrupted, grabbing the last suitcase and brushing past them, ears turning red.

Y/n stood there for another second, a little smirk on her lips, before Jimin’s mom looped her arm through hers.

“Come on, dear. You’ll sit next to me at dinner. You’ll tell me everything about how you and Jimin met.”

Y/n glanced ahead, saw the slight panic in Jimin’s shoulders as she disappeared through the doorway.

She smiled.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

As soon as they stepped into the house, warmth wrapped around them — the kind of lived-in, cozy heat that smelled like soy sauce, steamed rice, and something baking in the oven.

And there were a lot of people.

“Well, well,” a voice called from the hallway, smooth and teasing. “Jimin didn’t tell us she was bringing someone this cute.”

Y/n looked up, caught off guard by the tall boy leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed. He looked familiar — must’ve been her brother.

“She did,” Y/n replied coolly, raising an eyebrow. “You probably weren’t listening.”

Sunghoon smirked, clearly amused. “Feisty. I like it.”

“She’s my girlfriend, Sunghoon.” Jimin cut in flatly as she dropped the suitcase by the stairs. “So stop being weird.”

Y/n fought a grin as Sunghoon dramatically clutched his chest. “Girlfriend? You didn’t say she was taken!”

“I said she was coming,” Jimin muttered. “And I said to behave.”

“Jimin,” her father said warmly, stepping forward to hug her. “You should’ve called when you were getting close.”

“I wanted to surprise you,�� she mumbled, hugging him back, softer now.

Then he turned to Y/n and gave a polite, reserved bow. “You must be the girl we’ve heard so little about.”

Y/n smiled awkwardly and bowed in return. “Nice to meet you. I’m Y/n.”

“Well I'm Misook, Jimin's father." he said, stepping aside and motioning toward the living room, “Make yourself at home."

The house had already started filling with noise — the comforting kind. Plates clinking, someone laughing down the hall, a pot of stew boiling gently on the stove. Jimin and Y/n had barely finished setting the table when the front door swung open again, snow blowing in with the familiar chaos of family arrivals.

Jimin muttered under her breath, “And here comes the entire circus.”

Y/n looked up from folding napkins, eyebrows raised. “You weren’t joking.”

Aunt Haeun came in first, cheeks rosy from the cold, tugging off her scarf. “Where’s your mother? Oh, something smells amazing—”

Behind her, Uncle Hyunsoo carried two suitcases and a box of mandarin oranges like he was preparing to stay a month. “Why do we always pack like we’re moving in?”

Then came Wonyoung, tall and glowing even in the oversized coat she shrugged off effortlessly. Her girlfriend Yujin followed, already slipping out of her gloves and handing over a small gift bag with a shy smile.

Wonyoung’s eyes scanned the room — and landed on Y/n.

“Oh,” she said. “This must be her.”

Y/n stood a little straighter. “Hi, I'm Y/n.”

Yujin gave her a polite nod. “Nice to meet you.”

Wonyoung, however, looked her up and down without hiding it. Not rudely. Just… observantly. “You’re even prettier than your Instagram.”

Y/N blinked, surprised. “Thanks… wait you stalked me– how?”

“Wanted to know who my cousin was dating, just saying” Wonyoung added, stepping inside. “Jimin usually likes chaos. You look a little too put-together for her.”

Jimin rolled her eyes. “Nice to see you too.”

Before anyone could dwell on that, the door flew open again and Giselle arrived with her usual flair, dropping her weekender bag dramatically in the hallway. Her boyfriend trailed behind, carrying a cake and visibly regretting not wearing thicker socks.

Giselle’s gaze found Y/n almost immediately.

“Wow. You’re the girlfriend?”

Y/n offered a polite smile. “Yes. I think that’s me.”

“You look like someone who gets invited to the cool rooftop parties and never shows up.” Her tone wasn’t exactly mocking — more amused, a little intrigued. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Y/n said, eyes steady. “I do get those invites.”

From the living room, someone called out, “Stop crowding the hallway!”

Soobin appeared then, towel slung over his shoulder like he’d just helped clean something — tall, soft-eyed, and entirely too charming for his own good.

He gave Jimin a quick hug before turning toward Y/n. “And you must be the famous girlfriend.”

Y/n shook his hand, noticing the dimpled smile right away. “Famous really?”

"Well it's been only a week since Jimin told aunt Taeyeon and she kept talking about you. Anyway, I’m Soobin. Jimin’s cousin — sadly still single, in case that wasn’t obvious.” He winked.

Jimin groaned. “Can you not.”

Mrs. Yu popped her head in from the kitchen, apron tied around her waist. “Everyone’s here? Good. Come help me set the soup, please!”

Y/n was about to follow, but Soobin cut in again. “You cook too?”

“I try,” she said.

“She does,” Jimin mumbled, grabbing the stack of bowls. “She’s basically Miss Perfect.” She says trying to show that she knew her–fake–girlfriend.

“Wow,” Giselle said under her breath, exchanging a look with Wonyoung. “So that’s new.”

Wonyoung smiled tightly. “Can’t wait to hear that story.”

And just like that, Y/n felt it — not hostility, not even dislike. Just curiosity. A little skepticism. Like they were all trying to figure out where she fit in the picture. If she was just a visitor in Jimin’s life — or something more.

Jimin passed her a bowl and gave her a look.

“You okay?”

Y/n nodded, quietly. “Yeah. It’s just… a lot.”

Jimin paused, then added, “It always is. But they’ll get used to you.”

-

The dinner had been… surprisingly pleasant. Y/n couldn’t deny it. The food had been delicious, and as much as she tried to stay neutral, she found herself laughing with Wonyoung and Giselle more than she’d expected. They’d shared funny anecdotes about Jimin’s childhood, embarrassing family moments that made her realize how normal Jimin’s life was outside of the walls of college, outside the walls they’d built up around each other.

Y/n had laughed, genuinely. It felt so… human. Like they were showing her parts of Jimin that she’d never even considered before. She found herself liking it, maybe too much.

But Jimin had been quiet through it all, picking at her food, her eyes darting between Y/n and the rest of the room. It was subtle, but it didn’t go unnoticed. Every time Y/n made a joke or spoke a little too easily with her cousins, Jimin’s smile seemed to falter, just for a split second.

It was like she didn’t want Y/n to get too comfortable. To become too familiar with her family.

To cross a line.

Home.

Y/n thought about that word as she sipped her drink, the weight of it settling in her chest. It wasn’t just where they were sitting right now, under laughter ringing in the background. It was the way Jimin’s face had softened just a little when talking about her mom earlier. Or how her brother, Sunghoon, had cracked a stupid joke and Jimin had genuinely laughed — not the sarcastic kind, but the real one that reached her eyes.

For a second, Y/n let herself consider it — maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if I really fit in here. If I could stay a little longer, get used to them…

But then she glanced over at Jimin, who was still sitting at the edge of the table, half turned away from the conversation, looking like she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite get the words out. The shift in her mood was palpable.

She didn’t want her to get close. That was obvious.

Maybe she didn’t want Y/n the warmth of home — it was too real. Too personal. And the thought of someone else, especially someone like Y/n, having access to it? That was too much for Jimin to handle right now.

Still, as Y/n looked across the table at her, she realized something else, too. Maybe Jimin wasn’t as cold as I thought. Maybe, just maybe, she didn’t hate the idea of being trusted with someone.

-

Y/n lay awake in Jimin’s old room, the one of her childhood — memories frozen in time. After a long and tiring Christmas dinner with Jimin’s family, everyone had finally retreated to their rooms. But something about the stillness in the air, the way everything seemed to breathe a different kind of quiet here, kept Y/n wide awake.

Her eyes wandered around the room, taking in the familiar yet unfamiliar sight. It was cozy, yet clearly a room from another time. There was a mix of things: an old, dusty teddy bear tucked in the corner, a few scattered school trophies on the shelf, and colorful plush pillows that had been there since Jimin’s middle school days. Her room, untouched by time, told the story of someone trying to hold onto childhood, even in the face of growing up.

Y/n rolled over and glanced at the photos hanging on the walls. There were a few frames of young Jimin, her face so different from the confident, polished woman Y/n had come to know. Here, Jimin was just a girl — a middle schooler, awkward and shy, posing for the camera with her family and friends, her eyes shining with innocence. There were pictures of her grinning with friends Y/n would probably never meet.

The one that caught Y/n’s attention the most was a picture of a much younger Jimin, standing beside a smiling boy who looked remarkably like her brother, Sunghoon. The two were at what appeared to be a family picnic, both holding ice cream cones. Jimin’s smile was wide, carefree — a stark contrast to the guarded look she wore now. Her eyes softened as she studied the picture.

She had never considered Jimin as someone with a life before everything — before the fierce exterior, before the social circle and the reputation. She wondered, briefly, what had shaped Jimin into the person she was now. Who was she before all of the expectations? Before her family’s high standards and the pressure of being in the spotlight?

Y/n reached up and gently traced the edge of one of the frames, her thoughts drifting to how little she actually knew about Jimin’s past. She felt a small pang of guilt, realizing how little she had ever really cared to know. She had always seen Jimin as a barrier, a target of her own insecurities and fears. She had never stopped to consider what Jimin had been through to become the person she was today.

The silence in the room grew thicker, and the weight of everything they had both been pretending began to settle over Y/n’s chest.

Suddenly, Jimin’s voice cut through her thoughts as she opened the door coming back from shower.

“You’re still up?”

Y/n snapped out of her thoughts, looking over at the doorway where Jimin stood, her face partially obscured by the dim light from the hallway. She was wearing a loose shirt and pajama pants, her hair slightly messy as she leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“Yeah,” Y/n replied softly, her voice betraying a hint of surprise. “Just… looking around.”

Jimin walked into the room and sat down on the edge of her bed, glancing at the photos the cheerleader had been looking at. “I see you found my middle school pictures,”

Y/n gave a faint nod, feeling awkward for lingering over something so personal. “You were… really different.” Her voice was quiet, as if not wanting to intrude too much.

Jimin let out a small, dry laugh. “I guess. People change.”

Y/n paused for a moment, unsure whether to ask the next question. But her curiosity got the best of her. “Do you ever miss it? The… before?”

Jimin’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, her fingers tracing the edge of her blanket. There was a long pause before she answered, her tone surprisingly soft. “Sometimes,” she admitted quietly. “But I think I had to grow up too fast. I didn’t really have a choice. My mom… she wanted me to be perfect, and I guess… I tried.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and raw. Y/n wasn’t sure what to say, not sure if she was crossing a line or not. But the vulnerability in Jimin’s voice felt different from anything she had ever heard from her.

“I think your mom wanted you to be happy, to build your future so you could be happy. She must have done it wrong.... It's a lot.” Y/n finally said, her voice quieter than before.

Jimin shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. “It is what it is. You can’t change the past.”

They both sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation lingering in the room like an unspoken truth. It was the first time they had really opened up to each other, even if just a little. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

After a few more minutes of quiet, the two of them, still sitting in the dimly lit room, began to realize just how awkward the situation was.

Jimin shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting to the bed, and then to Y/n, before finally settling on the door as if it might suddenly offer an escape. But of course, there was no escaping the reality of the room. There was one bed. And they were both stuck here for the night.

Y/n, sensing the tension, turned to look at Jimin. Her gaze met Jimin’s for a split second before both of them awkwardly glanced away. It was strange, they were forced into an entirely new situation. They had been at each other’s throats for so long, but now, it felt like the walls were starting to crack.

“Uh,” Y/n began, breaking the silence with an awkward laugh. “I guess we’re supposed to… sleep here?”

Jimin, her arms crossed tightly in front of her, didn’t seem thrilled about the prospect. “Yeah, looks like it,” she muttered, eyes narrowing as she looked at the bed, as though it had personally offended her.

Y/n glanced at the single bed again, then back at Jimin. A thought occurred to her. “So… how do you usually do this? I mean, not like… ‘this’—but… you know…”

“Well,” Jimin started, her voice almost hesitant, “my family thinks we are a couple, one bed is actually normal…” She let out a deep breath, clearly at a loss for words. “This is beyond the usual.”

Y/n bit her lip, her mind racing for a solution. They couldn’t exactly sleep side by side in the same bed. That would be far too strange. The thought made her skin crawl a little, and she saw that Jimin was just as uncomfortable as she was. The idea of sharing such a small space for the night—close quarters like this—seemed impossible for two people who barely tolerated each other.

“Wait!” Y/n suddenly exclaimed, the idea coming to her as she looked around the room. “Pillows.”

Jimin blinked at her. “What?”

“No, hear me out,” Y/N said, her voice gaining confidence as she scanned the room. “We can make a pillow barrier, a—uh—‘fortress’ between us. We’ll each have our own side of the bed, and it’ll be like an invisible wall.” She motioned to the pillows on the bed and around the room.

Jimin paused, staring at her like she’d just suggested something absurd. “A pillow fortress?”

Y/n grinned. “Yeah, it’s genius, right? Just a row of pillows between us, and we’ll have our own little spaces. It’ll work.”

Jimin rolled her eyes but finally relented. “Fine. Let’s build your… fortress.”

Y/n wasted no time. She started pulling pillows from the bed and stacking them between them, creating a makeshift barrier down the middle. Jimin watched her for a second before grabbing the remaining pillows and joining in, her usual sarcasm temporarily forgotten.

When they were done, they stepped back and admired their work. The fortress of pillows between them was not exactly elegant, but it served its purpose—each side was now officially off-limits.

“Well,” Jimin said after a moment of silence, raising an eyebrow. “At least now I have some distance from you. It’s like a little… wall of peace.”

Y/N leaned back against her side of the bed, satisfied. “Exactly. Now we can both sleep peacefully without worrying about invading each other’s space.”

There was a pause. Then, a soft, unexpected chuckle escaped from Jimin. “This is ridiculous.”

Y/n grinned, unable to help herself. “It works, though.”

Jimin shook her head, though a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I don’t even want to know how long you’ve been plotting this.”

Y/n laughed. “You have no idea.”

And for the first time since they had started this whole fake dating charade, the tension in the room seemed to dissipate, even if just for a moment. The fortress was still silly, still an odd solution to an odd problem, but it somehow brought a sense of lightness that neither of them had expected.

As they lay there in the dim room, the pillow wall between them, they both found it a little easier to breathe.

-

The apartment door clicked shut behind them, the hum of Seoul’s city noise instantly muffled. The silence between them wasn’t comfortable. It was tense, like a storm waiting to break.

Jimin kicked off her shoes and dropped her bag by the door, heading straight for the kitchen without saying a word. Y/n followed, arms crossed, scowl already forming on her face.

“Where's Heeseung?" Y/n asked earning only a small shrug from Jimin. "So, are you gonna tell me what your problem is?” she snapped.

Jimin scoffed as she opened the fridge, staring inside like it had answers. “My problem? You’re really asking me that?”

“Yeah, I am. You’ve been acting like a brat ever since we got off the car.”

Jimin shut the fridge a little too hard and turned around. “Because my mom wants to invite you to her spring birthday lunch. Because Wonyoung asked if you’d come for Chuseok. Because suddenly everyone loves you, Y/n.”

Y/n blinked. “Okay, and?”

“And now I have to explain why my so-called girlfriend disappears before my mom can start sewing you into the family tree.”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault that your entire family likes me?” Y/n said, voice rising. “You dragged me into this lie and now you’re mad that it worked well?”

Jimin’s jaw tensed. “It was supposed to be a week. A performance. You were supposed to be a cold and indifferent cheer brat—like you usually are."

“Well, sorry for having manners,” Y/n bit back. “Maybe your family’s just desperate to see you with someone who isn’t a Tinder hookup.”

Jimin’s face snapped toward her. “Watch it.”

“No, you watch it. I helped you. I played the role. I met your weird aunt and sat through your cousin’s playlist of EXO dance covers. You’re mad because your lie worked too well.”

Jimin paced, dragging her hands through her hair. She wasn’t yelling anymore—she was spiraling. “They’re already talking about summer. Asking when I’m gonna bring you again. My mom was glowing.”

Y/n leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. “Then tell her we broke up.”

Jimin froze.

Y/n raised a brow. “Simple solution, no?”

“Yeah. Except she’ll want to know why. And how. And when. And then she’ll cry and say it’s because I don’t try hard enough with people and that I ruin everything.”

Silence.

Y/n let out a slow exhale. “Okay. So… what now?”

Jimin hesitated, then sighed. “We fake it a little longer.”

Y/n blinked. “How much longer?”

“Until May.”

“May!?”

Jimin shrugged, already sounding resigned. “That’s when your cheer nationals are, right? It makes sense. We break up after—‘distance’, ‘conflicting schedules’, whatever. Clean timeline.”

Y/n stared at her, baffled. “You really thought this through.”

“No, I’m thinking it through now, because my mom just texted me again asking what your favorite color is.”

Y/n stared. “What is wrong with her?”

“She’s a hopeless romantic. She thinks you’re the one.”

Y/n dragged a hand down her face. “Fine. We fake date until May. But you’re driving me to every practice and buying my coffee. Non-negotiable.”

Jimin rolled her eyes. “Deal. But you’re texting my mom on my behalf until she stops sending me couple bracelets on Instagram.”

They locked eyes, and for a split second, something like amusement flickered between them. But it passed as fast as it came.

The war was still on.

Only now… it had a timeline.

Jimin reached for her phone, already typing a reply to her mom, something about Y/n loving the color navy blue and tulips. Y/n watched her from the kitchen doorway, still not quite sure how the hell this became her life.

“This is so dumb,” she muttered.

Jimin didn’t look up. “You agreed.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t complain about it.”

They locked eyes again, this time without yelling, just the sharp simmer of something complicated brewing beneath the surface.

“Just survive until May,” Jimin said, voice flat.

Y/n nodded, grabbing her bag again and heading toward the spare room. “Easy,” she muttered under her breath.

Neither of them believed that.

-

[darnell-la]

Can you do a follow up with the project x!wolverine x government employee!reader (it can be smut or not I just really like that story)

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗘𝗔𝗦𝗧 𝗕𝗥𝗢𝗞𝗘 𝗢𝗨𝗧 (ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ)

pairing: project x!logan howlett x government employee!reader

warnings: tied up, trapped, sniffing, hunting down, roughly fucked against a tree, pinned, choking, “dragged” through the woods, fucked on the patio, ass slapping, hair pulling, etc.

note: we will be making a part three where they contact Charles's school for mutants to warn them about the government, but the government hacked into their call and found out where Logan was hiding out and keeping y/n.

Logan will be more sweet in the next one as y/n grows out of the fear of him.

follow our Instagram @ darnell.la so we can start posting random videos, photos, edits, and memes of the people we write about!

———

when y/n woke up, she was dangling from the ceiling by her wrists. It took her a while to realize, she was in a basement full of big freezers and sinks. For a second, she thought she was going to be cut up and frozen to feed to whoever until she saw a man sitting on the stairs, leading upstairs.

“W-Where am I?” Y/n said, voice coming out lower than she expected it to. “Home,” the man spoke before getting up. He came out of the light, now shaking off the figure.

He was shirtless, yet had jeans on. Her heart skipped a beat, and she didn’t know why. Was it because Project X had her tried up in god knows where, or was it the fact she could see all of his chest?

He was sweaty, hairy, ripped, muscles flexed every once in a while, veins popping from his skin and smooth.

“It’s passed midnight, but I bet you’re hungry. Went to the store then cooked us up some food,” he spoke as her eyes traveled all over his body. She felt like she was in a trance.

“Up here, princess,” his voice was closer. She didn’t notice how close he was until his fingers lifted her chin. Even though her feet were a few inches from the ground, he was still towering over her.

“You hungry?” He asked with a head tilt. “Let me go,” she spoke, not knowing what else to say. “No,” he spoke back, voice sounding stern. She could hear the seriousness behind his tone.

“And if you try runnin’ you’ll regret it,” he said, body now touching hers. Y/n quickly went to kick him right between his legs, but he knew what was coming. He surprised her by pulling her leg to the side of his waist. She went to use the other, but he did the exact same thing.

“Relax, princess,” the man smirked down at her as she tried wiggling away, but doing so made her cunt rub up and down his clothes length. She prayed he wouldn’t notice, but he felt the wet spot soaking into his jeans.

“If you act good, I’ll fix that for you,” the man whispered in her ear, pulling her body closer to his. Y/n held bad the whine she almost let out. What was he doing to her?

Logan eventually pulled back and walked to the corner of the room to lower her rope. He then walked back over to the girl as she looked down, not knowing what to say or do to the man.

He wasn’t giving off any type of serial killer vibes. He didn’t seem like he wanted to do any kind of killing. A part of her felt saved than she’d ever had, especially because of her job, but she felt off just letting this man win what he wanted. And that was her.

After y/n’s hands dropped from the ropes, she lifted her knees and connected with his groin. The man fell to the ground in pain as she pushed past him, running up the stairs.

The slightly frightened girl ran towards the front door, thinking she was free until she noticed a device on the lock that needed a code. “Fuckin’ hell,” she shouted before running around the rest of the house to find another way.

“You ain’t gettin’ outta here, bub!” Logan yelled from downstairs, finally getting up from the ground. You would think a mutant like him wouldn’t feel that pain, but he did.

Y/n panicked, thinking she was doomed until she had an idea. A stupid one which she slightly felt bad for doing but she did it anyway.

“Son of a bitch!” Logan finally made it up the stairs to the sound of glass breaking. She was out and running for her life, knowing he’d be furious about his genitals and glass.

Y/n ran as fast as she could through the woods, a bit terrified of the dark and animal noises, but the real animal was back at that house. He is an animal, right? That’s what they said he was.

Y/n had stopped after a few minutes to catch her breath. He’s never been the kind to run.

As she rested, she looked down at her feet, swing scratches and blood, but she’d get over it. She needed to get away.

As the young woman went to take a step to continue, she heard a noise behind her. She quickly looked back but saw nothing. Maybe it was a squirrel or something, she thought.

Y/n turned back around to start walking until he saw the view of an angry Logan in her face. “Where ya goin, bub?” He asked. Y/n instantly screamed at his presence.

Before she could move, the man tangled her to the ground, pushing his hand down the middle of her back to pin her into the dirt.

“No!” Y/n fought in anger, thinking she was actually going to escape. “When I said no, you ain’t listen, now didn’t you?” The man said through his teeth as he forced her to dress up.

“Logan, please! N-Not out here, not out here!” She begged, thinking people would be able to hear this scene going on and go and check, just to see her getting drilled into the ground.

“No one’s out here, princess. Not for another mile or so — You’re all mine out here,” the evil low laugh he let out as he pulled his jeans down was insane. He hadn’t even pulled himself out of his boxers. He wanted to take his time with her out here.

Y/n tried kicking her legs, but what was the point? He could smell her leaking down her folds. He knew she wanted this, and he was going to make her understand.

“I said, no!” Y/n shouted as she swung her elbow back as hard as she could, making him fall back. Y/n crawled away, but only a few inches to look back at him. The fear that grew inside of her was unbelievable.

Logan‘s jaw was dislocated. She popped his jaw.

Y/n’s words got stuck in her throat. She wanted to apologize as the man slowly looked up. He didn’t mean to hurt him. She’s not like that.

Before she could open her mouth, Logan popped his jaw back in place with his hand before moving it around to make sure it was normal.

“You fucked up, bub,” the man said before crawling towards her. It didn’t even look like a crawl. How did he do that? Logan lifted the girl up by her neck and pinned her to the closest tree.

“Ow!” She cried out, feeling the tree bark scratched her ass through her thin and silky nightgown. God, she needed to change soon.

“Logan, ow!” She hoped he’d have sympathy for her, but the way his eyes looked, he was far from it. He wanted to teach her a lesson, and that’s what he was doing.

“N-No, no!” She pushed at the man’s hand, but that did nothing. He ripped her nightgown off like a strand of hair. “Logan!” She shouted, feeling the breeze on her body until his body rubbed against hers.

“You’ve been a bad girl,” Logan growled as he pulled himself out of his jeans. “I don’t like that,” he had as he shifted up and between y/n’s legs until they were lifted off of the ground. Her toes barely touched the dirt.

“I-I can't, Logan,” y/n remembered how he fucked her the last time, and he wasn’t even angry at her. Logan let out a chuckle that he soon cut off after he slammed up into her cunt.

Y/n cried loudly as her arms gripped his shoulders. Logan stared directly at her, his face seemed too serious to look at. He was angry. Very angry. But why? It’s not like the pop in his jaw hurt like any other thing her went through?

“P-Please,” she choked as he pushed her neck into the tree harder, just to get a reaction out of her. “Shut the fuck up,” the man said like the tree wasn’t about to break or come out of the ground from how hard he was pounding into her.

“I can’t,” she whined in pain, but too much pleasure to not tighten around him. The way she squeezed him, egged him on further.

“Oh, you can’t? Does it look like a give a fuck? Huh!? Does it!?” He spat as his pelvis roughly slapped against her clit. She couldn’t think straight. This man was fucking her like some wild animal in the woods. She’s literally being fucked by an animal in the woods.

“F-Fuuuck,” y/n dragged with a broken moan. Logan let her neck go and used both of his hands to grip and hold onto her legs, keeping her up and against the tree, not caring how much she scratched at his shoulders and chest.

The man growled in her ear, cock slipping in and out of her entrance as her asshole puckered. He was huge and slagging around like he wasn’t.

Y/n couldn’t say, but her broken cry warned him she was cumming, and when she did, it was hard. “Goddamnit — Fuck,” the man grunted, pinning his feet to the ground to keep up his hard abuse.

“So fuckin’ good — Fuck!” The man couldn’t keep himself together as his nails dug, into her thighs. Y/n was now crying, not because she was scared, but because of the overstimulation followed by a thrust that wouldn’t slow down.

“Yeah? Yeah, is that the spot, baby?” He asked, knowing it was. “Think this is over just because you came? Think ima stop because you’re drunk on my cock? How did that go last time?”

The girl shook her head, half ass answering his questions. “So cute,” the man chuckled before pulling y/n off of the treat and throwing her over his shoulder to give her a small break.

He wanted his fresh meet alive and functioning when he fucked filled her up. Last time he didn’t get that chase, but he swore to god he would this time.

Because she ran so far, he had to walk it, giving y/n some time to come to life. “Lo-“ y/n cut herself off, still having trouble speaking, but held herself well enough for him to understand.

“No more,” she begged, but he wasn’t having it. “Please, no more,” she begged again as she noticed him passing his car parked several feet from his cabin.

“Logan!” She shouted, now kicking and screaming again. The man grew angry but wanted to take her to the bedroom for what he was about to lay on her.

“Logan!” She shouted, gripping onto the side of his house which was a long wooded stand. “Y/n, stop it!” He let her down with a shout as he began pulling her, but she wouldn’t budge and he didn’t want to accidentally rip her arms off.

“No!” She screamed before he finally pulled her off, causing her to fall on the front steps in front of his house. The way she fell and landed on her hands and knees made him say, fuck it.

“You wanna be fucked like an animal? Fine,” he said as he came up behind her, pulling his cock back out before plunging into her, earning a scream that made him know he hit the right spot instantly.

Logan grew an evil smile across his face as he tugged on her hair, making her arch her back before slapping at her ass, causing her to bruise lightly.

“Little sluts get treated like slut, y/n. You could’ve be fucked nice and sweet on the bed earlier, but no — You wanna run,”

Y/n’s mouth slacked as her eyes crossed from how hard the man was pounding on her. “You see that, bub? Look right up there, right into that camera,” he forced her to look at his security.

“Gonna tie you down and make you watch how dumb you look on my dick,” the man spat, making y/n feel the burn in her eyes, but not from embarrassment. From too much pleasure.

“Yeah — Yeah,” the man repeatedly groaned as y/n squeezed him with a shake in her body. “So fuckin’ pathetic, I might have to give you back,” Logan said, knowing he’d never do such a thing. “Nah,” he added drill in her head that she ain’t goin’ nowhere.

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ / ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ, sᴍᴜᴛ ᴏɴʟʏ

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ғᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ sᴏᴏɴ...

[aeniiverse]

ENEMIES IRL, GIRLFRIENDS ONLINE

Synopsis — You can't stand Karina. She's your worst enemy. But in the virtual world, she’s your perfect girlfriend, your confidante, and your sweet escape. The only problem? Neither of you knows that the other is secretly behind the screen. Now, with two worlds about to collide, how long can you keep up the charade?

Contains — fluff, enemies to lovers, online dating, light cursing, minor physical contact (hand grabbing/kissing), secondhand embarrassment (karina tripping over a chair), mutual pinning, rushed

WORD COUNT — 3.6k

A/N — this has been in my drafts for a while, bull dozing with fics today 😭🗣️ for context they were a bit suspicious when their girlfriends had the same name as their enemy (I’m just too lazy to write those extra stuff >3<

Karina wasn’t even trying today.

Well, that wasn’t totally true. She was trying, trying to ruin your day, the way she usually did, because it was practically tradition by now.

It didn’t even take effort anymore. She just showed up, said something obnoxious, and you immediately looked at her like you wanted to punch a hole through the floor. Easy. Natural.

Today’s opportunity came when she spotted you at your locker, shoving notebooks into your bag with a frustrated scowl. God, you made it so easy for her sometimes.

"You know," Karina drawled, sauntering up with all the arrogance of someone who thought the hallway was their personal runway, "for someone who acts like they have their life together, you have the organization skills of a dying goldfish."

You whipped your head around, ready to fire back something scathing but then she glanced down at your planner.

Her brain short-circuited.

Because the truth was... your notes weren’t a disaster. They were actually stupidly neat. Color-coded. Perfectly labeled. Pages full of careful handwriting, clean lines, tiny sticky notes poking out like little tabs of responsibility.

Karina opened her mouth, intending to keep roasting you.

Instead, she heard herself blurt:

"Ugh, I hate that you’re actually good at that. It’s... impressive, I guess."

The second the words tumbled out, she felt the ground disappear from under her.

You stared at her like she’d just confessed to murder in the middle of the hallway.

Karina could practically see the confusion flicker across your face the way your brows lifted slightly, the way your mouth opened like you wanted to say something but didn’t know where to start.

Panic took over.

"I mean," Karina said hastily, flapping her hands around like a malfunctioning robot, "it’s not that great. Like. Barely acceptable. Whatever."

You rolled your eyes with an exaggerated groan and slammed your locker shut. "Jesus Christ. You’re exhausting."

And then you brushed past her without another word, your backpack swinging dangerously close to her side as you walked off down the hall.

Karina stood there, frozen like a statue, brain absolutely screaming inside her skull.

"What the hell was that," Karina muttered under her breath, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes like she could physically erase the last two minutes from existence.

Complimenting you? She complimented you? That was basically treason against herself. Against everything she stood for.

She wasn’t supposed to notice things like your handwriting. Or how focused you looked when you were organizing your things. Or how your stupid hair caught the light when you turned your head.

None of that. Absolutely not.

Karina stomped off down the hall, nearly mowing down a group of freshmen, her mind stuck in an endless screaming loop.

"I can’t have feelings for her," she hissed under her breath, dragging her fingers through her hair. "That would be cheating. I have a girlfriend. Online. A very real, very important girlfriend."

A girlfriend who she texted every night before bed. Who called her "babe" and sent her dumb memes and told her she was cute.

Someone who didn’t make her want to rip her own hair out in rage and confusion every time they interacted.

...Right?

Karina shook her head like she could physically knock the thoughts out.

No. No. No.

She didn’t like you. She hated you. That was the foundation of the universe. If she started liking you now, the world would probably implode.

Maybe she was just malfunctioning. A temporary brain glitch.

Maybe if she ignored it hard enough, it would go away

She tried to focus during her next class, but her brain had other plans.

The teacher was explaining something about chemical bonds, and Karina was busy reliving the scene in her head, cringing harder with every second.

Your face when she said it.

The way you paused, almost like you didn’t know if you should be flattered or insulted.

The way you looked back at her, suspicious but... curious.

Karina slumped down in her seat, letting her forehead hit the desk with a soft thunk.

Her lab partner side-eyed her but wisely said nothing.

Lunch was somehow even worse.

She sat with her usual friends, poking at her food without any real appetite, zoning out so badly that Ningning had to physically throw a grape at her forehead to get her attention.

"Earth to Karina," Ningning said, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in her eye. "You’ve been staring at your mashed potatoes for ten minutes.

What’s up? Secretly plotting murder?"

Karina grimaced. "No. Worse."

"Spill."

Karina considered lying. For about three seconds.

Then she groaned and dropped her head onto the table. "I accidentally complimented her."

There was a beat of silence.

Then laughter. Loud, unrelenting, evil laughter from all sides of the table.

"You what?" Ningning choked out between cackles.

"It wasn’t even a good compliment," Karina grumbled into the table. "It just slipped out. I said she was... impressive or something. I don’t know. I blacked out."

Giselle wiped tears from her eyes, still giggling. "Bro, you’re doomed."

"I know," Karina groaned. "I can’t believe I said it. I can’t believe I think—"

She cut herself off before the words “I think she’s actually really pretty when she’s mad” could escape her mouth.

God.

She was so doomed.

After lunch, Karina wandered through the rest of her classes in a zombie-like daze.

Every time she tried to focus on her work, her brain betrayed her replaying your face, your stupid confused frown, the way your voice sounded when you called her an idiot and walked away like you weren’t secretly a little flustered too.

By the end of the day, she was ready to drop out of school and join a traveling circus. Anything to escape the mortifying reality of her existence.

Karina kicked a pebble down the sidewalk as she trudged home, hoodie pulled up over her head to hide from the world.

Maybe she could just ghost you from now on. Avoid you until the end of time. Sure, it would make school life incredibly inconvenient, but it was either that or risk accidentally flirting with you again. (And she was terrifyingly aware of how close she already was.)

Karina shoved her hands deep into her pockets, scowling at the ground.

She couldn’t have a crush on you. She had a girlfriend. She was in a relationship.

Even if it was just online... it still counted.

Right?

But then her mind, evil and traitorous, whispered:

But what if she’s even better in real life?

Karina groaned out loud and picked up the pace, practically speed-walking down the street like she could outrun her feelings.

Tomorrow would be a new day.

Tomorrow she’d go back to being normal.

Tomorrow she’d totally not think about how you looked when you rolled your eyes or how her heart had stuttered a little when you brushed past her.

Tomorrow.

(Probably.)

The night was quiet, the kind of calm that only a late evening could bring. You sat on your bed, phone in hand, still feeling the lingering awkwardness from earlier that day. Karina had complimented you sort of but then she immediately tried to backtrack. “I hate that you’re actually good at that. It’s... impressive, I guess,” she had said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. But there was a weird hesitation before she scrambled to cover it up with, “I mean, it’s not that great.”

You had rolled your eyes, annoyed, but also confused. Karina was always sarcastic, always throwing out jabs like she was trying to keep her distance. But something about that moment didn’t sit right. She didn’t usually throw compliments like that, and it stuck with you more than you cared to admit.

Now, as you scrolled through your phone, you tapped out a message to Karina, who had no idea you were talking about her. You leaned back against the headboard, trying to shake off the unease that had settled in your chest.

“Ugh, this girl I hate acted super weird today. It was lowkey suspicious. One minute she’s all sarcastic, and the next she’s complimenting me like we’re friends or something. Is that normal?”

The little typing bubble popped up almost instantly. “You won’t believe what happened today. I accidentally complimented the devil incarnate,” Karina's message read. You snorted. Of course, she was ranting about you, and you had no idea.

Karina took a bit longer to Send another message and you imagined her pacing around her room like she always did when she was annoyed or deep in thought. “Ugh, don’t remind me. I honestly don’t know what came over me. I can’t have feelings for her. Not when I have a girlfriend online... That would be cheating, right?”

You chuckled at her dramatic tone, even though you had no idea she was talking about you. “It’s almost like you’re losing your touch, Karina. You used to be so good at pretending you didn’t care. Now you’re out here giving compliments like some softy.”

Her reply came quickly, as if she’d been waiting for the chance to snap back. “Shut up. I don't even like her. She’s... annoying. But you’re right. I shouldn’t be nice to her. That’s how she wins.”

“Yeah, exactly. She probably thinks you’re all buddy-buddy now.” You rolled your eyes.

You set your phone down for a second, thinking about your day. Karina’s weird compliment, the way it felt like she’d almost meant it... It stuck with you more than it should have. It was annoying. She was just Karina, the girl you couldn’t stand, and you couldn’t let her get to you.

But then your phone buzzed again, pulling you out of your thoughts. You looked at the screen. Karina had sent another message.

“I feel like we’d get along better in person, y’know? It’s been two months...” Her message made you pause, and you leaned forward, rereading it.

“What do you mean?” you typed back, even though you already had a guess. “Are you saying we should actually meet up?”

You could almost feel her hesitation from the words that followed. “I mean, why not? We’ve been talking for two months now. Isn’t that enough? We could just... grab coffee or something.” She sounded almost nervous, a little unsure of herself. You liked that side of her.

You had to admit, the idea of seeing her in person, after all this time, was tempting. But you didn’t want to seem too eager.

“Well, it might be nice. I’ve been wondering what you’re like in real life. Maybe we’d actually get along even better in person,” you texted. “No pressure though.”

You were lying to yourself a little. The truth was, you were dying to meet her, to finally see who she really was. After all this time, you felt like you knew a lot about her, but at the same time, nothing about her was as real as the image you’d built in your mind.

Her typing bubble popped up, and you waited, heart pounding a little faster than it should. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I could actually use a break from all the... online stuff. It feels a little weird talking like this all the time and never meeting. But, uh, how would we even meet?”

You thought for a moment, trying to keep the suggestion light. “What if we just met at a café or something? It’s no big deal, just a chill hangout. We’ve been talking for so long... I don’t know, seems like it’s time to finally meet.”

You waited for her response, tapping your fingers on the screen, pretending to be casual when your heart was racing. What was she going to say? What if she backed out? Or worse, what if you saw her and didn’t feel the same connection?

You didn’t have to wait long. “Yeah, okay. Let’s do it. Just... don’t expect anything too crazy, alright? It’s just a meetup, not a date, or whatever.”

You smirked at her message. Of course, she’d try to play it cool. “Sure, sure. It’s just coffee. No big deal.”

“Right. Just coffee,” she replied, and then added, “But, uh, can we not exchange real names or photos? We’re mystery girlfriends for a reason, right?”

You laughed out loud at that. She was right, of course. You had both spent two months carefully hiding behind the anonymity of the internet. Neither of you had shared real names, pictures, or anything too personal. It had been part of the fun.

“Yeah, I’m not about to break the mystery girlfriend vibe,” you typed back. “But I’ll see you at the café, then?”

“Yep. See you there. Just don’t be weird about it.”

You chuckled and put your phone down, your heart still racing a little. The idea of finally seeing Karina in person was both terrifying and exciting, and you weren’t sure what you were more nervous about. But it didn’t matter, because the date was set. Tomorrow after school, you would meet her, and things would never be the same.

The next day felt like it dragged on forever. You couldn’t focus in class, couldn’t stop thinking about the upcoming meet-up. Would Karina be just as snarky in person? Would she look the way you imagined her? Or would she be totally different from the version of her you’d built in your head?

When the bell finally rang, you grabbed your things and rushed to the café. The anticipation built with every step. You reached the door and paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before walking inside.

The cafe was quiet for a moment, the soft hum of background chatter filling the air as you approached the table. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your nerves making you jittery. You hadn’t expected to actually feel this nervous about meeting her. But as your eyes landed on Karina sitting at the corner, scrolling through her phone, everything froze. Then it all clicked. The same Karina online was the same Karina in real life. The one you thought you absolutely hated with your heart.

She looked up and for the briefest second, you saw the color drain from her face. Her eyes widened, and before you could even say anything, she bolted.

It all happened so fast. One second, she was there, and the next, the chair at her table was knocked over, hitting the ground with a loud crash. The customers around you glanced up in confusion, some trying to stifle their giggles. You just sat there, stunned, processing what had just happened. Did Karina really just... run out of the café?

Before you could think it through, your feet were already moving. you dashed out of the cafe, your pulse racing. You barely registered the cold air hitting your face as you pushed open the door, eyes scanning the street for her.

She was fast, but so were you, and soon enough, you spotted her just ahead, her back to you, her movements stiff and hurried. Without thinking, you quickened your pace, reaching out to grab her wrist and stop her in her tracks.

Karina flinched at the touch, pulling her arm back in a hurry, her eyes darting around, not daring to meet yours. You stepped in front of her, blocking her way, your breath coming out in short bursts. “Karina, what the hell? Why did you run?”

She refused to look at you, her voice barely a whisper. “You weren’t supposed to be you...”

The words made no sense. You were confused, genuinely concerned, and yet there was this strange vulnerability in her posture that made your chest tighten. This wasn’t the Karina you knew the sarcastic, confident girl who never showed an ounce of weakness. This was different.

“Karina,” you said, softer this time, trying to get her to meet your eyes. “What’s going on?”

But she just shook her head, her shoulders stiff. Whatever this was, she wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. And for the first time, you weren’t sure whether you should push her or let her have the space she clearly needed.

The silence between you both stretched on, and you stood there, wondering what would happen next.

You stood there in the street, the tension between you and Karina thick enough to cut with a knife. Her back was still turned to you, her shoulders rigid, and every moment she remained silent only made the confusion swell inside you. What the hell had just happened? She’d literally run out of the café, and now she was acting like she was too embarrassed to even face you.

“Karina,” you called again, your voice firm. “Why did you run?”

The words came out of her mouth before she could even think, rushed and raw, almost like they were coming from somewhere deep inside her, a place she’d tried to bury for far too long. “I thought... I thought I hated you,” she blurted out, her tone shaky and uncertain. “But I liked you online. I liked you so much it made me feel guilty because I thought I was starting to like you in real life too and now you’re the same person, and I don’t know what to do.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. You stood there, completely stunned by her admission. Karina was spiraling, completely embarrassed by what she’d said, and in that moment, she tried to step around you again, as if she could just walk away from it all and pretend it hadn’t happened.

But you weren’t going to let her. Not this time.

You reached out to her again, grabbing her wrist gently but firmly to stop her from walking away. Her body tensed under your touch, but she didn’t pull away. “Hey,” you said, a soft laugh escaping your lips. It wasn’t mocking, just overwhelmed by the absurdity of the situation. “You’re such an idiot.”

Her eyes shot to yours, wide and confused, as if she hadn’t expected you to respond like that. “What?” she murmured, still avoiding your gaze.

“I liked you too,” you said, your words coming out easily now, like you’d been wanting to say them for longer than you realized. “Even before I knew it was you. And yeah, I guess I hated you a little too, but it was more like I hated how much I... liked you.”

Karina’s breath caught in her throat, her face flushing a deep red as her eyes locked onto yours for the first time since she’d run out of the café. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words never came. Instead, there was a long, charged pause, one where neither of you knew exactly what to do or say next. Her chest rose and fell quickly as if she were still struggling to breathe, and in that moment, you both felt it the weight of everything unspoken between you, the tension, the closeness.

Before either of you could chicken out or let the awkwardness swallow you, you leaned in. It was almost instinctive, like your body had made the decision for you, and you couldn’t stop it. You pressed your lips to hers, the kiss soft at first, like a question, a testing of waters neither of you had dared to explore.

Karina froze for a split second, her body stiff, before she finally relaxed into it, kissing you back with a desperation that you hadn’t expected. It wasn’t perfect. It was messy, uncoordinated, but it felt... right. Like this was the thing both of you had been waiting for, but hadn’t known how to take the first step. It was raw and full of feelings neither of you could articulate in words. Every second of it was electric, and as you pulled away, you both stood there, breathless and flushed, staring at each other.

Karina was the first to speak, her voice uncharacteristically small as she mumbled, “This doesn’t mean I like you at school.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and carefree as you teased her, nudging her shoulder with yours. “Come on, girlfriend,” you said, a grin tugging at your lips as you grabbed her hand and started walking down the street, your fingers intertwined in a way that felt surprisingly natural.

Karina huffed in protest, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she gave you a sideways glance, her face still flushed and a little sheepish. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this,” she muttered, but there was no conviction in her words. Her fingers tightened around yours, betraying the soft smile on her face.

“You don’t have to be ready,” you said with a shrug, pulling her along a little faster. “We’ve been doing this ‘I like you’ thing for two months now. No going back.”

She gave you a half-hearted glare, but there was a hint of amusement in her eyes. “You’re lucky I like you too,” she said, her voice quiet but soft.

You squeezed her hand, grinning like an idiot as you walked down the street together. It was awkward, sure, but it was also... exactly what you both needed. And even though Karina still had that slightly uncomfortable look on her face, you could tell she was starting to relax, starting to let herself enjoy this new chapter with you. You weren’t enemies anymore, not in the same way at least. And who knows? Maybe this whole thing was just the beginning of something more than either of you had expected.

But for now, as you walked side by side, both of you awkwardly giddy and still trying to process everything that had just happened.

[yapileon]

@TacklersCulers: The Chaotic Teen Serie pt. 3

fcb femení x chaoticteen!reader pt. 1 — pt. 2 2670w, it's kinda angsty, be warned<3 r gets nicknamed: "Diablilla" aka little devil in spanish as an endearment term "Skrulla" aka goofball/silly in norwegian for a mischievous child

17yo La Masia defender gets promoted to the first team. Will you be able to keep your fcb femení fan account hidden while slowly making your place in the team with your idols?

You lean your head back against the metal locker, a smug smirk tugging at your lips. Your eyes meet Pina's and you can't help but choke back a snort. 

You had called the forward in the morning, asking her to come pick you up since you wouldn't be able to walk to training like you had done for the past years. 

"You owe it to me after that whole mess you started about my phone wallpaper yesterday," you huffed. While you weren't actually mad at Pina, you were sure as hell going to milk every favor you could out of her. 

"Sure," she agreed without even needing a reason. This team was a family. If you needed a ride and she could help you out, she would do it, no questions asked. 

“Do you have space in the trunk for…” you trailed off, unsure if you could trust her now. If she said no, then your plan would fail.

“Sí, Diablilla, now tell me the plan,” you could hear her chuckle through the phone like she had read your thoughts. And just like that, you became partners in crime.

The both of you arrived at the training centre giggling like children, clutching at each other's arms from how much you were laughing. You had underestimated how mischievous Pina could be for a good joke. Coming up with an ever better plan than the original, you both go straight to work. 

The locker room is slowly filling, everyone realizing what you had done, most people figuring out Pina was in on it too with the glances you kept exchanging. Hushed whispers were heard around the room, everyone waiting for Mapi to come in. Pina had a phone propped up to capture it all.

You were doom scrolling your fan account, posting some more memes when the door opened again. You knew she had to arrive soon, almost everyone else was here already. 

Silence. 

You looked up to see Mapi walking in, smiling and in a good mood like usual, with Ingrid trailing behind. You bite your jersey to hide a smile you can’t camouflage. 

Mapi stood frozen, looking at her locker. Something was occupying her chair. The cardboard cutout of her doing her lion pose you owned. Fake Mapi was flexing and showing her teeth like an animal ready to fight. She burst out laughing, wheezing and letting herself fall on a chair. 

It was the cue for the whole team to explode. Pina’s voice shot up, barely hearable over the laughing. “Say hi for Instagram, Mapi!” she was moving around so much you were sure the video wouldn’t even be good.

Alexia had been standing on the side of the room, an eyebrow raised, “Of course it’s you two.” she spoke, shaking her head disapprovingly. But even serious Alexia couldn’t hold back a smile. 

“I gotta admit kid, I didn’t think you’d actually bring it,” the centre back wheezed, wiping tears away from her eyes. 

The joyful energy was only made more electric by Ingrid, who leaned into the joke. Ingrid looked alternatively between Mapi sitting on the chair and the cardboard. She posed, mimicking being deep in thoughts. 

"Mmh, which one is my girlfriend?" she had said, grinning. 

“Pina! Get this on the video!” you shouted, gesturing to whatever was about to happen, the woman happily nodded. 

She slid down next to the cardboard, throwing her arm around the fake Mapi "This one!" she exclaimed, sending everyone toppling over.

Mapi gave her a shocked look, still laughing. "Oh I see how it goes, everyone prefers that pale copy now" she feigned annoyance. Ingrid kissed the cheek of the cardboard while Mapi pouted, voice shaky as she added, “what does she have that I don’t?”

“This one doesn’t argue when I’m right.” Ingrid answered, the Norwegian might have become your favourite person in the world right now. The look on the Spaniard’s face was priceless, you could have rolled on the floor.

"El León stole the spotlight!" it was Jana who had chimed in. She was next to Pina and Patri, all three of them waving for you to get closer. You jumped to their side, hovering over Jana’s shoulder to look at the phone. 

They had posted the video seconds ago on the main Barcelona account and it was already shaking up the internet. As the team calmed down and finished getting ready, thousands of comments popped up, requesting more videos. So the four of you obliged. 

You posed Mapi and the cutout next to each other taking a picture and doing a poll in the story, which read “Which is the better Mapi?” You knew social media, you knew how to bring in numbers. 

Jana and Patri took the fake Mapi to the field while Pina and you ran to get some footballs. Both of you laughed when the cardboard had deflected a shot, still careful to keep it intact as you wanted to bring it back home safely. You all screamed “AND SHE DOES IT AGAIN, SAVING THE DAY!” zooming on it and then on Mapi, who watched with the biggest smile on her face. Mapi grabbed the phone to take selfies with the cutout. Everything was posted on the account, this would be the first thing fans ever got to see from you, and you weren’t disappointed. This was a masterpiece of an introduction to the world. 

In this moment, the bond that you had with this team felt invincible. Feeling more alive than you ever had previously. For some minutes, before Pina had arrived to pick you up, you had doubted. Maybe they wouldn’t find it funny, maybe it would make them realize how childish you really were. But even the older, more mature players had laughed at your banter. Pina had treated you like a little sister, Mapi and Ingrid played along. There was a warmth in their teasing that made you feel at home. 

So much so that you didn’t even try to argue with Alexia when she clapped, asking for everyone’s attention. “Everybody calm down, training now, chaos later.” she said firmly. 

When she saw you grinning, she approached, “Yes even you, Diablilla” she joked, ruffling your hair. “Show us what you can do, besides being a trickster.”

So you hopped off, starting to stretch, warming up your muscles. This left you some time to reflect on the whole situation. You inhaled deeply. The first training session that you had had with the team had gone well, but you were aware it was a chill one, to ease you in the team. Pere had warned you today would be “intense”, as he had said exactly. You felt ready for what they were about to throw at you. You could feel yourself getting more focused, though you were still up for a good joke if the opportunity was there. The team was currently doing sprints to activate their body before doing drills and scrimmages. 

Caro groaned after the last set, “Why do we even do this?” She was clutching her sides, trying to find her breath again.

‘So we can outrun the refs when they try to card us.” you mumbled, sprints weren’t your favorite exercise either. 

Except it seemed you did not say this as low as you intended. You looked up to see most of the team staring at you. Most veterans seemed shocked, the younger players not so much. In the corner of your eyes you could see Jana and Salma holding in a chuckle. 

“What?” you remarked, in disbelief, blush creeping onto your cheeks. Alright, it’s true that it wasn’t very smart of you to admit you were prone to getting cards so much you had to learn how to run away from the refs. 

“Dios mío!” Alexia exclaimed, putting her hand on her forehead, “Irene! You’re going to teach Cariño how to behave, sí?” she added with a sigh. 

“Not fair! Why is Caro even complaining,” you were interrupted by Irene trying to drag you away, but you persisted, “like she didn’t run at 32 km/h during the 2023 world cup?” you grumbled. 

Caro raised an eyebrow, looking at you with a proud expression. “You’re a fan now? I thought you only liked defenders.” she replied, voice full of playfulness. 

“I keep myself updated on statistics.” you attempted to say, trailing off knowing the team would, once again, never let you live that down. 

Salma came up next to you, “So you know statistics on everyone here?” she smirked, barking out a laugh when your eyes widened in horror. 

“Sorry! Can’t hear you I’m too far away getting ready for the drills,” you walked off with Irene, miming not being able to hear. 

“This isn’t over Diablilla!” screamed Vicky, “we’ll get all your fangirl secrets out of you later.” 

Oh, Vicky, if only you knew. 

As you made your way next to the other defenders, you let out a breath. Determination taking over your cheeky eyes, you touched the tip of both of your boots with your fingers. The last of your rituals, this meant the game was on. 

You threw yourself in all the tasks the coach had you do. While your inexperience showed on certain drills, your will to do well still pleased the team. In some ways, having spent so many years studying everything about that team helped you on the pitch. You could guess where Alexia would try to do a backward pass, or where Aitana’s ball control might be more problematic to intercept. You tried your best to mirror Mapi, bending your knee lows, trying to push attackers on the side you wanted. An interception you made earned you a wide grin from Mapi while Ingrid had her thumbs up toward the sky to congratulate you. A shy smile creeped on your lips.

You were putting up a solid fight, having done a few successful tackles during a particularly difficult scrimmage. Maybe it’s how you ended up messing up so bad. The confidence rushed through you when you decided to slide tackle Caro. She was doing a solo run, and you were feeling mixed, split between not wanting to lose if she scored an equalizer and wanting praises from your teammates. It was childish, really. Almost shameful. You weren’t here to be praised, you were here to work. But she was running, and you were shoulder to shoulder with her. It felt like the right timing, so you slid. The adrenaline rush was so strong that you didn’t use your brain enough. You knew she was a master at feints, but still for a second you thought you had it. 

You sensed the wet grass brushing against your skin, until the grass was replaced with a training cone you collided with. You froze, your whole body burning, watching in horror as Caro continued her run, chipping the ball over Cata, making her team come up to 2-2. And that was your fault, if you had accessed the situation for longer, you wouldn’t have dived head first into an unnecessary tackle.

Ingrid jogged over to you, “You alright, Skrulla?” reaching her hands to help you stand up. If your ears weren’t ringing so bad from the shame and confusion, you would have asked the Norwegian what it meant. 

You shrugged, wiping the grass from your shorts in embarrassment. 

You knew you didn’t do a good job hiding it when the green eyed woman added, “At least it wasn’t my back this time?” She was smiling brightly at you, so you forced out a laugh, the emotions stuck in your throat. 

You shook your head, going back into position. Any positive feeling from your earlier exploit long gone. You tried to brush it off, but you were so frustrated with yourself and still had half the session to go through. So you pushed yourself more, hoping to erase the bad memory. 

It didn’t work though. By the time training finished, you were exhausted. Letting yourself flop on the ground, you clutched at your chest in pain. Little by little your abilities on the pitch had faded away, each pass connecting less and less, your timing getting worse. Everyone could see it, and some of your teammates gave you questioning looks. You couldn’t deal with the attention on you, so you jumped up and made a beeline for the lockers. 

You showered quicker than you thought possible, but by the time you were done, multiples of your teammates were around you. The buzzing of the room annoyed you more than it ever had previously. 

You look up to see Ingrid and Mapi whispering, throwing glances at you. So, like the child you are, you grabbed your cardboard cutout and fled. Waving off a very confused Pina who thought she’d drive you back home. 

As you walk, you can’t help but feel increasingly stupid. You know you shouldn't be nearly as bothered with that tackle as you currently were. It was so stupid. But it was so badly timed and you were ashamed about it. Sure your teammates were nice to you, and you all laughed together, but with that awful move you had just pulled? There was no way they'd ever trust you on the field. How could they trust you if you couldn't even slide tackle an opponent? Why would Pere give you any minutes if you messed up so bad when there was no pressure on you. 

By the time you reached your dorm, you could feel tears rolling down your cheeks. You quickly wiped them with your sleeve, throwing yourself on your bed.  

That was the down side of your brain. The obsession over football, that one singular process who made you apart from other players but was also your downfall. The way you’d obsess over every single one of your flaws, needing to perfect them all. Needing to have as much information on players. You’d drive yourself crazy and sleep deprived watching footage until the birds would sing outside, signaling you it was early morning. It wasn’t healthy. But it was all you knew.

You had grown up with coaches who had screamed at you that the difference between an amateur and a pro was when they stopped their drills. An amateur does it right once and stops, a pro keeps going until they can’t get it wrong. So you just kept pushing. In some way, you hoped your brain would ease off having finally made the first team. It hadn’t.

You rolled over, looking at the fake Mapi, still deep in thoughts. Your eye caught sight of a black mark on it, making you jump in a hurry. Had you damaged it while walking back home? Or when Pina and you were using it for shooting practice? Frowning, you leaned closer trying to figure out what had happened. 

You gasped when you saw it.

You have the potential to be one of the greatest.

— Mapi 

You let the tip of your fingers brush over the writing. Your idol hadn’t only signed the cardboard without you even asking, she had written this. You felt a tug at your heartstring, and promised yourself to thank her profusely tomorrow. 

For now, the only thing you could do was calm down. You inhaled deeply, feeling the rise of your ribcage, and exhaled softly, trying to release any tensions in your body. Maybe it was fine, maybe nobody would be mad at you, maybe you��d be able to fix it during the next training. 

You needed a distraction, so you pulled out your phone to check the latest post from your fan account.

TacklerCulers

tacklerculers: Did you know? Attackers that trip in front of Mapi León are actually just nervous to be close to her.

barcafan11: @TacklersCulers Are you going to talk about the new signing we saw on the official barça page today?

alex1aa: I’m really disappointed, Barça does not need a clown.

b0nmat12: I hope she’s just a social media person and not a player, otherwise we’re doomed for the Champions League.

Your stomach twisted when you saw the comments. You threw the phone at the wall and buried yourself into the blanket on your bed. The weight of failure still crushing your chest.

pt. 4

[mariacallous]

My earliest memory of 4chan was sitting up late at night, typing its URL into my browser, and scrolling through a thread of LOLcat memes, which were brand-new at the time.

Back then a photoshop of a cat saying "I can has cheezburger" or an image of an owl saying “ORLY?” was, without question, the funniest thing my 14-year-old brain had ever laid eyes on. So much so, I woke my dad up by laughing too hard and had to tell him that I was scrolling through pictures of cats at 2 in the morning. Later, I would become intimately familiar with the site’s much more nefarious tendencies.

It's strange to look back at 4chan, apparently wiped off the internet entirely last week by hackers from a rival message board, and think about how many different websites it was over its more than two decades online. What began as a hub for internet culture and an anonymous way station for the internet's anarchic true believers devolved over the years into a fan club for mass shooters, the central node of Gamergate, and the beating heart of far-right fascism around the world—a virus that infected every facet of our lives, from the slang we use to the politicians we vote for. But the site itself had been frozen in amber since the George W. Bush administration.

It is likely that there will never be a site like 4chan again—which is, likely, a very good thing. But it had also essentially already succeeded at its core project: chewing up the world and spitting it back out in its own image. Everything—from X to Facebook to YouTube—now sort of feels like 4chan. Which makes you wonder why it even needed to still exist.

"The novelty of a website devoted to shock and gore, and the rebelliousness inherent in it, dies when your opinions become the official policy of the world's five or so richest people and the government of the United States," the Onion CEO and former extremism reporter Ben Collins tells WIRED. “Like any ostensibly nihilist cultural phenomenon, it inherently dies if that phenomenon itself becomes The Man.”

My first experience with the more toxic side of the site came several years after my LOLcat all-nighter, when I was in college. I was a big Tumblr user—all my friends were on there—and for about a year or so, our corner of the platform felt like an extension of the house parties we would throw. That cozy vibe came crashing down for me when I got doxed the summer going into my senior year. Someone made a “hate blog” for me—one of the first times I felt the dark presence of an anonymous stranger’s digital ire, and posted my phone number on 4chan.

They played a prank that was popular on the site at the time, writing in a thread that my phone number was for a GameStop store that had a copy of the ultra-rare video game Battletoads. I received no less than 250 phone calls over the next 48 hours asking if I had a copy of the game.

Many of the 4chan users that called me mid-Battletoad attack left messages. I listened to all of them. A pattern quickly emerged: young men, clearly nervous to even leave a message, trying to harass a stranger for, seemingly, the hell of it. Those voicemails have never left me in the 15 years I've spent covering 4chan as a journalist.

I had a front-row seat to the way those timid men morphed into the violent, seething underbelly of the internet. The throbbing engine of reactionary hatred that resented everything and everyone simply because resentment was the only language its users knew how to speak. I traveled the world in the 2010s, tracing 4chan’s impact on global democracy. I followed it to France, Germany, Japan, and Brazil as 4chan's users became increasingly convinced that they could take over the planet through racist memes, far-right populism, and cyberbullying. And, in a way, they did. But the ubiquity of 4chan culture ended up being an oddly Pyrrhic victory for the site itself.

Collins, like me, closely followed 4chan's rise in the 2010s from internet backwater to unofficial propaganda organ of the Trump administration. As he sees it, once Elon Musk bought Twitter in 2022 there was really no point to 4chan anymore. Why hide behind anonymity if a billionaire lets you post the same kind of extremist content under your real name and even pays you for it?

4chan’s “user base just moved into a bigger ballpark and started immediately impacting American life and policy," Collins says. "Twitter became 4chan, then the 4chanified Twitter became the United States government. Its usefulness as an ammo dump in the culture war was diminished when they were saying things you would now hear every day on Twitter, then six months later out of the mouths of an administration official."

But understanding how 4chan went from the home of cat memes to a true internet bogeyman requires an understanding of how the site actually worked. Its features were often overlooked amid all the conversations about the site's political influence, but I'd argue they were equally, if not more, important.

4chan was founded by Christopher “Moot” Poole when he was 15. A regular user on slightly less anarchic comedy site Something Awful, Poole created a spinoff site for a message board there called “Anime Death Tentacle Rape Whorehouse.” Poole was a fan of the Japanese message board 2chan, or Futaba Channel, and wanted to give Western anime fans their own version, so he poorly translated the site's code and promoted his new site, 4chan, to Something Awful's anime community. Several core features were ported over in the process.

4chan users were anonymous, threads weren't permanent and would time out or "404" after a period of inactivity, and there were dozens of sub-boards you could post to. That unique combination of ephemerality, anonymity, and organized chaos proved to be a potent mix, immediately creating a race-to-the-bottom gutter culture unlike anything else on the web. The dark end point of the techno-utopianism that built the internet. On 4chan you were no one, and nothing you did mattered unless it was so shocking, so repulsive, so hateful that someone else noticed and decided to screenshot it before it disappeared into the digital ether.

"The iconic memes that came out of 4chan are because people took the time to save it, you know? And the fact that nobody predicted, nobody could predict or control what was saved or what wasn't saved, I think, is really, really fascinating," Cates Holderness, Tumblr's former head of editorial, tells WIRED.

Still, 4chan was more complicated than it looked from the outside. The site was organized into dozens of smaller sections, everything from comics to cooking to video games to, of course, pornography. Holderness says she learned to make bread during the pandemic thanks to 4chan's cooking board. (Full disclosure: I introduced Holderness to 4chan way back in 2012.)

"When I switched to sourdough, I got really good pointers," she says.

Holderness calls 4chan the internet's “Wild West” and says its demise this month felt appropriate in a way. The chaos that defined 4chan, both the good and the very, very bad, has largely been paved over by corporate platforms and their algorithms now.

Our feeds deliver us content; we don't have to hunt for it. We don't have to sit in front of a computer refreshing a page to find out whether we're getting a new cat meme or a new manifesto. The humanness of that era of the web, now that 4chan is gone, is likely never coming back. And we'll eventually find out if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

"The snippets that we have of what 4chan was—it's all skewed,” Holderness says. “There is no record. There's no record that can ever encapsulate what 4chan was."

[lurochar]

A Snow Day in Hell

Heeey, anyone else remember that ‘special feeling’ meme from years ago? No? Me either

–----------------------------------------------

Hell had frozen over.

Literally.

It was an extraordinarily and incredibly rare occurrence, according to Charlie, who, a literal native demon born of Hell, had only seen it snow once before in her lifetime.

It generally occurred once every few hundred years, perhaps add or minus a century here or there, Lucifer could not be bothered to keep track when Charlie had asked him how often it actually happened since the snow only stuck around for a day at the very most and was just a minor inconvenience.

You were honestly excited to witness such a unique experience and were dismayed to find that Alastor could care less about such a thing.

And so, you had to pester him and even promised him a favour (his proceeding and chilling smile sent immediate shivers down your spine) just to take a stroll with you around town (and would probably regret when he came to collect that favour).

“Of course, Darling! I have no important tasks to complete today. Why, I would be ever so honoured to escort you to town on such a… lovely day.”

You gave Alastor a skeptical look when he glanced outside with an expression that screamed the opposite of what he was saying.

He clearly hated snow.

“But, seeing my partner beg me in such a pitiful manner – well, how can I possibly say no to that?”

Maybe you should have just asked Charlie? She seemed just as excited as you to see the snowfall.

It took quite a bit of self control for Alastor to not let out a dark chuckle at your varying expressions. You may be his companion, but he was still a sadist through and through. 

Maybe it was a bit soft when it came to you though. Just a little bit.

Besides, as irritating and cold as it was, a little snow, that would literally only last for a day, would never hurt anyone, right?

~00~

“It’ll be on any minute now!”

You covered your face with a pillow in pure embarrassment, unable to look at the screen of the TV as Charlie bounced in excitement. 

How did she find out? 

Ah damn, she already gathered the others to watch.

“W-why are you here?” You barely lifted your face enough to eye Alastor, seeing him sitting smugly in his usual chair. “It was you, wasn’t it?! You told Charlie, didn’t you!?”

“Well, of course I did!” Alastor’s grin was utterly demonic and he was obviously taking pleasure in your mortification. “Normally, I am completely against these awful picture box shows and was utterly baffled when you agreed to a… television interview, Darling, with me when you are completely aware of my distaste.”

“Uh, wait,” Angel Dust raised his arm, “you’re on TV, Smiles? How did they capture you on camera? How’d you not, ya know, blow up the whole network with that whole staticky thing you do? Why is Vox even letting this air?”

Everyone glanced over to Alastor, but he answered nothing.

You had no idea either.

“Oh, it’s on!” Charlie pointed with a wide grin and you slumped over, ready to just pack your bags and leave to save yourself the embarrassment.

On the TV, the scene was that of you and a tall figure that was distorted, blurry, and pixelated, yet was clearly Alastor from shape and colour alone. Honestly, you were surprised he was showing up even this much and not blowing out the camera like Angel Dust had pointed out.

It was a simple question, you were only stopped by the news reporter to ask what you thought of the unprecedented snowfall.

You had just been caught up in the moment, the idea of experiencing the whole once-in-a-lifetime thing with your partner.

So you had replied with something straight out of a Christmas romcom movie or something equally as cheesy. You really had no idea where it came from. Maybe the fact that Alastor had summoned an umbrella and was holding it over both of your heads?

It was mainly so he wouldn’t get snow in his ears, you would find out later.

“Isn’t this just amazing? Snow that falls only every few hundred years? It’s stunning, isn’t it?” Your face was beginning to turn red as you continued on without waiting for another question from the reporter. “Being in the snow with my lover like this immerses me in a special feeling. I love it.”

Oh fuck.

How the fuck could you say that with a straight face!?

It was clear that Alastor felt the shame for you, even through his blurry distorted figure, you could see his ears flatten against his head and his head completely turn away from the reporter like he wasn’t there to hear your cringey words.

“Oh my Satan, are you fucking serious?” The news reporter sneered at you. “I just asked you about some fucking frozen water. Not your version of a romantic date you’ll have in your shitty wet dreams.”

You blinked and the distorted Alastor slowly turned his head back towards the reporter.

“This is fucking Hell, not some Barbieland bulls–”

You couldn’t help it and a few of your more demonic features were showing before you could stop them and you grabbed the umbrella Alastor was still holding. “You asked me a question about snow and I answered and then you make fun of me for that!? So what if I want a romantic outing with my lover!?” You shoved the umbrella’s pole into the gut of the reporter and growl into the camera, hearing the cameraman cry out before it cuts out and the interview is over.

.

.

.

There was complete silence.

“W-well, maybe it wasn’t as bad as I thought it was.” You scratch your cheek, “J-just forget what I sa–”

“Oh, that was so romantic!” Charlie’s eyes were wide and sparkly, “I never knew snow could make you feel that way.” She gasped loudly, looking at Vaggie. “There’s still time! Come on, Vaggie! We need to go out in the snow to ‘immerse ourselves’ in that special feeling!”

Vaggie just throws you a grumpy look before sighing and following after Charlie.

Angel Dust is laughing his ass off, “Special feeling? Seriously, Dollface? Did that cold freeze your brain cells or somethin’? Well, at least ya showed that dick reporter who’s boss. Smiles, over there, did nothin’.”

“I don’t need him to do everything for me.” You muttered, glancing over at Husk and, for once, glad to see he’s too drunk to care and Niffty had lost interest as soon as she saw a cockroach. 

You looked over to Alastor.

“Are you satisfied?” You asked with a sigh, “Watching me embarrass myself and then lose control on the news that’s aired all around Hell?”

Alastor’s grin widened. “Very much so, Darling. Not only have you provided me with great entertainment, but now you have also given me an excuse to go after the one who aired your follies. I do believe I should give my ‘old pal’ a visit quite soon.”

Yeah.

You really should have just asked Charlie earlier.

[andre-and-cal]

hiii!! this might be a stupid question, but do you have any headcanons on how andre + cal would act online? like would they have their own webpages, and how they would chat and stuff like that :p

also, i love your writing so much <3

Hii!! :3 That’s not a stupid question at all !! And TYSMM IM SO GLAD :D <33 These were fun to make, I hope you like these!

Andre and Cal Online Headcanons,,

Andre’s username on his favorite social/chatting websites is @ak47_0717, while Cal’s is @gunslinger83. The reasoning behind their usernames, first of all, is that Andre’s initials are AK. Because of his unsettling interest in firearms, he’s bound to be interested in one of the most popular guns in the world— the AK-47. He likes having his initials similar to the “AK” in AK-47. The four numbers at the end of his username are his birthday. Cal’s username is pretty self-explanatory; he calls himself a gunslinger, and the ‘83’ at the end of his username is the year he was born.

Andre and Cal talk to each other on AOL, which was one of the most popular online services for internet users at the time. They also chat on MSN Messenger, and they used to communicate on ISQ, which was more popular in their middle school years and early high school years— the late 90s.

With Blogger having been established in 1999, Andre and Calvin created accounts. They follow gun blogs and blogs dedicated to books, movies, and bands they like. Also, Andre follows— although he doesn’t really interact with— the Iroquois Track Team and Science Club blog pages. Cal follows the school band’s page. Despite following different blogs, they don’t really post much on Blogger; they like to stay relatively quiet and unnoticed. Andre does leave hate comments on posts from people he doesn’t like. Since anonymity wasn’t as robust as it would come to be in the mid 2000s— the years following Cal and Andre’s deaths— he made an alt account with a fake name for the sole purpose of hating on the Iroquois Wrestling Team blog page… for obvious reasons having to do with Brad Huff. He also leaves hate comments on Rachel’s posts. Cal mentions this mysterious user to Andre sometimes, mentioning how Rachel talks about how this unknown person on the internet criticizes her posts. Andre plays dumb and acts uninterested, yet he listens intently, replying with soft “Mhm”s, as well as a “Damn, that sucks”. He doesn’t want Cal growing suspicious.

They play girls’ flash games both for the hell of it and for the irony. They get relatively entertained from these online dress-up, salon, and cooking games, with Cal being aware these games are aimed at girls. He intentionally makes his character look ugly and goes into hysterical laughter over it— he absolutely laughs at the stupidest shit. However, Andre actually tries and is surprisingly concentrated on the game, face frozen with stoicism and focus. Andre would never admit it, but with his family having a cat, Mel, he finds pet care flash games to be genuinely fun.

Andre and Cal illegally download music and share it with each other by Napster or by email. They’ve sacrificed their computers for the sake of copying a System of a Down song onto their files for free, instead of physically buying the CD. In 1998, when Andre was still a freshman in high school, he ended up getting the CIH virus (Chernobyl virus) which practically wrecked his software and ruined his computer. Whole Calvin teased him for getting such a destructive virus on his computer, he ended up informing his parents. He’d told them that Andre needed a new computer, and he suggested that they pitch in to help Andre’s parents buy him a new computer for his 16th birthday in the summer. Because for the time being, Andre would have to use Cal’s.

Andre and Cal share similar humor in most areas. And since internet memes were beginning to rise in popularity, the two boys send or email each other dark humor memes and chuckle at them.

If they were alive in 2003, they would have used 4chan !!

Andre uses all types of different acronyms when chatting, such as but not limited to “ROFL”, “LOL”, “LMFAO”, “BRB”, “ILY”, “IDK”, and “BTW”. He often capitalizes the first letter of his messages and types faces like “:-)” and “>:(”.

Cal, too, uses many acronyms online. He also types with no capital letters, and he often takes shortcuts when he’s chatting with Andre. He creates little faces with the keys on his keyboard and copies and pastes special symbols online. When he’s typing to Andre first, his first message is usually a simple, “hi” of some sort.

They both play Doom together, considering how 1993 Doom was multiplayer when it first came out.

GeoCities !! Cal and Andre created their own website for the Army of Two. They didn’t necessarily say much on the site, and they didn’t give the site name to anyone they knew. But they still specified who they were and their interests without giving away their last names.

In addition, Andre and Cal used GeoCities to make a screamer site, and they made different alt emails to troll Brad Huff by sending the link to him, without him finding out who they were.

Sometime during the final week before Zero Day, their last few days of being alive, they’d both typed up a short, lovesick letter in their notepads— two messages they’d always wanted to tell each other but never got the chance to. Cal had gone on a tangent about how much he enjoyed being Andre’s comrade, how much he enjoyed Andre being his. Also, he was saying his goodbyes before their final mission and how he loved Andre and hoped he’d see him on the flip side. Whereas Andre was saying how he was looking forward to escaping the school with Cal and how he hoped they’d have a better life together, even while they were wanted from the cops. He mentioned how he loved Cal, too, but with his own phrasing of that declaration. But that ended up being an unrealistic expectation on Andre’s end.

[got-into-worm-by-mistake]

Okay, I've Read Worm: A Retrospective Part 1: How The Fuck Did I Get Here?

I don't know exactly what I'm going to be doing with all these posts, but at a minimum, we will be having the following, not necessarily in this order:

A discussion of some of the parts of Worm I liked most. Some genuine and well-earned praise for Wildbow.

An analysis of Amy Dallon as she exists in Worm, though more for unpacking my own thoughts in one place rather than some deep literary stuff.

A discussion of things I was genuinely surprised by in the Text itself versus the stuff I picked up via fandom osmosis and fanfic. Expectation vs reality and stuff.

A discussion of just who the fuck the target audience of Worm actually probably maybe was, and what the fuck I just read.

And a detailed (for my own unpacking of thoughts than to convince anyone of anything) discussion of why I'm not going to read Ward. Nothing new there, but still, it'll be nice to put it all one one place.

But first, let's take a step back and answer one very important question: How in the bloody fuck did I end up here? How the fuck did reading Worm even happen? Because as I've said before, superhero media isn't my thing, I'm definitely not the target audience for Worm, and while I enjoyed it, only liking it 60% is a barely passing grade, as it were.

So how the blue hell did I end up here?

I don't know exactly when I first became aware of Worm. What I do know is that I was loosely aware of it by 2019, because I was active on SpaceBattles, and of course, Worm is all over there. I'd see the name, and I knew it referred to a work of fiction, but that's about all I knew. It might have been before 2019 that I first heard the name, it might not have. I say by 2019, because I know that sometime in 2019, I was in a discord server associated with one of the many spinoff sites to Spacebattles (I believe it was Frozen in Carbonite, which was honestly a pretty noxious website but I didn't know that going in) and I made a post using this meme:

And I got an answer that was something to the effect of 'It's an edgy villain protagonist superhero story'. And so I shrugged, and I moved on. Not my speed. Superheroes aren't my thing, not really, not in of themselves. I first got into AoS watching it with my then GF back in... 2015? And then I got into shipping Skyeward in it. Then I watched Arrow because some of the people I followed from Skyeward were into it and again, pretty much stayed for the shipping and certain characters. Flash and Legends of Tomorrow and Supergirl were entered into as branching off from Arrow.

And yes I've watched a good chunk of the MCU, but mostly because why not watch a movie and there's a handful of characters I liked. But I've never read a single superhero comic book, as far as I can recall, and I've never really been super into any superhero cartoons, just watched them if they happened to be on Cartoon Network when I was a kid.

At some point between then and this year, I found a Worm CYOA on r/nsfwcyoa, and despite never having read it, gave it a look, played around with it, and picked up random errant facts about the story and characters therein. I would revisit this CYOA and similar ones as they got updates, and along the way got my first exposure to the whole 'fanon' problem of the Worm fandom, when one of the options in one of the CYOAs was to make certain popular fanon true for the version of Earth-Bet 'your character' appeared in for the CYOA. Things like making Woobie Amy true, or turning Vicky into the Collateral Damage Barbie she's cast as by some people, et cetera.

And then, at some point probably late last year or early this year, I think, I was on Questionable Questing (the pervert uncle of Spacebattles, as it were) and I saw a fic get posted that was Worm - so, prepared to ignore it - and then I saw it was also tagged with several of my kinks. And I've read smutfics that aren't for one of my fandoms if I really like the kinks and it's just a smutfic, so I gave it a show. How much do you need to know about the source canon for a smutfic, eh?

I don't remember much about that fic, or even which of my kinks in particular it had, but I would read a few other such stories here and there until sometime in... probably May or so, maybe late April, when I made an errant post on QQ in a thread discussing stories you considered but never actually read, that I had considered Worm (because by then I had, ish, after some of the various go-arounds with the CYOA and picking up bits of osmosis here and there) but that the whole thing sounded too bleak and grimdark and depressing.

This spawned a conversation about Worm, and if it was really grimdark (one person I think went so far as to say it wasn't even depressing or bleak, and oh to live in that person's world) and if it was really a deconstruction or a love letter to superhero media or a takedown of superhero media or w/e. And at some point, someone made a comment about Wildbow having disdain for his fans, or something like that.

And I was like 'I feel like there's a story there'. And yes there was. One of the things that came up were the so-called 'retcons' of Ward re: Amy (whether or not they are actually retcons is beyond the point of this post, please don't discuss it here). And here's the thing, my thought then was: I've been there.

I've been there when characters have been set on, or are seemingly being set up for, some kind of redemption arc, and then some new installment pulls the rug out from under the character in a way that feels very, very deliberately aimed at fans of the character. Grant Ward is the most notable case of this for me. 2015 and 2016 me had quite a few things to say about that. 2024 me lacks the energy or desire to go into detail.

It's not fun, either way. So I sympathized. And I figured that probably meant Amy Dallon would be my sort of character. But I didn't want to read Worm - it sounded depressing, it was 1.6 million words, Taylor didn't sound super appealing and I knew she was the main POV, and superheroes aren't my thing.

But it wouldn't leave my head. So I started poking around on places like r/parahumans (a den of bad takes and noxious fans if there ever was one) and r/WormFanfic and the Parahumans wiki and looked through a few threads on SB and started trawling the Amy Dallon tag here on Tumblr and developed some thoughts.

Amy Dallon, and the injustice of what happened to her in Ward had crawled inside my head and it wasn't going anywhere. I ranted to my friends about all the shit I'd learned and was like 'I HAVEN'T EVEN READ THIS WORK AND I DON'T EVEN KNOW IF I WANT TO AND IT JUST WON'T LEAVE MY BRAIN!'. I remember seeing a post saying something about how someone who had read worm couldn't relate to people who hadn't and weren't constantly thinking about Amy and I reblogged it saying 'I haven't even read Worm and I'm constantly thinking about Amy' and I think the OP of the post reblogged my reblog and called me a whole new kind of person or something. I don't remember and don't care to go digging.

The things that held me back the most continued to be the sheer length of Worm, a fear that Taylor would be insufferable and the fact that it still sounded godforsakenly depressing. (2 out of 3 ain't bad, as Meatloaf Says). So eventually I decided to go poking around and read some fic to get the idea if I'd actually read it. I don't remember all the ones I read in this period, but they included: I, Panacea, Desperate Times Call For Desperate Pleasures, Queen of Blood and More Than Meets The Eye. It was around this time I also started getting multiple Worm Fic Ideas, which was... fun. Because you know, it's one thing to read fanfic without knowing the source canon, but I've always loathed in previous fandoms when people say they're writing a fic for a canon they've only read fic from (and was always an immediate X-out for me) and I have too much dignity self-respect as a writer to do that myself.

Now, fic ideas don't mean I have to write them. I have ASOIAF and TVD fic Ideas I'm never going to write, and my notebooks across the ages are littered with fic Ideas I had and then put aside and never wrote. Some still haunt my dreams like Edgar Allen Poe's Telltale Heart. But still.

Eventually, after someone made a comment to me to the effect of 'with all due respect, if you haven't read Worm, shut up about it' I decided to at least make an effort to read it. Spite was my original intent - I wanted to see if my opinion about Amy's storyline in Worm specifically would remain the same (and it broadly has) and if so, I would feel satisfied I'd been right.

(For the record, It did remain the same (pretty much, more on this in a future post) and I do feel satisfied that I was right.)

And so, on June 16th, half on a whim and half because I knew I'd have things to say and I wanted to section them off my main blog, I made this blog and began reading Gestation 1.1. I gave it even odds in my head I'd give up before I was more than a few arcs in.

Wasn't even tempted until Arcs 12 and 13. Then was tempted again in the absolute nadir of the work, 17-19. And then again during the Behemoth fight. Once I got past that, I was never temped.

So that's I got here. Existing adjacent to Worm for years, some osmosis, an ill-timed comment, some snarky responses and a character that burrows into my brain by hitting all of my buttons.

[entwinedmoon]

This month is the 40th anniversary of John Torrington’s exhumation and autopsy. I’ve been doing real-time daily updates over on this post to show just how long and drawn out the process was. It took over a week, starting from when Beattie arrived on Beechey to when they first started digging to when they finally got the coffin open. Right now, those updates are in a bit of a lull because, after they dug down to the coffin, they had to wait for permits to move onto the next part, so there won’t be another Daily Torrington Dig update until August 17.

While we’re waiting for Beattie to get his permits to crack open a cold one (Torrington’s coffin) with the boys (his scientific research team), you can check out my Torrington blog posts to keep the spirit of the season going. The posts Sacred to the Memory of and A Star Is Born would be especially applicable right now as they explore Torrington’s death, exhumation, autopsy, and the media’s response to the photographs of his well-preserved body.

But there’s something else I wanted to share here, another type of media response that I’ve known about (and had a copy of) for a while. I shared it years ago on Twitter, thinking it would get a laugh there, but that was, er, not the reaction I received, so I’d held off on sharing it anywhere else because I thought most people would find it inappropriate. However, I was reminded recently by a friend (don’t know if they want to be tagged here or not, so I’ll go with not) about the existence of this particular piece, and I realized that this might be something that would be more appreciated here on Tumblr, where we like to photoshop Torrington’s corpse into memes, ship him with the guy he’s buried next to, and want to see what he would think of Takis and flavored vapes.

The article I’m referring to is the story about Torrington that appeared in the Weekly World News.

If you’re not familiar with the Weekly World News, it was a notorious tabloid that made up absurd stories and pretended it was real news. Some news stories were actually true—so it wasn’t completely like today’s The Onion—but there were also plenty of clearly fictional articles, featuring bizarre, often supernatural stories, such as Elvis sightings, a double-decker bus mysteriously found at the South Pole (“scientists” claimed aliens did it), or Bat Boy, a boy who was part bat, part boy.

Torrington’s level of fame within the cultural consciousness of the time meant that he, too, got to experience the tabloid treatment.

(CW: pictures of Torrington’s mummified body beneath the cut)

Published on March 3, 1992, was this front-page story:

Man buried in 1845 brought back to life!

Sailor’s coffin frozen in arctic ice 147 years!

Hush-hush new drug revives corpse, say doctors!

Yes, according to the Weekly World News, John Torrington was brought back to life in 1992. There’s even a full article all about how it happened.

MAN FROZEN SINCE 1845 BROUGHT BACK TO LIFE!

Scientists revive seaman trapped in ice 147 years!

Sailor back from the dead still thinks James K. Polk is President of the U.S.!

By Cal Sanders, Special Correspondent

The perfectly preserved corpse of a British sailor who was buried in an icy grave after he died on an Arctic expedition in 1845 has been revived by scientists—147 years later!

And while Petty Officer John Torrington’s health is fragile at best, the team of doctors who illegally plucked him from his grave and brought him back to life say he is aware of his surroundings, walking with help and might very well be able to lead a normal life “if this man has the psychological strength to adapt to the 20th century.”

“It’s hard to believe but this man thinks James K. Polk is President of the United States and insists that horses and sailing ships are the best and fastest ways to travel,” Dr. Hermann Richter said in his report on the experiment that brought Torrington back to life.

“Electric lights literally scare the hell out of him and to be perfectly frank about it, he hasn’t quite decided if he’s dead or alive. About the best we can do at this point is take his recovery one day at a time.

“If Torrington survives we will have produced a living piece of history. If he dies, at least we’ll be able to say that we tried to do something that might ultimately have benefited all mankind.”

The decision to steal Torrington’s corpse from its grave in northern Canada couldn’t have come easy for the Richter team, which issued its report to selected European newspapers “from an undisclosed clinic in Germany.”

For starters, the young man’s grave has stood as an unofficial monument to the courage and determination of 128 adventurers led by British explorer Sir John Franklin—adventurers who gave up their lives to chart the last 300-mile-leg of the treacherous Northwest Passage between 1845 and 1848. Torrington’s body was exhumed once before, in 1983, but it was carefully reburied after scientists took a small tissue sample to determine the cause of death. As it turned out, Torrington died from lead poisoning after eating provisions out of tins that were sealed with the dangerous and often lethal metal. Needless to say, news that Richter and his associates secretly exhumed the body a second time, smuggled it into Germany and succeeded in bringing it back to life have infuriated many experts, some of whom consider the theft of the body criminal. Richter himself insisted that Torrington is in good hands and will be free to go when he is strong enough.

The doctor went on the say that he understands why the experiment might sound extreme to some people but he believes that the revival of Torrington “furthered the best interests of medicine and science.” Richter’s report did not include any of the techniques that were used to revive Torrington but it did mention “an exciting new drug” that might one day make such revivals routine.

Because he died of lead poisoning, it is also believed that Richter and his team somehow cleansed Torrington’s tissue of the deadly metal before bringing him back to life. For the record, Torrington was a man of 20 when he died. Now he looks like a man of 80, photos supplied by Richter show.

“A century and a half of death is enough to age anyone,” said Richter.

There’s a lot to unpack here—the morally dubious German doctor with a mysterious, Frankenstein-esque resurrection method; the burial and exhumation dates both being off by one year for some reason; the short, skinny guy in the obvious bald cap that they thought would pass as Torrington; and so much more. Interestingly, a lot of the article seems to focus more on how scandalous it is that Dr. Richter stole Torrington’s body, as if the writer thought that the revival of a long-dead corpse wasn’t enough of a scoop. Also, I’m not sure if Torrington would even have been aware that Polk was president in 1845—was he the sort of guy who paid attention to international politics? Wouldn’t it have made more sense for him to think Victoria was still queen?

Many people might be offended by such an article, but the Weekly World News never cared about who they offended. Unsurprisingly, one of those who did take umbrage with the story was Dr. Owen Beattie.

In a short article in the Times-Colonist Metro about a week after the Weekly World News story ran, we got to hear Owen Beattie’s reaction.

HEE-(T)HAW . . . It was standard checkout rag fare. “Man Buried in 1845 brought back to life” shouted a recent front page of Weekly World News. “Hush-Hush New Drug Revives Corpse,” it continued.

These startling revelations bore some significance for both the wax museum’s Ken Lane and University of Alberta anthropologist Owen Beattie. The man purportedly thawed like last night’s dinner was John Torrington, one of three sailors from the Franklin expedition buried on Beechy [sic] Island. The Franklin expedition—and John Torrington—feature large in the wax museum’s arresting Frozen in Time expedition. Torrington’s body was exhumed from its Arctic grave in ’84 by Dr. Beattie, who determined death was from lead poisoning.

Neither Ken nor the anthropologist felt their respective professional worlds crumbled with the News article. (It ran with a photo of an emaciated looking chap being assisted by doctors and reports that Torrington is terrified of electric lights, still believes Polk is the U.S. president, and horses are the only way to go.) Ken shrugged it off with a what-can-you-expect-from-a-checkout-rag laugh. The anthropologist wasn’t quite so forgiving.

He refused to comment on it at all, insisting that his research speaks for itself. Apparently John Torrington was quite dead when he was exhumed and equally so when buried after the autopsy. But then that’s not the sort of stuff that sells check-out rags.

While it’s perfectly understandable that Beattie would not appreciate something like the Weekly World News’ fake story, what I find most interesting about this snippet is that there was a wax museum with a Franklin Expedition exhibit that included Torrington??? Does that mean there was a Torrington wax figure???? Where is it now????? Can I buy it?????????

These very important questions aside, it’s fascinating to see that Torrington was well known enough to make it into a “checkout rag.” Maybe it’s not the legacy he would have wanted, but at least it’s worth a good laugh.

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

PAELLA

Hello I had a random idea for a potential snippet of my Alastor x OC/reader set in the future when the two of them are in hell and MC makes him suffer. *feeds you scraps at my front door*

Asexual Alastor x Asexual/ADHD reader

Summary: It's a short one but Alastor tries to be sweet about something and MC decides not today and infodumps on him about tranquilisers. Spoiler: she gets Lucifer involved.

Word count: 389

Alastor is a sex repulsed ace (like me) in my fics and will remain so forever. <3

You can find the main fic HERE

“Well you know what they say!” Alastor trilled, eyes closed as he tapped you on the nose. “Every kiss begins with—“

“Ketamine.”

He froze, static going silent and his smile strained as his eyes flew wide open. His eyebrows gave away his confusion as he glanced at you, finger still hovering in front of your face. You continued.

“A hydrochloride tranquiliser, used in veterinary practice, mostly as an anaesthetic or something for horses.” You explained, breaking eye contact with him to reach your fork over and nick a piece of chorizo from his plate whilst he was still frozen.

It took a few moments, but the usual static eventually returned, Alastor blinking his red eyes a few times to get them to focus again. It wasn’t until you reached your fork over a second time to scoop a whole mouthful of paella that he finally let out a sigh. 

“If that’s what you want.” He huffed, his smile loosening into a tired closed-lip one. “I believe we could find some.”

“Sure,” you said absentmindedly as you typed away at your phone. “Lemme know if it works.” 

He tilted his head, until he suddenly realised what you meant, fluffy ears going pin straight as his eyes widened again. Narrowing them, he leant on his elbow over the table as he brought his face to yours, words coming out in a hiss.

“If you’re suggesting—“ 

“Lucifer?” You confirmed, eyes darting up from your phone. “Yea I’ve already texted him - he said he’s up for it. Apparently he’s too impatient to wait for truth or dare night to make out with you.”

All you got was loud static in response, and you watched him from the corner of your eye as his limbs twisted and eyes blackened in an attempt to stop you. All you did was hold a finger up in response.

“Unless you want me to ask Vox, I suggest you finish the paella I made for you.” 

You heard the static stop, and within a second he was back to normal, munching away at your meal, though now with a prominent twitch in his smile, as he glared death beams across the table. Your phone vibrated, and you read the text Lucifer sent.

“Oh, and he says wear something nice.”

The fork in his hand snapped.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alastor: *sobs in asexual* "Why does MC do this?"

MC (also a sex repulsed ace): NEVER BACK DOWN NEVER WHAT

If you know the ketamine meme, make out with me rn.

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[spooniechef]

Helpful Household Items: Air Fryer

To use the meme format: "I've only had my air fryer for a week and a half, but if anything happened to it, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself". I mean, not literally, but largely because I'm not in that place in my life anymore and live alone, but you get what I mean. I had some gift voucher and it was about enough to get myself a small air fryer - only two litre capacity. It seemed a good compromise; I didn't have to spend any money, I could see how an air fryer could or could not change my life, and I could get a new, bigger one if it worked out.

...Okay, I mostly got an air fryer so I could try this quasi-recipe that Jordan Howlett tripped over, so here's your recipe for the post:

I haven't tried that yet, but I will tell you this much: it has absolutely changed my life, and honestly, I think every spoonie should own one. Here's a few examples of why:

It's great for when the physical spoons are lacking. I'm not just talking about bad pain days, either. My experience with fibromyalgia has involved a fair few days where my grip strength is hit and miss, or when I have spasms so my motor control is equally hit and miss. But as long as you're keeping things in a single layer, you hardly even have to turn anything in an air fryer (though I grant it sometimes helps). No bending to put things into or pull things out the oven, no shoving things around a skillet, nothing like that. Just put a thing in the drawer, set it to the right parameters, and withdraw the drawer when done.

To add to that - little to no cleaning. You're using little to no oil, so all it takes is lining it with parchment and a quick wipe-down when done. Washing a skillet is hell on bad days, especially if your skillet is a good heavy one.

It's also great when mental spoons are lacking. My personal experience with a combination of ADHD and brain fog is that sometimes I forget when something's in the oven, mostly when I'm doing oven chips or something. Or I get a little unsure as to exactly how long a piece of meat should be in the oven for the level of done-ness I want. Or both. Either way, I could go to the rigamarole of getting an egg timer and setting it and the like ... or I could have a nice little machine that not only automatically beeps like the microwave when it's done, it also turns itself off like the microwave when it's done. So if I, say, got involved in something I couldn't easily pause because I didn't realise my food would be ready in two minutes, I don't have to worry about it burning.

There's an economic benefit as well. I'm single. I live alone. Even if I got (when I get) a larger air fryer, running one of those to cook a chicken leg quarter or a a salmon fillet has to be easier on the electric bill than doing it in a full-sized oven. Because of the size, it also pre-heats faster than a full-sized oven, just because there's less space to heat.

Seriously, I used it to cook salmon for dinner tonight. Done perfectly with little to no effort. Mine is small, but the basket is the perfect size for a serving of fish or a chicken leg quarter or just the right number of tater tots. Mostly I want a bigger one for when I have company or when I want to do chicken nuggets and tater tots. Also to make a decent-sized batch of potato chips, or frozen fries where I don't have to stop midway through to shake up the contents of the container because their shape doesn't lend well to a single layer in a basket that small. I worried about the space it took up until I learned that an air fryer can also serve as a dehydrator. So I could get rid of my dehydrator, put a good-sized air fryer in its place, and ... I dunno, keep the little one around for emergencies?

No, not for emergencies - for small batches of the above recipe so I don't end up becoming 80% sugar by volume.

[diablo-that-first-spark]

Hell has frozen over: I am deviating from the lore

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, my dearest cupcakes, you read that correctly. Hell is indeed an icy wasteland now and the Seven Evils need full winter gear to function. I am officially ignoring certain parts of the lore and deviating back to a previous version of them.

For those who don’t really know me, here’s why this is a big deal:

Lore is sacred.

Respect the goddamn source material.

These are the two golden rules I always follow, no matter the fanart or fanfiction I create (I’m talking about serious attempts here, not jokey sketches or memes, of course). I do not trample over established lore and rules in a world, just because I want to tell my story. I always do my best to make my story and characters work within the guidelines already set by the original creators. I don’t retcon backstories, I don’t blackwash, I especially don’t rainbow-wash, all of these are shameful practices in my eyes, and I would not be caught dead doing them.

Anyway.

With Diablo 4 out and its spin-off stories being published, I am finally forced to partially let go of the “Lore is sacred” golden rule… or at the very least, stay true to a former version of said lore. Namely, the Diablo 3 and the Sin War trilogy versions.

Now, it is obvious that Blizzard is doing its best to ignore D3 altogether in D4, outside of bringing back a few older locations like Maghda’s boss arena or the Forgotten Overlook. Returning D3 characters would rather die than mention anything from that game, while D2 characters (who should be dead 3 times over by this point) can’t shut the hell up about their former adventures.

It is also an undisputed fact that D3 is the least popular entry in the franchise among the hardcore non-fanart-creating part of the fandom. A sad fact, but a fact nonetheless.

Now, I am not saying Blizzard is a shit company, they don’t know what they are doing, I know better. No. Stories change. Things get retconned. Characters rewritten. Course-correction is necessary. That happens to almost every long-running story, it is entirely normal.

I just don’t like these changes, I think they take away from the lore overall. Attempts to erase my favorite entry from the franchise won’t make me happy, naturally, even if I wholeheartedly understand the purely logical and business reasons behind it.

So! Not to mince words, here is a list of every retcon I can think of from the top of my head, that I am going to apply to That First Spark:

1) Nephalem are weak no-name peasants who look perfectly human

Going by D3 and Sin War rules, in TFS nephalem are absolute powerhouses who survive insane shit being thrown at them, just because they are nephalem. Their power level is either off the charts or much higher than normal, both in magic and in physical strength. As a personal preference, I will also make the First Generation Nephalem (namely, Rathma) a little bit inhuman. I lllloved it when we still believed Elias would be Rathma, his design was perfect for the role. I will give Rathma a bit of a redesign for Act IV but his slight but disturbing inhuman appearance will remain so. No full-blown furry designs, that is just ridiculous, good lord.

(One day, I might write a rant about the current state of the Nephalem-era of history, because it is an absolute travesty. One day.)

2) Inarius is just a “lieutenant” of Tyrael

Yeah, nah, eff that. Rhythm brothers, till the day I die.

3) Rathma becomes the First Necromancer after he corrects a very plot-convenient mistake.

(Not going into more detail because the Rathma graphic novel is still very new.)

I’m going back to the original lore, which is far more interesting: Linarian had started a rebellion among his generation, after he realized their children were born weaker because of Inarius’ meddling. The rebellion goes horribly wrong, Inarius manages to kill most of the first generation nephalem with the aid of the Worldstone then he disappears and suffers a fate of isolation that eventually breaks his mind. On the other side, Linarian goes insane over the guilt of leading his fellow nephalem to their deaths, until the dragon Trag’Oul finds him and teaches him of the Balance, giving him the name “Rathma” (“Keeper of the Balance”).

None of this is made up by me, btw. This is how the lore was in the Sin War trilogy books.

4) Demons can be born/manufactured from the blood of angels

That is just the dumbest stuff Diablo Immortal has ever pulled, like hell I will work with that.

5) Lyndon didn’t kill Rea, instead he allows her to make his life hell

Hells, I already retconned it with the ending of Act I, without even trying. I saw into the future with this!

On a personal note: this is the most terrible story line they could have given to Lyndon, I hate everything about it, and I wish it to the deepest pits of hell. He deserves better. Grimdark is utter trash.

6) Lilith is an unkillable boss bitch that walks away from lethal crippling injuries like it’s nothing

Oh do not worry, she is going to be an absolute nightmare to take down. Quiet and co. will have to work for it hard. But originally Lilith has never been the “strahng wahmen unkillable boss bitch” modern day trope, and she won’t be that in TFS either. I have to be clever with what kind of injuries she may or may not receive.

7) Kingsport is on the south-western shore of the Western Continent

TFS works with the Diablo 3 version of the world map. If there is a location that is needed for the story, which shows up on the D4 map, but not the D3 map, I will bring that one detail in. There is nothing big behind this decision, I just grew used to the D3 map.

8) Lilith initiates the Purge of the Renegades because of Linarian's vision her son told her about

I am working with the Book of Cain version: Lilith assumes Inarius is already plotting the genocide of the children when he withdraws to meditate on the right choice. So she kills every angel and demon so that should Inarius want to destroy the children, he would remain utterly alone on a dead world. Her gambit would pay off in the end, although not before Inarius banishes her.

---

I am sure there will be a bit more retcons down the line, but for now, these are the critical nodes I see from here.

It probably doesn’t sound too bad for you, and I agree, I am probably making a mountain out of a mole-hill here. However, I have my own code to follow in creative works, and I honestly feel like this deviation from my usual methods warrants a heads-up.

So, anyway, back to the drawing board! I wish I had an ETA to give you cupcakes about the arrival of Act IV, but unfortunately I don’t. Thank you for your continuous patience!

2024.08.26.

[chaifootsteps]

https://www.reddit.com/r/Vivziepopmemes/s/zjfTnKxeYk

This entire thread over a meme pointing out that Stella is one dimensional is making me feel like I’m taking crazy pills. Like the fucking takes in this are shallower than the kiddie pool with the grace of frozen iceberg lettuce.

“She’s a demon and she’s in Hell so she just likes tormenting because demons are bad.”

Except for when we’re shown in universe that demon ≠ being automatically bad. Like Charlie caring about sinners dying, baby Blitz having qualms about stealing, M&M having a healthy and loving relationship, Ozzie and Bee being overall nice people dispite being deadly sins.

“People are 1 Dimensional in real life, some people are just assholes.”

Ok sure but that’s not really that interesting to write or to watch. Other villains at least have an iota of depth to their motivations like Striker’s hatred for royals and Verosika’s past with Blitz, so Stella stands out for being evil because lol fuck it. Especially with how important she is to the Stolas plot she’s so flat and uninteresting.

“Why do people care this much about silly demon show? Just don’t care lol”

What if? I drive my show off of a cliff?

So yea, Helluvaverse Twitter is a garbage fire but Reddit ain’t much better Jesus Christ.

"People are 1 Dimensional in real life"

All of this is clown world tier nonsense but I think this is the one that annoys me the most, because it shows just how limited these peoples' grasp on the real world actually is.

No one does anything for no reason, not in real life and arguably not in fiction either. It's not always a good reason or a reason that makes sense from the outside looking in, but everyone is the hero of their own story. Everyone has some kind of driving factor behind the choices they make.

Readings like this are moronic.

[syrena-del-mar]

July 27....

July 27 has always been a day I struggled with. It's my birthday. Some years, I hate this day and other years, I forget about it, usually busy for some reason or other.

Today, I just feel sad.

If some of you follow me on Twitter or talk to me on Discord, you probably know my profile picture is of my sweet old dachshund, Samantha Jane.

Samantha Jane turned 17 years, 5 months and 10 days old today. As of 5:20 this morning, that will be the oldest that she will ever be. And of the 6,731 days she had on this earth, I was lucky enough to have spent the last 1,375 days with her. I know it's funny to say that I expected so many more years with her, especially at her age (insert the Derry Girls meme), but I have 3 other geriatric dogs and she was by far my strongest. I wanted more time with her.

But I'll never get that time with her again and I can never return to 20 hours ago when she was physically with me. So, instead, I'll tell her story to whoever wishes to read this because it's one hell of a life that she lived. I also find comfort that thoughts never disappear, even when they are harder to access, so even if just one other person reads this, maybe there she will live forever.

Samantha Jane arrived at the local pound back in 2007 with the rest of her litter, apparently with a tag that read the date of when they were born. The pound took one look at this litter that arrived and decided that, no, they must be Doberman puppies because of how big their paws and ears. Funnily enough, her first owner, an elderly lady who had just lost her husband, adopted Samantha Jane at 8 weeks thinking that she would grow up to be a Doberman. Spoiler alert... she never did.

But even so, she was so very loved. And from what I heard, Samantha Jane loved her first owner just as fiercely. But at four, Sammie lost her first owner. While I don't know, and probably never will, what Sammie's life was like in her first home, I was told that when her first owner passed away, she accompanied her the whole night, refusing food and water or even to go to the restroom, until her owner passed away peacefully.

From there, she immediately got adopted out to Mr. and Mrs. V, another elderly couple, who were friends of her first owner. If Sammie had been spoiled before, she was spoiled rotten by Mr. and Mrs. V, particularly by Mrs. V. They traveled everywhere together. From California to West Virginia and every state between, the three would go on spontaneous road trips across America. This is probably where Sammie got her love for car rides. And when they were unable to take her? She had a favorite college student who would babysit her and stay over at their home so that Sammie could watch her daily cartoons in the evening on her favorite reclining chair. Mrs. V would type up detailed notes detailing how many green beans Sammie would eat (frozen not steamed), what channels had her favorite shows, her favorite spot to sunbathe, and every other minute detail you can imagine.

Sammie loved Mrs. V immensely—she loved Mr. V as well—but Sammie has always been a girl's girl, and she loved Mrs. V. But time is gentle to nobody, and at the age of 10, Sammie lost one of her owners again. Like clockwork, she sensed something was wrong as Mrs. V was dying and stayed with her, but this time laying herself on Mrs. V's chest—as if wanting to feel her last heartbeat.

From then on, it was just Mr. V and Sammie at home and on those road trips for the next two years. They cared for each other and comforted one another until they couldn't. Sammie was never great at walking in a straight line without roaming, and in one of those times that she stopped to sniff the roses, she accidentally tripped and sent Mr. V flying. In the blink of an eye, Mr. V was taken by ambulance, and this time, there was no favorite college student to take care of her. So, she was placed in boarding for three weeks.

Sammie was not built for boarding and with two broken hips, Mr. V knew it wasn't feasible or good for Sammie to be under his care anymore. So, in the morning, he started asking all the nurses who worked in the assisted living community where he lived if anyone wanted a 12-year-old puppy. News spread, and like a game of telephone, I was told that there was a beagle up for adoption.

By this point, so many people knew that I was looking for a puppy to adopt. I had spent the whole year prior applying and getting rejected by shelters because I was always a step too late to submit my applications. What everyone didn't know was that 7 weeks prior, I had finally gotten the first place on the waiting list for a Maltese-Cocker Spaniel mix puppy, and on Oct. 28th, I had been told that I could pick her up on the 31st. But I grew up with a Samoyed and two big husky-german shepherds, so in my brain, the math of one small puppy + one medium elderly dog really just equals one whole dog. That makes sense, right?

So I did all my shopping, preparing for a tiny puppy and what I thought was supposed to be a beagle. Imagine my surprise, on October 31st, when I arrived to pick up Sammie at Mr. V's home and found myself with a miniature dachshund instead of a beagle. I was shocked, to say the least. But even in that surprise, Sammie came running to me, barking so I would place her in my car. And I mean barking. She barely even gave Mr. V time to provide me with everything he and his wife had bought her: numerous blankets with her name embroidered, her favorite cross-body carrier, all her comfiest beds, all the ties that Mrs. V had made her, and her 70-page medical history book. By the time Mr. V and I were done, Sammie had fallen asleep on the passenger seat without a care.

I like to say that I was tricked and treated that Halloween. She was not the beagle I expected to own, but she was the best friend I could ever have. After picking her up, we drove 4 hours to San Diego and picked up Luna Ivy, who would soon become Samantha Jane's little kid. But even then, during the first couple of weeks, Sammie struggled. She would be happy all day, but the night fell, and she mourned and cried that she wasn't with Mr. V. I would hug her, place her bed on my rocking chair, and do everything that I could to calm her down. But for two weeks straight, she cried every night because nothing worked.

But we all adjusted. It was the pandemic, but we were gifted that time together despite all the bad things. Still, in our little odd way, we became a family. Samantha became my little shadow. Back then, I was in my first semester of law school, and since we were having classes on Zoom, my two girls were always right there on my lap. Honestly, they probably understood civil procedure as much as I did (which is to say, wasn't a lot).

Sammie got to know me and my moods. Whenever I was stressed, she whined until I picked her up and watched TV with her. If Luna was being too much, she regulated. I would even argue that she did most of the training when it came to Luna. She taught Luna how to pee on a pad, let her feet get washed, bark at the doorbell, know when to chill, enjoy a good snooze, and her love for car rides. For never being with another dog in her life, she took to being a surrogate mom incredibly well.

Five years have passed since then. We've gone on several trips together to the beach, the snow, the desert, and across state lines in cars and RVs. Within that time, she got two more dachshund siblings she loved to yell at, a human nephew who would gently pet her back from the moment he could walk, and countless cuddles. She took as many sun rays as she could sneak in and loved to steal some of Luna's food when I wasn't paying attention. She would humor me and let me dress her up as much as I wanted though she would draw the line at shoes.

Now I have a closet filled with her clothes, her embroidered blankets, and her favorite beds, but no owner. Her collar and harness are still hanging up next to Luna's, Samuel Jackson's, and Serena June's, waiting for a walk that is never going to come. I have a cabinet full of her medications that I'll never have to give again. My hallway will never hear the clacks of her feet as she padded through again. And I will never be able to hold her close again.

To some, they might not understand the love of a dog, and they might just think of me as a crazy millennial who is too absorbed with their dogs instead of others. And maybe I am. But that's okay. Sammie was my family. She was there when I almost quit law school. She was there when I got sick. She was there for every single one of my birthdays. She understood. Sometimes a little too well.

And after seeing two of her owners die, she decided that today it was going to be her turn. At 5:20 A.M., Luna entered the room and snuggled beside her on their shared bed. Sammie, who had previously been looking out the door, shifted her head and placed it on Luna's back, getting comfortable for the last time. Seconds later, she would take her last breaths as she looked at her family. We were the last thing she saw in this world.

And just like that fateful October 31st five years ago, I know she will find her way back home this Dia de los Muertos, where her ofrenda will await her arrival so can be with us once more.

[goldemas1244]

I WROTE THIS IN AN HOUR

OKAY INTRODUCTION

I was listening to Karma (VocaCircus) and I was thinking about a sort of animatic type-thing. But not the meme part, just the rest of the song. And so this was born! I'm just so excited about this I just threw out a playlist for it! I've never been able to properly turn an animatic into writing let alone a storyboard so this is a major achievement for me!

TW: character death

---

The air, as always, was cold. Far too cold. Four figures stood amongst opposite ruins of the battlefield, a lost fisherman's village which once held life by the dozens and a frozen peak of ice eroded by time.

Two on one end, two on the other. It would be a fair fight.

"Kaloshta, I can't-" the young beetle shook out. His breath was ragged from the blizzard and his haemolymph frozen as a glacier. A spark of flame amongst the blues and whites of the icy tundra.

"We can, just hold on!" hissed the elder, clutching his staff like a lifeline. He couldn't see anymore, blindly following his other senses despite barely any of them functioning. He picked up his only remaining child's bow, edging it over to the dying youth.

A fair fight but they were quickly losing. Or perhaps, they've already lost.

"Now you've used up all your luck," a voice rang out through the icy plain, like shooting stars in an endless void. The bearer, well-fought yet barely touched, raised her glowing purple hand, aiming it at Zhask. A glow of energy coursed through her palm, forming a cube of explosive power.

"It's time you get what you deserve," came a steady voice accompanying her. A body of ice and snow, so was her voice, sharp as the sword she held tight to her bosom. Her eyes, fixiated on the blue beetle before her with a vengeful fury, hell hath no other.

The elder looked towards his son with shaken eyes, with grief and remorse and worry. All intuitions which had come far too late. What he had provided, what he had sworn to provide, all gone in the blink of an eye. All his fault.

But the younger still stood. "I'm holding out for karma," said he, pointing an accusatory finger at the Astrowarden he so dreaded. A little boy facing the monster under his bed for the first and what may be the last time.

His mandibles clicked. The icicles spread through his body were like lead in his veins and he knew he couldn't get far. But he possessed the heart of his father, a warrior who laughs in the face of death, a conqueror who brought home all his love to be shared. To be kept for safekeeping as odd little trinkets and soft bedtime kisses.

And he stood.

Haemolymph dripped onto the snow.

A bitter taste flooded Zhask's mouth as he looked upon his son's condition. Unsalvageable. Unsaveable. But if this is how they'll go down...

"I'm holding out to watch you burn."

Zhask handed his son the bow and the young Kastiyan notched an arrow. They'll go down together. As father and son. The last remaining Kastiyans forevermore.

It was the Astrowarden who struck first. Her barrier could only last so long, but they struck the space between the two hearts, shattering all bond and chain between them. Zhask was swept aside, as Kastiya deftly dodged and loosened his arrow.

It hit Aurora square on the shoulder, a chilling scream erupting from her lips as the venom took its hold. She fell, clutching her shoulder as Yve came to her aid. It wasn't potent, but it was a terrible pain to endure for a long while yet.

A sharp icicle shot out of her palm. It bounced off cliff and crag, but it wasn't half noticed before it met its mark.

It was intended for only one, the forlorn beast. But it missed, shattering the void wall carved by Yve and plunging itself deep into the wrong Kastiyan. And before the smooth shiny purple shards, before the cold of the Northern Vale, before the mercy of fate, was the poor young boy who'd lost his dear father at such a young age.

A faint whistle and a fulfilling life flashed before Kastiya's eyes.

He couldn't hear, couldn't see or feel. All he could was taste, and he tasted the fresh flowers of spring. He tasted the geraniums in his garden, the smooth black pebbles of the nearby beach. He tasted blood, his blood, and the snow he drifted into.

For illusory hours he must have watched the visions play out through his taste and taste alone. The soft woodwork of Rista's travelling coach, the tender kisses from Dylan every night, the night markets and sunrises. One by one playing, reminding him of things he wouldn't remember in eternity.

As he dreamt, the walls around him shattered. Footfalls treaded through the snow in a desperate attempt to reach the only thing they'll ever care for. Sharp broken claws grasp the back of the young beetle's head, lifting it up from the cold into a much warmer touch.

Knees crashed onto the snow, bloodied and cold. Disbelieving breaths choked the fire out of its bearer, as he gazed upon the one thing he swore to protect forever, now immortalised in eternal sleep. The cold numbed all emotion but desperation, desperation to keep this final fledgeling of love aflight.

A glittering flash caught his eye and his mandibles clicked. No. Not his son. Not the little boy he raised a prince of gold and glory. Not the little boy of arrows of flame. Not his little boy, no.

Not his little boy, no.

Please, not his little boy, his only boy, please no.

Instinct took over and his shoulder covered to block the oncoming ice spike.

The projectile makes contact. Ice seeps quickly through both their bodies, freezing the duo in an eternal embrace of protection and love. The ice covers spiracles and antennae alike, breath was nonexistent.

But if the last thing he sees is the only love his life will permit him, then it's a worthy death.

---

A father and son, immortalised in an eternal sculpture of ice and crystal. A memoriam of the horrors of war. Two tombstones, carved of obsidian and sapphire.

All this bought by a wealthy male of antiquities from a royal kingdom beneath the waves, grieving a lost love. Perhaps this is a way for him to cope, to grieve. Perhaps this is obsession. Perhaps this is respect. Aurora had no use for them, thus he took them to the only place they'd ever called home.

His hand grasps the eternally cold claws of the only true love he's ever had in the shadow of the dark oak clearing. He tries not to weep, for this was long foreseen. Zhask would lose, and he'd take down everything with him.

He just wishes it wasn't his Kastiya too.

He lights a simple match. The glow reminds him of the bright orange his love used to flaunt. The red reminds him of the father figure he saw in the king. The matchstick, the dark oak.

With a short breath, he recites the last of his cremation rites.

He tosses the match into the trees, the dry grass quickly set ablaze by the mere kindle. The bark and leaves set alight as the ice sculpture melts. Little by little their bodies are uncovered, colour faded from the sun and the shine. But to Dylan, all is perfect.

Within the burning embers, he picks the bodies from the ice and carefully lays them in their joined grave. But not before he gives one final kiss to his long-dead love. He swears those cold lips never have changed, but deep down he knows they have.

Eyes brimming with tears, mainly from grief and partly from smoke, he buries the duo side by side. Simple tombstones were set up as he sits down amongst the dried grass.

He'll leave in a moment.

Just another moment.