#and i’m a firm believer in taking what people say at face value

[feamir]

my best friend got engaged today, and i just want to cry

[razorblade180]

Gods judgment

Furina:*bites cake* Ugh, why must being an Archon be so polarizing at times!? I’m near my wits end.

Ei:While I agree to the sentiment, you’d have much less to complain about if you were diligent in your duties.

Pleasant vibes stop

Venti:Oh boy…

Nahida:What’s happening.

Venti:Shhh, pretend you’re invisible,

Furina:Baal, I am positive you of all people didn’t just talk to me about diligence regarding my responsibilities.

Zhongli:She was merely giving you advice since-

Furina:Oh are we really doing this? Do I need to remind you that if anyone has to the authority to judge the ways of other gods it is I, Focalor. *stands up*

Zhongli:Failure to take criticism will only slow progress.

Furina:Don’t misunderstand my situation. You forget yourself, Morax. Criticism indeed has value, and I’d made certain not even I can go unchecked in my own nation. The problem here is that two of you dare to speak in a tone that implies superiority when all you hold is errors so catastrophic that it’s felt in every wave.

Ei:Are you truly one to talk about errors when your problems arise from negligence?

Furina:Ha! That’s rich coming from the Archon who literally made her problem. You dare speak of negligence when you all but abandoned your people to the whims of an unfeeling stand-in? My people and I face a catastrophe forced upon us while yours endured the weight of your grief. Do not speak to me about negligence.

Ei:…..

Furina:But hey, grief is a toxic and dangerous thing that mortals and the divine understand. I do not judge you for feeling pain. It is far more reasonable flaw than that of the eldest of us. *looks at Morax* You want to discuss slow progress and criticism? It took you ages to get to a mindset Barbatos applied from the start!

Venti:Oh, wow. Zhongli she might actually have a point.

Furina:*points* Don’t get too proud of yourself, Barbatos! You’re next.

Venti:Hehe, I figured….

Zhongli:The circumstances between Liyue’s development and Mondstat’s are vastly different in what problems stood in their wake. Liyue would not have lasted to this day without a firm hand guiding the way. Much like how your nation has greatly benefited from your Chief Justice.

Furina:I do not deny my Iudex has been indispensable in Fontaine’s development. However, once again, you are mistaken about the problem. I have no issue in the role you choose for yourself to craft your land. I think it’s quite magnificent. But a show and by extension, a role is only as good as its ending. The protractor of the land chooses to exit the stage with political and civil unrest due to scheme crafted by his truly. As the God of Contracts, could you not have made one with your people stating a resignation in the coming years. In that time you would sufficiently train them to live without you instead of awakening an old adversary.

Zhongli:Preparations only go so far. A test would have to come eventually to truly put my mind at ease.

Furina:A test that shouldn’t come from your hand and not as severe. Life is the test. Make no mistake, I fully believe you would’ve handled it if your people failed, but do you truly think you would’ve saved them all unscathed. You, who knows the chaos war and battle well? I recognize my bias when I say this but it truly disgusts me to see an Archon through the night of a perilous sea at it’s people just to see if they could retire to sipping tea. To make matters worse, you’re not even consistent.

Zhongli:What are you-

Furina:Did you tell your people about Azdaha? From what I gathered, not only did you handle that actual catastrophe discretely, but in a manor where it could still happen again. You want the best for your people, yet you deny them the opportunity to prepare for the future you yourself could prevent.

Zhongli:….

Furina:Barbatos!

Venti:Ley me guess, I’m too lazy?

Furina:Your nation speaks for itself. Calm, self sufficient, and joyous for extended periods of time. I would never say any of you aren’t attentive to your people.

Ei:This sounds like nothing but praise!

Venti:Maybe I’m just a champion of work life balance?

Furina:You sleep too late.

Venti:….*rubs head* I could see why you might say that.

Furina:So could anyone who knows your nation’s history. It’s never a question of if you show up, but when. Although I love a hero arriving in the nick of time, I’m sure your people would’ve loved to see you before the slavery was institutionalized. Not only that, but it’s your failure to arrive punctually that created a harbinger in the first place.

Venti:No god can be everywhere at once or go indefinitely without rest.

Furina:Correct, but no other god here besides Buer and myself have the means to have a steady pulse the people like you do. You are The God of Anemo. There is no whisper in your land that you can not hear. Frankly I wouldn’t have a reason to judge your methods if you didn’t sleep through the tragedies. I’ll admit, I am a tad envious of your prosperity.

Venti:Hmm, I can’t lie and say I don’t see a little merit in that criticism. Although if you ask me, I don’t it would solve as many problems as you believe. Even so, I can accept that perspective for what it is.

Nahida:(He’s rather accommodating to her outburst. Perhaps he’s trying to diffuse the situation?) Hmm!?

Furina:*staring*….

Nahida:H-Hello.

Furina:You understand I’m not above judging even you, a fellow young Archon? My dear Buer, I suspect you’re aware of your faults; or does your wisdom not extend to introspection?

Nahida:No, it does. *slouches* In a lot of ways, I let my nation unravel because of my own self pity.

Furina:I guess your wisdom is boundless if you can admit to that. Feeling unwanted and trapped, you thought it best to have them walk over you for their own benefit until you finally decided a line was crossed. Your wrongful imprisonment should’ve been that line. Though the irony of your situation is how you were never truly trapped, were you? Arriving in dreams and controlling minds without their knowledge was more than enough power to start a coup. No matter how you look at it Buer, you could have fought back. Instead you acted as powerless as they called you.

Nahida:Sigh… You’re right. That sort of force of authority though really isn’t in my nature.

Furina:You remind me of Neuvillette. So soft by nature. Far too conservative about exercising what is yours by right. That being said, people like you aren’t bad. Anyone could chalk it up to inexperience or a way of belief. In fact, that could be said about all of you.

Ei:If that’s apparent to you then what was the point of this so called “judgement?”

Furina:As I said earlier, I’m not above criticism. I’m not even claiming my way is the most splendid. That being said, do not speak to me as if your methods are correct. Look down on me all you want. I refuse to let anyone judge my methods against the likes of my fellow Archons as if anyone of you or doing this job “correctly.” Especially when one of the seven thrives in dangerous tension and another has the audacity to send her people to overthrow our nations. For as long as I reign, I, Focalor, will hold one thing as an absolute truth. I am not lesser than any other ruler. I rest my case.

Nahida:I thinks you’re doing your best.

Furina:….*wipes face* Thank you.

Zhongli and Ei: (So high strung) *pats her head*

Furina:Excuse me!? I -I don’t need to be coddled!

Venti:*plays calming music*

Furina:Sigh… *accepts comfort.

[teamplasmaofficial]

Hello. I would like to preface this by saying that I follow your work consistently, and I am a firm believer in Team Plasma's ideology. Now, my question is perhaps a bit personal, and if you do not wish do answer I will be disappointed, but I will understand. How did your family react after you were injured? I know you are of royal blood, so I am curious as to how they would react. Thank you very much for your time, I sincerely apologize if this caused any inconvenience.

Firstly, thank you for your support. It is brave of you to state your views on pokémon liberation, even anonymously. People worldwide seem to adopt a shockingly violent approach to those who value pokémon’s rights such as Team Plasma.

It is true that my family is descended from Galarian Royalty, though I’m one of few which choose to take pride in my ancestry. My siblings are childless, and my parents passed a long time ago, so extended family is not something i’m abundant with. Although, when i did abstain my… injury. I was very young. I am slightly confused as to what you mean by your question. I was cared for as any child would be.

You are correct in thinking your question is highly personal, but I have nothing to hide from my devoted followers. I appreciate you immensely, along with all others who see the truth of the exploitation of pokémon.

OOC:

this man is a liarrrrr his ass did NOT get cared for after he got out of hospital. i talked about it in a different post that i’ll link here (when I find it good god), but my ghetsis got his face injury from his deino, trying to wrestle it off his brother. Cause it yaknow, killed his brother. His dad was absent and his mum didn’t really like him to begin with and since his less than satisfactory pokémon training lead to his brothers death, he was disowned as hell. Also he was like 25 or something idk i haven’t got the lore down in stone as of yet.

He was taken care of in hospital for way longer than the average person would be, since he didn’t have any friends really. He studied with Colress in Kalos but didn’t contact him out of a fear of being perceived as weak. he got his money from his fathers will, but was written out of his mothers.

Also the deino who killed his brother? he kept it! he saw the power it held in its anger, and was determined to learn to harness it. 5 decades later, boom. Hydreigon.

[samaraxmorgan]

Hello it is me, the Yap Anon but in my true form, before I yapped again I drew some eyes and i wanted to share them because I think the colors are cool.

NOW TIME TO YAP, OK SO I KNOW I KEEP GIVING YOU LIKE SUGGESTIVE-ISH IDEAS SO YOU GET AN ANGSTY ONE, SO WHAT IF HEAR ME OUT HERE, WE COME HOME FROM A LONG DAY AT WORK TO FIND SUKUNA OPENING THE DOOR AND WE LOOK AT EACH OTHER BEFORE SUKUNA SAYS 'Where the hell have you been?!' WHICH SHOCKS US BEFORE WE REPLY SOMETHING ALONG THE LINES OF 'Work' AND SUKUNA MUMBLES SOMETHING UNDER HIS BREATH ABOUT OUR JOB WORKING US TO DEATH AND HE TAKES OUR HAND (How scandalous) AND BRINGS US INSIDE SETTING US ON THE COUCH BEFORE SCOLDING US FOR NOT TEXTING HIM WHERE WE WERE AND WE RESPOND WITH SOMETHING LIKE 'Why would you care' OR 'it's not like you'd notice or care' WHICH MAKES SUKUNA MAD SO HE GRABS OUR FACE AND MAKES US LOOK INTO HIS EYES WHILE HE SAYS 'I do care, no matter how much it seems I don't I care, please, don't worry me like that again' AND WE'RE JUST SPEECHLESS BECAUSE WTF SUKUNA CARES ABOUT US AND WE GAWK AT HIM BEFORE COMPOSING OURSELVES AND HUG, PLUS SNUGGLING AS A TREAT BECAUSE :3

IM SORRY I KNOW THIS IS STRUNG TOGETHER HORRIBLLY BUT I THINK IT'S SUCH A FUN IDEA FOR SOME SILLY ANGST, I'M SORRY IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT.

REMEMBER HAVE AN AMAZING DAY/NIGHT :DDDD

HELLO BABE GOOD TO SEE U AGAINNNNN!!! True form I LOVE THAT FOR YOUUUU <3 and I loveeeee the drawings they look SO COOL!! The colors are so nice I love it!!

AAAAAA HIM BEING SO LOWKEY POSSESSIVEEEEE!!!!! SOOOO I have a very similar thing coming in a part soon!!!! We’re out in the city with him and we lose our phone and he spends HOURS trying to find us hehehehe :) he’s so MAD when he finally tracks us down but it’s just because he was worried fucking sickkkkkk

Ugh the idea of him shit talking our job I love it askalakk <3 I used to work at a place that treated me like SHIT and I knowwww he would fucking storm in there and curse my old boss out!!! King!!! And also I bet he HATES us having to stay late and work overtime because he’s always secretly staying up waiting for us to get home, both bc he wants to spend more time with us but also because he wants to make sure we’re safe!! I bet after something like this he would ~casually~ suggest downloading Life 360 ASKAKKAKS

God I know he was pacing around the apartment constantly checking the time watching as we were supposed to be home at one time but then an hour goes by, and another, and ANOTHER and he’s losing his MIND thinking something happened to us. I’m not gonna get too into it bc I don’t wanna spoil BUT I have his backstory planned out and let’s just say… he’s not exactly accustomed to regular every day jobs and he’s also VERY afraid of losing the people he cares about. So the first time we stay late at work he’s in a full PANIC

He doesn’t mean to lash out, but he tends to show fear through anger. We think he’s being over dramatic, unreasonable, but he’s got past trauma that we’re not aware of; and believe me he IS relieved that we’re okay, but his emotions are running HIGH and he’s having a hard time keeping them contained.

And when we ask him why he would care he’s stunned into silence. His mind is running, because how could we POSSIBLY think he doesn’t care? How bad has he been with showing us how important we are to him? Do we really think he doesn’t value us? He’s always been a firm believer that actions speak louder than words, but for once he realizes that he’s gonna need to communicate verbally, as much as it kills him to do so.

He’s not exactly graceful with his words, but we can tell that he’s TRYING. His hands cupping our cheeks to keep our gaze locked on his and the look in his eyes is so serious, so genuine. He DOES worry about us, he DOES care for us, and he tries so hard to hide it because he hates being vulnerable, but for us it’s worth it <3 We give him a hug and he squeezes us a little too tight that it hurts, he waits a little too long to let go, his fingers linger a little too much on our skin, and the look he gives us is a little too close to lovestruck, but how could we be sure?

And I got a LITTLE TOO carried away ASSKAKAK ANYWAYYYY!!!! If u couldn’t tell I LOVED this idea hehe

I hope you have a wonderful day :) !!!!

[houseofbrat]

FROM 11 MONTHS AGO:

My friend works in PR in L.A. and while he hasn't said anything about potential Netflix/Spotify litigation, the rest tracks with what he's said. No one wants to work with them, they've burned every bridge either by running their mouths (true A-Listers value privacy, not Oprah tell alls), or by making "ridiculous demands and forgetting where she came from".  There's also something going on with her getting stylist/designer/retailer freebies. It sounds like they've been iced out of receiving those, too.

[AND]

My source is a film producer. It annoys the fuck out of him when I ask him for dirt because he says she's "a non-entity and a fucking literally-screaming-at-the-moon lunatic," but lately he's been texting me dirt without even being asked. I think it's all coming faster and more furiously these days.

I too have heard that she is struggling to find brands who will even let her merch their designs now, so that's another one of her final fallback cashcows that have dried up and it is making her even more desperate than usual. She apparently still takes no responsibility and is impervious to the idea that she is not A-list (in fact, she acts like she is better than A-list), and she is reportedly conpletely bewildered about why she is so unpopular with us plebes. Also my source was in fact being literal when he said she is a screaming-at-the-moon lunatic. Apparently (and allegedly) she was picked up off the street in the middle of a raging temper tantrum by either the police or her security detail. I'm not clear on whether that happened since they've been in the Montecito house or a while ago, so take that (and all) info with that in mind. In fact, there's confusion about whether or not either of them are even in that house any more, so... nothing is straightforward with this woman. I jokingly told my source to drive by the property and check it out, and he said, "Coke... I actually do have boundaries. Plus it would take a fucking hour and a half to drive up to Montecito and trust me, she's not worth it."

Yes!  This all tracks with my friend in PR. He was also disinterested as first, now he offers things. A couple months ago he said, "did you know she screams at people? Insert my name, she literally screams at people". He seemed shocked, and he's been there for 20 yrs, used to work for Disney, prior to that a firm with several old school A-listers who I always assumed were incredibly high maintaince, so this must've been bad for it to shock him.

[AND]

Yep! Same here with the increasing messages and increased interest. He admitted to understanding now why I've been so fascinated with this. She apparently makes your standard A-list Diva look like Shirley Temple. Ask your PR friend if he has heard anything about her being actually physically violent. Someone told my source that they heard that Harry has been seen with scratches and bruises. On. His. Face. ALLEGEDLY. Now that is at least three levels of hearsay, but given what we've heard about her behavior in Australia and over the Givenchy dress fittings, etc. I'm inclined to believe it. To me it seems like the puzzle pieces are coming together, and they are all showing the same picture.

[hana]

*sigh* i’m blogging

do you remember that tweet from 2020, or maybe 2016, that was like 

“i don’t know how to explain to you that you should care about other people”

? i feel like’ve ricocheted off of an attempt to explain why one should care about others every 6 months, my entire adult life.

my pattern of approach has been to try reading some ethics text or another for a few weeks, with growing embarrassment about my search for a concrete answer to something that i should just fucking get (as a human, because it’s not something that needs to be proven to be done), until i finally surrender theory for a direct-action nonanswer like buying groceries for old people. 

it’s honestly not hard to get it and just do it. i’m sure this feeling is part of why some people do crazy shit like eat vegan, volunteer at hospice facilities, or go to med school to work in the baby ER. i think leaving it unexplored is fine, possibly even better than fine, because it would really suck to discover something that puts you off altruism. but, like, how can one resist thinking about it?

personally, my “reaching” of “maturity” has been the result of haphazardly staking out social and ethical boundaries that align with “values” i’ve found, inherited, or inherited but thought i found (secret third type). when i demonstrated to myself that i could pick them up and move them with me, throughout different social contexts, like a crinoline defining the shape of my character, i actually did feel quite mature. but i’m actually hugely naive and toddler-like in almost every way, even those in which i feel accomplished.

i’m kinda old-ish now (some scoff, some nod as if i am brave), and i’m not so easily embarrassed by myself any more, which is the first blush of boomer ruin, so i was thinking i could write about what i think, as i think it, publicly, on the internet. it sounds fucking insane as i type it.

although i loved reading smart adult’s blogs in the early 2000s, it is my firm opinion that nobody should ever post. horrifyingly, some of my smartest friends do it now. if it’s my fate now, as an adult, to debase myself, why not do it up?

i’m tagging everything i post with #longspoon, so i can: a) easily delete it all when i get embarrassed or cancelled; b) (with hubris) tag it all for RSS; c) (hubris fading to trepidation) keep this blog organized if i ever post other types of things.

why “long spoon”?

before i explain this, i want to just say 2 things. 

that i don’t buy “heaven” or “hell” as scenarios. i believe only hell is real, we are all living in it right now, and it’s actually not as bad as you hear (but it still sucks a lot).

that this will not be brief so take a bathroom break now.

ok, that said: the long spoon thing is an allegory/parable/nugget of story-wisdom in many cultures around the world. see this chicago tribune headline:

not the onion.

there isn’t a single parable-form telling of it online that doesn’t reek of clinically uncool self-help language. here’s my version:

basically, imagine a banquet table laid with the most succulent soup-feast imaginable. we’re talking stew, soup dumplings, matzo ball soup, pot pie filling, everything good and hot you can eat with a spoon. but the people seated at this banquet are gaunt and starving. they are unable to eat the soup, because the spoons they’ve been given are too long to reach to their own mouths. 

here you might ask, “why not simply choke up on the spoon handle so it functions as a shorter one?” shut up, and get out of my temple, that’s why! for some reason they cannot do that. neither can they reach the soup with their bare hands, or faces. maybe they get a few bites that way, but it doesn’t really work to nourish them. 

“but why do they have these impractical spoons?” here is the moment where jesus or buddha or lord siddhartha twists his nasty little face into a grinch smile because you’ve asked him just the question he was hoping for. the spoons are not supposed to be used for feeding oneself. they aren’t meant to be used that way. in the 90s, don norman would have passed by and pointed out that the spoon’s long handle is clearly an affordance which telegraphs its purpose*. (nowadays he is either cancelled or explaining that it is actually called a signifier and an affordance is something else, thus justifying his book’s sustained $30 price tag.)

the guests at this banquet are too fucking selfish and hangry to read affordances. they do not understand that they are meant to use their long-handled spoons to feed the person across the table from them, who in turn is meant to feed them. i don’t think anyone is seated at the head or foot of the table. if so, they have extra special long spoon handles which are arched in some manner. this is not a fun banquet.

sometimes, in the parable version, the prophet and the idiot do a drive-by of a similar banquet where everyone’s actually having a great time and eating their fill because they figured out how to use the spoons. obviously that’s meant to be heaven, the one i described above is hell, and bill engvall goes “here’s your sign.”

for our purposes, we’re gonna stay away from that. i don’t think the heavenly version of the banquet exists. it’s more an architectural rendering of how a long-utensil-style banquet could potentially work, given enough budget. 

i am naming these posts after the long spoon because, although i endeavor to pick the long spoon up and carry a precarious sip of soup to the lips of my fellow man, i recognize that in my human condition i am probably too stupid to use it right. i think about this often, and i wish to think about it more deeply, so i will write to pursue that wish. 

[olko71]

New Post has been published on All about business online

New Post has been published on https://yaroreviews.info/2023/11/ai-boss-sam-altman-ousted-after-board-loses-confidence

AI boss Sam Altman ousted after board loses confidence

EPA

By Zoe Kleinman

Technology reporter

Sam Altman has been ousted as the head of artificial intelligence firm OpenAI by the company’s board, which said it had lost confidence in his ability to lead the company.

The board said Mr Altman had not been “consistently candid with his communications”, hindering its ability to exercise its responsibilities.

The 38-year-old helped launch OpenAI, which is behind the ChatGPT bot.

Mr Altman had become one of the most high-profile figures in the industry.

In a statement the board said it was grateful for Mr Altman’s contributions but that members believed new leadership was necessary.

“The board no longer has confidence in his ability to continue leading OpenAI,” the company said, citing “a deliberative review process by the board, which concluded that he was not consistently candid in his communications with the board, hindering its ability to exercise its responsibilities”.

It is not clear what he is alleged to not have been candid about.

On social media, Mr Altman wrote that he had loved his time at the company.

“It was transformative for me personally, and hopefully the world a little bit. Most of all I loved working with such talented people,” he wrote.

Analysis: The extraordinary firing of an AI superstar

What is AI, how does it work and what can it be used for?

According to OpenAI co-founder Greg Brockman, it all took place over hastily-organised Google Meet video conference calls.

Mr Brockman – who was himself dismissed from the board a few minutes later and then resigned from the company – said both men were “shocked and saddened” by the news.

He said they were “still trying to figure out exactly what happened” but claimed in a post on X, formerly known as Twitter, that the whole drama unfolded in a matter of hours.

They sat on the company’s relatively small board of just six executives. It is unusual for such a tight team to take such a dramatic decision so quickly, which begs the question: was it personal?

OpenAI is widely seen to be a company at its peak, with lucrative investment pouring in, and ChatGPT – which was launched almost exactly one year ago – is used by millions.

Mr Altman has been the face of the firm’s rise. More than that, he is seen by many as the face of the industry more widely.

He testified before a US Congress hearing to discuss the opportunities and risks created by the new technology, and also at the world’s first AI Safety Summit, held in the UK at the beginning of November.

Reuters

The outpouring of support from Silicon Valley bosses shows that he enjoyed the support of the tech industry.

On social media, former Google boss Eric Schmidt called Mr Altman “a hero of mine” and said that he had “changed our collective world forever”.

“I can’t wait to see what he does next. I, and billions of people, will benefit from his future work- it’s going to be simply incredible,” he wrote.

There will be a lot of interest in whatever that next move is – and many will be waiting to see if Mr Altman is angry enough to talk about being dumped by the company he helped create.

He has promised he will have “more to say about what’s next later”.

But it doesn’t appear he’s poised to lift the lid on his departure just yet, even writing on X to advise OpenAI’s remaining board members to “go after me for the full value of my shares” if he gets into a public row with them.

ChatGPT can now access up to date information

Mr Brockman announced he had quit his role at the company following Mr Altman’s ousting.

In a statement posted X, Mr Brockman said: “I’m super proud of what we’ve all built together since starting in my apartment eight years ago.

“We’ve been through tough and great times together, accomplishing so much despite all the reasons it should have been impossible. But based on today’s news, I quit.”

He said he would continue to “believe in the mission of creating safe AGI that benefits all of humanity”.

OpenAI started in 2015 as a non-profit. It restructured in 2019 and is now backed by Microsoft, which has invested billions.

Just weeks ago, OpenAI was reportedly in talks to sell shares in the company to investors at a price that would value it at more than $80bn (£64bn).

The company said its board members -who include an OpenAI chief scientist, the head of popular question and answer app Quora, and an AI researcher affiliated with Georgetown University – did not have shares in the firm and that their fundamental governance responsibility was to “advance OpenAI’s mission and preserve the principles of its Charter”.

The company said chief technology officer, Mira Murati, would take over as interim chief, effective immediately, while the board searches for a permanent replacement.

ChatGPT is known for its ability to respond to prompts from users with human-like text, images and videos.

Hundreds of millions of people have tried it out, and many are now regularly using it to help them do their jobs and study – to consternation in some cases, like teachers facing essays written by the bot and people worried for their jobs.

The company has also faced legal action from writers who say the bot developed its abilities by harvesting their work, in violation of copyright law.

Billionaire Elon Musk, who with Mr Altman was one of the founding co-chairs of OpenAI, has also criticised it for straying from its non-profit roots.

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[tiredneutron]

Honestly mood on that first answer, I have a pretty severe “resting tired face” XD

The three most valuable qualities I would look for in my “dream partner” would probably be:

1) A shared faith to myself. I believe that partners can have differing beliefs and respect each others opinions, but I think faith specifically is one that should be a shared belief. There’s a lot of guiding principles and other things that faith affects in the way we live and I think that having a partner who doesn’t share those is something that can easily create issues in a relationship. It’s also something that’s addressed within my faith as something that is not encouraged for the above reasons, so this is also me adhering to that

2) being a friend. I think that the strongest romantic relationships I’ve seen were started as fierce friendships, and so I think being able to count your partner as a close friend is important. Having that connection prior to the relationship is something I think is a huge benefit because it establishes things that make a really strong foundation to build on.

3) I think of this one as sensibility? As much as spontaneity and recklessness can be fun, I think having a partner who addresses the realities of life and works with you to meet and exceed those is critical. Being able to create a firm footing for ourselves as a couple both financially, socially, etc. can allow for spontaneity without it being a detriment. Life has demands unfortunately but being able to work as a team and make a plan is a characteristic of a long lasting relationship

Whoo boy that one was a doozy, great question! Though there you go again with the three-in-one ask XD I’ll have to try returning the favour

My birth month is November, which I’m comfortable enough sharing. Though if you start asking for thinks like “my mothers maiden name” or “the name of the primary school I attended” I may take issue with it XD

I’m not sure if you mean my monetarily most valuable possession or my most sentimentally valuable possession? I’ll just go with the vibe of the question I guess

The thing I personally value the most would be one of a few things I guess? I’d have to say either the bass guitar my family got me last month as a birthday gift, or the leather jacket my Dad gave me that was his when he was my age, at least at the time he gave it to me. There’s other things I could list but those are what come to mind immediately ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

What’s something you don’t often tell people?

What are three songs you’d recommend for me to listen to?

Has there been a poem/phrase that’s stuck with you since you heard it? For example I have two of Robert Frosts poems that I’ll not forget - “The road not taken” and “Dust of snow”

Also bonus question because I’m curious - what name do you think of me as? Do you think of my whole handle “tiredneutron” or have you adapted some other nickname since we started talking? I shorten yours to just “music” most of the time :)

@musicandbooksaremyhappyplace

Absolutely we can start a new threat, that last one was getting a bit unmanageable XD Picture at the top is mostly for my benefit…

My biggest accomplishment? That’s… a lot to think about? I dunno it’s either the fact that I finished high school with an actually good grade or the fact that I’ve pretty much finished my uni without failing any units. I think my sense of accomplishment is very education/progress centred so it’s not as easy to think of stuff outside that ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I mean I know it’s probably cliche but honestly I don’t think I go many days without music. It’s honestly such a constant for me because it helps me focus when I need to work and it also helps me keep my auditory sensitivity in check. On top of that music is one of the easiest ways for me to actually feel my emotions because I’ve a bad habit of both only thinking about them and bottling them up. That’s not to mention the fact that I enjoy playing music a ton, so… yeah it’d have to be that for me

I’d love to see that one moment where Greek philosophers were debating how to categorise man and one suggested “featherless biped” so Diogenes ran in the room holding a plucked chicken saying “BEHOLD! A Man” because I honestly think their reactions would have been Hilarious

What’s your go to fast food place? If you don’t get fast food often then takeaway meals or something like that works too

Have you ever broken any bones? Is there a story behind it? (Again skip if not comfortable with this)

What is an activity in your city/area that you love going to? (Cinema, paintball, escape room, etc)

@musicandbooksaremyhappyplace

[billfarrah]

People really don’t get Simon’s character imo. He has a lot of integrity and a really firm moral compass, for better or for worse, sometimes he can be self-righteous, that’s part of his character and imo, part of the reason Wille was attracted to him in the first place. It’s sad people can’t appreciate it like Wille does. I know people love the sacrifice everything for love type of characters but it’s just not realistic sometimes.

I agree. Simon is such a beautiful and nuanced character, but there are a lot of viewers who just take things at face value and don’t really try to dig deeper. Simon is not very verbally expressive and sometimes he can get defensive and say the opposite of how he truly feels, but any ounce of critical thinking makes it clear what he actually feels.

I also think the ending does a beautiful job showing that while sometimes we may be willing to sacrifice something for love, it doesn’t mean it’s the right decision. Wille was willing to give up the crown for Simon and give it to August, but was that the right decision? No, especially because of the type of person that August is. Simon was willing to be a secret for two years, but was that the right decision? Maybe it would’ve been worth it in the end, but should Simon have to let go of his principles? Wille certainly didn’t believe so.

That’s what’s so great about the ending - Wille said no, fuck that, I’m not gonna let you be a secret, AND I’m not letting August take over. Their relationship can work - they just need to break a few traditions and protocol for it to happen.

[helpforihavefallen]

Do you have any Jesse headcanons?

Jesse makes me feel something and i’m not completely comfortable with this fact. Help i’m falling.

------

- Jesse is the middle child. Enough said about that.

- Growing up he didn’t get much attention from his parents unless of course he fucked up somehow. They were quite traditional family and his dad wanted him to play sports. But he was talented in different things like music and arts.

- It did affect their relationship a lot, they fought and his dad had a daily basis to call him a disappointment or compare him to his big brother who was athletic superstar to them.

- After he moved away from home for the art school their relationship did get better. They’re still distant but his parents came to watch one of their first concerts to show their support to him.

- Yes there were a lot of crying and hugging afterwards.

- Now away from the feels- this man cannot function without coffee.

- It has become so bad that even T is worried that Jesse might actually be more coffee than a person nowadays.

- He practices poses infront of a mirror on a daily basis, also flirts with himself. Robaire caught him once doing this and Jesse paid him 50 big ones to keep him quiet.

- The king of self-love, some people could find it a bit narcissistic when he’s boasting about himself but damn he’s just proud how far he has come. 

- Firm believer in inner beauty.

- Jesse has a resting smug face. Or more commonly known as shit eating grin

- He cannot stand sticky food.

- On the other hand he has a serious sweet tooth and you are most likely gonna find him snacking around the studio.

- Jesse is actually surprisingly competitive. He does not like to be bested and will go just about any lenght to come out on top. He would be willing to go through some humiliating just to win.

- But he is warmhearted and caring individual. He’s a good listener and you can tell him anything without fear of mockery.

- Also quite laid-back and he rarely gets mad at people or raises his voice.

- Does not like working out. Aaron Z always tries to get him to workout with him, but Jesse is a good liar and excellent at making excuses. Sometimes his excuses does get a bit...rushed. “I’ll tell you why i can’t work out right after...i run away really quick.”

- Jesse copes with bad days by rewatching studio ghibli movies. He first got introduced to them by Taeyoung (they’re his favorites fight me) and now Jesse watches them religiously with the youngest member. It always makes him feel better no matter what.

- He’s the type to deal with his problems alone. He doesn’t like to feel like he’s bothering people with his worries and feelings so he usually shuts down whenever something is troubling him. Yes this way of acting comes directly from his childhood.

- He has the worst case of bed hair. It will stick in every possible direction imaginable to a man. 

- It takes a whole hour as he fights to get his hair the way he wants it to look.

- Jesse values his alone time a lot. Even when the band is on a tour, he’ll go in the back of the tour bus with his trusty pillow and just flops down reading or sketching. He’ll also bring his headphones with him and refuses to remove them from his head.

- He makes A LOT of mixtapes to every occasion. And i mean every occasion. It has become one of his hobbies at this point and he’s always giving them to the guys. They’re always full of their favorite songs and songs Jesse thinks that they might like.

- He gets cold ALL THE TIME. He has no idea why but this is the reason why he’s the worlds biggest snuggler. Professional snuggler as he says. So naturally he’s not too keen on winters.

- Not the bravest let’s be honest. He got jumpscared by a toaster once.And what makes it worse is that Jesse cries very easily when he’s scared.

- He tends to forget the world around him whenever he’s working on his art, which makes him vulnerable for Aaron T and his antics. Not only has he scared Jesse multiple times to the point where the oldest one was prepared to bury him 6 feet under but also to the point where the clay he has been working on has been sent flying to the nearest window, breaking it.

- Falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. Even in mid sentence. If he’s going to sleep he’ll be lights out in a matter of seconds. It’s a blessing and a curse.

- He lets Taeyoung paint his nails a lot, he would never admit it but he thinks they look so cool. And it gives him more time to spend time with Taeyoung in general.

- That being said he has a soft spot for the youngest. 

- Jesse and Robaire definitely has weird inside jokes nobody else gets and they don’t even question it anymore. 

- (I’m staying away from the kid headcanons)

- But how funny it’d be if the kids were actually just two big dogs like great danes and he just talks about them like they were his children.

- T and Robaire would probably offer to babysit them not knowing the fact that they are dogs and when they see them they’re like “????They’re dogs?”

- “Of course they’re dogs what else would they be?”

- All i’m gonna say is that the kids are definitely twins.

[mandos-sluts]

The Apology

The Mandolorian x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 2.5k

Warnings: Smut, rough sex, dubious consent, degradation, daddy kink, dirty talk, alcohol consumption

Summary: You cause Mando’s negotiation to break down seek a way to make it up to him

A/N: Please message us or comment if you want to be on our tag list!!

You and Mando have been working as partner bounty hunters for about six months. The two of you just apprehended and turned in a bounty that was incredibly difficult to catch. But Mando was especially driven to catch her not because the price on her head was super high (though it was), but because there was a possibility the two of you would be able to collect the payout in beskar. The agency that put the bounty on her has a considerable reserve of beskar, and Mando has heard that they have paid out in beskar before.

The two of you arrive at the cantina where you’ve arranged to meet with a representative from the firm to negotiate your payment. You are exhausted and extra irritable— that bounty put up a grueling fight. You and Mando slide into a booth as a waiter approaches your table.

“Your strongest spotchka please.” You tell the waiter.

Mando turns his head and looks at you. “Y/n.” He says in a low, warning tone.

“What, Mando? We just turned in a bounty which we spent over a week hunting. I’m allowed to have a drink.”

The waiter returns with your drink and it’s gone within the minute. You set your empty glass on the table as a frail middle-aged man walks up to your booth.

Mando rises eagerly to his feet. “Hello sir, thank you for coming.” He says, shaking his hand. You don’t bother to stand, instead offering him a silent smile. You and Mando are partners, but this whole beskar exchange is his forte, and you’re fine with letting him take the lead.

“I understand that you would like to negotiate for your payment to be in beskar.” The man says sitting across from you and Mando.

“That’s correct sir. Thank you for meeting with us.” Mando returns. You’ve never seen him be so polite and formal with someone before.

“My consortium pays out in beskar very rarely. And that is typically only when the value of the Imperial Credit or the Calamari Flan are especially volatile. But both currencies are stable right now, why should we pay you with our limited beskar reserves?”

Mando begins his argument. *see gif* You pretty much zone out, slouched beside him. You know he’s saying something about how beskar is sacred to Mandalorians and how the amount you’re willing to accept in beskar is much less than they would pay you guys in a different form.

“Well, we would like to be in good standing with you.” You hear the man say as you zone back in. “And you must be one hell of a bounty hunter if you’re able to afford escorts as young and pretty as her.” The man says pointing at you. “Maybe I'll use the credits we don’t pay you to pick one of them young things up for myself.”

You lift your head and sit up straight. Being a woman bounty hunter, you get sexist comments like this all of the time. You usually ignore them, especially in high-pressure situations like this. However, you downed that spotchka you ordered and the alcohol is overriding the voice in your head that tells you to keep your mouth shut.

“I’m not a sex worker, I’m his hunting partner.” You assert, completely unamused.

“Hahahaha oh that’s cute. Sure you are, sweetheart.” The man cackles.

“And ya know….you probably wouldn’t need to pay women to be around you if you weren’t such a creepy pervert.” You say harshly.

Instant regret.

The tone in the booth immediately shifts. Shock and offense cover the man’s face.

“...Excuse me?” He says slowly rising from his seat with his palms on the table.

Mando quickly stands. “Sir, I’m sorry, she didn’t mean that. Please we–”

“Who the hell do you think you are?! You come in here asking for a favor and then disrespect me!?” The man yells down at you. “Here!” He tosses a bag of coins on the table. “Enjoy your Imperial credits!” He spits before turning and storming away.

“Wait sir, the beskar–” Mando pleads, but the man is already out the door.

You feel the guilt rise in your stomach. “Fuck! Mando I’m so sor–”

“Shut up. Let’s go.”

“Mando wait let me go talk to hi–”

“Let’s go!” He barks at you, making you jump.

You spend the walk back to the Crest profusely apologizing to Mando. He stays silent and doesn’t even acknowledge you. He’s walking so fast you’re running to keep up with him.

You desperately seek a response from him, but Mando enters the ship without saying a word. He makes his way up the ladder and you follow.

“Mando! I fucked up, I’m really sorry I shouldn’t have said anything. I know how important recovering beskar is to you, and I’m so sorry. I was drunk and….and I’m so so sorry!” You plead as your eyes fill with tears.

“Mando.” You beg, voice cracking as tears begin rolling down your face, “Please, please say something.” You cry as you pull on his arm. He yanks away from you and walks silently into the cockpit.

Mando has been livid with you before. You guys have engaged in plenty of screaming matches throughout your six months working together. They typically stem from you doing things he doesn’t think are safe, or the two of you disagreeing on what strategy you should employ to catch a bounty. But you’ve never seen him like this before. He’s more upset than angry; he’s disappointed. So much so that he doesn’t even want to yell at you. This is his creed, his religion, his people’s stolen commodity, and you just fucked up a chance for him to get some of it back.

Mando sits down in the pilot’s chair. You’re standing in the door to the cockpit behind him.

You take a deep breath. Your eyes are glossy and streaks of tears stain your cheeks. “Is–is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

Mando spins around in his chair so that he is facing you. “Yeah.” He says shortly.

Your eyes widened. “W-what is it?”

“Get on your knees.” Mando says in a low, rough voice.

“What?”

“You heard me. Get on your knees.”

Your knees shake as you slowly lower yourself to the floor. You sit on your knees and stare up at Mando with wide eyes and a confused desperate look.

“Take your hair down and take your dress off.” He commands flatly.

“Um, wh–”

“Are you gonna make me tell you again?” He interrupts you.

You pull your hair tie out of your hair, letting it fall down past your shoulders. You look up at Mando sitting in the chair, and see that he’s rubbing an unmistakable bulge over his pants.

Arousal shoots through your core and you can feel your panties become damp. He takes off his gloves and drops them to the floor. You begin slowly unbuttoning your dress, and Mando unbuttons his pants, removing his hard thick cock as he stares at you. He starts slowly stroking his length with his hand, sitting there, unapologetically watching you undress on your knees in front of him.

You can’t believe what’s happening. You’ve fantasized about Mando almost every night since you became a team, but you never envisioned something like this.

You pull your dress over your head and set it down on the cold metal floor next to you. You weren’t wearing a bra, so you’re completely naked except for a thong. Mando stands up and starts slowly creeping toward you, his cock in hand. Your head tilts higher and higher as he nears you with your gaze on his visor.

He stops when he’s standing directly above you, pumping his cock just inches away from your face which is still fresh with tears.

“M-Mando, I–”

“Shut up.” He snaps, grabbing your chin with his other hand. He runs his thumb along your bottom lip. “I only want your mouth open if my cock is in it.” He pulls your face toward his member and you instinctively part your lips as Mando pushes it into your mouth.

You’re in shock by what’s happening, but you manage to gather your composure and you begin sucking his dick. In any other situation, you would tease him by licking his length or starting only with the tip, but you figure it’s best to jump right in.

“Fuck.” Mando says under his breath, surprised at how readily you started bobbing your head.

You take a deep breath through your nose and move one of your hands to his thigh to steady yourself and the other to the bottom of his shaft and move it up and down along with your head.

Mando’s breathing picks up. “You’re such a fuckin brat.” He spits, weaving his hand into your hair on the back of your head.

You swirl your tongue around his tip and begin to take more of his length. “F-fuck your mouth feels so good.” Mando breaths out.

You let out a whimper and look up into his visor. His words encourage you to bob your head faster.

“Shit, y/n. You’re sucking my cock better than I thought you could. You do this a lot before, little slut?”

You feel arousal shoot to your pussy at the vulgar things that he— your hunting partner, your colleague— is saying to you. You can feel that your panties are soaked.

Mando’s grip on your hair tightens and he begins thrusting his hips. “Do you know how many times I’ve thought about shoving you to your knees and forcing my cock into that annoying mouth of yours?”

Breathing through your nose, you try your best not to gag as you let him take control. You want to show Mando how good you are at this— how much you can satisfy him.You bring your hand up and start kneading his balls, and Mando grunts. He can’t believe how submissive you’re being.

“Pfft, you’re a– a desperate little whore, letting– letting me fuck this delicate little throat of yours.” Mando says between thrusts. “You know you could tell me to stop, but you like this don’t you? You like being treated like a slut.”

You let out a pathetic whimper, signalling how right he was. You love that Mando is using you and fucking out his frustrations on you.

“Bet your panties are soaking wet.” Mando says. He takes his cock out of your mouth and grabs your upper arms. “In fact, let's see.” He says as he pulls you up off your feet. Mando sits down in the pilot’s chair and throws you over his lap.

Your head is near the ground and your ass is perched up on his lap. Mando spreads your ass cheeks apart and peers down at the drenched thin fabric covering your pussy. He grabs the top of your thong and wraps it around his hand. He pulls it up, making the fabric pull against your clit. You let out a yelp but he doesn’t relent, pulling it so hard until it snaps. He tosses the stretched broken panties to the ground and gazes down at your glistening, soaking wet cunt.

“Ha. I knew it. Fuck. Look at this desperate pussy.” Mando runs his middle finger through your folds. “Poor little girl. That why you’re being such a brat? Huh? You needed someone to fill your neglected little hole?”

Without warning, Mando plunges his middle finger into your hole and starts pumping it fast. Your mouth opens and whines begin to fall from your lips. Mando’s other hand slaps your ass. And you scream out. He spanks you a few more times, each harder than the one before.

The sounds of your whimpers, the sounds of his hand striking your soft skin, and the sounds of your obscenely wet pussy gushing as his fingers pump it fill the otherwise silent cockpit.

“Fuck your pussy is tight, y/n.” Mando spits. “You did such a good job with my cock in your mouth, let’s see how your pussy takes it.” He says flipping you around so that you are straddling him.

“Mando, I-I don’t know if it’s gonna fit!” You cry as you bring your hand down to cover your hole.

“I’m gonna make it fit.” Mando growls back, shoving your hand away and lining his member up with your entrance. But then, noticing the genuine worry in your eyes, he changes his tone.

“Come on, baby girl, open up for me.” Mando purrs softly. With his hands on your hips, he slowly guides your hips down so that just his tip enters you. He can feel your body relax.

You let out a breath and stare deeply into his visor, your hands are wrapped around his neck. You begin moving up and down his length, each time taking more of it into you as your moans become louder and your mouth falls open.

Mando lets out a grunt once his cock is fully engulfed by your walls. He can’t help but thrust his hips up as you begin to pick up your pace. Your moans become screams as his harsh thrusts upward coincide perfectly with the drop of your hips.

Mando is driving deep into your cunt as fast as he can. He moves one of his hands to your throat and squeezes it. “You– you gonna behave now, you little brat?”

“Y-yes, daddy.” You whimper back.

“Yeah? You gonna be a good girl for me?” Mando says as he aggressively spanks your ass.

All you can do at this point is nod in response. Your mouth agape and uncontrollable wails fall from your lips.

“You’re a dirty little slut, aren’t you? Letting me fuck the shit out of this prestine cunt of yours. Calling your partner daddy. Do it again.” He commands. “Call me daddy.”

“Daddy! D-daddy please– please don’t stop.” You cry out, gripping his shoulders and neck for dear life.

“Fuck, this pussy is– is so good. I might just have you sit on my cock while I– while I pilot the fucking ship.” Mando says.

He moves his hand back down to your waist and pushes your back so that he’s holding you up against him. His cold beskar feels so good against your nipples. Mando starts thrusting even faster and his grip on you tightens as he feels his orgasm approaching. Then Mando abruptly lifts you off his lap and drops you onto your knees in front of him. He stands up, pumping his member with his hand.

He’s panting. “I’m gonna cum on that pretty face of yours.”

You close your eyes and stick out your tongue, just as you feel Mando’s warm juices rain onto your face. “Ahhhhhhhhhh fuckkkkk.” He moans, looking down at your docile expression as he paints your skin with his cum.

“You look good like this.” Mando says with a slight chuckle as he bends down. He runs his thumb across your chin and then puts it in your mouth. You obediently suck his finger before he pops it out and grabs you a rag.

You wipe your face off. “Mando, I’m sorry.” You say flatly.

“I forgive you. And I’m sorry too.” He says sincerely. “That guy was an asshole.”

**********************************

Masterlist

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Taglist:

@pinkninja200 @raspberrymama @stevie75 @tacticalsparkles @kenoobiwan @shark-s @theamuz @blackrose8425 @beskarboobs @smutslutz

[morgana-ren]

Nasty shiggy playing video games with his captive hc

Okay, you asked for it. I’m not responsible for what’s about to go down here. All the usual trigger warnings for dubcon and noncon ahead. You guys know the deal already. 

Alright, so for starters, we all know this dude is a total nerd. I know some folks don’t believe that he hangs around playing video games for hours on end pre-Kamino disaster, but for the sake of this ask and my lust, we’re going to pretend he does. 

Shigaraki is kind of a jack of all trades when it comes to gaming. His steam account has more games on it than he could possibly ever play in a lifetime, but he likes to have them regardless because he never knows where his whims are going to take him. He enjoys extreme turn based strategy for when he wants to feel intelligent (or smarter than other people at dominating), sandbox games for when he feels like running around and causing general mayhem, hack and slash for mindless slaughter, online for the rare times he feels like being cooperative, etc. Sometimes he plays those stupid shock value games that only exist to be controversial, sometimes he plays horror just to say ‘fuck you’ to the developer because he can sit through the whole thing with a straight face and steady 70 bpm. 

He’s good. He’s very good. He’s a quick thinker and gets the hang of things very quickly. There’s not very many games out there that he can’t beat with relative ease, and those ones are usually ones he just flat out doesn’t enjoy. 

When Shigaraki takes his beloved and spirits them away to his room, it’s very quickly apparent that he’s a nasty little gamer boy. If you’ve ever met a nasty little gamer boy, this adds a whole new level of terror to the “Oh God I’ve been kidnapped” factor by way of “Oh God I’ve been kidnapped by one of those guys”. 

Eventually he’s gunna get sick of you just sitting there watching him play (more accurately, desperately thinking of an escape plan while he clicks and taps away). He likes it at first because in a twisted way, he wants to impress you with his skill, but he’s a nasty little shithead who wants to watch you squirm, and the closer you are to him, the more you squirm. 

He’s not going to tease you, at least at first. He’s going to watch and see how quickly you can acclimate yourself to the situation.

 If you’re new to gaming or just don’t like it, prepare to be miserable. 

He’s a jerk. There’s no way around it. He’s going to throw you into the thick of things with your Level 1 character, not teach you shit about how to play, and when you inevitably die, he’s going to give you the side-eye and say “What do you want me to do about it? It’s not my fault you’re useless.” 

In that same breath, he won’t let you quit. He’s going to resurrect you, sure, but he’s going to make it very plain that you ‘owe’ him for every single gold he spends doing it before the level ends.

Eventually he’s going to grow bored of watching you frantically try and learn the keys and shortcuts and dying every 3 minutes like clockwork, so he’ll put on a training ground level for you.

Sounds nice, right? He’s trying? He’s not. 

He’s going to pull you over into his chair and situate you on his lap nice and inappropriate. His legs spread just so, your ass pressed firm against the crotch of his jeans so that every single time you jostle even a little bit, you can feel exactly why he wanted you there. You’re separated from his hardening cock by literally less than a centimeter of threadbare fabric and he wants you to know that. 

As you try and focus on learning just what in the hell it is you’re supposed to be doing, he’s going to be whispering in your ear the whole time, chest flush against your back and occasionally rutting his lower body into you under the guise of ‘readjusting’. 

“That’s right.” “Just like that.” “Good girl.” “Do it faster.” “See what happens when you listen to me?” “Don’t stop doing that.” “See? Isn’t this fun?” “Keep doing that and you just might live through this.”

Loading screens become the bane of your existence because not only can you see your pathetic, flushed face, but you can see the way he’s leering from behind you. That manic face of his, heavy lidded, mouth agape, eyes glazed, reeking of licentiousness and the barely corralled urge to bend you over the desk. It’s only a matter of time and you know that, but that doesn’t mean you need the reminder.

It doesn’t really matter how good your clumsy little fingers get at the controls. He’s going to belittle you regardless. Anytime you get remotely comfortable with what you’re doing, he’s going to drag you into harder and harder areas just to watch you drown in inexperience. 

Eventually he’s going to get bored of torturing you and watching you fail. As funny as it is to see how stressed out you get trying like hell to keep your head above water with him, he hasn’t forgotten the main reason be brought you here. 

He’ll pull you off his gaming chair and chuck you onto his bed, leering over you and taunting you with that playful lilt to his tone. 

“You suck at video games. Maybe you’d be better at something else.”

He’s in for a surprise if you’re a gamer yourself, though you are arguably no better off with him even if you are. 

It’s a bit of a shock to him when you take immediately to the controls like you already know what you’re doing. If you’re feeling bold, you can ask if he’ll allow you to import your character so you don’t have to start from scratch, but chances are he’s not that generous. 

Still, you’re good enough at what you’re doing to be able to keep up with him so long as you let him do most of the tanking on heavy hitter enemies. He leaves behind the powerful armor and you’re grateful, even if you know it’s not because he wants you to have it but more because he doesn’t need it himself. 

Believe it or not, he’s actually pretty psyched to have someone to play with at first. He certainly wasn’t expecting to be pleasantly surprised by kidnapping someone who is equally skilled in gaming, but it’s nice that he has something in common with you other than wanting to fuck you into the mattress. He can’t do that all the time so it’s good to know there will be something he can enjoy during the down time. 

Eventually he’s going to kick things up a notch and fight you one on one. You have pretty much no chance at winning against him with his hyper-powered character versus your brand new one, but you’ll put up one hell of a fight.

“Hey, you’re pretty good at that.” “Skilled at it huh? You probably have a lot of practice.” “Don’t let me get you on your back, now.” “Stop struggling.” “Aw, are you gunna cry?” “You look good beneath me.” “Don’t make me put you in your place.” “The way you’re playing, I’m starting to think you like it when I dominate you.” 

It’s inevitable that you’ll lose. Truth be told, you could play a lot better without his thinly veiled suggestive remarks, and you’re certain he knows that. He doesn’t miss the look on your face, filing it away for later. 

After he’s beaten you down enough, he’s going to just watch you play with unnerving intensity. It’s hard to focus when you can literally almost feel him ogling you, but you do your best. Though even as his cock is straining against his jeans, he’s still an insufferable know-it-all at gaming. You’re not sure which is more unnerving: the fact that he’s constantly bashing your build and belittling your strategy, or the fact he’s completely shameless in being openly lewd when he does it. 

Still, Tomura is a man of action, and sitting and watching doesn’t do much for him. After a bit, he’ll tell you to log out and pat the seat beside him on the messy bed. Stall all you want, but eventually you will end up doing what he wants, and you know as well as he does what’s coming next, and if you didn’t, the fact he’s undoing his zipper with that heinous smile spreading across his face would clue you in real fast. 

“You’re pretty good at games. That’s good. But I wanna see if you’re as good at other things now.”

[sukirichi]

earned it [04]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

cw. DARK CONTENT, graphic violence, mentions of blood, explicit murder, sexual violence, angst, tw dubcon, mentions of mass murder, death threats, cheating, implications of suicide, typical mafia business + very unedited (please PLEASE read at your own discretion! if you do not wish to proceed to read because of the aforementioned warnings but want to know what happened anyway, please drop into my asks and i’ll retell it in a much less graphic version!)

chapter song. never forget you (zara larsson, mnek)

series masterlist

Death.

The stench of it reeked everywhere. Blood pooled at the ends of your dress, the warm liquid dripping from your fingers. You couldn’t see what was in front of you, not when your vision had been obscured black, painted red with everyone’s lifeless eyes staring back emptily at you and carrying an ominous message behind words that never had the chance to be spoken.

Satoru was gone.

You ran through flights of stairs as you bunched your dress up, dried blood present on your cheek. The gray cemented walls of this unknown building began to close down on you, suffocating you, trapping you – and then there he was. Your lover, your world, your everything – he stood on top of a pile of bodies, his face as grim as the deaths he’s caused, but that wasn’t what stood out from the scene. It was the fact you couldn’t recognize him anymore; the man before you was nothing else but the devil incarnate himself. Then, just as you ran his way, fingers outstretched to grasp at his shirt, Satoru disappeared.

He was gone.

A scream ripped out your throat as you scrambled for the sheets, pulling them up in a haste to shield yourself. The images were now gone, but that fear kept drumming into you, gloops of blood making its way through your room’s white exterior.

It’s not real, it’s not real – Satoru’s arms snaked over to your side, his eyes droopy from being woken up. You would’ve apologized, knowing he never really got proper sleep, but you were already wrapping your arms around yourself, gaze repeatedly darting back to the walls – to check for bodies, for blood, for death, for him.

“Hey,” Satoru drew you close to him until your head fell on his chest. Out of instinct, you flattened your ear above where his heartbeat rested. Thump thump – he was real, he was safe, alive – he wouldn’t do that. Satoru wasn’t that kind of person. You clung to him like a koala and mumbled incoherently at the skin of his neck, clutching his shirt so tight it wrinkled horribly. Satoru merely littered kisses all over the crown of your head to soothe you, although he was not free to this fear you felt; he was just as nervous for an unknown reason. “Angel, what’s wrong?”

“You-you were leaving—”

“Shh, angel, I’m not, I’m here,” he wrapped you closer to his body, the sheets still warm and smelling like him as if to add reassurance to his words. “You’re alright. I’m here, angel, it’s okay.”

“I was going to die,” you quivered. It had only been a fleeting moment when you saw it, but you were there too. Dressed in white, arms covered in lace and a crown adorning your head; it seemed as if you were meant to be on top of the bodies, and Satoru sat upon it like a throne. It transitioned from being the witness to being the victim in a minute and your chest squeezed so hard you choked out, “I was dying, baby.”

“You’re not going to die. No one’s going to hurt you, you understand?” Satoru cupped your cheeks to force you to look him in the eye. “I’m going to keep you safe no matter what. Not leaving your side, angel, that’s a promise.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I would never do that,” he nodded before he raised your pinky. Satoru looped both your fingers and kissed the conjoined form, not once leaving your gaze the whole time. “I promise,” he whispered, foreheads touching and breaths mingling. Like one soul intertwined, you once mused, feeling yourself get lost in the depth of azure pools he harboured. “There’s nowhere to go without you anyway; you’re the greatest gift in my life. I’d do anything for you.”

“Don’t leave me. Please.”

“I won’t, angel. I never will.”

And you believed that. Like the fool you were, you really believed that.

The bank loomed over you, its mere presence impending and bringing about a wave of discomfort to you. Awkwardly, you stepped inside, hiding your face in your hair to conceal the nausea threatening to urge you to throw up. You couldn’t help but survey the entire area out of instant wariness, holding tighter to your phone.

Seeing as there was no line, you sat on the nearest open window. “Hi, uhm…I recently got transferred this money from…an old friend, you could say,” you informed with furrowed brows, fishing your phone out of your pocket as you logged into your account. The whole time, your hands turned sweaty and the phone nearly slipped from your grasp out of anxiety. The woman assisting you flashed you a sympathetic smile, patient and kind enough to listen to your small voice through the glass. “I lost contact with them so I can’t return it. I was wondering if maybe you could help me rewind the transaction?”

“Oh, we can definitely do that Ma’am, may I see?” Nodding, you handed her your phone. In an instant, the polite smile fell from her lips, altering into a nervous one the next. “Oh…” she blinked back at the digits, clearly overwhelmed from the amount of zeroes. Dropping her voice, she leaned closer to you, “Do you…do you know the account owner personally?”

“Yes,” you admitted, “Well, I used to.”

“And they wired you all this?”

“About two weeks ago, yeah.”

The employee sat there for a full minute, possibly contemplating how to go about this. It didn’t set well with you – that mysterious, almost suspicious smile she had – that you debated whether just asking for your phone back. “Excuse me for a moment. I think I should take this to the higher-ups,” she announced while scanning the bank with narrowed eyes, leaving before you could have a say in it.

The next minutes that passed had never felt more gruelling.

You sat there with a frantic heart, your jeans damp from the countless times you’ve wiped your hand on it. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. People came in for their own agendas, the hushed ‘inside voice’ as faint as ever, then they left. Repeat. End of conversation.

It was just another normal, boring day for everyone else – but not for you.

“Miss?” a voice pulled you away from your thoughts. A half-bald man was now standing before you, the previous employee you’d been talking to right behind him, her head ducked down. Manager, his tag read, which made sense. He gestured for you to come inside the back parts of the bank, and you gripped your purse tighter as you followed them.

The inside wasn’t that special or different from the outside. There were lesser chairs but bigger, brighter white walls. His office was located right in the middle where the female employee closed the glass doors behind you, silent and timid as she prepared you tea. Meanwhile, you sat there with your hands wrung in your lap, stomach already falling from the grim expression he wore. “About the funds, I’m afraid we can’t do anything about this transaction. While it had been transferred you, neither us nor the bank has the authorization to do anything about this. Whoever sent it to you is the only one that can either take it back or liquidize it,” he pushed his glasses back to his face, an apologetic sigh leaving his lips. “I’m afraid we can’t help you with this, Miss, we’re really sorry—”

“No!” you slammed your palms on the desk, “No, I don’t want the money, wire it back to him!”

“Miss, we already told you, it’s out of control—”

You shook your head. This wasn’t real – Satoru had to be joking! He couldn’t just give you this and disappear into thin air! In fact, you never even cared for the money; you were just hoping that maybe you’d find a way back to him if nothing but digits was the only thing left to prove he even existed. Desperation clawed its way through your throat as you fell on your knees, helpless tears streaming down your face. “Please, you have to do something, I don’t want the money, I just want him back, please! I just need to talk to him once more and he’s your client, right? Let me talk to him, I know you have contact with him, Sir, please, I’m begging you—”

“Security!” the manager hollered. The sounds of doors slamming open made you stand up straight, eyes wide at the incoming pairs of guards ready to escort you out. “It’s best you schedule a personal appointment with the account owner, Miss. We also suggest you remain on the down-low instead of causing a ruckus like this. You don’t know who’s going to be grabbing at every opportunity to take what was given to you.”

“Everything’s been taken away from me!” you argued back, walking around the desk to clasp the manager’s hand. He pulled away for a moment before you squeezed his hands, the tearing of your heart too painful to bear. You just wanted to see him. “Come on, please, I don’t care about the money, I just—”

They didn’t let you finish. Just like Satoru, just like everybody else, they discarded you to the side, treated you like you were a nobody who didn’t deserve a second chance.

“Escort her out, please.”

And just like that, your fate had been decided. No...perhaps it had been determined the moment he left, and now you walked blearily along the narrowed gaps between buildings, unable to find your way back home.

Where was home anyway? Your penthouse with Satoru? Your cramped dorm back at the university? Your empty flat that had once been a happy home with your parents before they too, left you behind with nothing but a family portrait as a memory? It was pathetic. You meant nothing. Obviously, no one valued you enough, not even Satoru who’d just given you enough to let you live comfortably for the rest of your life. But no matter how much he provided, it wasn’t what you wanted. It wouldn’t bring back the one thing you wanted most, and you fell on the rough pavement, too tired to care about the stinging of your palms.

You clutched at your heart in a debilitated attempt to soothe way your chest squeezed uncomfortably. You were literally in the middle of the nowhere, trapped between the walls that hid you in the darkness and muffled your cries.

He’d left – he really left.

He didn’t keep his promise, and your nightmare had now become reality. You had to bite down your shirt to keep the agony to yourself, nails dug so deep into your jeans it left a mark above your skin. Hours passed, maybe minutes – who knew?

The sun had gone down and the streets grew busier than before, the honking and lively bustling of the night city like background noise to you.

Your key back to the penthouse weighed heavily at your back pocket. There was still the option of just going back home, but what good would that do? Everywhere you went, you were reminded of him. There was no escaping the beautiful memories he left you with, there was no exit from his miserable dream you were forced to wake up into.

Nothing mattered anymore. You felt so lost, the motivation to find your way back depleted just like your energy. You only had your bodily instincts to thank for when your stomach grumbled, demanding to be fed and nurtured even in such a hopeless situation. It made you want to laugh – that even as your heart and soul gave up on you – your body was doing its best to keep you alive and get through the day. You heaved yourself away from the wall and wiped the dirt away from your palms, the rhythm of your feet one heavy clump next to the other.

There was a nice Chinese restaurant at the end of the street that glowed brightly, invitingly. If you could just have dinner, maybe you’d feel better.

But you never got three steps across.

A cold blade had been pressed to your neck, sinister laughter echoing from the darkness of the night. “Scream and you die, sweetheart,” a gruff voice crooned in your ear, followed by a more high-pitched, maniacal chuckles. There was two of them. Fear lit your nerves up and you scrambled to run, but this man was too strong. He didn’t even have to try too much into increasing pressure to your neck, slicing the first layers of your skin that was enough to prick both blood and tears from you. “Ah, ah, ah! Resisting won’t get you anywhere. We just want to talk, okay? No foul play needed.”

You shut your eyes in submission, too afraid to even swallow the bile rising in case the movement would push the knife further. You could only let out a weak, “What do you want from me?”

“Oh, what else?” said his accomplice, showing up in front of you with a creepy smile. He tipped his head side to the side, revealing the silver replacements of his teeth that glinted under the streetlights. “You got his hidden slush fund, didn’t you?”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you don’t need to lie, we saw you leave that bank. Plus, everyone’s been talking about it!” cheered the guy behind you, pushing you forwards with his blade finally withdrawn. You stumbled on your feet as they pointed to the nearest ATM. For a moment, you contemplated making a run for it. The ATM was only a few kilometres away from the Chinese restaurant and you could be safe if you run fast enough, but you were too obvious, the deceit written all over your face. The first guy then pressed a gun against your head, a silent reminder that you were the weaker one here. “Don’t even think about it,” he warned, “Now you’ll withdraw it little by little, okay? We just want a piece of it, a fraction of it is enough to last us a lifetime.”

Exhaling deeply, you raised your hands in surrender. “I can’t withdraw it.”

“The fuck did you say?”

“I said I can’t withdraw it! I don’t have access—”

“Bullshit, bitch, you’ve got so much of it, just give to us before we kill you,” he cocked his gun, his friend following suit and retrieving a pistol from his belt. Your lips quivered at the sight of two guns aimed at your way, but you remained firm in your spot, shaking your head at them. The man’s eyes darkened, displeased by your response. He narrowed his eyes at you before nodding to his friend.

“Fuck this man, she’s a selfish cunt. Take her phone and her belongings.”

“No, please, don’t—”

It was too late. They had pushed you on the ground, your bum throbbing from the fall. The second guy rummaged your pockets before pulling out your wallet, jaw dropping from the contents. “Fuck,” he exclaimed, flashing a Polaroid you had kept the whole time. “This you and Six Eyes?”

Your heart fell.

It was a photo of you and Satoru on your first anniversary where he’d whisked you off to a sky tower, arrogantly declaring that he’d make you experience the best date ever.

He wasn’t lying – his arrangement of fireworks and a romantic date in the sky really had been the best – and he’d snapped a picture of you then, sneakily landing a kiss on your cheek while you gasped at the display of fireworks before you.

Just seeing it felt like torture all over again, and the thief snickered at your tear stained face. “Oh, I see. You’re his whore, aren’t you? Everyone called it bullshit when word got around Six Eyes had a little angel hidden somewhere around here. I gotta say though, you are a pretty thing. Makes sense you got him pussy whipped.”

“Whoever Six eyes fucks – especially someone he liked enough to pay this much – that is fine meat, man,” the other muttered more to himself. His eyes then lit up with a thought, the smirk tugging at his lips screaming trouble. “It’d be a shame to not have a taste.”

You paled. Scrambling as much as you could with sore legs, you pushed their arms away from you. “Let go of me!” you cried out, kicking harder when they’ve discarded their guns and focused on carrying you instead. Everything muted that night except for the pounding of your heart as you struggled to get away from them, arms flailing the moment one of them yanked your shirt down to expose your bra. “Don’t fucking touch me, let go!”

It must be luck that your punch landed on his nose, a sickening crack resonating in the street. All of you remained still, with you flattening your back on the wall, arms protectively sheltering your chest and the pair staring at the other guy’s broken nose.

He winced at seeing blood on his fingers, “Oh, you’re just asking for it bitch,” he snarled, snapping his fingers to get his friend’s attention and pointing at you. “Grab her leg.”

Both of them made quick work. It all happened so fast you couldn’t tell which was who anymore. Your shirt had been ripped off; the straps of your bra tugged down to free a nipple while your arms had been knocked into the building behind you. One of them kept you immobile, their grips too strong and their bodies twice your size that you were easily overpowered. You never cried so hard in your life – not even when you realized Satoru had left – and your throat ached from how much you wept.

“Stop, no, let go of me!”

“Shut her the fuck up, bruh,” the man unzipping your jeans scowled, his fingers playing with the waistband of your underwear. You sobbed and screamed, fought hard as much as you could, but you were too weak. Too vulnerable. Too pathetic.

Maybe it was just better to let go.

Maybe it was just better to stop.

Your shoulders fell as they shimmied your jeans down your hips, each and every inch of your body no longer yours. Was this how you would die? Was this how you would finish? If so, you would’ve appreciated at least one last dinner.

You were about to close your eyes the moment you heard the sounds of a man’s belt unbuckling, too lost in your own horror that you failed to hear the screeching of tires, and neither did they. And then, like a light at the end of the tunnel, like an angel dropping from the heavens – gunshots rang through the air. Blood splattered to your cheek. Heavy bodies crunched against the ground.

He’d come back.

Except it wasn’t Satoru leaning in front of a car when you opened your eyes. The man stood a few inches shorter, blond shaggy hair falling just above his eyebrows, the ends dyed black. His body was tilted to the side, half of his weight shifted on a cane upon closer look, but you were mostly captivated in his eyes. He showed no malice intent; hell, he didn’t even spare a glance at the corpses with holes between their eyes, silently blowing the smoke away from his barrel like this was a common thing for him.

He had his eyes on you, uncaring of the fact you were half-naked before him since his attention remained on your face.

“So it’s true,” he mused, “I didn’t believe at first when they said Six Eyes really gave the notes to his girl. A commoner, no less,” he limped towards you, feline-eyes slanted to inspect you. “But nothing about you is common, is there? To get the demon to soften up…you really must be something else,” his gloved hands ran a finger down to your jaw, and you shut your eyes tight, leaning away from his touch. The man clicked his tongue at your reactions but withdrew his hand anyway, stepping a few feet away from you to give you space. “Don’t be so scared. You and I are not that different. We’re both just poor victims of facing the consequences of his actions,” he tapped his cane at your shoes, his face devoid of expression. “Stand up. You won’t get anywhere by crying. You need to learn how to fight.”

You swung the door open, ready to finally get the shoes you’ve been gushing to Naoya about for days. But you were met with nothing but a tuft of white hair, blood smattered on his cheeks, and lips crashing down onto yours. Satoru pinned you against the wall in the same manner he held you on that day he left, his kisses harsh and longing while you moaned into his mouth, legs turning into jelly.

“Angel,” he rasped into your mouth, grinding his boner to the thin material of your night gown. “I told you you’re fucking mine.”

Satoru forced his tongue past your lips and kept you close to him, his intoxicating scent tempting you to give in and enjoy it already. For a split second, you faltered, kissing him back with the love you once harboured for him, but then you blanked.

This was Satoru.

You were married to Naoya.

He’d began to leave kisses at your jawline when you pulled back, landing a sharp elbow right at his head. Satoru fell on the floor and you panted above him as you tried to make yourself decent. Fuck, that hurt like a bitch. You had to roll your shoulders back to get rid of the tension as you made the mental note to train in combat harder, pinching the bridge of your noise before you summoned the servants.

Satoru was knocked out for a solid hour. You found it funny that the infamous omnipotent Six Eyes was now sprawled all over your couch, soft snores emitting from his lips. He’d been pretty unresponsive to you so ice far, not even a budge as you iced the bruise you’d left on his face.

You sighed. His shirt was stained with blood, the pads of his knuckles matted with wounds and bruises. You couldn’t help yourself from brushing his hair away from his eyes, humming a little until his eyes cracked open. Satoru stared at the ceiling before his eyes landed on you hovering before him, your touch gentle in paradox to the heat of your gaze. “What are you doing here, Satoru?” you sighed, gesturing to the mess he had on his shirt. “Where have you been?”

“In a fight.”

“No shit,” you rolled your eyes, “You still haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here?”

“I-I don’t know. I just…I lost it for a moment and—”

“Do I want to know why?”

“It’s stupid,” he mumbled to himself and faced the couch. Even after seven years, he was still very much the petty kid at heart. You could confidently bet he was pouting right now, and you crossed your leg over the other, hiding a small smile behind your palm. “I overheard one of my men making a sleazy comment that Naoya’s wife looked like a bitch who would jump at every alpha male,” Satoru grumbled, prying for your reaction by looking across his shoulder. “I don’t know what came over me after that.”

“Did you kill them?”

“Almost,” he scrunched his nose, “Then I pictured your face. Maybe you wouldn’t want me to do that.”

“So you care about what I want now?”

Satoru shut his eyes. Of course you’d never stop bringing that up – both to your demises – since you were both a sadist who didn’t mind receiving pain every now and then. Five years of marriage with Naoya taught you to be resilient to all types of pain, the experiences and horrors you’ve lived through practically making you immune to them now. Satoru, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be on the same boat as you. He sat up, his hips flushed next to your thighs, burying his hands on his head. “Angel, about everything... are we not going to talk about what happened before?”

“Is there anything to talk about?” you deadpanned, surprising the guy who widened his eyes at you. Surely, he must be expecting a different form of hatred coming from you, but you were indifferent – numb, empty. “The past is in the past, Satoru. You know better than anyone else it’s easier to just walk away.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“For what?” you faked a smile, placing your chin on your hands while blinking up at him under innocent eyes. Naoya once told you that your attitude of being unbothered bothered a lot more people, and it was a technique you’ve loved ever since. Seeing Satoru crumble before you...nothing felt more satisfying. “For barging in here or for kissing me? Maybe both?”

“For everything,” he answered brokenly, “For all the pain I’ve put you through.”

“Do you think apologies are going to suddenly eradicate that?”

“…No.”

“Then I don’t need it,” you taunted, patting his thigh as you stood up, tying the knots of your robe safer this time. You couldn’t be bothered to wear underwear beneath them; if Satoru tried laying his hands on you again, you wouldn’t hesitate to cut his fingers off, and the plain sight of a dagger now strapped in your thigh was enough of a reminder for him. He made sure to keep his distance.

“Come with me. I’ll show you what we’ve been working on,” Satoru’s footsteps were silent as you led him past the secret doors hidden behind Naoya’s study, the room leading into an even bigger part of the house that stored most of your possessions. Satoru let out an awed gasp behind you once the lights and slight whirs of the machine buzzed through the room, chemicals bubbling from one side and little pills being packaged on the other. Your face lit up in a smile from the sheer pride of your hard work, arms extended to the side to present everything. “This is mostly where we manufacture Xenet. All of this – it’s mine. My personal little laboratory, or as Naoya calls it, my playroom,” you grinned, “I feel at peace here.”

“Making drugs?”

“Being safe,” you corrected with a roll of your eyes, “Acting like I’m normal. That gives me peace.”

Satoru was hot on your heels all the way to the main laboratory, where you’d pestered him into wearing safety gloves before entering. You donned a white coat from the blast of AC that enraged goosebumps, leading him in front of a huge clear wall that formulated Xenet’s pure creation. Stacks of purple powder lined up on layers all kept inside a cooling room, and you stepped to the side, muttering to yourself while checking today’s inventory like it was totally normal to manufacture illegal drugs inside your home.

You would’ve looked domestic if Satoru wasn’t feeling the slightest bit dizzy from the drug-coated atmosphere; one that you’d gotten resistant from.

“What brought you here?” Satoru voiced out, shaking his head to himself. He looked terribly devastated, cheeks sunken and dark circles lining his eyes. “I never thought...”

“That I’d be like you?” you finished for him. Tucking a stray strand behind your ear, you smiled at Satoru and pushed past him to list down your observations for today. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not like Naoya; I’m not a mass murderer.”

“But you’re supporting him.”

“He keeps me safe as long as I’m useful to him,” you paused in your tracks, the spite evident in your tongue. “If you hadn’t left me, I wouldn’t have to be like this. There are thousands of people after me because you named me after that account. Other than Naoya, there’s really no other reason I’m still alive and breathing,” Satoru was speechless from your confession, which was good, since you didn’t want him chatting too much in the first place. You ignored him as you continued typing notes on your monitor, acting unaffected, but the way you punched through the keys told a different story. “This is the least I could do for him. In exchange of protection, I’ll be sharing my intelligence and give him what he wants.”

“Doesn’t it sicken you that we’re like this? That we do all this – for money, power, control – without the slightest bit of conscience?” Satoru scoffed, “You’ve been married for him a long time. I know you’re not a stranger to the fact we even enjoy this.”

You stopped your task, turning to Satoru with flared nostrils. “You know, Satoru, painting yourself as a demon to look like a victim won’t make me sympathize,” you spat out, absolutely losing it. “I don’t care what you’ve been doing before you met me. I don’t care that you killed or hurt people. I’m not the slightest bit of the angel you claim me to be because if I was as pure as that, don’t you think I would’ve stopped loving you?”

Everything crumbled to dust.

Years of convincing yourself you didn’t care anymore, years of healing yourself, years of working hard to forget him – and all crumbled to dust.

“What are you—”

“I knew!” you cut him off, “I knew everything. I’m not dumb, Satoru. No matter how much you tried to hide it back then, I saw the blood stains. I could smell the alcohol. I know drugs when I see it,” Satoru took a step back in surprise, but you kept going. Now that you’ve started it, you might as well finish it, and your eyes pricked with tears before you could stop it. “But I never cared. I was selfish – blinded by love. Back then, I told myself I didn’t care who you were because I loved you unconditionally,” You were breathing hard from finally releasing that damn fucking weight off your shoulders, your resolve breaking as you wiped your tears with the back of your hand while Satoru remained frozen. “Every night, I cried myself to sleep. I always asked myself why did it have to be you? Why did you have to be that way? Why did you have to be a monster? It broke me to no end, Satoru, but every time I tried to think of you as awful, you would hold me so close that it felt like everything was a lie,” your voice faltered, “I loved you in spite of everything you’ve done. I’m just selfish like that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you cried, “Many times...I turned a blind eye to it. I didn’t want to force something out of you because I knew you weren’t ready, but I was always waiting, Satoru,” gesturing to the both of you, Satoru watched your frantic movements. “Did you think I didn’t mean it when I said I would love you no matter what – no matter who you might be? I meant every word of it. You didn’t have to leave me because I would’ve still left everything behind if you asked me to go with you. I don’t care anymore, I never did. I just wanted to be with you.”

“Angel...” he trailed off, debating whether to hold you or just stay put. Satoru chose the latter and ran his hands over his hair, breathing hard as he, too, wavered. “I was scared. Each time I see your face, I-I can’t help but think about losing you. It haunts me every fucking night that what if I’m not strong enough? What if I couldn’t protect you?” his voice broke, “You were the only good thing in my life. I couldn’t handle losing you just because you got too close.”

You shoved him hard. “That’s no fucking excuse! You told me – y-you told me that I made you feel strong, that I gave you hope, that I made you feel like nothing could stand in your way – so don’t stand there and fucking tell me you were scared!”

Satoru kept taking a step back from the force of your hits, and he took them all with a brave face, but it seemed that he too had reached his limit as you leered, “Don’t be a fucking coward!”

“It’s because I loved you!” Satoru gripped your wrists and tugged you to him, effectively taking the ability to speak away from you. “My whole life, I got everything I wanted and things were easy for me! I don’t know what it’s like to lose something because I had control of everything except you! I didn’t want you stuck and burdened with my sins all for the sake of something as greed!” he bellowed, his forehead connected with yours and the warmth of his body more than welcoming. “I am a greedy man, angel, I would take everything I want with no hesitation but I couldn’t do it with you. It was easier to let you go,” he mumbled, “Than to regret making you unhappy by revealing my true self. Because the way you looked at me – you loved me so much I don’t think I’m worthy of it,” Satoru trudged closer to you, almost rubbing his skin over your soft ones just to say, “I don’t deserve you.”

You pulled away from him.

You’d tore open every chance of reconciliation. And if you were to be honest? You didn’t regret it.

“You’re right,” you snickered sarcastically, “You really don’t deserve me. Here I thought maybe Naoya would be the weaker of the two of you, but he’s more of a man than you are, Satoru. Naoya never gave an excuse for anything – it didn’t matter whether he was capable of something or not – he always tried to the best of his ability. He’s not the type to give up before he’s even tried it,” You knew you were just pushing his buttons, this was much clear from how Satoru was holding himself back, but you couldn’t stop. You were unstoppable, harsh as you challenged your once lost lover who had now wound up before you once more.

“If you truly loved me and felt you didn’t deserve me, then don’t you think you should’ve tried harder?”

You wanted him to regret it. You wanted him to feel your pain a thousand times more. You wanted him to realize what he’d done wrong. But most of all, you wanted him to try harder, to redeem himself, to be worthy of a second chance.

But just like how he’d broken your heart before, Satoru did it again.

Because even after every fucking thing, the only thing he was capable of saying was: “I’m sorry, Angel.”

You’d grown too tired of apologies. But because it was him, because you loved him, then you’d fucking hear it all over again. Just try, you wanted to beg, try for me, Satoru.

“Your plans will continue to fail, Satoru,” you agonized, “You never protected me. The moment you left, my life turned to hell and I almost died way too many times for me to count. This time is no different. We’re all just pawns in the Zen’in’s game, so if you really want both of us to live, you should do your part,” Sighing, you turned away from him, just about ready to call it a night. You were too tired. “Give back the money to Naoya, and he’ll keep me safe until the end of it all. You can just go back to where you came from.”

“Naoya won’t stand a chance against Toji. It’s not his money anyway, he should give it back to his cousin—”

“And neither is it yours!”

“Don’t be fucking stupid, you see the flaw of his plans too!” Satoru gestured to your lab, to everything that you proudly claimed an effort of your hard work. “Even if I gave back everything to Naoya, it won’t stop Toji from anything! He might not kill you anymore, but he’ll definitely kill your husband and take over the mafia, or his kid, then where will you go?”

“Follow him into death like the good wife I am.”

Satoru was stunned by the lack of hesitance in your answer. “You’re serious about this,” he echoed, blinking back to process the gravity of your devotion to your husband. “Even if Toji somehow dies, it doesn’t change the fact Naoya will still proceed with plans to manipulate Japan to his will. He’s going to drug everyone until he’s at the top of the food chain. Your husband doesn’t want to be a businessman; he wants to be a god. Plus, he doesn’t care about you, he’s only using you!”

“Like I said,” you smiled weakly,  “He keeps me safe as long as I’m useful to him. Once he gets everything he wants, it’s game over.”

“No...” Satoru gritted his teeth, “No, I won’t let it happen. You’re not going anywhere; you’re not going to die!”

“So then protect me!” you shouted at his face, “Do what it is you never got to do before and protect me! I’m disposable, don’t you see? No matter what I do, no matter where I go, no matter how loyal I am to him, I am nothing! Each step I take forwards is just a step closer to my prolonged death!” you spewed word for word with so much venom Satoru felt like he was choking, but it was nothing in comparison as you fell on the floor, weeping with your fists pressed against your eyes. “If you hadn’t left me...I wouldn’t have to live fearing for my life every second. So protect me, Satoru. If you really want me to forgive you, at least save me this once.”

“I will, angel,” he promised – and how many more promises had he made, only to break them? You couldn’t be blamed for not believing him, for finding wariness in his words, for flinching a little bit as he crouched before you, cupping your cheek the same way he did before. “I promise you that. I’m never leaving, never gonna leave your side ever again.”

“You better not,” you chuckled darkly, eventually giving in from his touch.

Yes, he’d left you...yes, he’d hurt you – but until now it felt like home, even if it also conflicted with the fact this was wrong.

“My only wish is that when I die, I want to die without hating you,” you muttered with your lips hovering his, your breaths tangling and his hands finding its way to your hair. “So don’t make me hate you anymore, Satoru. Grant me peace before I leave.”

“You’re not going to die,” he closed his eyes and took the first leap of faith by grazing his lips with yours, a faint glimmer of the sweetness he once had the pleasure of savouring with each waking moment of his life. But he was stupid back then – he’d be even more stupid to not learn his lesson this time around.

“I won’t let that happen, you understand?” Satoru breathed out, “You will be safe. You will live.”

He had said it so confidently, so surely, that for a moment, you believed it. You believed maybe you’d really win this round and come out unscathed, to live, to survive – even if the chances were slim to none to begin with. For now, you didn’t want to be a mafia leader’s wife, nor did you want to be another’s broken lover. You just wanted to be someone who didn’t want to die, to find comfort in the empty promises from the same man who kept breaking and breaking them, and maybe for now, that was enough.

Without another thought, not even the image of Naoya’s smile, you let it go.

You pulled Satoru close to you and kissed him hard and deep, swallowing his surprised moan with that exact same greediness, that desperation to live. You knew the moment Naoya came back or Toji found you, everything would be game over. So for now, this was enough.

A/N. SOOOOO? THOUGHTS? THEORIESSSSS? DO WE HAVE A TEAM NAOYA HERE OR IS IT JUST ME HAHAHAHAHA

taglist OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @sixeyesgojo @shingekiyofeels @q-the-rockaholic @whatthefuckisthatthing @rogueofbullshit @kat-su-ki @kellyyween @sebootyforlife @greysoulthings @charlie-xo @aoi-turtle @ladywaifuuwrites @savantsoulfinder @my-reality-is-in-my-head @hannya-quinn @90s-belladonna​ @tinyfrogsinmybrain @kinekyuroo​ @evesmores​ @ambiguous-something​ @lilith412426​ @kakashiharusohma @aizawap​ | bolded users cannot be tagged ://

[gotta-pet-em-all]

You know what? I don't need to lift a finger to rip you to shreds. You've just given me all the ammunition I need to shoot your argument down.

Someone who so carelessly flings threats of violence should be prepared to face the consequences.

Oh, I am! Don't mistake me for someone who doesn't know the weight of my own words, because I will stand behind them and fight. I noticed you mention violence twice in your first paragraph; first you say that I should be prepared to face consequences for my violent words, then you say inciting violence [implicitly: my actions] will only bring violence to one's door. I notice you never threaten direct retribution, but rather, imply that I am at fault here and some fundamental, divine force of karma will do so.

Gotta love that use of passive voice! /s

I’m a firm believer that people who misbehave must be punished according to their misbehaviour.

Oh hey, kudos for gender neutral they/them! Here's another bit of ideology that bothers me: this whole crime-and-punishment mindset. Fundamentally, it stems from the idea that humans are inherently broken/evil (see: earlier statement about how all humans are abusive towards pokemon) and need punishment to keep them in line. That, in essence, goodness and altruism do not exist in the world, and only the fear of punishment can create a "just" society.

This is bullshit for several reasons, and in my experience, punishment is usually just another form of abuse that perpetuates a cycle of violence. Consequences are acceptable in moderation, but punishment breeds resentment rather than understanding.

Each person has value in this world[;] everyone can be useful to some degree.

[image id: a young man with dark skin in a Unovan football uniform stands with a reporter's microphone pointed at him. The football field can be seen in the background; it is currently empty. The image is captioned, "They had us in the first half, not gonna lie." End id]

Damn, you were this close to making a good point! And there's the capitalist influence in your ideology; that someone's inherent value as a person is directly tied to how useful they can be to others. Haven't you studied history? Why don't you sit down and look up the ten year old girl from the pre-hisuian era who couldn't walk or clean herself, based on her abnormal bone structure. Read about her teeth, will you? Sugar was rare back then. Living past childbirth was rare. But this little girl, who had no use to her society, was cared for and loved. They fed her sweets, so many sweets that her teeth had cavities.

Why don't you read about her, and maybe then you'll calm down. There is love and whimsy in the world you stupid motherfucker.

However[,] I believe that people should not accept a disability as something that limits them, and never use it as an excuse to why they cannot live to their full potential. A disability does not make anyone special or unique[;] they should be expected to act in society and participate in activities the same as anyone else.

[image id: a cropped image of the oxford online dictionary entry for the word "disability." It is a noun, and defined in the image as "a physical or mental condition that limits a person's movements, senses, or activities." End id.]

Sir. I really don't think you're qualified to talk about disability if you don't even know the fundamentals of what it is.

Take myself as an example of what can be achieved.

On behalf of the disabled community? Shut the fuck up. You have internalized ableism and you're projecting your vitriolic self-loathing as a disabled person onto others. You don't speak for all of us.

Some of us wish for a cure. Some of us don't. Some of us have complicated feelings on the matter. Some of us just want to be taken seriously. Some of us need full time care. Some of us only consider ourselves disabled under the social model of disability. Some of us don't really think about it much, because they only fall under the medical model. Dist, some of us self-identify as cripples.

A lot of us consider ourselves to be fundamentally different from Abled folks. Too many of us have been told we're not living up to our "full potential" when that potential exists only in the imaginations of the teachers and parents and mentors who have pushed us to burnout.

Your naive assumptions and accusations mean nothing, you have no worth toward Team Plasma’s goal. Be quiet from now on.

And the thrilling conclusion! Let's do some pattern recognition, shall we? Here, you call me naive; in the first paragraph, you addressed me as "child." Oh, and let's not forget about the tags!

[image id: tags reading "think before you act. you foolish child." end id]

Infantilization of your opponent in order to call into question the legitimacy of their argument; always a classic! Oh, and I am ex-Plasma. So, these assumptions and accusations of mine? Far from being baseless, I would even call them extremely based.

Then we have you telling me that I have no worth towards your goal-- cool cool, so you're calling me worthless. Nothing new there, capitalist standards of labor and the commodification of the human body, et cetera, et cetera.

You want me to be quiet? Make me. Break my jaw, and I'll just roast you with an AAC tablet.

Trainers of Rotomblr, and hence, the world! Listen to the cries of your Pokémon! They do not belong imprisoned in pokéballs, but free and thriving, separate from the labor humans force upon them! Hear me, and free your Pokémon!

[lasnevadaslaborunion]

Sorry i'm late with the asks ♻️👑👻

(It's okay, I was even later)

I’ve already answered similar questions about c!Wilbur and c!Schlatt.

As for c!Dream... it's complicated, and I have actually had a long post about this in the works for a while now. But my short answer is... no, probably not.

First of all, I would like to say that my answer to the question of “can c!Dream be redeemed?” has very little to do with the severity of his actions and whether I personally find them forgivable. I am a firm believer that redemption isn't something you earn, but an active choice that a person must continually make. Anyone, and I do mean anyone, can become a kinder, wiser, better person - provided they are willing to change. The real question is, would c!Dream be willing to change, and would this change be believable and satisfying to the audience?

Let's look at the typical components for a redemption arc (or growth arc, or healing arc, or whatever term you prefer): recognition of one’s flaws, actions taken to remedy those flaws, a significant positive change, and recognition of this change either by the narrative or surrounding characters (note that acceptance of positive change is not necessarily equivalent to forgiveness, or to welcoming one back into their life).

Could c!Dream feel remorse for his actions? Possibly, although I think that if any such regret exists now, it’s buried very deep; c!Dream is a reserved fellow, and a terribly prideful one, who doesn’t often admit when he’s wrong (and believes these admissions even less often). His outward reactions to the pain his actions have caused range from detached indifference to sadistic glee - and considering these actions include but are not limited to serial murder, the destruction of nations, and conditioning someone into helplessness and suicidality, this lack of negative response is significant and disturbing. I think it would take something huge to shake him, but I have no clue what that would be.

Could c!Dream change his mindset or behavior? Here it becomes even less likely. He has invested a significant amount of time and effort into his current plans, and the sunk cost fallacy is a very powerful thing. Furthermore, he has often feigned a change of mind in the past, such as when he attempted to build bridges with c!Tommy during Pogtopia, acted like c!Tubbo’s friend after c!Tommy was exiled, or tried to convince people that he was becoming a better person in prison. These instances of calculated deceit would make any future claims of improvement very difficult to take at face value, both for the characters and we viewers.

Could c!Dream ever be forgiven? That's going to vary from person to person, but I don't think the people he's hurt the most are likely to do so. c!Tommy has enough trauma from being abused, murdered, and personally terrorized by c!Dream to last a lifetime; he wants him dead and gone. c!Tubbo is in a similar boat. c!Wilbur, who once viewed him as a savior, now loathes him for what he did to his little brother figure. c!Sapnap made a promise to kill him, and is willing to stake his very existence on it. c!George is... c!George (sorry, I’m not an expert). The entire server teamed up to take c!Dream down, and was ready to watch his execution; who among them could have their minds changed? Again, forgiveness is not strictly necessary for change to occur, but an environment where one is almost universally loathed is hardly conducive to personal growth.

With all these taken together... the prospects are pretty grim.

But what about the Staged Finale? Doesn’t that prove that we’ve all misread c!Dream’s true intentions, that he’s willing to sacrifice himself for a noble cause, that all his villainy was a ruse?

Well, yes, but actually, no.

See, the only thing we know about the finale is that it was staged. We don’t actually know why yet, although many theories exist, and not all of them are a good look for him. Hell, with the short Revival Book lore video, the implications look even worse. The Staged Finale reveal might call some of his stated philosophies about attachment and control into question, but it reinforces two equally influential facets of his distorted worldview: his conviction that the ends always justify the means, and his willingness to lie to get his way. Both are established flaws, and both need to be challenged for any real growth to take place.

It’s also worth pointing out what exactly his goals are. Let’s accept that they include, at least, a completely united server with no countries, no boundaries, and no significant authority save for his own. He wants, at best, a return to the “good old days” that were never as good as he remembers, and at worst, absolute tyrannical control over other server members who now hate, fear, and resent him. These goals are impossible.

But the thing about impossible, dreamlike goals is that their proponents will often go unfathomable lengths to achieve them.

And I think it’s ironic and pretty damn tragic that the very thing that keeps c!Dream sympathetic, even respectable in a weird, twisted way - his willingness to cavalierly endure personal loss rather than exclusively inflicting it - also makes redemption much harder to envision.

Ask yourself this: what sacrifice would c!Dream be unwilling to make?

Regardless of whether he believed his proclamations at the Finale, he has still very deliberately cut off everything and everyone he believed would hold him back. Losing the few attachments he did have only seemed to spur him on further. And the only people left who stand by him appear unconditional in their allegiance, or at least are enabling him for the perceived greater good; they are unlikely to challenge his ultimate goal, and if they did, c!Dream is likely to cut them off as well. Remember what I said above about the sunk cost fallacy? Until we hear his thoughts or observe hesitation firsthand, we can’t say for sure that his stint in Pandora’s Vault going so horribly wrong has shaken his resolve to unite the server under his rules and by any means necessary. It’s just as likely to have strengthened his committment, or made him angrier, because what else does he have left if not his master plan for control? It can’t have been all for nothing.

(I could talk for another five paragraphs about how the notion that suffering automatically demonstrates or triggers moral goodness is extremely problematic and enables abuse from multiple angles, and how much I appreciate that c!Dream’s isolation and torture was shown to have entirely negative effects as it realistically would, but I digress.)

Right, then. Remorse is unlikely, change is even more unlikely, and reconciliation is almost inconceivable. What does that leave us with?

I think the only believable option for any “redemption” c!Dream might have isn’t so much a redemption as a revelation, either on the audience’s part or on his. Choice #1 is that we are given information about his true plans, and they are shown to be benevolent or at least far more sympathetic than we’ve been led to believe. This runs the risk of coming across as... ridiculously cheap, to put it gently, so my preferred option is choice #2: c!Dream is given a taste of victory, only for it to leave him hollow and unsatisfied. The server is united, the people in it are a picture-perfect happy family, and it feels... fake. Distressingly so. In a tragedy, there is no going back, and he must wallow in regret or continue his Sisyphean quest; in bittersweet ending, he manages to undo the damage either at great personal cost or is haunted by his failure for the rest of his (probably very few) days. I can’t see a truly “happy” ending for him, nor am I certain what that would look like. I believe that the only way he would give up on his current path is to have his nose shoved in the mess he’s made and realize that not only are his means horrific (he already knows that), but his very ideals are impossible to achieve. Even then, it’s possible he would double down, or the realization may simply shatter him. Cue epic final battle, a sword through his heart, etc.

So yeah. I won’t entirely rule out a c!Dream redemption arc. Miracles can happen. But I think that given his existing patterns and the way the cc seems to be setting up his lore (*Chug Jug plays mournfully*), it’s quite a pipe dream. No pun intended.

[yoonpobs]

bad boy good thing x.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 8, 711

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

a/n:

so here is the mini monster chap !! i know I said this was going to be a drabble series but I clearly got carried away LOL

anyways, no spoilers for this chap but I can say it's one of my favs that I've written and I think we see oc getting the comfort that she deserves (and needs!)

and also !! this is my first time updating a series on tumblr and it feels *exciting* hehe, I hope you enjoy this chapter c:

let me know your thoughts in my asks!! i'd love to hear what you think so far :3

all the love and I hope you're having a great

day/night/evening/afternoon wherever you are ❤️

“Open up!”

The only person that would opt to yell to get your attention than ring on your doorbell like a normal person would be Yena. And it helped that you immediately recognised her voice from the first syllable she uttered. That and you were currently moping in your living room with lactose-free ice cream, courtesy of Jimin that dropped it off a day ago when he heard that you were ‘sick’. Even if you hadn’t seen him face-to-face, you remember him softly hoping you’d get better.

You don’t know why she’s at your door, but you’re already on your feet to get her when you hear her begin to mutter curses directed at you behind the thin wood of your entrance.

“I can hear you!” You call.

“Well bitch then open the damn door!” She snaps.

You roll your eyes, and so far with the number of times you’ve hung out with her, it’s safe to say that the two of you were comfortable. You never knew how fun having a girl best friend was until you met Yena, and sure it’s only been a little under two weeks since you’ve gotten to know her through various messages and FaceTimes, but you feel like she’s your friend soulmate.

And when you expressed that to her over a FaceTime call a few nights back, you remember her gagging all while you flush and attempt to take it back. You know her candidly calling you bitch rather than your name was her saying she felt the same.

You pull the door open as she stands there with her eyes narrowed into slits, eyeing you up and down before she scrunches her nose.

“There’s a thing called a shower that you should look into. You look like a rundown version of long-haired Noah Beck.” She grimaces when she eyes you up and down.

You scowl. “You did not just compare me to him.”

She clicks her tongue before she shoves you aside by shoving a plastic bag of the takeout food into your arms and steps into your apartment.

Yena ignores the glare you shoot at the back of her neck when she looks around your living room, scrunching her nose like she was here to inspect your room than pay you a visit.

“Did someone die in here or was that just your will to live?”

You scoff. “Wow. Drag me.”

She waves you off before plopping onto your couch while you sigh, immediately heading to the kitchen to prep the food she brought over.

“For a moment I thought you were dead.” She confesses casually.

When you return with bowls and plates, with the cutlery to match—you give her a dry look before you’re taking your seat on the floor; attempting to hide your half-eaten tub of ice cream, which Yena immediately spots.

“So your first instinct was to yell at my door in hopes that I wasn’t actually dead?” You ask dryly.

She picks up your ice cream and grimaces at it, silently judging you for the flavour before she gives you a shrug.

“Yeah. I was hoping that your spirit would confer.”

You snort. “And the food?”

“A peace offering.” She tells you like it’s obvious.

You sigh, you loved Yena—you really did. She was all over the place and random, but it was a refreshing difference that you needed in your life from the usual law and order you often opted for.

“Not that I don’t appreciate your concern,” You tell her, pulling out a container to see your favourite lemon chicken as you eye her suspiciously. “But what brings you here? I told you I was sick.”

Yena scoffs. “And sick you are, bitch. What kind of sick person devours ice cream? Sure, you look the part but your diet says otherwise. Don’t think I didn’t see the empty packet of snickers in the trash.”

You scowl.

“I recovered yesterday.” You lie, taking a bite out of the chicken.

Yena rolls her eyes and you know she doesn’t believe you. She leans into your couch while she watches you eat, “Namjoon texted me that you may need some company.” At that, you choke.

Her eyes widen as you hit at your chest to get the food to go down, eyes still wide at her revelation.

“Why would he do that?” You cry.

“Girl, I know you’re not trying to deflect—you’re literally about to choke and die.”

You glare at her. “I’m fine.” You cough for good measure, then you’re levelling another serious gaze at her.

“I’m fine.” You reiterate with an emphasis on your state even though you were anything but. “I don’t know why the hell he thinks I need company.” You mutter under your breath.

At this, Yena’s face softens as she leans forward to rest her elbows on her knees while you avoid her gaze; idly poking at your food.

“I don’t know either, and you don’t need to tell me anything.” She says softly. “That’s all I’m here for. To be your company, whether you need it or not.”

You don’t know how much Namjoon told her over a text message, but you don’t think it’s much. Purely because he didn’t seem like a snitch and he was too respectful to ever let other people into the business that wasn’t his own. Even at the thought, you want to groan because you essentially lured him into thinking it was okay for him to kiss you while you were … you don’t even know what the fuck was happening anymore.

“I—” You say weakly, and all Yena does is offer you a comforting smile.

For some reason, the fact that she’s here right in front of you after you spent the day crying and feeling like your heart has been repeatedly stomped over with the addition of your rumination—it feels nice to have someone with you, even if it’s just their presence.

But the way she doesn’t look at you and expects something out of your conversation makes you feel even more overwhelmed, and that’s probably why the dam breaks.

Yena’s eyes widen as she immediately darts out to wrap her arms around you when you end up in violent sobs. You don’t know why you’re crying but you are, and you’re tired of hiding things, your feelings and your intent just to pretend like things were okay.

“It’s okay.” She strokes your hair and it feels warm, like a mother comforting a crying baby and you realise that this is what friends should feel like.

“N-no it’s n-not!” You cry into her shirt and it’s messy, but she doesn’t seem like she minds. Especially when she supports your pliable frame.

“You wanna talk about it?” She asks softly, giving you a kind smile.

You sniffle, staring forward as you feel your eyes swell with the escalation of your tears.

“I don’t know.” You whisper.

She hums, “It’s okay not to know. You don’t need to know everything.”

“I’m just so tired, Yena.” You tell her in a hushed breath.

“Life is difficult.” She admits. “It’s natural to be tired.”

You’re thankful to hear that she doesn’t comfort you with blind optimism. She’s real and she acknowledges how shitty things may be, and frankly, you didn’t need another wannabe altruist telling you that things will get better. You knew that, everyone did. But when you’re at rock bottom and all you see is darkness, you’re not looking for better. You’re looking for a reason to continue.

“Can I say something?” She asks. The way she looks at you is soft and open, and non-judgemental. You feel safe.

You nod your head, teary eyes staring up at her.

“You’re not responsible for anyone’s feelings except your own.” She looks at you so seriously that you nearly feel your breath escape. “There are things that you can and cannot control—and the latter usually falls under the people around you.”

You suck in a breath, and you wonder how she’s so spot on without ever touching on the true context.

“Namjoon texted me but I didn’t come here because he asked me to. It’s because you deserve to have someone be around you when you’re clearly not okay.”

“I’m—”

“You’re not.” She blinks, and you almost pout at her firm tone. “And that’s okay. I don’t need to know what happened to justify how you feel. You could’ve stubbed your toe and feel like absolute shit and I have absolutely no right to judge you on how or when you feel emotions.”

You wonder where she’s been your entire life and why she was only in your life now.

“But the thing is,” She sighs. “You don’t always have to choose between something or the other. Sometimes you need to choose yourself.”

You stare up at her in awe because Yena was cool in general, her laidback and unbending personality was mainly what drew you to her because you’d argue you were the opposite. Even if Jungkook’s words stung, you could take it at face value and accept that it was true.

You were uptight and you were a bit of a prude, and for the longest time, you always resented that aspect of you. But you realised with Yena, she had traits that were resented in a woman as well. And you realise that you’d never be perceived the way you want unless you perceive yourself in a positive light first.

So when she speaks to you so sternly, yet with a tone of care as she picks apart her words so carefully—you realise what you have to do.

“I think I like Jungkook.”

Yena pauses for a brief second, but you don’t see any judgement in her face. Just confusion, a warranted emotion you don’t blame her for having.

“I figured as much.”

Your eyes widened, “How—?”

It’s almost like a repeat of the first night at the football game when you befriended each other, but she only shoots you a gentle smile.

“Call it a woman’s intuition.”

You blink, fiddling with your fingers before you stare up at her, continuing your drawls.

“And we kissed.”

At this, Yena cocks an eyebrow up, “Was this recent?”

You fiddle with your thumbs before you sigh and push yourself up.

“Thing is …” You mumble, “I’m not like that.”

You don’t answer her question because you can’t think of a proper enough response to tell her that yeah—you did kiss him, amongst other things that you foolishly allowed yourself to indulge in. You knew Yena wasn’t judgemental but you also knew that you couldn’t retrieve your words the moment they left your mouth. It was your own judgement that stopped you from saying the things you really wanted and it sucked, royally. Because you could tell that Yena wasn’t out here to crucify you for being … liberated. She just wanted to be there for you.

Yena scrunches her eyebrows in confusion as she allows your words to settle, pondering a response.

She settles for a huff, “Care to elaborate?”

“I don’t … do things like that.” You say softly. “I’m shy and quiet. I’m not active in the social sphere and I only have three friends that I can reach out to if I wanna hang out. But even then, I don’t … I don’t like partying, or drinking, or loud spaces. I’m awkward and horrible at social interaction let alone being able to navigate my romantic feelings. And … I felt so bad about it.”

Yena’s eyes soften, but you can’t look at her just yet. Not when this is the first time you’ve ever laid yourself vulnerable, emotionally that is, to someone that wasn’t just the confines of your thoughts.

“I always wondered what it’d like to be confident, to be liked on campus and not just be known as the smart girl.” You whisper. “My entire personality was built around my achievements and I didn’t know what else to do. What if … what if I peak here and fail after?” Your eyes are wide in despair, and you feel your lips quiver when you speak.

“You’ll never know.” Yena reminds you gently. “You won’t know who likes you or what people say about you—but you’re going to be hearing your own thoughts 24/7 and that’s what kicks you down or drives you further.”

You sigh, nodding your head.

“It’s just … Jungkook and I were close. We grew up together even if he’s younger than me. But we just got along well and he … he saw me. He used to comfort me whenever I’d tell him how pressuring it got and—I feel so stupid because he probably says that to everyone and I fell for it.” You chuckle with no emotion, staring at the stray thread poking outside of your couch pillow.

“Have you spoken to him about your feelings?” She asks softly.

Immediately, you scoff and the sour emotion peaks through again.

“He’s made it clear what he wants to hear from me.” You mutter.

Yena purses her lips before resting her hands gently on your shoulder.

“You’re not answering my question, ______.” She chides gently.

You nibble on your bottom lip and shake your head. That earns a sigh from her as she wraps her arms around you once again, resting her chin on your shoulder as you allow yourself to feel the comfort of her warmth.

“He kissed me first and we did things together.” Your lips quiver when you recall the memories, “A-And he’s with Jennie. I just …” You flutter your eyes shut, “I don’t want to say that I’m the other girl but I feel a lot like a second option and it sucks.”

Yena doesn’t ask, and she doesn’t need to. She doesn’t need to justify why you felt the way you did, so she holds you tighter.

“Babe.” She gently turns you to look at her with both hands resting on your shoulders. “Did you talk to him? Properly? Do you really know if he’s with her?”

“I think them kissing proves enough to me.” You snap, and you don’t know why you’re being so hostile, especially to Yena.

She purses her lips, “You kissed him and you aren’t together.”

You wince and she shoots you an apologetic look. She sighs before reaching out to squeeze your hand, all while you stare at the ground to level out your emotions.

“I’m not saying that you can’t feel the way you do. But I’m offering objectivity here. Men are … they’re blunt creatures and that’s the biggest difference between men and women.” You furrow your eyebrows as she takes a deep breath before she continues. “And the idea that we’re equal? No, we’re not. I’m not talking about our systemic positions in society but on an emotional level. Men take things surface value and work with it, they don’t stop to think about the layers of feelings that go into interpersonal relationships with friends, family or lovers. Women? We go big or we go home. All we see is the big picture and sometimes the little details get lost in translation. This isn’t me justifying Jungkook playing home with you or Jennie at the same time, but offering you a perspective that may be hard for you to see because you aren’t him.”

It was true, and you hated yourself for being aware but not putting action based on your own thoughts. Yena only reaffirmed the idea that you overthought every single interaction and maybe that was why you were the one that was hurting.

That, or you and Jungkook had horrible communication problems that neither of you was ready to face just yet. But how could you? When the two of you were on two different wavelengths and you were trying to be just enough for him while he was jumping off pedestals to see you.

It didn’t feel nice, and it sucked because he was the same person that comforted you and broke you all at once.

“I’m scared.” You whisper.

She smiles at you gently, patting your head gently as you peer up at her with tears between your lashes.

“And that’s okay.” She reassures you with a soft voice, “The only thing scarier than being scared is not feeling at all.”

Before you go to where your heart tells you to—your mind is the only thing that keeps you rooted in some form of rationale. That’s probably why you’re outside of Namjoon’s dorm. You don’t think you’ve ever paid his place a visit despite him telling you his address on multiple occasions, usually opting to hang out in public yet serene places where you were able to get a breather.

Your feet feel heavy and your fist is raised, but it barely moves. Especially when you’re just eyeing his door like a deer caught in headlights. You’ve rehearsed the apology on your tongue a million times, even if you don’t really know what you’re apologising for. But you feel like you must, particularly because you’ve senselessly let him see all of the feelings that you were trying to suppress in hopes of retaining the same ones he had for you.

You take a deep breath and deliver the first knock, the vibrations making your arm feel weak.

But you’re tired of always surrendering to bigger and more frightening things that you could understand. So you purse your lips and play the waiting game.

It seems like a long twenty minutes that you wait, but in reality, it’s only two when the door swings open. You brace yourself to see Namjoon, apology already sitting on your tongue.

You should’ve dropped a text, you knew that. But you decided against it because you haven’t spoken to Namjoon since what happened a few days ago. Neither of you speaking about the kiss or the way your eyes glistened when you saw Jungkook and Jennie together.

“____?” He asks confusedly.

You give him a meek smile, “Hi. Can I come in?”

He blinks at you, and you notice he still has his glasses that he usually forgoes during the times you’ve hung out—and you feel a little guilty for catching him at a bad time.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Sure.”

Namjoon steps aside and you’re welcomed into the space of his living room. The first thing you notice is the interior, and how … Namjoon it was. It’s both cluttered and neat, the palette of his furniture matching the overall vibe he emanated. His furniture is mostly wood, light sandalwood that makes it feel all the homier.

And you tell him such, “You have a very homey place.”

Namjoon turns his head to look at you right before he plops himself back onto his couch where you see the bits and pieces of paper scrambled across the floor and the couch. Even then, he was able to look so welcoming even though you reckon he has a right to be hostile—for a reason you came here to apologise for.

“Thank you.” He flushes, patting a spot in front of him for you to take your seat.

When you settle, the atmosphere turns strained when you mull over your words so that you wouldn’t stumble over them. You practised, you did—about a hundred times before you came here and you thought you were ready to apologise and put things behind you but it’s proven difficult when all he does is look at you in earnest.

“Not that I—uh—mind,” He mumbles, “But is there a reason why you’re here?”

You blink at him as you ignore the quiver in your heart.

“I’m sorry.” You blurt.

“_____ why are you—”

“You didn’t deserve what happened the other day.” You interject, voice soft but unwavering when you force yourself to look at him as his eyes widen.

“I wasn’t the one that saw something I shouldn’t have.” He reminds you with a frown.

You swallow, “I kissed you. And you …” It wasn’t helping that he was looking at you so gently as he awaits your continuation. “You didn’t need to save me back then, Namjoon.” You end in a whisper.

Namjoon reaches out to grab your shoulder, touch gentle as he searches for your eyes.

“I didn’t save you …” He tells you tenderly.

“It’s not just that!” You exasperate while you throw your hands up in the air. “I-it’s everything … from the way you treat me and the way you look at me. You didn’t need to do any of that and you even—” You trail off, fluttering your eyes shut. “—what did you say to Jungkook right before we left?”

Namjoon’s eyes enlarge as his grip becomes tense against your shoulder. You can almost see the way his mind kicks into gear as he thinks of a response.

“That—I—does it matter?” He huffs.

Your eyes soften, “Namjoon.” You force yourself to look at him even if now he was the one that tries to avoid your gaze. “What did you say?”

Namjoon tightens his lips before he sighs deeply, head dropping forward before he looks at you.

“I told him to be honest.” He says softly.

You furrow your eyebrows, “To be honest …?”

“I know you have feelings for him.”

Your face blanches when Namjoon basically exposes you. It’s one thing for you to be self-aware of your complicated feelings towards the other boy. But when someone else points it out, especially when it’s Namjoon—the boy who’s been nothing but kind and patient with you while you’re too busy being caught up in your emotions—it’s like a slap across your face.

“I-I don’t—”

“You don’t need to lie to save my face, ______.” He chuckles dryly, eyes darting away as he tries to neutralise his expression. You wince at the spite he establishes, but you know deep down that Namjoon isn’t angry at you. No, he was far too understanding to be. Disappointed? Frustrated? Sure, but never angry,

The silence answers for you when you look away this time, eyebrows scrunched as you attempt to navigate the conversation. You came here to apologise, and to be honest.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

“Don’t.” He takes a deep breath as you flinch. “Don’t … apologise.” He sighs.

“I didn’t mean to lead you on, Namjoon.” You murmur apologetically.

He shoots you a half-hearted chuckle, “You didn’t do anything. Really.”

“But I did, Namjoon. I kissed you back.” You frown.

“That doesn’t imply anything. I kissed you, and you reciprocated. We all kiss someone and not mean anything by it.”

You flinch, and you’re familiar with that more than anyone else. The reminder only stings because it makes you realise that you were not much different from Jungkook, the same person you’ve claimed to have messed with you and fucked you over.

“I’m—”

“Please don’t apologise anymore.” He says. “I already feel like shit.”

You smile sadly at him, “How do you manage to be so nice even when other’s do you wrong?”

Namjoon sighs, then he grabs both your hands in his. “You didn’t wrong me, _____. It’s not your fault you don’t feel the same way I do.”

“How did you …” You trail off.

“How did I know you had feelings for Jungkook?” He chuckles. “The same way he knew I had feelings for you.”

You purse your lips, eyes dropping to your lap. “It’s not that simple, Namjoon …” You say softly.

Namjoon smiles at you gently, “Is it?” He gently nudges your knee with his so that you’d look at him. “Life is simple. It’s not easy. But it’s simple.”

You scoff even if a small smile teases your lips, “You really are a philosophy major, aren’t you?”

The two of you grin in tandem before he purses his lips, possible mulling over something before he faces you.

“The two of you are close so … why beat around the bush?”

Your eyes flutter shut, shaking your head. “Like I said, it’s really not that simple.”

He rolls his eyes at you, but it’s not to mock or taunt you. Namjoon simply sees a naive, yet an intelligent girl who doesn’t see what’s right in front of her.

“Remember what I said? I’m a simple guy.” He reminds you, lips in a grin. “Try me.”

You snort, but you’re still nervous. You still remember that he has feelings for you, so you’re hesitant. And he immediately recognises the guilt-ridden expression that you mar.

Namjoon shoots you a stern glare, “Don’t overthink it.”

You sigh.

“Jungkook and I …” You start, fiddling with your thumbs. “We grew up together.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes and shoots you another one of his bland stares. “I know the history. I just want to know why?”

You furrow your brows, “Why?”

“Why the two of you insist on being so emotionally constipated.”

You gape at his audacity, and you’re glad the atmosphere isn’t as tense because Namjoon simply snickers at your reaction.

“I am not—!”

He waves you off, “Really?” He adds dryly.

You purse your lips and relent, even if you didn’t want to agree with him—you knew that he was … right. To a certain extent.

“We kissed.” You blurt.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, “That’s not surprising.”

You shoot him a dry look before he raises his hands in defence.

“He was my first kiss.”

At this, Namjoon’s widen.

“When you were in high school?” He pries.

You flush, embarrassed that you had to tell him otherwise.

“Two months ago.” You mutter.

Namjoon splutters, and you can’t help but glare at him when he quite literally chokes on his spit. You know you caught him off guard, but him rubbing salt in the wound that’s relatively fresh makes you scowl.

“Oh.” He clears his throat. Then he repeats, “Oh.”

You scoff, “Yeah. Oh.”

“Then … what happened?” You know he’s treading carefully with you when he asks you his question softly.

You purse your lips, and you recall every single moment you’ve shared with him. From giggles to hushed kisses, to intimate touches and sweat-stained sheets that have you gasping for air. You remember it all, and they meant … they meant the world to you, but just a speck in his memory.

“Things escalated and we … did stuff together.” You wince.

Namjoon nods in understanding, he gestures his hands around, “Like—”

“I’m a virgin.”

Namjoon blinks.

“And for the longest time, I felt embarrassed about it.”

“Oh.”

“I struggled to find my footing between being sexually liberated and being a woman because for the longest time I thought those two were mutually exclusive. For me, at least.” You say softly.

Namjoon only stares at you.

“And I always wanted validation from someone else to tell me that what I was doing was the right thing to do. Or the supposed thing to do. Never what I really wanted to do.”

“Not that I’m uncomfortable but … why are you letting me in on this?” Namjoon asks with a raised brow.

“Because I want to do something for myself for once.” You whisper.

“Okay …?”

“Why do you like me? Even if I’m … boring and not as sexy as other women?”

You sound pathetic, and the first person you find yourself comparing yourself to is Jennie—a beautiful, confident woman who looked so assured in herself.

“You’re not—”

You groan.

“Namjoon.”

“Okay.” He sighs. “If you’re asking me if I care that you’re a virgin, then no. I really don’t. Because frankly, that concept to me is false and problematic. Whether or not you’ve had sex or not isn’t any of my business.”

You duck your head.

“And I like you because you’re interesting. You’re funny and you’re assured in your own way. You don’t need to be a certain standard of pretty or sexy or whatever for me to like you. I like you because of the time we’ve spent together and that I’ve gotten to know you. The real you and not the person I admired from afar but the girl who throws in jokes out of nowhere but fits so well with the situation. The girl who’s willing to spend three extra hours of her time to help with content that wasn’t prescribed to her. I like you because I’d like to think I’ve grown to understand who you are.”

Namjoon says all of those things while staring at you straight in the face and you feel compelled to cry. Because no one has ever been so honest with you and you hate that your heart can’t reciprocate what should be an easy feeling that comes naturally.

“Fuck.”

His eyes widen.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He coos, a hand petting your hair gently as you sniffle.

“It’s not, Namjoon. Everything sucks because everything is so complicated. Why can’t I just have feelings for you instead?”

It’s selfish, and Namjoon winces. But you’re so overwhelmed that you miss it, and Namjoon is too nice to point his own feelings out.

“You don’t pick and choose your battles, _____.” He murmurs softly.

“That’s not what my mom told me.” You whimper.

He chuckles, “Yeah. Most people like to believe that because it makes them think that they have a choice over the bad things that happen in their lives. But in reality? They don’t. No one decides what happens to them. You pick and choose how you react to things. How you deal with situations and what you make out of those situations is what you can choose to do. You don’t like me, and that’s fine. You don’t have to just because I’m nice to you, _____. Being nice is the absolute bare minimum and something that everyone should feel and do.”

Your face crumbles, “Why are you so wise?”

Namjoon smiles, “I’m not. It’s called offering a different perspective. Just because I see things one way doesn’t make me any better than you who sees things in another. That’s why we meet different types of people throughout our lives. The good, the bad, the in-between. There’s always something people offer to us in the midst of chaos.”

You sigh.

“I’m sorry, Namjoon.”

He pats your head, “I said don’t apologise.”

“No, but I want to. You’ve been nothing but kind to me and you picked up a shitty situation to be in when Jungkook and Jennie were at the library. Even right after I kissed you. That was … a horrible thing to do. I shouldn’t have done that just because—just because I was confused … you don’t deserve that.”

He doesn’t look angry, and that’s even worst because you want him to react, to call you a bitch and say that you were a horrible person.

“I don’t.” He shrugs while you wince. “But a lot of the times we don’t deserve a lot of things that we get. And that’s okay. You did what you thought was justified then, and there’s nothing you can do to change it. But you’re hurting too, and you’re confused—that’s what drove you to do the things that you did, and even here. That’s why you’re apologising to me, right? Because you’re not as confused anymore?”

You shake your head.

“I am, I’m still so confused.” You whisper.

“Then let me offer you another perspective.”

You look up to him with big eyes as he smiles at you gently.

“You have feelings for Jungkook.” You immediately flinch, even if he didn’t hit you. But Namjoon continues. “You’re trying to keep the picture as simple as you can even if it hurts you in the process. But

“You don’t understand, Namjoon … we … did things … that I’m not proud off …”

“You don’t have to—”

“He was my first kiss. My first … sexual experience. Even if it was just … third base,” You cringe, but Namjoon isn’t judging you at all. “A-and that’s all I was to him. An experience.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Do I, Namjoon?” You say softly. “He said things to me that were so hurtful. And a stupid part of me forgives him but it still hurts every time I think about it and when I see him with Jennie.”

You whisper the words Jungkook’s said to you, and for the first time, you see Namjoon’s jaw harden. The most emotion that wasn’t rationale you’ve seen in Namjoon ever since you first arrived.

“I know it hurts.” He murmurs, holding you close. “And I really don’t want it to seem like I’m justifying his words … but would you want to hear me out?”

You purse your lips and nod nevertheless.

“Jungkook isn’t a bad person.” You blink, you never thought he was. “I know you don’t think he is but you want to. Because of the things he’s said to you because why would a good person say those kinds of things, right? But the world isn’t black and white like that. There’s a grey area where 99% of the population falls into because we operate on emotion and sometimes we say things that we may feel but not necessarily believe in.”

“Jungkook … he’s still young. And I know we’re in college and stuff but he’s still three years younger than I am and two years younger than you. He’s spoken to me about how hard it was to adjust to a high school life where you, Jimin and Tae weren’t a part of. And I don’t know about you but if the only friends I’ve ever known suddenly left because they had to … I wouldn’t know what to do either. He was at a point in his life where his environment played a huge part in the values and internalised beliefs he had.”

You look away as you reflect on his words, nibbling on your bottom lip.

“He mixed around with different groups of people, and I hate this saying but it’s still a common belief to many—especially people his age, almost out of high school. But the ‘boys will be boys’ mentality is more than just misogyny and sexism, but a culture where it feeds off complacency and peer pressure. Jungkook suddenly had to shift from three, good friends who were progressive and influential in an objectively good way to people he was obliged to like because they were his peers.”

You gape at him, purely because you knew that Namjoon was smart and wise but his introspection leaves you breathless and enlightened.

“But that doesn’t change the core of Jungkook,” Namjoon says. “He’s still Jungkook. He doesn’t know how to ask for things that he wants without feeling like he’s betraying his masculinity. And again, I’m not justifying his actions because he’s a grown man too. But he’s lost, and the only thing he knows to uphold this sense of masculinity is by being sexually liberated. Even if he conflates his own emotions with his endeavours.”

“I … I don’t even know what to say Namjoon.” You murmur, eyes looking up through your lashes.

“You don’t need to say anything. I just want you to be honest to yourself, not anyone else. But yourself.” He tells you, carding a gentle hand over your head.

You fiddle with your thumbs.

“What do you want?”

Despite you confiding two different people, you find yourself at a convenience store at 12AM, scarfing down ramen from a cup noodle because your mind was a funny place when it was muddled with a hundred different thoughts. You knew sleep wasn’t an option for you either, and you were hungry. But somehow you didn’t have anything back in your apartment that screamed ‘I’m in a crisis’ enough for you to eat.

Which is why you’re here, while the cashier keeps his eyeball to himself when he sees yet another college student who’s probably having their third mental breakdown of the day.

It is, but not for the right reasons, you think dryly.

You think you’re alone until the chime of the bell momentarily distracts you and you turn your head to acknowledge the next lone customer who may be going through their own set of issues, or had a fucked up sleeping schedule.

But you’re not expecting to make eye contact with Jennie, out of everyone or any stranger you could’ve come across.

She spots you, shoots you a weird look that has you nearly choking on a string of noodles before she moves on to what she came here to do and stops at the snack section, skimming through her options before she settles on a pack of shrimp chips. Your heart churns because they were Jungkook’s favourite. You don’t want to wonder why she picked them.

You turn to your noodles, scarf them down some more because you want to eat your thoughts away even if you’re half-considering to call Jungkook, tell him you wanted to talk. But you knew that if you spoke to him now when you were still sorting out your thoughts, you’d end up in a situation you won’t be ready to deal with.

So when you poke at your food and sigh to yourself, you almost miss the way the stool beside you scrapes against the floor as you cringe.

You turn to shoot a petty glare at the person, and you see Jennie; casually tearing open her chips and popping one into her mouth

You blink at her, and you’re left even more speechless when she juts her hand out as if to offer you a shrimp cracker. Like it was a weird symbol of a truce. Even if you weren’t really … enemies.

“Want some?”

You stare at her, and before you can think twice your lips are moving.

“The crackers or your company?” You say dryly.

Her eyes widen, and so does yours. You didn’t expect to say your exact thoughts and you don’t think she expected a quiet, timid girl like you to have said that—out loud at least. Like Yena said, everyone has a mean bone in them. Some longer and larger than others, but they were still there.

“Wow.” She huffs, but she doesn’t seem offended. “Rude, much?”

You wince and feel compelled to apologise. “Sorry.”

She waves you off and you feel odd to be sitting next to her. You always expected her to be more malicious, a lot more of a bitch. And you frown to yourself because you suppose it’s your own preconceived notions of her due to the association she has with Jungkook that had you thinking of her that way.

“What’s someone like you doing here on a weekday?” She asks off-handedly.

The term ‘someone like you’ doesn’t sit well with you, and you scowl.

“I’m eating. What does it look like?” You retort, and Jennie only raises an eyebrow at your response. Much like an angry kitten.

“Damn, I was just asking.” She mutters under her breath, “I’m hungry. Needed a snack.” She shakes the crackers in front of you, “You sure you don’t want one?”

You can’t believe her as you gape at her easy-going state when she thrusts the bag of crackers into your face yet again.

“No.” You furrow your brows, gently pushing it away as she shrugs her shoulders.

“It’s good.” She reasons, and you don’t know why she’s so adamant about having you take one.

The irrational part of you thinks she wants to poison you, to eliminate you for good so she won’t have to deal with your pathetic pining over a person that wasn’t even yours.

“I know.” You mutter. “I tried it before.”

Jennie nods her head slowly, observing the content of the packet on the back before she turns to face you, “Jungkook introduced this to me. Didn’t see the appeal but it’s addictive.”

You freeze, and your ramen soup is getting cold with the way you haven’t prodded at it for a while and in the air-conditioning in the convenience store. You feel your stomach drop, especially now that your initial suspicions were confirmed.

“That’s nice.” You grit. It really isn’t.

“Did he introduce it to you?” She asks with a tilt of her head.

Why you’re still talking to her, or why she was bothering to talk to you when she’s ignored you all this while—you aren’t sure. But you still answer her despite the spite that forms in your chest.

“I introduced it to him.” You inform.

She hums, unbothered. It only irritates you more.

“Is there a reason?” You huff. “Why you’re here?”

She raises an eyebrow, “I’m hungry?”

You scoff. “No.” You slam the table ever so slightly because even if you were annoyed and confused, you weren’t that brave and you didn’t want to cause a scene at a convenience store at midnight. “Why are you here. Talking to me.”

Jennie blinks at you, then stares at you for seconds too long that you flush under her unwavering stare before she ends up in a fit of giggles. You almost think she’s here to mock you, to call you out on your pathetic and humiliating pining for someone who doesn’t care about you the same way you do to him. But she pats you on the shoulder, and you want to think it’s condescending but it doesn’t seem that way at all.

“You’re an acquaintance. You looked like you needed the company.”

You frown, “I don’t.”

She rolls her eyes, munching on another chip.

“You do. Your posture looks depressing.”

“Excuse me?” You scowl.

“It’s true.” She shrugs. “You don’t seem the type to be here wallowing unless it’s really bad. You seem like you have your shit together.”

And because your mind is already muddled and confused, and filled with irrational thoughts. Her words set you off, and you seem to be underrating or overreacting more than usual. So you snap, you shove your cup aside that the soup nearly sloshes out and send her a glare so blazing that Jennie’s caught off guard.

“And you think you know me well enough to gauge whether or not I’m ‘like this’ or the type to have a perfect mental breakdown regimen because I’m smart?” You seethe. Jennie’s eyes widen. “I have mental breakdowns like every other student and I binge eat when I’m stressed and I fuck up from time to time. I curse, yes! I see your face. Oh does she not curse? Well, look at me, bitch. I can curse like a motherfucking sailor at sea when the fishes come because I’m human. I’m just like you. So fuck off with your ‘you seem like you have your shit together’ because I don’t and I’m so fucking annoyed with your stupid face whenever I see it because it only reminds me of Jungkook!”

The silence is defining, even the cashier stops counting his bills for the night because you don’t hear the rubbing of money together. You feel his stare on your back, and more pressingly, you feel Jennie’s shocked expression linger on your face, and now that you’ve come down from your rage. Your face heats up in embarrassment.

You don’t even recall what you said, except for the fact you’ve mentioned her and Jungkook in the same sentence. And your face pales.

“I …” She chokes.

You flush, before you’re turning away, snatching your belongings to leave and forget this convenience store and never return because you don’t think you can show your face here ever again.

But before you’re able to make a run for it, a hand grabs your elbow that stops you from moving any further.

“This is already as embarrassing—” You exasperate, trying to snatch your arm away.

“For a girl so smart, you’re really dumb, aren’t you?” She deadpans.

You gape, finding enough strength to retrieve your arm as you stare at her with a dumbfounded expression.

“Excuse me—?”

“Firstly, let’s unpack what you just said because there are a lot of things that need to be dissected here.” She says blankly.

You scowl, “Look I don’t—”

“One.” She blinks as if she was doing a presentation for a course and not talking to an alleged acquaintance. “I don’t think you should act a certain way just because you’re smart. You’re entitled to your own mechanisms and I’m not judging you for them. I was simply pointing out my own observations, and I’m sorry for being insensitive.”

You’re stunned to silence, because did Jennie just … apologise to you?

“Two.” She says. You listen silently. “I think you have things you need to talk to Jungkook about, and frankly—I would’ve stayed away if I knew that the two of you were a thing.”

“We’re not a thing!” You cry, face flushed.

She shoots you an unimpressed look, “Really. So that oddly targeted blow-up was because of your mental breakdown and not because you don’t have feelings for Jungkook?”

She’s the third person to call you out the same day, or within the first one in the next. And it’s even more embarrassing because it’s the girl you’ve compared yourself to countless times because of your own insecurities.

“Yes.” You snap childishly.

Jennie sighs, gesturing for you to sit on the stool. You want to defy her out of spite, but you’ve already gotten this far into the conversation and you feel like you’d miss out on something if you left now.

“Why are you mad at me?” She asks.

“I-I’m not mad—” You weakly protest.

“You are. There’s anger in you and if it’s not directed to Jungkook then it’s directed to me. Is it because I’m a woman?”

Your eyes widen, “What—?”

“Let me reword that,” She sighs. “Is it because I’m the woman with Jungkook?”

You flinch at her declaration, especially since she indirectly confessed to being with him, while you weren’t.

“I don’t …” You trail off in a whisper.

“I don’t blame you for being angry.” She says. “But I need you to understand that I would never have done anything with him if I knew that the two of you were together.”

“We’re not.” You blink, and her unimpressed look is still there that makes you speak a little louder. “We’re not together.”

She opens her mouth to say something, then shuts it. You see her furrow her eyebrows before she settles for a response that comes a few moments after.

“Okay, then if you’re not together then why the resentment?” She puts it so simply and now that you’re listening to her, you feel a lot stupider.

“I just …” You croak, fiddling with your fingers, “I don’t …”

She sighs, “Listen. We’re both women here. I know how it feels to be left in the dark when it comes to things like this but there’s no point in being angry at me when in reality it’s Jungkook you need to talk to. If you aren’t together then I don’t understand why you’re angry with me—or with him.”

You sit there in silence, nearly pouting like a scolded child.

“You’re his type.” You say softly.

Jennie pauses before she raises an eyebrow.

“And you believe that?”

You furrow your eyebrows, “I mean, of course?” You mumble, “You’re pretty, confident and sexy. Any guy would like you.”

For a moment, you think you’ve said too much. Looked to vulnerable. But Jennie doesn’t do the typical mean girl thing where she laughs in your face and threatens to expose you. Instead, her eyes soften, and her hand reaches out to hold yours.

“____.” She calls your name gently, and you look away, embarrassed. “You’re pretty. You’re confident. You are sexy.”

You flush, “No. I’m not.”

She scoffs, “_____, there isn’t a set definition of what a pretty woman is like. Nor is there a one-dimensional understanding of a confident woman. There are confident women who strut in their walk and commands all the attention in the room. But there are also quiet, assured women who are intelligent and confident in their capabilities. Both of them are so different, but the one thing that they have in common?” She prompts as your eyebrows furrow. “They’re both women who are worthy of love.”

You blink up at her when her tone goes softer.

“I don’t think I’m Jungkook’s type.” She tells you.

But for some reason you need to deny it, again.

“I think you are.” You mumble, “You’re … you. And you’re probably … experienced.” You cringe at what you say, and you’re mortified if you need to explain yourself to her. But Jennie immediately picks up on it, and you don’t notice how she tenses for a split second but recovers immediately.

“We’ve done things together, yes.” You feel your heart shatter, “But you don’t have to do anything with him for him to like you.”

You sigh, “Maybe. But that's the only way he’s ever wanted me.” You say so softly that Jennie almost doesn’t catch it.

Jennie’s face softens much more, turning into a much gentler expression as she nudges your chin to look at her. And when you do, you feel wounded. You feel so much less assured than you were when you were raging at her. You hated it, how she treated you so kindly when she should’ve been cursing at you like you did to her.

“Do you want to know something?” She asks.

You nibble on your lips before you nod your head.

“If someone doesn’t want you. It’s not because you’re lacking. It’s because they’re lacking the sense to perceive you in a way that recognises your inherent worth to be loved.”

Your breath hitches and Jennie continues.

“I’ve had instances where men didn’t want to sleep with me because I was too confident, too sexually liberated for them. As if who I slept with mattered because it wasn’t them. It was never going to be them.”

“I didn’t sleep with Jungkook.” You tell her, voice soft as if you needed to clarify.

“And you don’t need to. You don’t need to sleep with anyone for them to want you. If Jungkook only wants you for your body then he doesn’t deserve you.” She points out.

You feel your heart clench, and the realisation coming from Jennie only hurts even more.

“But he’s important to me …” You whisper.

“What’s important is not always what’s good for you.” She informs you with a gentle smile. “Your sexuality is yours. And if you want to sleep or be sexual with someone, you do it because you want to. Not because someone coerced you into doing it.”

Your eyes widened, “N-No. Jungkook didn’t force me. I consented. To all of it.” You murmur, “I wanted to do it. B-But I just felt so … lacking? In comparison and … since then all he’s came to me for was just … that.”

Jennie nibbles on her bottom lip, “Jungkook’s not a bad person.” She says softly. And she’s the second person that tells you that. So you know it’s a true reflection of his character.

“I know.”

She smiles, “We both do.” She nods, “But he’s misguided. He’s never had the ability to be with someone he really cares for and I think when that happened—he dealt with it the only way he knows how to.”

You furrow your brows, “But he’s with you.”

She shakes her head with a small chuckle, “No. Not emotionally, at least.” She informs. “And he doesn’t care about me. I know. He’s always kept me at arms-length away, and I’m fine with that because I don’t like him like that either.”

You blink, and your ears turn red. “H-How do you—?”

“How do I separate lust from affection?” She laughs. “It’s because I can. Not everyone can do that, and Jungkook is one of them.”

“But you just said that he didn’t care about you.”

“I’m not talking about me,” She smiles sadly.

Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion until you realise what she was implying. And you don’t want to assume anything, never. Because hope was the one feeling that was worse than fear and you didn’t want to subject yourself to that just yet.

“Oh.” You mumble.

She nods, squeezing your hand.

“I think he misses you.”

You purse your lips.

You missed him, too.