#and now i get to talk to so many people who know of or about him and it is just!! a straight shot of joy to the system honestly!!

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: nsfw, rough sex, choking, expensive sex worker!reader, sorta toxic relationship, age-gap

♡ FEM reader

Thinking about the ruthless kingpin, owner of the city's most high-end escort business…

The one who took you in when you were still only a sorry street wretch—a child who fought with rocks over scraps before he taught you women didn’t need to draw blood in order to win.

Oh, and he taught you well... How you could make fools out of men, but never of him, with only a weaponized look in your eye.

You were a fast learner, too. The type of fast you only see in people who enjoy what they’re learning. You had fun slipping on those tiny dresses and heels, going out prowling for filthy rich men you could make your happy victims. You’d come away with their money and their thanks and seemed to bask in every second of it.

Back then, you were hungry. But too soon, it became too easy, and too soon, you realized money was a dull thing that would quicker leave you feeling sick to your overfull stomach than satisfied. 

You used to think you could buy a house and call it home, but you’ve since learned it doesn’t work that way. 

So you always come back to him. Home-sick little thing that you are.

You wear his shirt and coy eyes, crawling into his lap, daring him to fuck you now that you’ve made yourself so priceless.

“Think you can still afford me, old man?” you ask, looking at him through that sly smile he taught you to perfection so many years ago.

“Brazen,” he scoffs. “But coming crawling back here with your tail tucked between your legs isn’t exactly a good sales pitch, little girl.” 

Sighing, he acts as if he isn’t interested—and by god, how you missed getting played with like that. 

“I thought I taught you better than to show people what a wretched street cat you used to be, and yet here you are, begging me for the same scraps.”

You moan with aggression, a gleeful smile splitting your painted lips, looking at him with a twinkle in your eyes whilst purring, “Mmh, how I missed your dirty talk. Nothing gets me wetter than watching you deny how you don’t wish you’d collared me when you still had the chance.” 

He scoffs then, half-mast eyes watching as you unhurriedly unbuckle his belt for him. In his lap like a loyal pet. “Why would I put in the effort when you come back to me so willingly?”

“You trust me that much? That while you take your afternoon nap, I won’t find myself someone else to entertain me.” Your smile doesn’t waver, nor do your hands, and how they work oh-so-painfully slow at unbuttoning him, taking your sweet time, baiting him both with your actions and with your words. “I mean, you’re getting on in your years... I’m not sure how much longer you can keep up.”

That does it, of course. Older than you or not, he’s got the strength of a bull and the stamina of one who’s seen red, grabbing you by the fat of your ass as he springs up and strides to the bed where he all but tosses you down.

You only giggle and receive him, ready for your punishment like a convict pleading guilty. Feeling the same type of urgency take you when he bears over you, you rush to unbutton his shirt, attacking each other with tongue and teeth.

He tugs you close by the hips and doesn’t wait for any word of consent before filling you up.

Your eyes roll back, digging your painted nails into the muscles of his back and locking your legs behind him, thinking it feels nothing short of homecoming the way he stakes his claim as if he owns you.

“Playing games even when you know you’re mine,” he growls against your lips, his fist finding its way around your throat, squeezing tight. “Say it.” 

He owns you. He made you. Sculpted you with his bare fucking hands. You’ll never escape him. And you know it, so you should admit it with your chest. You’re his. No matter how many others you may go out hunting at night, you’ll always come back to your owner to present the kill. So be honest. His grip on your throat tightens. He owns you. 

“Say it.”

“I love you.”

All movement stills—breaths and all—hanging poised in the air as if stuck in the suspension. His heart flinches within his chest, rifts with hope so brutal it’s reminiscent of terror.

It hadn’t been what he’d expected to hear, nor was he aware he’d even wanted to hear it, and still, even now, he’s a little unsure as this feeling within is something he’s never before felt but always dreaded, and yet here you are, taking him by surprise.

You’re betraying the game the two of you’ve been playing. Throwing the knife away and asking him if he won’t do the same. But you’re not supposed to do such silly things. You’re supposed to have more pride than that. You’re supposed to be fangs and all, not soft-spoken confessions and those big eyes full of raw hope that bring him to his knees. Oh no, what have you done?

“Then marry me.”

Oh no, what have you made him do?

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Enji, Aizawa, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Nanami, Geto, Naoya, Toji ♡ BLLK – Aiku ♡ AOT – Zeke

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[jungkoode]

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 21

˗ˏˋ birthday shots ˎˊ˗

"Jungkook’s friends, Jungkook’s birthday party… It’s all honestly not what you expected. But then again, Jungkook keeps twisting your expectations of him, once and once again."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 8,4k

content: jungkook having friends, feeling out of place, pretty girls, judgemental people, tae/hobi/jk protecting the peace, shared secrets, nicknames gaining an intimate layer, stubbornness with spicy food, drinking, doing shots and jungkook being both attentive and protective.

✧ author's note ✧

Aaaand we’re finally here. The party. The build-up. The chaos potential. The birthday. After 20 chapters of yearning, character dissection, awkward eye contact, and conversations that say everything and nothing at the same time… we are officially entering the next arc: actual real-world social interaction. Which, if you’ve been paying attention, is every character’s personal hell. Including mine.

First of all—yes, this is Jungkook’s party chapter. Yes, it’s a pivotal one. Yes, I was pacing around my flat in a hoodie muttering “okay but what would he wear” like a deranged method actor trying to get into character. And yes, there are about 15 new people here. But please don’t panic. You don’t need to memorize them all. This isn’t a fantasy war council. You’re not about to be quizzed on the name of Jungkook’s friend’s cousin’s dog. They’re not here to steal the plot—they’re here to color it.

Jungkook’s different social groups, clashing and blending like some unhinged Venn diagram of his life. They each say something about him and the many versions of himself he keeps—because, as always, this isn’t about the party. It’s about him and her, and us, and the very inconvenient reality of human attachment.

Now. Tessa (and yes, Toasty, when you read this… the name comes 100% from you hahaha).

Yup. That girl from the library. She’s here. She’s breathing. She’s talking. And she’s not a villain.

I know, I know, fanfiction is riddled with the evil-rival-love-interest trope. The girl who eyes you up and down with thinly veiled contempt. The passive aggressive bitch who “just happens” to sit on his lap or call him baby in front of you. The girl whose entire personality is “threat to the main couple.” And listen—I could never.

Tessa isn’t like that. Because most people aren’t like that. Attraction doesn’t automatically equal competition, and not every woman who talks to a man you like is an enemy. That’s such a tired, flat, boring cliche. I’m not writing this story to project misogynistic tropes onto women so we can feel smug about someone else being “the wrong one.” I don’t want you to root against her. I don’t want you to root against anyone, really. Maybe Mia, but that’s what she’s for. She’s your pressure valve. You need someone to hate. That’s what makes the rest bearable.

Tessa’s presence is not a betrayal. It’s just reality. Jungkook is allowed to be liked. He’s allowed to explore. And so is Nix. She’s not some pushover sainted martyr of “true love.” She’s a girl. She’s confused. She’s a little guarded. She’s still trying to understand herself.

There’s no jealousy because there is no claim. There’s no relationship, no commitment, no confessions, no secret “we’re basically already in love” subtext. There’s just this slow, painful, glacial slide into a kind of closeness that might one day become something else—but hasn’t. Not even close. This chapter is about a possible beginning of something resembling tentative friendship. We are barely out of enemies-to-mildly-tolerating-each-other zone. We are in the “do I text you or is that weird” era.

Don’t rush it. Don’t expect it. That’s not the story I’m telling.

Nix being unbothered isn’t character growth. It’s just honesty. It’s consistency. I’ve spent 20 chapters building a girl who’s emotionally guarded, private, and painfully aware of the dynamics she allows herself to engage in. She’s not “cool with it” to be cool—she’s just not invested like that yet. And that matters. We’re not jumping stages for drama. We’re walking, slowly, through the psychology of two people who don’t even know what they want. Let them be confused. Let them be messy. Let them take their time.

I’m writing slow burn with psychological realism at its core, and that means actions have context. If you came here expecting love confessions and possessive meltdowns and “he’s mine stay away” drama… wrong story, babes. I want you uncomfortable. I want you squinting at every interaction wondering if it means something. I want you to question how affection develops, really. Slowly. Subtly. Almost invisibly, until it’s all you can think about.

The story isn’t about dramatic betrayals or Big Plot Twists. It’s about tension. About two people orbiting each other in their own broken, stumbling ways. It’s about glances that last too long and words that don’t come out right and the way your heart knows something long before your brain does. It’s about patterns, and Jungkook’s are catching up to him.

You don’t need to like everyone. But you should understand them. And that’s what I’m asking of you here. Because these characters aren’t plot devices—they’re real to me. They’re studies. They’re messy. And god, I love them for it.

So yeah. Welcome to the party. The masks are on, the music’s loud, and no one knows how to behave when they’re being watched. Especially him.

Enjoy. Suffer. Stare at the page like you’re decoding a sacred text. That’s the vibe.

And as always…

You’re here to suffer. I’m here to deliver.

You’re welcome.

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

You never realized a person could contain so many versions of themselves until you saw Jungkook surrounded by his friends.

"SURPRISE!"

The word explodes through the small ramen shop, followed by cheers and laughter as Jungkook freezes beside you. 

His fingers quickly pocket his phone, eyes widening with a genuine shock that transforms his entire face. 

Gone is the perpetually amused, slightly condescending roommate you've come to know. In his place stands someone younger, almost innocent—lips parting in stunned delight, eyes crinkling at the corners.

It's fucking weird is what it is.

"Holy shit," he breathes, a laugh bursting from him as Taehyung launches himself across the restaurant, wrapping Jungkook in a hug that nearly knocks him over. "What the fuck?"

Hobi follows immediately, bouncing on his feet like an overgrown puppy before throwing his arms around both of them, turning the duo into a chaotic tangle of limbs and laughter. 

Even Yoongi gets up, offering a slow clap before joining with a more restrained but no less genuine embrace—the kind with back pats that guys do when they want to prove they have exactly two emotions: hungry and sports.

You hang back, suddenly aware of how many strangers are packed into this place. 

The restaurant is full of people—at least a dozen beyond the ones you recognize—all focused on Jungkook with varying degrees of excitement. Some are already raising drinks in toast, others taking photos, a couple shouting things you can't quite make out over the general chaos.

"P-Kill! Happy birthday, man!"

"Proofs! You made it!"

"Proofy, get over here!"

What the actual fuck are these names? 

You frown, trying to connect these bizarre nicknames to the Jungkook you know—the one who leaves his dirty dishes in the sink and plays his music too loud and once tried to convince you that Kraft mac and cheese was "technically gourmet."

None of this computes.

Jungkook catches your confusion as he disentangles himself from his friends, eyes flicking toward you with that familiar half-smile that somehow feels like a private joke.

"Hey," he says, suddenly at your side again. His hand brushes your elbow briefly—not grabbing, just a light touch that seems oddly grounding in this chaos. "These are my friends. Guys, this is my roommate."

He says your name easily, no ‘Phoenix’ or ‘Nix’ in sight, and it's weirdly jarring—like hearing a song you know played in the wrong key. 

Not technically wrong, just... off.

The next few minutes are a blur of names and faces, most immediately forgotten as you try to keep track of who's who in this bizarre alternative universe where Jungkook is apparently the center of a large social circle. There's a group of guys—gamers, apparently—who keep calling him those weird nicknames.

"These three idiots," Jungkook explains, gesturing toward a trio of guys who look like they haven't seen sunlight in months, "are my Steam friends. My username is ProofedToKill, so that's where all the dumb nicknames come from."

Of course, that tracks. He's always yelling at the TV when he plays Call of Duty in the living room. You've had multiple arguments about it, usually ending with him putting on headphones and you turning up your music out of spite.

"Don't start," he warns, but there's no real edge to it. "I've already heard all your anti-shooters propaganda."

"It's not propaganda if it's true."

He rolls his eyes but doesn't take the bait, already being pulled toward another group by Taehyung. 

"Come on, there are more people you should meet."

You follow, because what else are you going to do? Stand alone by the door like some kind of abandoned pet? 

Besides, you're curious now. Curious about these other fragments of Jungkook's life that you've never been privy to before.

The space is packed, noisy in that way that forces everyone to talk slightly too loud. Sensory overload city. People keep touching Jungkook—hugs, shoulder claps, high fives—and he's letting them, which might be the weirdest part of all this. 

Since when does he like being touched by people who aren't naked?

"Jungkook!" a female voice exclaims, cutting through the noise. A tall girl with auburn hair moves toward him with the confident grace of someone who's never tripped over her own feet in public. "Happy birthday!"

She wraps him in a hug that makes you realize just how tall she is—like, almost his height tall—and beside her, another girl—smaller, with short black hair and glasses—offers a more reserved greeting.

"Hey Tessa, hey Diana," Jungkook says, looking genuinely pleased to see them. "Didn't think you'd be here!"

Tessa. 

The library girl. The one he was doing that group project thing with.  The one who kept laughing too loud whenever Jungkook said something that probably wasn't even that funny.

"Taehyung invited us," she explains, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Hope that's okay."

"Of course it's okay," Jungkook says, and you hate how sincere he sounds. 

Where's the sarcastic asshole you live with? Who is this pod person?

"We brought you something," Diana says, holding out a small bag. "Just a little thing."

Jungkook accepts it with a thanks that sounds almost shy, and what the fuck? Since when is he shy about anything?

"Oh, this is my roommate," he adds, suddenly remembering your existence. 

He says your name again, and you force a smile because what else can you do in this bizarre social ritual?

"Nice to meet you," Tessa says with a warmth that feels genuine, which is almost worse than if she'd been fake. At least fake would make sense. "Jungkook's mentioned you before. You're in English Lit, right?"

He's talked about you? To her? 

What the fuck has he said?

"Yeah," you manage, because apparently your vocabulary has been reduced to monosyllables in the face of all this unexpected social interaction. "English major."

"That's amazing," she says, and she actually seems to mean it. "I'm in Film too, but I've always loved literature. What's your focus?"

Before you can answer—thank god, because you haven't prepared a thesis statement on your academic interests for a birthday party—Hobi appears with a tray of shots, announcing that it's time for the birthday boy to start celebrating properly.

So, of course, the whole crowd moves towards him, shots being thrown back easily. You find yourself suddenly on the outside of it, still standing with Tessa and Diana but no longer the focus of their attention.

It's a relief, honestly. 

You've never been good at this kind of thing—large groups, small talk, unfamiliar social dynamics. 

It's like being dropped into a play where everyone else knows the script and you're just… improvising. Kinda hoping you don't accidentally say the wrong line and reveal yourself as the impostor.

Your eyes wander around the restaurant, taking in the details you missed—it’s actually a cozy place, warm wood and soft lighting, with private booths along one wall and a long table down the center where most of Jungkook's friends have gathered. 

You can smell the sizzling of pans working through different ingredients—garlic, onion, ginger… But your eyes end up on Jungkook anyway.

He swallows down a shot, grimacing at the burn. 

Someone passes him another. 

Someone else claps him on the back. 

He's at the center of all this attention and he's... thriving in it. Laughing, talking.

It’s strange, seeing him like this. So carefree, so loud (although he’s always loud but this is a different kind of loud?)—so in his… element. 

You can’t help but feel out of place.

Because, truly. Do you even fit in here? Are you an element? Part of his element? Or whatever this is? 

This morning you were agonizing over whether you could be friends with the guy you've been fucking. 

Now you're standing in a room full of people who already are his friends, who've known him much longer than you have, who see a completely different side of him than the one you get.

It's... a lot.

You pull out your phone, needing something to do with your hands, but the screen stays dark. Okay. Dead. Fantastic.

"You okay?"

The voice at your elbow makes you jump. 

It's Jungkook, somehow back at your side despite the crowd still demanding his attention.

"Fine," you say automatically. "Just... observing."

His eyes scan your face, more perceptive than you'd like. "You look like you'd rather be literally anywhere else."

"Not true. I can think of at least three places that would be worse." You tick them off on your fingers. "The DMV. An insurance seminar. Dinner with my parents."

That gets a laugh out of him—a real one, one you seem to be getting out of him more and more often. 

“Fair enough. Come on, let me get you a drink. It'll help with..." 

He pauses, purses his lips as he tilts his head at you.

"With what, exactly?"

"The whole 'I'd rather eat glass than make small talk with strangers' vibe you're giving off."

"I'm not—" you start to protest, but he's already pulling you toward the bar, his hand warm against your lower back.

"It's fine, Phee," he says, the familiar nickname slipping out naturally now that you're momentarily separated from the crowd. "Not everyone's into the whole big social scene. You don't have to pretend."

You want to argue on principle—deny that he knows you that well, that he can read your discomfort so easily—but it would be pointless. 

He's right. 

You do hate this. 

And the fact that he noticed, that he came back to check on you instead of just leaving you to flounder on your own...

It's annoying. Or it should be. 

Instead, it feels weirdly considerate.

"I don't need a babysitter," you mutter as he flags down the bartender. "Go enjoy your party. I'm perfectly capable of standing in a corner judging people on my own."

"Maybe I'm enjoying my party more over here." 

He orders something you don't catch, then turns back to you with that half-smile that's somehow more familiar than the broad grin he's been flashing at everyone else.

“Besides, if I leave you alone too long, you might decide to ditch, and then who would I blame when I need an excuse to escape Hobi's karaoke demands?"

"Yoongi seems like a good scapegoat."

"Nah, Yoongi secretly loves karaoke. Just pretends to hate it so people will beg him. It's weird."

The bartender slides two glasses toward Jungkook—whiskey is one, by the look of it. 

The other one is… 

Vodka cranberry.

He remembers?

You lick your lips. Nervous suddenly. Maybe. Or not really. Just uncomfortable, because here it is again. Jungkook being attentive, doing these stupid kind things that completely shatter the reputation you have built for him in your head. 

"You really don't have to babysit me," you say again, but you take the drink anyway. "I'm fine."

His eyes search yours, more serious than usual. "I know you're fine. Maybe I just want to hang out with you."

Something shifts in your chest—a small, uncomfortable flutter. 

“Why? You have a dozen other people here who actually like you."

"Ouch." He presses a hand to his heart, mock wounded. "And here I thought we were making progress on the whole friendship thing."

"The jury's still out on that one."

"Uh-huh." He takes a sip of his whiskey, eyes never leaving yours. "Well, consider this evidence for the 'pro' column: I noticed you were uncomfortable and came to rescue you instead of letting you suffer in silence."

"Maybe I prefer suffering in silence."

"No one prefers suffering in silence, Nix. Some people just don't think they deserve better."

The way he says it makes something twirl uncomfortable inside your chest.

You take a large drink instead of responding, welcoming the burn as it slides down your throat.

“Make sure to finish that quickly. Get ready for the party games.”

"There are going to be party games?"

"That’s only the beginning."

"So," you say, swaying your glass slightly, watching the burgundy liquid catch the light, "ProofedToKill, huh? Didn't know I was living with such a badass."

"No? I thought you knew how badass I am.”

“You’re bad, and an ass. That doesn’t make you a badass. Different word.”

He laughs, low and warm, and you can’t help the smile that forms on your lips without conscious input.

"You know what it actually means?" he asks, leaning back against the wall. 

You raise an eyebrow. "That you're secretly a hitman with terrible grammar?"

"Hilarious." He rolls his eyes, but there's no real irritation behind it. "It's a baking term, actually."

"A what now?"

"Baking. You know, that thing people do with flour and heat instead of burning the place down.”

“If you bring up the candle incident one more time—”

He makes a zipping motion over his mouth, and your lips twitch with the effort of chuckling. 

“Wait, are you seriously telling me your super tough gamer name is about... baking?"

He sighs, looking down at his glass. "When you're making bread—sourdough specifically—there's this stage called 'proofing.’ It's when the dough rises, develops flavor. If you overproof it, it collapses. If you underproof, it's dense. But if you get it just right..."

"You've... proofed to kill?" you finish, unable to keep the disbelief from your voice.

"Exactly." He grins, clearly pleased that you've made the connection. "Perfect proofing. Killer bread. It's a whole thing."

You stare at him, genuinely speechless for perhaps the first time since you've known him. 

This man—this infuriating, cocky roommate who struts around like he owns every room he enters—has a gamer tag based on fucking bread-making. 

And he's admitting it. 

Voluntarily. 

"So let me get this straight," you say slowly. "Your badass online persona, the one all your friends call you by, is actually a baking pun?"

"In my defense, it's a really good pun. And most people assume it's about, you know, being good at shooting things. Which I also am." He shrugs, cockiness slipping back into place.

“You’re so weird,” you mutter, but you know he doesn’t take it seriously.

"Been doing it since college. The whole sourdough thing at midnight." He confesses, glancing around briefly, like he's checking to make sure no one else is listening, then lowers his voice. "My mom taught me. She had this whole recipe she'd developed over years, this perfect sourdough method. Made the best bread you've ever tasted."

Again that softness, almost reverence when he speaks about his mom. 

It always catches you off guard. You've never heard him talk like this before. Never heard him talk about his family at all, really.

"After she..." he continues, then stops himself, shaking his head slightly. "Anyway. I keep trying to recreate it. Haven't quite nailed it yet."

Neither of you speak for a couple of beats. His gaze is still fixed on his drink, and then he takes a sip, like his mind is somewhere else completely.

“Is that why you stress-bake at 3 AM? Trying to get the proof right?"

His eyes meet yours, surprised.

Maybe a little grateful for the redirect. 

“You’ve noticed?”

“I mean, I just went to the bathroom one night and saw you fighting the dough, so…”

He chuckles, gaze back on his glass. “Yeah. It's... meditative, I guess. Helps me think."

"Weird way to think, but okay."

"Says the person who reads the same depressing Kafka story fourteen times and calls it 'processing.'"

"It's a good story."

"It's about a guy turning into a giant bug."

"And it speaks to the alienation inherent in modern existence. Your point?"

He laughs again, shaking his head. "God, you're such a fucking English major."

"And you're a secret bread nerd. We all have our crosses to bear."

His smile shifts into something different—softer around the edges, almost vulnerable. "Don't tell anyone, okay? About the username thing. I have a reputation to maintain."

"What, you mean your friends don't know your tough gamer handle is actually about your sourdough obsession?"

"Only Yoongi knows. And now you." He drums his fingers on the glass once, twice. "That's enough oversharing on my part for the day, I think. Sooner or later it's going to have to be your turn, you know, Pyx?"

Great. A new variation of your nickname. Does he ever stop coming up with them?

"My turn for what?"

"Sharing something real." His eyes hold yours, steady. "Friendship goes both ways, Nix."

You scoff, ignoring the way your heart rate picks up slightly. "I share things."

"Like what? Your coffee order doesn't count."

"I told you about the IUD."

"That's medical, not personal."

"It's literally inside my body. How much more personal can it get?"

He sighs, but he makes it dramatic this time. "You know what I mean. Something that matters to you. Something real."

You do know. That's the problem. He's asking for exactly the kind of vulnerability you've spent years carefully avoiding. The kind that gives people ammunition, that creates expectations, that leads to disappointment when you inevitably fail to meet them.

But he just told you about his mom. About bread and baking and usernames that mean more than they appear to. He offered something real—small, maybe, but genuine.

And isn't that what this whole friendship experiment is supposed to be about?

You open your mouth, not entirely sure what's going to come out, when a crash from across the restaurant saves you. Hobi has somehow managed to knock over an entire tray of drinks, and the resulting chaos immediately draws everyone's attention, including Jungkook's.

"Shit," he mutters, already half-moving. "I should go help before he makes it worse."

"Go," you nod, equal parts relieved and strangely disappointed. "Your public needs you."

He hesitates, eyes still on yours. "We're not done with this conversation."

"Pretty sure we are."

"Pretty sure we're just getting started." He stands fully, but doesn't leave immediately. "Come join, okay? Whenever you’re ready.”

You watch him weave through the crowd toward the spill, already calling out something to Hobi that makes the other man laugh despite the mess. It's strange, seeing him like this—in his element, surrounded by people who know him in ways you don't.

ProofedToKill. A baking pun turned gamer tag. A piece of his mother he carries with him, encrypted in plain sight.

You take another sip of your vodka cranberry, wondering what else about Jungkook you've been missing all this time.

Eleven people crammed around a table is basically psychological warfare in restaurant form.

You're somehow stuck directly across from Jungkook, because apparently the universe has a shitty sense of humor. 

Next to him, Tessa has claimed her territory, her long legs perfectly positioned under the table while yours are already cramping from the weird angle. Of course.

At least you've got Yoongi on your left—a silent, grounding presence in the chaos. When you'd awkwardly hovered near his chair, he'd just grunted and shifted slightly to make room. 

In Yoongi-speak, that's practically a formal invitation with calligraphy and shit.

Diana sits on your other side, petite and prim, her small hands already arranging her napkin with quick movements. She keeps glancing at Tessa across the table with an expression you can't quite decipher—somewhere between admiration and mild disapproval.

The menu in Yoongi's hands looks worn and slightly sticky, but your stomach is basically staging a revolt after hours of nothing but ibuprofen and vodka. You lean over, scanning the options without asking permission because fuck it, you're hungry.

The spicy ramen section catches your eye immediately. 

Your stomach gives another impatient growl.

"I want those," you announce, pointing at the spiciest option on the menu.

Yoongi barely blinks. "Cool. I didn't ask."

You roll your eyes and lean back in your chair because, okay, whatever. Rude ass. Though honestly, there's something almost refreshing about his complete lack of social polish. 

At least you always know where you stand with him, which is approximately nowhere.

A movement across the table draws your attention. 

Jungkook's eyes have lifted from his own menu, catching yours with an intensity that feels weirdly intimate in the crowded space. His gaze flickers down again almost immediately, but not before you notice the corner of his mouth tilting upward.

What's he laughing about? Stupid. He's stupid.

"I kinda wanted the spicy ones too," he says, looking up again. "Maybe we can share?"

You squint at him suspiciously. "Huh? No. I want the bowl entirely for me."

Diana makes a soft sound beside you—half laugh, half disbelief. 

“I can't believe you can eat all that."

The words hang there for a moment while your brain processes the judgment packaged in her innocent-sounding comment. 

Did she just really—

"C'mon Diana," Tessa cuts in swiftly, laugh warm and genuine, "not everyone has a small stomach like you."

Diana scowls, her delicate features pinching together. "I just think that's a lot to eat."

"Bro, I could eat two bowls in one sitting," Jungkook says.

"Make that three," Taehyung adds from Jungkook's other side. "You're a fucking goblin, Kooks."

"Three? Amateur," one of the gamer guys—Steve? Sean?—chimes in from the end of the table. "Remember that time after the tournament when you ate four bowls of ramen and then threw up in my car?"

"That was food poisoning," Jungkook protests. "Totally different situation."

"Your face was poisoned."

"What does that even mean?"

"Your face... poisoned... my eyes," the guy finishes lamely, clearly losing his train of thought.

"Ten points from Slytherin for that weak-ass comeback," Hobi declares, raising his beer like a wizard's wand. "Jungkook requires better trash talk in his honor."

"Oh shit, we're using Hogwarts points now?" another one asks. "When did we switch systems?"

"Since I just decided, and I'm the dungeon master."

"That's D&D, you uncultured swine," Taehyung sighs, long-suffering. "Completely different franchise."

"Whatever, they're all just wizard nerds," Hobi says with a dismissive wave.

"That's wizard king to you, peasant," Jungkook corrects, puffing out his chest.

“Do you all... actually play these games?" Diana asks, voice faintly disdainful.

"Only when we're not busy with our super cool and important adult lives," Taehyung says, deadpan.

"I just don't get the appeal," she sniffs. "Sitting inside all day, staring at screens—"

"Yo," Hobi cuts in smoothly, somehow managing to sound both friendly and firm at the same time, "different strokes for different folks. Some people climb mountains, some people slay digital dragons. Both valid." 

Diana shifts uncomfortably under his gaze. "I guess."

"Besides," you find yourself saying, "it's literally his birthday. Maybe, I don't know, let him enjoy things without the judgment?"

The words come out sharper than intended, surprising even you. 

Since when do you jump to Jungkook's defense? Since when do you care if someone judges his nerdy gaming habits?

Jungkook looks equally surprised, eyebrows raised slightly as he studies your face. Then his expression shifts into something softer, almost appreciative.

"Exactly. Today's about celebrating you," Tessa adds, turning to Jungkook with a warm smile. "And apparently your inhuman ability to consume ramen."

"It's my superpower," he says solemnly. "With great appetite comes great indigestion."

A ripple of laughter moves around the table, breaking the awkward moment. Diana still looks sulky, but at least she's dropped the subject.

The waiter appears then, ready to take orders, and the conversation splinters as everyone tries to decide what they want.

"You really getting the level five spicy?" Yoongi asks quietly while the others debate.

"Yeah. Why, think I can't handle it?"

He snorts. "Just checking if I need to order extra water for when you inevitably start crying."

"I do not cry from spicy food."

"Everyone cries from spicy food if it's actually spicy."

"Well, we'll see, won't we?"

He shrugs, a barely perceptible movement of one shoulder. "Your funeral."

"Comforting as always, Yoon."

The ghost of a smile flits across his face before he returns to his default expression of mild disinterest.

Across the table, Jungkook is in the middle of a heated debate with Taehyung about... something involving a game you've never heard of. His hands move animatedly as he talks, face lit with genuine enthusiasm. One of his friends keeps trying to interject, but Jungkook and Taehyung are in their own world, talking over each other and somehow still understanding perfectly.

He looks so unguarded.

So... normal. Like any other twenty-something guy arguing about video games with his friends.

Not that you care. It's just an observation.

"So you're Jungkook's roommate," Diana says, drawing your attention back to her. Her tone suggests this is somehow both surprising and slightly concerning.

"Yep." You keep it brief, hoping she'll take the hint and drop whatever line of questioning is forming behind those judgmental eyes.

No such luck.

"And how did that happen exactly? Through the university housing board?"

"Craigslist, actually."

Her eyebrows shoot up like you've just admitted to finding the apartment through a demonic summoning ritual. 

“Oh! Isn't that... dangerous?"

"Not really. The apartment was already Yoongi and Jungkook's. I just answered the ad for the third room."

"Still," she persists, "moving in with two guys you don't know. That's brave."

The way she says ‘brave’ makes it clear she means ‘stupid,’ but you're not in the mood to defend your housing choices to someone who probably thinks spicy ramen is too adventurous.

"Not really. Yoongi's background check was pretty thorough," you deadpan. "Only had to provide three references, a blood sample, and my complete genetic history."

Diana blinks, clearly unsure if you're joking.

"It's true," Yoongi confirms without looking up from his phone. "Her midichlorian count was acceptable."

"What’s… midichlorian?" Diana asks uncertainly.

"It’s a real scientific test," you say, keeping your expression perfectly serious. "Very exclusive."

She frowns, increasingly confused, and you feel a small, petty satisfaction at her discomfort.

"They're fucking with you," Taehyung calls from across the table, apparently tuned into your conversation despite seemingly being absorbed in his argument with Jungkook. "It's a Star Wars reference."

"Oh." Diana forces a laugh that doesn't reach her eyes. "Right."

"Ignore them," Tessa says kindly. "They operate on their own wavelength sometimes."

"Especially these two," Hobi adds, gesturing between Taehyung and Jungkook. "Like an old married couple, but with more shouting and fewer financial benefits."

"What do you mean fewer financial benefits?" Jungkook protests. "I've been carrying his broke ass in-game economy for years."

"That gold farm was my idea!"

"Your idea crashed the server and got us banned for a week!"

"Details," Taehyung waves dismissively. "The point is, I'm the brains of this operation."

"And I'm the beauty," Jungkook fires back, striking a pose that makes Hobi snort water through his nose.

It's all so... easy. The banter, the inside jokes, the casual way they navigate each other's personalities. They've clearly had years to develop this rhythm, to learn each other's edges and how to fit together despite them—or maybe because of them.

Something twists in your chest, sharp and unexpected. You busy yourself with your water glass, suddenly very interested in the condensation gathering along its sides.

The waiter returns with drinks, setting them around the table. You're grateful for the distraction, for something to do with your hands besides fidget awkwardly.

"Alright," Hobi declares once everyone has a drink, lifting his glass. "To the birthday boy! May your K/D ratio remain impressive and your hairline unreceded."

"Here's to another year of Jungkook being Jungkook," Taehyung adds, raising his own glass. "God help us all."

"To Kooks," Tessa says, her voice softer but no less sincere. "Happy birthday."

Glasses clink around the table, a chorus of echoed sentiments following. You lift your glass automatically, catching Jungkook's eye as you do. He's watching you, before he smiles—small and surprisingly genuine.

"Thanks for getting me here," he says quietly, just for you.

"Don't mention it," you reply, equally quiet. "Seriously. Don't. I'll deny everything."

His smile widens, and for a moment, it feels like you're back in that booth from earlier—just the two of you, everyone else fading to background noise.

Then Taehyung jostles his arm, demanding his opinion on something, and the moment breaks. 

You take a sip of your drink, trying to ignore the strange feeling that's settled in your chest.

It's probably just hunger. Or the vodka from earlier. 

Or the fact that you've been in this loud, crowded restaurant for what feels like hours now, surrounded by people you barely know, playing a role you're not quite sure how to perform.

Yeah. That's definitely it.

The server arrives with a ridiculous number of bowls balanced along his arms like some kind of food-based Cirque du Soleil performer. Steam rises from each one, carrying scents that make your stomach growl with embarrassing volume.

A massive, angry-looking bowl lands in front of you, the broth practically glowing red. It looks like someone liquefied the sun and threw in some noodles as an afterthought.

Perfect.

Two bowls slide in front of Jungkook—your spicy demon soup's twin and something much more reasonable looking, probably miso based on the color.

"Hungry much?" you ask, eyeing his double order.

"Growing boy," he shrugs, already reaching for chopsticks.

Taehyung, meanwhile, receives... a plate of curry rice? 

"Seriously?" You can't help the judgment that leaks into your voice. "We're at a ramen place and you ordered curry?"

He shoots you a look that could curdle milk. "Some of us have taste beyond 'hot noodle soup.'"

"Some of us aren't afraid of flavor, dickasso."

"Bold words from someone currently holding weapons-grade capsaicin," he fires back, gesturing at your bowl. "Does your taste even function, or did you burn it all away with your sad little Hot Pockets diet?"

"At least I'm not too precious to eat what the restaurant specializes in."

“This is objectively superior."

"Only if your objective is being a pretentious dick."

"I prefer 'discerning connoisseur.'"

"You would."

You hate that banter with Taehyung is starting to become more and more comfortable. Like verbal sparring with someone who actually knows how to return a serve, instead of just standing there getting hit in the face with the ball. 

Not that you like him or anything. His whole vibe—artsy, too cool for school, judgmental as fuck—is objectively annoying.

But maybe also a little entertaining. 

In small doses. 

Very small.

Across the table, Hobi watches this exchange with undisguised amusement, head swiveling between you. 

"I feel like I'm witnessing the beginning of a beautiful friendship," he says, grinning widely. "Or a homicide. Hard to tell."

"Definitely homicide," Taehyung and you say in unison, then glare at each other for the coordination.

You turn your attention back to your ramen, inhaling the spicy steam before digging in. The first bite hits like a kick to the teeth—pain followed immediately by pleasure. 

It's fucking delicious despite feeling like you just licked the surface of the sun.

"Good?" Yoongi asks, watching your face with what might be the ghost of amusement.

"Incredible," you manage, already reaching for more.

Across the table, Jungkook dives into his own spicy bowl with enthusiasm, slurping noodles with zero concern for how it looks. A drop of broth escapes, clinging to his lower lip.

You're about to say something—point it out, make fun of his complete lack of eating etiquette, something—when Tessa reaches out, casual as anything, and swipes her thumb across his lip.

"Messy," she says, the word warm with affection.

He tilts his head toward her, smiling in a way that can only be described as flirtatious. 

“That's my brand."

You purse your lips, returning your attention to your own food. 

Whatever. Let him preen over a pretty girl paying attention to him. His loser ass probably never gets that chance.

Although... that's a lie and you know it. 

The guy is annoyingly good-looking and he knows it. He's probably used to girls fawning over him, cleaning his face like he's a toddler who can't be trusted with utensils.

"Whatcha looking at, Phee—" He cuts himself off abruptly, eyes widening slightly. "—asantly surprised by how spicy that ramen is? Your face is getting red."

Smooth recovery. Not.

"Just thinking about how long it's been since I've had decent ramen."

You grab your water glass, suddenly very aware of the burning sensation spreading across your tongue. 

It's fine. Totally manageable. Nothing to worry about.

"Knew it," Yoongi mutters beside you.

You set the glass down with more force than necessary. "It's not spicy."

"Uh-huh." He doesn't even bother looking up from his own bowl. "That's why your face is the same color as the broth."

"It's warm in here."

"Sure it is."

"I can handle spice."

"Never said you couldn't."

"You implied it."

He finally glances at you, expression as bored as ever. "I implied you're a liar, not a spice lightweight."

"I'm not—" Another wave of heat crashes through your mouth, cutting off your protest. "Fine. It's a little spicy."

The corner of his mouth twitches in what might be a smile on anyone else. "A little."

"Shut up and eat your boring miso."

Amazingly, he actually laughs—a short, quiet sound that's there and gone so quickly you almost think you imagined it. 

But no, that was definitely a laugh. From Yoongi. Directed at something you said.

Huh.

You return to your ramen, determined to finish it despite the way your sinuses are starting to protest. 

It's a matter of pride now. You said you could handle it, so you'll handle it, even if it kills you.

Which it might. But what a way to go.

You glance up, seeing how Jungkook and Tessa have their heads tilted toward each other, engaged in what looks like a very amusing conversation based on her laugh. She keeps touching his arm, casual little points of contact that seem to arrive at perfectly timed intervals.

She's good at this, you'll give her that. The whole flirting thing. Not too obvious, not too reserved. Just the right amount of interest without seeming desperate.

Huh. He might get laid tonight then. Not by you. 

Good for him. 

"You're staring again," Taehyung says, his voice pitched low enough that only you can hear. "Plotting his murder or just generally disapproving of his existence?"

"Just wondering how someone with the personality of a half-deflated balloon animal manages to function in society," you reply smoothly.

"Years of practice and an excellent support system." He gestures between himself and Hobi, who's busy trying to convince one of the gamer guys that yes, there is in fact sake in the sake bomb he just drank. "We've been managing his personality disorder since freshman year."

"Sounds exhausting."

"It is." His eyes drift to where Jungkook is now showing Tessa something on his phone, both of them laughing. "But he has his moments."

You turn your attention back to your food. Halfway through, you make the tactical error of taking a large bite just as Hobi says something particularly funny, causing you to inhale sharply—and sending a piece of chili directly into your windpipe.

Coughing. So much coughing. 

Your eyes water immediately, turning the table into a blurry mess of colors and shapes as you desperately reach for your water again.

"Easy there," Yoongi says, actually sounding a little concerned as he pushes your glass closer. "Small sips."

You manage to get the water down between coughs, the cool liquid offering minimal relief to your burning throat.

"You okay?" Jungkook asks, leaning across the table with a frown.

Great. Now everyone's looking at you. Perfect. Just what you wanted. All the attention.

"Fine," you rasp, waving a hand dismissively. "Went down the wrong pipe."

"Maybe you should try something less lethal," Diana suggests, eyeing your bowl with thinly veiled judgment. "Like the mild shoyu."

"I'm good with my life choices, thanks."

"Not all of them, I hope," Taehyung mutters, just loud enough for you to hear.

You kick him under the table, aiming for his shin but probably hitting the table leg instead based on his lack of reaction.

"If you die from ramen, I'm not cleaning out your room," Yoongi says matter-of-factly.

"Noted. I'll make sure to haunt you specifically."

"Bold of you to assume I'd notice the difference."

"What, between me alive and me as a ghost?"

"You already have a resting bitch face and make weird noises at night. How would I tell?"

You choke again, this time on your own surprise. 

"I do not make weird noises at night!"

"The walls are thin."

Heat creeps up your neck, and it has nothing to do with the spice level of your food. 

“I don't—that's not—"

"Relax. I meant the way you talk in your sleep."

Oh. That's... marginally less mortifying.

"I talk in my sleep?"

"Constantly."

"About what?"

He shrugs. "Mostly nonsense. Something about pencils last night. Very intense opinions on pencils."

"I don't have opinions about pencils," you protest. "Intense or otherwise."

"Tell that to your subconscious."

The conversation shifts as one of the gamers—Ryan? you think?—slams his empty sake cup on the table with more force than necessary.

"Yo!" he announces, loud enough to get everyone's attention. "We should do shots. Birthday shots for the birthday boy!"

A chorus of approval goes up around the table. Even Diana looks on board with this plan, probably because alcohol is the one thing that might loosen up whatever's holding her personality together.

"The birthday boy needs birthday shots," Hobi agrees, already signaling the waiter.

Taehyung groans. "Please tell me we're not doing that ridiculous 'one shot for each year' tradition. I'm not carrying his drunk ass home again."

"That was one time," Jungkook protests.

"One time too many. You kept trying to pet dogs that weren't there."

"I was seeing through the space-time continuum to where dogs would eventually be."

"You threw up in my shower."

"I cleaned it!"

"With my loofah!"

"I replaced it!"

"After I used it!"

You watch this exchange with growing amusement, the rapid-fire back-and-forth almost dizzying in its intensity. It's clear this is a well-worn argument, trotted out for entertainment value rather than actual grievance.

"Fine," Taehyung concedes dramatically. "Birthday shots. But I'm not responsible for any hallucinated canines or bathroom incidents."

"Deal," Jungkook grins, then turns to Tessa. "You in?"

She laughs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I should probably pace myself. Early class tomorrow."

"Responsible," he nods, mock serious. "I respect that."

"Unlike some people," Taehyung mutters, glancing pointedly at Jungkook.

"It's my birthday. I'm legally exempt from responsibility for twenty-four hours."

"That's not a law."

"It's the law of birthdays, Tae. Everyone knows this."

Ryan—definitely Ryan—flags down the server successfully this time, ordering a round of shots for the table. 

“Even for the responsible ones," he insists when Tessa tries to decline. "Just one. For Proofs."

She relents with a smile, rolling her stupid pretty eyes. 

"You too, Miss Spicy Ramen," Ryan says, nodding toward you. "Unless you can't handle your liquor either."

Is that a challenge? It sounds like a challenge.

"I can handle my liquor just fine," you say.

“Debatable,” Jungkook mutters, the menace.

"Oh, fighting words," Hobi laughs, clapping his hands together. "I sense a story here."

"There's no story," Jungkook says quickly.

"I think we've found the first drinking game of the night," Hobi declares. "Most embarrassing Jungkook stories. Winner gets... I don't know, bragging rights and my eternal respect."

"That's not fair," Jungkook protests. "I'm the birthday boy. I should be exempt from humiliation."

"Birthday boy gets birthday roast," Taehyung counters. 

Even Yoongi cracks a smile at that, which might be the most shocking development of the evening so far.

Five shots in and the room has developed that particular tilt that makes everything both sharper and blurrier at the same time.

"Next round!" Seth announces, grinning as he surveys the damage he's caused. 

Seth, as you've learned through increasingly slurred introductions, is one of Jungkook's film school friends—tall, blonde, and way too enthusiastic about drinking games for someone his size. 

"Embarrassing stories! Laugh and you drink!"

Groans mixed with cheers ripple around the table, which has somehow gotten messier and louder with each passing shot. Empty glasses create a small army between plates. Someone knocked over the soy sauce earlier, and no one's bothered to clean it up.

"Oh, oh, OH!" Taehyung practically bounces in his seat, raising his hand like an overeager student. "I have one."

"This'll be good," Yoongi mutters beside you, the most he's spoken in twenty minutes.

Taehyung clears his throat dramatically. "Picture this: Eighth grade. School talent show."

"No," Jungkook groans, head dropping into his hands. "Not that one."

"Yes, that one." Taehyung's grin is borderline evil. "Our boy Kooks here decides he's going to impress Minah Park with a dance routine."

"I'm begging you," Jungkook says, voice muffled through his fingers.

"To what song, you ask?" Taehyung continues, undeterred. "None other than 'Milkshake' by Kelis."

Ryan lets out a bark of laughter, immediately reaching for his shot.

"Oh my god," Diana whispers, eyes wide.

"Did he know what the song was about?" Tessa asks, already giggling.

"That's the best part," Taehyung says, pausing for dramatic effect. "He thought it was literally about making good milkshakes. His mom helped him with the routine."

The table erupts. Even Yoongi snorts, reaching for his shot glass with resigned dignity. You're trying—genuinely trying—to hold it in, pressing your lips together, but then you make the mistake of looking at Jungkook's mortified expression and it's over. Laughter spills out, and you grab your shot, tossing it back with a wince.

"His mom found out what it meant halfway through the performance," Taehyung continues, wiping tears from his eyes. "Her face—I wish smartphones existed back then."

"I hate you," Jungkook mutters, but there's no heat behind it. "So much."

"Did Minah like it at least?" Hobi asks, still chuckling.

"She transferred schools the next week," Taehyung says solemnly. "Unrelated reasons, allegedly."

Another round of laughter, another round of shots.

"My turn," Hobi declares once the chaos subsides. "Let me tell you about the first time I met this guy."

"Which version are you telling?" Jungkook asks warily.

"The true one," Hobi says with a wink. "Picture it: 2021. Dance studio on 8th. This scrawny kid walks in, says he needs to film a project for his class."

"I wasn't scrawny," Jungkook protests.

"You were a twig with hair," Hobi dismisses. "Anyway, he sets up his equipment, very professional, very serious. Then my advanced hip-hop class starts, and halfway through, he abandons his camera to try and join in."

"Oh no," Tessa whispers, delighted.

"Oh yes," Hobi confirms. "He jumps in, full confidence, absolutely sure he can keep up. Two eight-counts later, he slips, takes out my star student, and they both crash into the mirror."

"It didn't break!" Jungkook interjects.

"It cracked," Hobi corrects. "Still there. I call it the Jungkook Memorial Spiderweb."

You laugh despite yourself, drinking quickly to hide your smile when Jungkook shoots you a betrayed look.

"What about you, Yoongi?" Seth asks, refilling glasses with alarming efficiency. "How'd you meet the birthday boy?"

Yoongi regards the question like it's asked him to explain quantum physics. 

“Music production seminar. He needed help with a film score." He shrugs. "He wasn't completely terrible."

"From Yoongi, that's basically a marriage proposal," Hobi stage-whispers.

"Wow, such a beautiful story," you deadpan. "So moving. So detailed."

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “Not all of us need a thousand words to make a point."

"Clearly." You snort, then immediately regret it when the room spins slightly. 

"What about you, new girl?" Seth asks, suddenly focused on you with an intensity that feels both flattering and vaguely predatory. "Got any good Jungkook stories from the roommate archives?"

All eyes turn to you, expectant. 

You scramble for something suitably embarrassing but not too revealing.

“Oh, I’ve got plenty,” you say, the alcohol making you bolder than usual. “But I have to live with him, so I’m weighing the entertainment value against the revenge factor.”

“Coward,” Taehyung coughs into his hand.

"Yeah, tell us the real dirt," Seth presses, leaning forward with a grin that suggests he's hoping for something scandalous.

You narrow your eyes, suddenly protective of the weird dynamic you share with Jungkook. These people don't get to know about the late-night arguments over the TV volume, or the silent coffee maker standoffs, or the way he sometimes hums in the shower when he thinks no one can hear.

"Sorry to disappoint," you say with exaggerated sweetness, "but I value my security deposit too much to reveal his darkest secrets."

"Cop-out," Seth accuses, but he's smiling.

"Another round!" Ryan announces, refilling shot glasses with something that smells vaguely like cinnamon and regret. "Tessa, you laughed at the dance story, you owe one."

“I didn’t!” she protests, but she’s fighting a smile now. “I was just… appreciating the story.”

“Liar! Your lips twitched. That’s a drink.”

She shakes her head, still smiling. “No way. I have that early class, remember?”

Before Ryan can argue further, Jungkook smoothly grabs her shot and downs it in one fluid motion. 

“Problem solved,” he says, setting the empty glass back on the table with a decisive clink.

Something about the gesture—casual, protective, maybe a little possessive—makes your stomach twist in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol or spicy ramen. 

Seth slides another shot toward you. “Here, you need a refill.”

You stare at it, trying to do math through the fuzzy haze of alcohol. 

How many shots have you had? Four? Five? You've lost count, which is probably not a great sign.

But everyone’s looking at you, waiting, and you’ve never been good at backing down from a challenge—especially when you’re already tipsy and your judgment is shot to hell.

You reach for the shot, hesitating only slightly. It burns going down, making you cough and sputter in a way that is definitely not attractive, but whatever. You can handle it.

Probably.

“Another round!” Seth calls. “Funniest pet stories. Go.”

And so the new game continues, stories flying around the table with increasing volume and decreasing coherence.

You lose track of who’s talking, everything blurring into laughter and voices and the clinking of glasses.

“Oh, and remember when Jungkook tried to sneak into that bar with his cousin’s ID?” someone is saying—maybe Ryan? The faces at the end of the table are swimming a bit. “The bouncer took one look at the picture and said, ‘This says you’re 5’4” and Filipino.’”

More laughter, more shots. The room spins again when you tilt your head back to drink.

“Another one for you,” Seth says, sliding a fresh shot in front of you after you laugh at something Hobi said. His hand lingers near yours on the table, fingers almost but not quite touching. “Don’t tell me you’re backing down so soon?"

The challenge in his tone hits some stupid part of your brain—the part that's been responsible for most of your worst decisions. 

So of course you grab the shot.

"Just getting started," you declare, tossing it back with more confidence than coordination. 

Seth grins, clearly pleased by your response. "I like you. You're fun."

"I'm a goddamn delight," you agree solemnly, which makes Taehyung snort into his drink.

The next round comes with someone telling a tale about Jungkook getting locked out of his dorm freshman year wearing only a towel. Hobi recounts the time Jungkook tried to learn breakdancing and sprained both wrists. Jungkook retaliates with something about Taehyung and body paint that has everyone howling and reaching for their drinks.

You keep pace, determined not to be the one who can't hang, even as the room develops an interesting spin and your tongue feels increasingly disconnected from your brain.

"Another one!" Seth declares, sliding a fresh shot in front of you.

You stare at it, hiccupping slightly. The thought of one more makes your stomach perform an acrobatic maneuver. 

"I don't know..."

"Come on," he urges, eyes bright with that specific drunk intensity people get when they're determined to make everyone else as wasted as they are. "Don't quit now."

You hiccup slightly, staring at the shot with growing uncertainty. 

Your stomach churns in warning.

But your pride is a stubborn, stupid stupid thing.

Before you can decide, Jungkook’s arm shoots across the table, grabbing the shot and downing it in one quick movement. His eyes find Seth’s, narrowed and unmistakably warning.

“I think she’s good,” he says, voice deceptively casual.

Seth raises his hands in mock surrender. “Just keeping the game going, man.”

You stare at Jungkook, confused by the intervention. He catches your look and shrugs, a simple ‘what?’ in his expression that somehow makes you frown harder.

The game shifts again, someone suggesting “Never Have I Ever” as a change of pace. Your brain struggles to keep up with the new rules, everything moving a little too fast, a little too loud.

“Never have I ever…” Seth taps his chin thoughtfully, eyes finding yours again. “Been skinny dipping.”

You groan internally. Of course he’d pick something designed to make people admit to being naked. Typical.

Those who have done it drink, including Jungkook, which makes Tessa raise her eyebrows in a way that seems both surprised and intrigued. 

You remain still, glass untouched, which somehow feels like a victory.

The questions continue around the table, growing progressively more suggestive as everyone’s inhibitions lower. 

A fresh shot appears in front of you, courtesy of Ryan, who’s moved on from the game and is now just passing out alcohol indiscriminately.

“Drink up!” he declares. “We’re celebrating!”

You stare at the shot, swaying slightly in your seat. The room feels too hot, too crowded, too everything. Your brain is sending out warning signals, but they’re muffled under layers of alcohol and stubbornness.

Jungkook is watching you, expression unreadable but lips pressed together in what might be concern. 

He knows you shouldn’t drink that. 

You know you shouldn’t drink that. 

But admitting it feels like losing somehow.

So you reach for the glass. Fingers clumsy.

Suddenly it’s gone—snatched away by a hand behind you.

“She doesn’t want any more, broski.”

You whip around so fast the room spins alarmingly, but there’s no mistaking that voice, that attitude, that general aura of ‘fuck around and find out.’

Yeji throws back the shot with 0 problem, slamming the empty glass on the table with a decisive clink. 

Behind her, Irya and Jimin hover like backup, taking in the scene with varying levels of amusement.

“Surprise.” Yeji grins, sharp and protective. “Happy birthday, dickhead,” she adds, nodding at Jungkook. “Mind if we crash the party?”

goal: 600 notes

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© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[dannyketch]

A lot of the time, a well fitting, supportive bra is enough to alleviate back pain from big boobs, but there's many barriers in keeping people from them. Most people who wear bras are wearing the wrong size, and this is especially true for people who don't have easy access to try on dd+ bras, and not all bra fitters are trained to size properly. Stores here, for example, will stock, at most a DDD/F cup. So people who need a bigger cup will have to go for a bigger band size instead, and the majority of support from a bra comes from the band. If it's lose, there is very little, if any, support. DD+ bras, especially ones made from companies that specialize in DD+ sizes(and have bras that work better for those sizes), are also more expensive than their smaller cupped counterparts. You may also need to order them online or go to a specialty boutique, depending on where you live. But people will suggest breast reduction surgery for boob related back pain much more readily and easily than to first try to find a bra that actually fits and works properly, and I am speaking from personal experience and what I have seen happen to other people. There is a push to fit into the conventional sizes via surgery rather to admit that a DD cup is not actually that big and that a lot of people wear a DD bra are actually wearing something that is too small and doesn't work for them and to check if whether wearing a better fitting bra will help with their issue or not.

Here's what real D and DD cupped bras look like:

And here are G and GG bras in comparison:

Here is how cup sizes work:

Here is how to find your actual bra size(but for the full bust measurement, you can take it without a bra leaning forwards instead of while standing straight with a non padded bra that fits, both ways work tho):

Or you can try a brathatfit's more in depth calculator, but the other way works fine too.

Also for looking for cheap dd+ bras, it's good to wait for them to go on sale, buy them second hand on online market places, like ebay or poshmark, and use discount dd+ sites like (US based) brastop.

All that to say, the idea that large boobs inherently have to hurt and that there is nothing than can be done except surgery is not true for many, many people. I grew up for many years with awful back pain from wearing a bra that did nothing to actually support me, but I have now had none of those issues after actually getting a bra that fits. My largest cup size was an HH cup in UK sizing or an L cup in US sizing, so I know what I'm talking about.

Also this guy should just give the women he likes money for bras honesty. They are not cheap at regular price, and insurance does not cover them, unlike some things.

modern empath crisis of faith

[cibulovychleba]

To any kcd and hansry enjoyers coming across this post who have seen kcd only in English, I need you to know what you're missing.

Hans Capon is in Czech called Jan Ptáček

Jan has a few name variations in Czech, each less formal (and each more unserious, in my opinion). Like if you're called Jan that's on you IDs etc, but your family and friends might just call you Honza, if you prefer it

The Jan scale goes from Jan > Honza > Jenda > honorable mention Janek, but I'm not sure if this variant is relevant right now

And guess what, Henry calls Hans by these variations, which is so precious to me. Yes, Hans is a noble and yes, Henry refers to him as his lord, but he also calls him Jenda, which is very much giving village boy energy, Jenda the stable boy or something. I think it really shows, on another level, how familiar and close they are with each other, and how the relationship shifts in kcd2, how Hans is becoming Henry's closest first, his lord second, how they are on the same level now, in comparison with kcd1, where they tiptoe in some dialog options around Henry keeping his distance and Hans encouraging him to treat him less formally and rewarding when Henry actually talks back.

Side note, I'm glad at least Henry has available name variant in English people who know him use, as well as in Czech (Jindřich and Jindra – Henry and Hal)

And a cherry on top, the situations when Henry uses a less formal variant of Hans' name are rare, but one of those situations that I've seen in someone else's playthrough was specifically the march to Nebakov turned ambush. When you're attacked and fight back you get periodically prompted to follow Hans and defend him, but if you can't find him, Henry will call out and use Jenda variant. And when Hans gets knocked out and Henry finds him in dirt before facing Žižka, he kneels down to him and calls him Jan, then Ptáček, and when nothing seems to work, he calls him Honza. Which makes me think this is something Henry's mind does when everything goes to shit and he's desperate and the closest person he has left and who he loves is in danger and so he reaches, asking Hans to come back to him, not as a noble with unfinished responsibilities, but simply as his Honza.

And I'm totally normal about that.

Beside all of this

I adore Tom McKay's voice and performance, but also Richard Wágner is so good as Henry, and, his words not mine, his Henry sounds much more sillier, which is a delight. And this is such a Czech-specific appreciation, but kcd2 has many iconic Czech actors and it's honestly so amusing to both see and hear them in a video game.

[caxasy]

older bf!caleb who loves pampering you every change he gets, wanting to spoil you rotten. he does this through many gestures, anything to prove to you that he is willing to give you anything you could ever want.

this can look like him paying for a lot of your dates together. he absolutely detests the idea that you should ever put your card down for anything in his presence. he thinks its an insult to his capabilities of financially supporting you. another thing that he loves doing as an act of affection is cooking for you. takes it incredibly seriously and expects you to tell him whenever you’re hungry so he can prepare food for you.

i think the main difference between the headcanon of older bf caleb and younger bf caleb is that older bf caleb takes a lot more initiative in taking care of you, whereas younger caleb will still take care of you, duh, but also indulges a lot in you pampering him.

older bf!caleb has none of that around here. he wants to be that pillar of support you can always rely on. kind of unhealthy of him, to refuse to be the one taken care of unless you seriously force him to be, but when was caleb ever healthy in his relationship dynamics lets bffr (i love him to death guysplease)

since older bf!caleb does take spoiling you so seriously though that means that there is no room for anyone else in your life to do the same tings for you. he strictly forbids anyone else to ever pay for your things, provide food for you — whether it be someone else paying for your takeout or GOD FORBID actually bringing you a home cooked meal. he genuinely will not allow that to happen.

you made the mistake of telling him that a coworker of yours gave you lunch today, seeing as you forgot to bring the one caleb packed for you, and caleb nearly lost his mind.

“wasn’t that so kind of them? i mean, i would have done the same for them too, but it feels nice knowing that they care that much,” you smile, retelling the story to caleb, who was not even bothering to hide the pout on his face.

“you took this guy’s food?”

“no! he had a lot of extra, plus i was definitely telling him it was okay, but he kept insisting. i felt bad taking some of his food, for sure. i think i might treat him out to some take out our next shift because that was really nice of him,”

now you wanted to give this guy something in return? the next couple of thoughts racing through caleb’s mind was how this had the potential in becoming a never ending cycle and he resisted the urge of dropping his head in his hands in utter dismay.

“i’m sure it’s fine if you just said thank you, no?” caleb comments before shaking his head, not actually wanting to continue talking about this coworker of yours, “well, ignoring that fact for now, i need you to promise me you’ll call me if you ever need anything, okay? if you forget your lunch at home, call me and i’ll bring you it, okay?”

your eyebrows furrow together and he can already read your mind, “i don’t think that’s neccessary, baby. you’re already so busy, i don’t want to intrude,”

“please, you’re not intruding. i want you to call me, okay? i don’t like hearing about other people taking care of my boyfriend. you’re my boyfriend, i want to be the one giving you food whenever you’re hungry.” he sees you laugh softly at his declaration, but he just continues on staring at you in all seriousness, “hey, i mean it. promise me you’ll call me?”

“i promise, caleb,” you finally appease him, pecking his lips softly to seal the deal.

“don’t call me that,” he whines, leaning into you, pleading eyes looking into yours.

“i promise i’ll call for you, hyung,” you roll your eyes when you see him instantly brighten up. he’s seriously the only person you know that begs to hear that title be called to them so badly.

speaking of, he really hates when you call other guys that title. unless they’re your actual blood related older male figure in your life, he hates whenever you call someone else hyung. it’s something that shows comfortability, closeness, and a relationship between you and whoever you were calling that. even if it’s just a friendship, he hates the idea that you’re close enough with someone to say that so easily.

he wants to be the only hyung in your life. so don’t go calling other men that unlesss you want to see a serious crashout from caleb.

the time he brought it up to you, you thought he was joking. it was just a title, a word afterall, but no, caleb takes that shit very seriously.

“it’s like if you called someone else baby,” he defends, but you’re just looking at him like he’s crazy.

“how is that the same?”

“it is, [name], just please,” he begs by elongating the verb at the end of his word, his eyes pleading and desperate as he looks down at you.

“oh my god, get that look off of your face,” you swipe your hand down his face, smooshing hus features with your palm, but he only smiles and kisses your hand.

“so that’s a yes?”

“you’re clinically insane.”

“well…”

older bf!caleb is really protective of you, to a scary, meticulous degree. doesn’t let you lift a finger whenever you’re around him because 1. it’s part of his nature to spoil you and 2. what if you hurt yourself? he is well aware that you are a functioning, full grown man but still, he’d rather choke on a fizzy soda then hear even an inkling of pain come from you.

doesn’t let you chop vegetables for dinner, insists you just have to “sit there and look handsome” for him whenever you try to help.

will never let you open your own car door, or any door for that matter. you swear he can teleport with how fast he puts a car in park and is then standing outside of your door. teases you, calls it your prince-like attitude that makes him be at your beck and call like this, but really it’s just caleb’s desire to show up for you — show that you won’t even need to do something as simple as open a door when you’re with him because he’ll do it gladly.

screens everyone in your social and work circle, all without you knowing btw. he somehow obtains all their information; keeping mental notes of every single one. most of the things he remembers about them are very simple, but he remembers at least one thing for everybperson you interact with daily.

for example, he doesn’t know what department your one coworker that is, in his opinion — getting too close to you, from, but he does know that they have a 6-year old cat named nami and lives on the outskirts of the business district. does not have a clue on your one girl friends full maiden name, but he does know her favorite cafe, her order, and which barista she tips the most (tries brushing off the fact you have some similarities with said barista).

it’s very niche, miniuscule things that he remembers, but he remembers them all for good reason. their weaknesses if they ever cross you or him.

a very specific one: doesn’t let you pick up orders from the counter at cafes or restaurants? if you guys are eating out and they call for your or his name, he’s up before you can even blink. he’s waltzing over there and bringing back your food with a smile on his face. second nature for him to take care of you, yes, but what if you fell on the way to the counter? what if the barista forgot the cup sleeve and you accidentally burn your hand? he won’t allow it. so just sit down and wait there for him like a good boy so he doesn’t stress out so much.

loves having a physical claim on you. he’s a territorial freak and that’s probably the most immature thing about him (on the long list of immature things he does). refuses to let you leave the house without that promise ring on your finger, he’ll even slip it on for you so you won’t have to exert the effort in that!! won’t let you leave if you’re not carrying some part of him with you.

if he just comes with you, though, that’s even better! he loves hanging out with you, he’s a velcro-boyfriend. kind of hates the idea of you going out and doing stuff alone when you can just invite him? invites himself to a lot of your errand runs. will hang off of your body with no regard for public decency.

his broad shoulders trap and cage you in so you have no escape if you manage to get out of the death grip that are his muscular arms. the kind of guy to stand behind you, arms crossed over your front, weighing heavy on your figure just to remind you (and everyone around) that he’s there and he’s not going anywhere.

older bf!caleb might not know all the couple trends on social media (he only uses it to like your posts, send you cute animals videos, and other misc things all centered around you). but best believe he is down for whatever you tell him.

he loves the idea of you posting about your relationship with him, will watch the videos every night before he goes to sleep and hopes you never stop asking him. because what do you mean your relationship, him dating you!!!, is online for everyone to see? like potentially someone across the planet could know that you’re his and he’s yours. it’s a dream come true for him. loves comments that say how jealous they are of your relationship too, makes him giggle that it’s now very obviously known that you two belong with each other.

one of his favorites was that eye trend. an excuse to be cheek to cheek with you, show off his pretty eyes that you love so much while also staring at you? sign him up, he’ll do that shit everyday.

another fun one was the h.s.k.t. one. he loved the song, loved fact you two were wearing matching outfits, loved how cute you look. he loved it so much he threw you over his shoulder at the end of it and spun the two of you around while he playfully smacked your ass. the video ends with him grabbing your phone and walking with it filming you two as if you weren't thrown over his shoulder like a sack of rice.

he also loved the one where he got to just run into frame, pick you up, kiss you, and spin you two around multiple times. loved loved loved that one because if there’s anything caleb’s good at it, it’s proving how physically strong he is and how you weight just about the same as a feather to him. he also really liked how cute it ended up being, cuddled with you that night rewatching it over and over again. you swore you heard him giggle too.

“a boy who’s jacked and kind” oh, that’s got him written all over it!!! no matter if you’re taller than him, he will be throwing you onto his shoulder with you sitting pretty so very easily. doesn’t even need to hold his breath for a second before he’s putting you on his shoulder, looking at your new given height with a smile. no swaying in his footsteps, he’s firmly planted on the ground and holding you tight so you don’t fall.

liked the one where you wrapped a bow around his bicep too, only cause that one made you so happy. he faked messing it up a couple of times just so he can see that excited smile on your face as many times as possible. before you very adorably scolded him to be serious and he flexed his bicep as hard as possible, breaking the tied bow within seconds.

“do you love my arms more than me, be honest,” caleb’s question isn’t serious at all, he’s just asking to rile you up. you’ve been trying for the perfect shot for what feels like forever and caleb’s teasing isn’t helping your patience.

“i’d love you so much more if you could just do it!” you shush him, retying the pretty pink bow and squeezing his muscular arm, “please, hyung?”

“well when my boyfriend asks like that, how can i say no?” kisses you so softly it practically melts away your annoyance. caleb grins as he hears the audio you’ve chosen play again and he prepares to actually not mess it up for you. to make you happy.

and when you finish filming, you throw your arms around him and bring the both of you down onto the bed. he smiles into your skin, kissing your neck softly as his strong arms go around your back in a tight hug.

“thank you, baby,”

“of course, my love. now — show me the video, wanna see my hard work pay off,” you roll your eyes at his wording.

“all you did was flex your arm, shut up.”

“and you still were looking at me like a piece of candy, now what?” he teases, biting your cheek softly.

“don't bite me!” you screech, smacking his stomach. “swear to god caleb, i’ll bite you back,”

“yeah, wouldn't you like that,” he grins, kissing the spot he bit and wiping it softly with the bottom of his shirt. the sneak peek you got of his abs made you forgive him and settle into his lap to watch the video he worked so hard on.

caleb who is dating you to marry. he already knew he always wants to marry you, but is just holding off on popping the question because you guys are a young couple, plus the fact you are a couple years younger than him. he’s so very, very excited though so permanently make you his and vice versa. wants to turn that promise ring into the real deal as soon as possible.

[littlepaperboatyo]

I think the language of this does a good job driving home the real issue behind things like Ai use and factory farming for me, which is not so simple as Ai is bad or factory farming is bad. Both of these things are done for the sake of scale, "how do we reach as many people as we can?" and when that is your first value it drastically shifts all of your other values. Corporations care about quantity of consumers over all else.

A small language school would never consider using Ai because it would introduce many problems and solve none. Their values would be set on doing their best to serve their community and help people they know to better communicate. Introducing Ai doesn't help them make a connection with Mel's kid Alex who's having a hard time learning Spanish and also understanding why he should learn Spanish just to talk to his new stepbrother Javi. That requires being present and connecting with people, and holds the possibility of personally mattering in their lives. Instructor Aldo might be the perfect person to do it too, Alex thinks he's a pretty cool guy and he focuses not on Alex's feeling about his mom getting married but on what Alex knows about Javi. Maybe that kid is pretty cool and Alex is missing out by not being able to play with him. Maybe Aldo can enlist Javi's help and now when they're laughing together Alex is desperate to be able to understand the joke. Now Alex is understanding Spanish, and he and Javi start being able to hang out, and they're both feeling a bit better about their parents getting married.

Take away instructor Aldo, now there's an app. It's a pretty good app, and if Alex would engage with it he might start to figure out Spanish, but he's angry about his mom getting married. He doesn't engage, and he has this stepbrother he doesn't understand, and he's mad. and he's mad. and he doesn't learn Spanish. and nothing changes.

But people learn languages for many reasons and Duolingo does work for many people. And it needs to work for more people, which means that they need to do more work. Which means they need to outsource it. Which means Ai is looking like a good choice.

This is what monopolies are. Forget about business for the sake of business, there was a time before businesses existed. there was a time before money. in fact, it was about 2000 years ago. people would do things for each other because they knew each other and cared about each other. and even when money came about it existed so that people who didn't know each other could help each other and would often result in people getting to know each other. in fact this is how about every business worked up until the industrial Revolution, and even then it was still most of them. But then you get businesses that do too well, and no one competing with them. And it's not really about the lack of competition that exists in a healthy economy, it's moreso about what happens when your neighborhood store is supporting more than just your neighborhood. where do they get the supply for the demand?

they outsource it.

When you care about scale your community expands. You have to start thinking on a bigger scale which means you lose sight of the small scale. Your values change, and your values affect the values of the people you serve. They lose sight of their value just as you have. I see it every day, and I see it in myself. I work in a very busy store where I serve thousands of people a day. My boss calls it the neighborhood store. I serve thousands of people a day. I see so many faces and I do my best to block them out because it's too much. This is not uncommon, for the people in my store or plenty of other stores belonging to different companies. But it is not normal.

Yesterday people came to protest where we get our chicken. I serve thousands of people a day.

It is not possible for companies to exist at this scale and honor good values.

And it smoothes over and eradicates culture. We don't have different conversations with our language instructors. We don't have that one really strange grocer that you can have an interesting conversation with for half an hour while they're on the clock. We don't have small communities with their own values that can inspire it's own culture.

we have the global scale.

[link]

we been knew its just a nail in a coffin tbh

[spiderb00bs]

- I DIDN'T GET THE HYPE

Jenna Ortega x reader  

“maybe Jenna's fans had underestimated you"

Genre – fluff        warnings - none 

(request) 

Now playing – Donk, by Beyoncé

“I think i wanna go back to school, and have my locker full of pictures of you. So give me that A in biology, i'm graduatin' soon"

“I didn't get the hype.” 

That was one of the phrases you saw most about yourself on social media. Ever since you started dating Jenna, people always seemed to have a certain opinion about what you looked like. Which was ironic, because those same people had never seen your face completely. The paparazzi always caught you at times when half your face was covered with a cap or a mask. 

Jenna knew you weren't much for cameras, always working behind them. You hardly used social media, and when her fans discovered your profile, you had to keep it private for your own safety - and comfort. Even so, your girlfriend's fans still managed to get into a small part of your life. They discovered your passion for video games, literature, music and science. And it wasn't long before people on Twitter (r.i.p), started calling you Jenna's nerd. 

You never minded the comments, even you knew that Jenna was too much for you, so the fans' surprise didn't bother you. In fact, you even agreed with some of them. Even you don't know how you pulled a girl like Jenna. The fans were split almost equally, half of the people thought that underneath the glasses and masks you wore on the street, there was a beautiful, hot girl. While others simply thought you were a nerd. And you were fine with that. 

Jenna, however, always wanted you to go to an event with her. As much as the brunette didn't like the constant showing off, she kind of wanted to show you off to everyone. So here you are, getting ready with Jenna's team for the red carpet of “Death of a Unicorn”. 

You certainly weren't used to so many people working on you. Hands adjusting your shirt, helping you put on your blazer, fixing your hair, putting on some make-up. Damn, you didn't know how your girlfriend dealt with all that. 

“Are you ready, honey?” Natalie, your girlfriend's mother entered the room, approaching you with a smile on her face. 

“Oh, well... I don't know...” You stammered, looking at the make-up artist next to you, only for the woman to laugh and shake her head positively. 

“She's ready.” 

Smiling at the woman, you stood up from the make-up chair as you walked alongside Mrs. Ortega. Your hands were ringing, and you couldn't lie that you were completely nervous at the thought of being on a red carpet. 

"Relax, darling, you look really beautiful. I'm sure people will love you two together." Natalie said, seeing your obvious nervousness. 

Your steps slowed, until you were face to face with the door to the room where your girlfriend was standing. 

“It's just that I'm not used to all this.” You said, nervously adjusting the collar of your dress shirt. "All this public stuff makes me a bit nervous. But I'd do anything for her." 

It took no more words for Mrs. Ortega to understand who you were talking about. The woman's smile opened instantly. 

“That's good to know.” 

Opening the door handle, you let your girlfriend's mother in first. Taking a deep breath, you entered the room, only for your breath to go out again as soon as you laid eyes on your girlfriend. The black dress with the plunging necklines that made you want to stare a second longer, the hair falling past her shoulders, the make-up, just how beautiful your girlfriend was in general. 

“Wow, you look wonderful, mi amor.” You said, grasping Jenna's hand before slowly lifting it and making her turn around. 

The brunette's laughter echoed around the room, only for her smile to widen when you pulled her towards you. Jenna's eyes sparkled as she looked at you, and yours were no different. You knew the power you had in Jenna, and she certainly knew the powers she had in you. 

“Did you like it?” The woman asked, tugging at the collar of your shirt, making you move closer to her - if that was even possible. 

“I loved it!” You emphasized, kissing Jenna's lips slowly. 

As much as you wanted to, you knew you couldn't smudge Jenna's makeup, so all the passion and that hint of aggression you wanted to give her would have to be saved for later. 

“All right, lovebirds, let's go or we'll be late.” Enrique said, clapping his hands, making you and Jenna laugh. 

The ride in the car was tense for you. You couldn't deny to anyone how nervous you were. It was almost impossible, your hands were shaking slightly and all you wanted to do was turn around and go home. But you had to do it, support your girlfriend, this was all very important to her, and if she wants you to be there for her, you will be! 

Noticing the way your hands moved, and how your leg hadn't stopped bouncing since you got into the car, Jenna grabbed your hand, intertwining the two of your hands and placing them on top of your restless leg. Taking a deep breath, you looked up at her, the brown of her eyes doing a phenomenal job of calming you down. The reassuring smile, the squeeze on your hand, the kiss she left on your shoulder, over the fabric of her chic shirt, all made you calm down.

“You'll be fine, mi amor.” Jenna said, looking at you with those doe eyes you knew so well. “Do you trust me?”

“With all my heart!”

"Good! Because we're about to do it."

You felt the car park, the beats in your chest getting slightly faster as Enrique told you how to act. You just nodded positively, before the car door was opened for you to get out. The flashes followed you momentarily, but you didn't let it affect you, turning around and holding out your hand so that your girlfriend could have some support to get down.

"Thank you. I love you!" She said, stopping for a second next to you, ignoring all the paparazzi and people shouting her name.

“I love you too, superstar.”

Smiling, Jenna pulled you by the hand, the two of you once again being blasted with camera flashes as you posed for red carpet photos. I mean, Jenna was landing, while you were trying to keep up with the whole situation happening in front of you.

At some point, you stepped back a little, just so your girlfriend could take a few pictures by herself. The weight of your cell phone in your trouser pocket reminded you that maybe this would be a good moment to keep it. Opening the camera, you imitated the paparazzi, pointing the lens at the beautiful woman in the black dress, taking several clicks, which - almost automatically - became your new wallpaper.

You followed Jenna to interviews and all this stuff, staying with Enrique and her team at times when she needed to be alone. Whatever it was, you didn't mind, it was great to see the woman you love achieving everything she deserves, and you loved every second of it.

The next morning hit you hard. The drinks you'd had last night seemed like a bad idea now, and despite wanting to get up and take the longest shower of your life, you stayed in bed because of the weight on your chest. Jenna was still sound asleep, snoring and making cute noises as she practically drooled all over you.

Smiling, you groped for the bedside table, reaching for your phone to take a cute souvenir photo, one of a thousand. But your plans quickly changed when you saw how many notifications you had, almost all from Twitter. You opened the app, scared and curious to see what you'd done so seriously to get so many comments.

The internet is crazy!

Hi guys

I hope you are all well! Sorry for taking so long to update, it's just that I have a lot of ideas on my main blog. But don't worry, I still have some drafts that I'm going to finish, so they'll be ready to be posted here.

for now I took advantage of Jenna's request.

Stay safe and drink water,

xoxo, spider.

[communistkenobi]

Why are people who are so gung-ho about media morality on here also so incredibly inconsistent about it on here? It’s like ‘hey don’t even *mention* xyz game or show or whatever but several of my main interests are things that are even more egregious’. I’m not a fan of anything with that rep in the first place but it’s always been really silly to me.

Because I don’t think it’s a position that is reached systematically or scientifically (I think this is true of a lot of positions people hold - again I’m including myself in this). It’s hard to systematically figure out what your principles are. Nevermind the fact that there are irreconcilable contradictions embedded within these principles. But that aspect is less interesting to me, because I suspect that it’s not actually about the show/movie/actor/etc at all a lot of the time, but rather that mass media provides a set of common and mutually intelligible terms and modes of understanding for people to interact with strangers on the internet. 

This is going to sound like an insane tangent but I promise it’s relevant lol: I had to read Benedict Anderson’s Imagined Communities for a course recently where he talks about the emergence of national consciousness and identity in Europe through the invention of the printing press. The production of texts meant to be read by many people is much easier to achieve when language is standardised (this is prior to mass standard education), and so to print something “in German” requires a social agreement about what the German language “is,” something he argues wasn’t really a thing in Europe prior to this point in history. So while many people across vast distances may speak many different local dialects that are all roughly ‘German,’ they now all read a singular, standardised “German language.” Anderson argues that this produces an experience of ‘simultaneous time’ across space, where you now feel a sudden connection to anyone who also “reads German” despite them being complete strangers and people whom you will never meet. This is part of his argument of how national consciousness gets cultivated, and allows people to articulate a common identity and set of goals with others whom they share no other bond with (Anderson’s definition of nationalism being “an imagined political community” - imagined in the sense of socially constructed and produced, not as in fake).

And I’m talking about this because I think a similar thing is happening here, but re: mass media. I use the term ‘mass’ media in the sense that it is consumed by mass amounts of people through industrialised telecommunications technology such as internet, television, and radio (and we can include celebrities as mass media here for the sake of convenience). And the internet is an interesting place because you are constantly interacting with an incomprehensibly large volume of strangers, and often these interactions are not in your control (harassment, people ‘barging into’ your mentions or replies, people lurking your blog, etc). In order for this to not be completely overwhelming, even in a relatively niche space like “fandom,” you need some shared set of terms to navigate around.

I think this is what leads to the emergence of the terminology of “pro vs anti,” a universal set of discursive terms that cuts across all of fandom space that allows you to position yourself in relation to a large amount of people you don’t know. It acts as a sorting and filtering mechanism (“proshippers DNI”), it acts as a declaration of belief that can be intelligible to many other people (“fiction affects reality” - an objectively vacuous phrase that is nonetheless freighted with a lot of social meaning to anyone within fandom), and it allows you to “engage in fandom” broadly as an online social terrain, allowing you to move from one fandom to another yet retain common terminology to communicate with others. Everyone knows that each fandom has their own set of ‘local’ community terms, which takes time and energy to learn and requires you to likewise learn the social stakes of each of those terms. Sorry to bring up Supernatural but as an example, you can read someone’s entire orientation towards the show based on whether they spell Castiel’s name as “Cas” (destiel shipper) or “Cass” (wincestie/bronly/J2er) + all the attendant opinions that come with those positions. But that takes a long time to learn, and it’s hard, and it requires you to declare a lot of your own positions re: the local context of a given show or video game, but the pro vs anti divide is universal and therefore extremely helpful in social navigation.

So, much like pro vs anti, I think when people say “DNI if you like irredeemable media” and then you go on their blog and they’re like, shipping South Park characters together, I think staking these moral positions re: mass media has less to do with any deeper principled convictions regarding the moral impact of art or how one should relate to it, but rather that you are engaging in a common discursive terrain that allows you to navigate a basically infinite sea of strangers in order to rapidly locate a common community of people. Again Harry Potter is instructive here - it was popular for a while for terfs to put Hogwarts Houses in their bio, particularly if they are crypto terfs. The ‘common terrain’ of transphobia in online spaces being used here is mass media - if I say Potterheads DNI on my Homestuck blog, I’m not really staking my position on the moral consumption of media, I’m signalling my political allegiances via the common language of mass media. This is perhaps why these stakes are so bafflingly inconsistent, because mass media is serving as a proxy for articulating political positions (which can likewise be inconsistent) as a result of the fact that they are much easier shorthands to communicate belief than outright stating your ideological commitments. Nobody knows what neoliberal means, or socialism means, or white supremacy or cissexualism or capitalism or imperialism or blah blah blah, because these are not part of the common terminology of fandom spaces, so declaring your positions using these terms will not get you very far. but people know that Harry Potter = transphobia, so potterheads dni! 

[imjustabeanie]

Twisted Wonderland Mirror AU

While visiting a flea market (or old book shop), you found 7 beautiful mirrors. They were at a cheap price and could come in handy for gifts or other diy projects so you took them home.

Little did you know, it was the beginning of many chaotic encounters...

Hearslabyul

A heart shaped mirror with a rose on the top. The rose seems to be dripping, the drops meet at the bottom of the mirror. A unique mirror that came to life when you were struggling with homework.

“Who’s on the other side? We can see you clearly. Who are you and why are you spying on us?”

Now, the stern voice surprised you. Turning around you found a red haired stern boy talking to you. After getting over the fact that...there’s someone talking to you from behind the glass, you explained yourself before asking your own questions.

“A world without magic? How curious…how come the connection between the mirrors was made?”

No time to dwell on that, the green haired boy was interrupted by a rather energetic ginger who keeps taking pictures. While the red haired boy was scolding him about taking pictures, two young boys entered the room.

“Hey we found out about the figure behind the glass first! You can’t lock us out”

“Ace slow down and let Riddle take care of it! We don’t know if it’s dangeroud”

That’s how you met the Heartslabyul gang. A very energetic one but strict one. After presenting themselves, you can often find them trying to figure out how the mirror works. After you told them about all the mirrors you have, they presented the other dorms just in case. And on some days…the members rent to you. One even tried to show the mirror on live but was thankfully stopped. We wouldn’t want another Ramshackle incident right? Last time they got close to someone from another world it didn’t end on a good note…

Savanaclaw

A bold mirror where the glass seems to be inside a lion mouth. It came to life while you were taking a nap. You heard a low conversation between two people.

“They don’t seem to be aware of us. Good, I’d rather check this alone. If this proves to be harmless we’ll just cover our mirror and forget about this other world thing”

“I can always sell it if you let me”

Now, you were warned that there are 7 dorms in total. You turn around and look at the mirror.

“You’re aware that I can hear and see you correct?”

“I told you it would be a possibility. While they didn’t react last time I passed by the mirror, I’m not sure why they can see us now”

Time for another explanation from you. Maybe you should ask them to just pass on the information to the other dorms so you wouldn’t have to repeat yourself…unfortunately they declined. Too much bother.

It’s a very chill dorm, they rarely interact with you. As if avoiding a past mistake…

Octavinelle

An oval mirror with tentacles around it reaching a pearl on the side. Pretty ethereal huh? It came to life while you weren’t home. And it’s on purpose. If you hadn’t come early that day, you wouldn’t have caught the eels discussing your interior and azul guessing your personality. I hope you didn’t put it in your room.

At least Azul has the decency to present himself and be civil. Floyd is straight up thinking of a possible nickname and Jade is watching.

“Ah! Forgive the…intrusion. The mirror just light up on our side and we had to investigate”

Your gut instinct tells you it’s not the first time, but let’s not reveal that yet shall we?

The three merfolks definitely keep their distances. First, it won’t benefit them since you can’t give items/pass through the mirror (they tried). Second, Floyd sometimes mentions a human who came from another dimension and they all tense up.

Scarabia

A big and heavy door shaped mirror with a cobra wrapped around it. Definitely expensive if it was sold at its original price. It light up while you were cooking (or eating)

“Hey! Can you hear me? Look Jamil, it’s the person Cater told me about! He said they were from another world and can communicate with us through mirrors”

“Kalim calm down, you don’t know if they’re dangerous. Remember last time, none saw it coming-”

“They’re looking our way!”

Ah, the energetic sunshine and the sly ‘friend’. Kalim was quite eager to get to know you. He’s always welcoming of new friends. Jamil on the other hand was more wary, always trying to drag him away from the mirror.

Yet Kalim always found time to come and tell you about life on the campus. Almost nostalgic.

Pomefiore:

The Evil Queen Mirror but apple shaped. Perhaps I’ll draw them later. It’s heavy and rather regal. You can’t help but check your outfit every time you leave.

Pretty cliché but it came to life while you were hesitating between two items.

“The one on the left would be more fitting. Even if it’s obvious how tired you are, put on some concealer. If I have to look at you every day when you check your outfit at least be more presentable”

“So cold of you! Cut them some slack, they didn’t realize we were watching. Even if they should’ve expected it after the other mirrors talked back…”

Prepare to be judged. Harshly. But at least it’s constructive criticism! Just don’t mention going on a diet. Vil will remind you when you cheat.

Pomefiore is rather peculiar…Rook is the one doing most of the talking. Epel refuses to say anything besides hello and goobye while Vil just gives tips here and there.

“Don’t blame them much, they let in the wrong people in the past”

Ignihyde

A round simple mirror with golden laurel wreath around it. Simple but elegant. You thought the last two would never come to life but this one came while you were struggling in a video game.

“The treasure is on the left! Careful, there’s a monster guarding it”

You turn around and find Ortho watching. He was tinkering with the mirror on their side, trying to understand how it works when he saw you struggling. He did help you out but then a hand dragged him away and covered the mirror.

“Is there even a mute button on this thing…Ortho don’t interact with people from other dimensions”

That was the last thing you heard. Besides some noises from time to time, the mirror stayed silent. Unwilling to open up again.

Diasomnia

A big mirror made of thorns wrapped around it. The glass in the middle is diamond shaped. It’s mysterious for sure. And you clearly accidentally got pricked by thorns while moving it.

This mirror came to life on a stormy night. You clearly got the fright of your life when you woke up to loud rock/metal music coming through it

“Ah! Oh so you’re the human Cater talked about. Nice to meet you and sorry for waking you up. Why am I playing music in the middle of the night? Oh I didn’t notice”

Lies but you don’t need to know. Lilia was doing it on purpose cuz he wanted the mirror to wake up. I mean…Diasomnia was once again the odd one out as their mirror didn’t come to life yet. Malleus didn’t want to involve himself in stories concerning other dimensions again…he and Sebek are the only ones who don’t talk to you. Unless Lilia makes them.

Lilia is very energetic and curious about your world. Him and Rook are the more likely to talk to you in all seven dorms (even heartslabyul are polite but distant). So it’s not uncommon for you to share your life with them while they share theirs. They are very curious about your world and the possibilities to come by…to settle old scores (octavinelle is also interested but they’re busy doing…other things).

In the end, your life got more interesting. There’s always at least one of the mirror that comes to life and none knows why or how to trigger it. Perhaps this future will be brighter.

Credits of the headers goes to @skyesilva24

Some parts are shorter than the rest as I was afraid of making it too ooc. I apologize, it's my first time writing this sort of thing

If you have any asks/idea concerning this feel free to send an ask ^^

[comicgeekery]

I'm sorry to anyone who feels this way. It's awful.

But I also think it's wrong.

I try to not use the word talent in my life. Because 90% of the time what people describe as talent, an innate even destined ability, is actually skill, an ability that has been developed through practice and experience. And it's a super important distinction, because skill isn't up to genetics or god or some basic seed from which you sprouted. Skill is based in your choices and, essentially, your opportunities.

I don't want to turn this to the other extreme and say that you're not great at That Thing because you haven't tried hard enough. There are certainly many circumstances that can get in the way. Like money, like available time. Can you go to classes? Afford materials? Dedicate hours every week to practice and improvement?

And it's more than that even! Have you ever learned HOW you learn? Were you taught how to embrace failure? Because no matter what, you WILL fail at the thing you like a LOT on the path to getting good at it.

But I think the absolute most important element is, do you have people who support and believe in you? Not just for your interest of choice, but also in general.

OP strongly compares exceptional ability with fame. That makes sense. I know the kind of optimistic posts they're talking about with lists of celebrities who became famous later in life. But fame is a different game entirely. It's based in opportunity to the nth degree, on being attractive in a very specific way, and on having skill in one or two of just a handful of abilities. Sure, there's a fixation on singers, actors, and athletes, but how many people would know it if the world's greatest knitter walked on stage?

That wouldn't mean that the knitter wasn't incredible, just that there isn't an industry built around promoting them.

The celebrities in those posts are for a point of connection, as people you can recognize. But yeah, ANYONE can start again at any time. And to keep it mundane, I'll use myself.

I'm 36. I've spent the last few years rebuilding my life after living through many shitty things. I grew up in an abusive household. I was bullied a lot. I lost friends through death and through just being too much.

And now I've done SO MUCH therapy and work on myself. I find I have the strength to try new things. I've been taking local classes for fun; ballroom dance, juggling, and improv. I started a book club that just reads terrible books because I find that fun. I started ANOTHER club for doing escape rooms because I love those and they need about 4 people. I'm putting together a little business to help people with their writing.

This is a lot of stuff, but I chose it all one at a time. Some of these things may not particularly amount to anything. They certainly won't make me famous. But I get joy from the trying, from working with other people, and from having others who support and compliment my efforts.

So much of our self-esteem, for better or worse, is based in the love and attention of others. Is it really FAME you want? Screaming fans, paparazzi, and a billion strangers with some opinion on your work without knowing a thing about you? Or would you be overwhelmed with joy if a dozen people were proud of you?

I'm sorry you don't have enough love or encouragement or self-esteem right now. I hope that gets better for you as you live and build skills you need.

But most of all, I promise that it's never too late!

everyone says you can always restart. that your future isn't forgotten, just sort of misplaced. they name actors and singers and authors who started at 46, 59. they cite chappell roan's 10 years. they tell you to push and push, that some day you'll open a door and the truth will be behind it.

but what if you aren't a celebrity in sheep's clothing. what if you're just a normal person. most people aren't exceptionally talented or else talent wouldn't be exceptional - right? what if you're just another median person; not ever startlingly bad nor terrifyingly good.

you put the shopping carts back and you walk your dog and you write poems on the internet. you have grown a plant or two; killed a few others. you did okay, overall, and you've been okay most of your life. not valedictorian, but you were a smart kid. you had some hard knocks, but you got up again. your life is just - average. you probably will never sing onstage at coachella. most of the time you are at peace with that - someone needs to drive the speed limit. life isn't about extraordinary circumstances, it's just about building a life you love and figuring out how to live in it.

but you would like to feel as if you'd found "the answer." everyone else seems to have some kind of talent they are born nesting in - and meanwhile you just exist. is that why you cycle through crafts and hobbies and activities like a roulette wheel? are you waiting for the moment where it turns out - all this time, you've been a visionary. a genius. all this time, you were special. even you: someone who has-never-been.

crawling up your throat: something bitter and savage. not quite a feeling of wasted potential. after all, you need to first have potential in order to waste it.

[thefrogman]

Been following for... well like over a decade. Love your wit and your masterly skills with photgraphy and how you explain it in ways we can understand.

But I wanted you to know that you being so open about your life with ME/CFS meant that when I got sick, I was able to recognize what was happening to me. Your blogging saved me from what could have been years and years of doctors and more testing with no answers. I was able to know what to talk with doctors about, some of what to expect, and that I wasn't alone. And I've never said thank you for that, so I wanted you to know- Thank you.

I remember you consistently being a long time supportive follower. Your name always sticks out when you like or reply or reblog. Like waving at an old friend you notice on the other side of the supermarket.

I've always tried to find the balance of openly talking about my chronic fatigue without making it my entire deal. I think that is a big mistake a lot of chronic illness sufferers can fall into. I had to figure out how to live a life despite my condition. And I hope if my story communicated anything to fellow spoonies, it was to do everything possible to find some quality of life. It may not meet your ambitions or what you imagined for yourself, but it's an important part of living with a chronic condition.

It is very fulfilling to hear that my story helped you. That was always my goal. When I started this health journey, there was so little information. They thought I had depression for years and even electroshocked my brain. I hoped I could spare others from a similar experience. And while I'm saddened so many others now have post viral fatigue, it does seem this influx of people has put a new spotlight on these conditions. Perhaps this will lead to new treatments.

I always live my life with the assumption I will not get better. Waiting for the next miracle cure got old very quick. My current strategy is to isolate aspects of my health that I can do something about. I'm going to fix my testosterone. I'm going to fix my diabetes. And I'm going to lose weight so it takes less energy to move around.

I had to make some huge health sacrifices to help my parents in their final years. I feel like I owe it to them to undo that damage and get back to living a life. I hope to also share that journey as I go.

It makes me sad to hear you have struggled with similar things. But stories like yours feel very validating. It can be hard opening up about these things publicly. Especially when faced with nonbelievers who think I want to lie around and watch movies all day. That idea sounds nice until it is your only choice and you cannot make another without terrible consequences.

I'm sorry it took so long to respond, but I appreciate you. I appreciate your long-time loyalty as a follower. And I appreciate all of the support and kindness you've shown me over the years.

[heartsforfolklore]

scrolling through Pinterest and found the most pre-crash nat core pic of Sophie to exist so now I’m gonna do dating hcs except it’s just me projecting….

sorry

— This pic would be taken by you, her lovely gf, on your your Polaroid or some other camera idk, and that is YOUR CAT in her lap mhm yup yup

— mostly would hang out at your place bc… well yes! she doesn’t want to deal with Vera

— so basically, your room is her safe space. She’ll sneak into your room, maybe climb the tree by your window or throw pebbles at your window till you open up idk

— she has a drawer/closet space in your room

— you are her opposite (this is me projecting btw) like she’s punk, a riot grrrl, kinda snobby when it comes to alt music and culture and you’re like… soft(er) like, Mazzy Star, The Cocteau Twins, Jeff Buckley, The cranberries, The Sunday’s—dreamy/dreamlike music, you read Sylvia Plath, Virginia Woolf, and Dostoevsky, you’re snobby with literature—prob in AP Lit too, (projecting again, sorry) and… she hasn’t touched a book since freshman year LMAO

— you started talking bc you’re a fucking loser loner in PE (haha me) and she’s low-key like Cookie Monster pajama pants girl coded or like the random alt baddie who also doesn’t want to try in PE and like adopts the strays. But like… she’s really athletic so you don’t know why she doesn’t try in PE. Says she’s saving her energy for soccer (it’s like… November, Soccer doesn’t start till the Spring babes..)

— FEMINISTS YUP YUP YUP, ranting about the gender pay gap and the sexist pigs at WHS, (lowkey misandrists but that’s another topic..)

— and if I say bi4bi couple then what? You can both appreciate beauty when you see it.

— she gets you into Hole and Courtney Love

— IF you’re on the soccer team too, you drive her home from practice (and to school, and… like everywhere)

— passenger princess Nat you are real to me. That bitch does NOT have her license 😭

— you mistakenly take her kleptomaniac ass to the mall… she doesn’t get caught but you’re flabbergasted when she pulls out three eyeliner pencils from her bra cause she “ran out”

— makes fun of you the first time you get high together. See, she’s a seasoned professional… you’re not, the most you’ve done is smoked a cigarette because you thought it made you more “mysterious” or like you just came out of an old film noir

— you do the thing where you press the lit ends of the cigarette together to light the other (huzz idk I’ve never smoked but it’s what Stein and Spirit do in Soul Eater 💀)

— cannot hold a job to save her life, and you keep telling her to apply to Hot Topic or Spencer’s but she thinks it’s too cliche

— so basically you have to sugar mama her till she actually gets a job

— she comes over to your house to watch SNL with you and your family, who welcome her like a second (or third, or fourth, or however many siblings you have idk, I’m projecting again) daughter (they don’t know you’re together) and she riffs with your dad and it EMBARRASSES YOU SO BAD.

— you become her rock, it’ll take a while for her to completely open up to you but when you do, know that she intends to keep you around for a long time because she wouldn’t just spill her guts like that to anyone

— she kisses like it’s a sport, sometimes it’s soft and sweet, but not often. Most of the time she’ll just grab your face and kiss your lights out—it’s agressive at the same time as it’s playful. Like, she gets cuteness agression and she just wants to squeeze your cheeks and kiss your puckered lips. SOMEBODY SEDATE ME!!!

— “I’m boredddd” final boss, and maybe it’s unchecked ADHD

— you’re both sat, front row, when The Craft comes out (May 3rd, 1996, trust, you two will be there.)

— furthering the Van and Nat childhood bsfs agenda: they still hang out and Van is the only person she’s told about her sexuality and relationship.

— she was really nervous to kiss you for the first time, like yeah, she’s kissed and gotten cozy with people before but, this was you, and she actually gives a shit about you, because you aren’t just a distraction

— let’s you write your name on her converse

— making zines with each other and cutting up magazines and old newspapers to make the fonts/letters with ransom letters

— back to the mall, you have so many photo booth photos with her, are half of them you guys kissing or her biting your cheek? Well, yes. But who cares, nobody is seeing them but you two.

— on the same note, you use the photo booth as an excuse to make out

— you guys probably got your freak on to Fade into you

— during the fall, you guys go to the Football (American football btw) games to heckle and boo at the players and probably get kicked out of the stands so you guys end up at some shitty fast food place near by

— hitting up the grimiest thrift stores, flipping through racks while Natalie criticizes every basic band tee. She makes fun of you for buying a floral slip dress, then stares way too long when you try it on. (can’t stop staring at her t-t-t-face)

— doesn’t out-right say “I love you” often but has many ways she shows she does; memorizing the lyrics to your favorite songs, getting your favorite drink from the vending machine, eye contact while she kisses the back of your hand/your knuckles. Deffo an “actions speak louder than words” kinda girl.

— she thinks you’re too good for her & often needs reassurance. One of her love languages is words of affirmation.

— historians will say you two are just best friends! It’s the 90s in some no-name town in New Jersey, so things are kept under wraps…

— if you’re a poet, she’s your muse. If she’s a musician (nat band!au??) you’re her muse.

— calls you “pretty” like it’s your name; pretty girl, pretty thing, pretty baby, “hey, pretty” IM SCREAMING!!!! That, or Angel, or My Girl

— call her “my girl” and she’ll melt. She prefers just Nat from you, but doesn’t mind “babe” or “baby” from time to time

— “I don’t believe in god, but I believe that you’re my savior” yeah, shout out Gigi Perez

— will pull you into a bathroom stall during passing period just to kiss you, then will walk out like nothing happened, leaving you stunned

— kiss her scars

— doing her makeup, her painting your nails or her dressing you in her clothes and vice versa

— date nights at shitty fast food places (Taco Bell, White Castle, Checkers, etc.) or drive in movies(lowk greaser!nat vibes w this one..)

— you either help her do her homework or just do it for her, no in between. It’s not that she’s not smart, she just doesn’t try

———⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

sorry if these are bad, like, holy yap fest on my part

[ecrivainsolitaire]

I just hate this whole virtue signalling "woe-is-me" from people who haven't even bothered to learn what the thing they hate even is. Two years ago some dumbass on the yellow press tried to convince people that ChatGPT was secretly 150 indians in a trenchcoat and these people ate it up because they never even bothered to check if the thing they read was physically possible. Now everyone is whining about water waste because they have no understanding of how water cooling even works and think you just spray the computer and the water vanishes forever or some other ridiculous bullshit along those lines. But they looove to be all dramatic and victimised as though they had any idea of what they're complaining about.

Meanwhile, the technology that was used to develop LLMs is also being used for, among many other things:

Developing a telepathic interface for accessibility devices like prosthetic limbs

Decoding ancient languages

Digitising endangered indigenous languages to promote their use and keep them alive

Communicating with whales to help them avoid human harm and find mates

Reducing software bloat by removing parts of code that are too intrinsic for humans to correlate

Detecting anomalies in medical scans as seen above

Deciphering the structure of proteins that can be used for drug development, genetic analysis, and potentially to engineer and clone individual organs for transplant.

It's the same thing. It's all the same system. You input a fuckton of data into a neural network, train it on ungodly pattern recognition skills Rainman would cum just thinking about, and then cycle it multiple times until eventually it can distinguish what's normal from what isn't, dissect the differences and spit out what amounts to engineered mutations for an intended goal.

The reason LLMs had to be first is because human language is the most complex information system in nature. Everything else follows predictable, regular, unchanging mathematical principles. Human language evolves at impossible speeds, it branches out in billions of different directions, and most importantly: every human on earth can use it. Of course it's flawed, it was invented last fucking weekend. If y'all saw the original Ford T and how much it pollutes we would be swimming in horse and mule shit by now because y'all willingly ignore the fact that technology becomes more efficient over time. o4-mini, the latest ChatGPT model, is exponentially faster and smarter than GPT3, the model from November 2022, at a tiny fraction of the processing power. We went in under 3 years from supercomputers that only Microsoft could afford to Deepseek, which can run entirely on a mid-range gaming pc from 5 years ago. And that's going to keep getting more efficient. This is a technological development as important as the transistor. We don't even know the limit of what can be accomplished with what is essentially a simulated human brain with direct internet access. Does it have flaws? Yes. Does it suck that it was built with stolen IP? Definitely. But that's barely even worth mentioning when you talk about a machine that can detect cancer better than oncologists. Not every oncologist, granted; but Cs get degrees, and the bot won't be looking for pretexts to fondle your tits, so I say in some instances it's already worth the trade, and in some others it will be sooner than we realise. And I can't stand the amount of people who want to stop this revolution of human possibilities because they bought a fucking fake story about the Ghibli guy being sad. Which, by the way, was disseminated with ancient footage from when he verbally abused his employees for suggesting the use of CGI.

Intellectual property was already an abomination before AI happened, and this website in particular was very much in favour of undermining it as much as possible until it came to their fucking yaoi fanart which is btw also copyright infringement. It is abhorrent to come to Tumblr and learn that suddenly everyone is a Disney lobbyist for free. I can't begin to explain how frustrating it is to come to the leftist socialist anarchist communist solarpunk website and see people unironically defend the paywalling of ideas. This is the site that loved Nikola Tesla and was outraged at Edison and Musk using patents and trademarks to muddy his legacy. But now patents and trademarks are good I guess, as long as your fanfic you wrote at 13 that you never meant to profit from is copyright protected (it never was, you stole that too). Especially at the same time as y'all bust my notifications with everyone sharing my pro piracy post from two years ago.

You wouldn't download a car. And that's disappointing.

[better-setterv2]

𝒜𝒸𝒸𝒾𝒹𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈 - 𝒫𝓉.3

Authors Note: Hi all! Here is part 3 of Accidentally Yours. I am working on the next part as quick as I can. Enjoy! Lots of love xx

Summary: reader is approved by the group chat over a silly question. Later on, she overthinks and finally accepts the invite to Monaco. Though her anxiety gets to the best of her three nights prior.

Warnings: none

Taglist: @urmomsgirlfriend1 @mimisweetz @mits-vi @nebulastarr

MASTERLIST

Pt1, Pt2, Pt3, Pt4

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

You didn’t reply to Hammertime that night.

You couldn’t.

Instead, you reread the messages more times than you’d admit. His words sat heavy in your chest, not in a bad way but in the kind of way that made you feel.

Something about the way he messaged you, like he was saying more than what was written. As if there were things hiding between the lines he wasn’t ready to say out loud.

Not yet.

The next morning, the group chat was back to its usual chaos. Someone had changed the group name to “GridGremlins 🛠️”, SmoothOperator was sending filtered selfies with too many sparkles, Baguetteboi was sharing his hatred of being called French and HoneyBadger had dropped a poll asking who would die first in a zombie apocalypse (Pastry was leading).

Still, your eyes drifted toward his name. Always his.

No private message. No follow up.

But then, like he knew you were looking -

Hammertime: Don’t worry, I survived another night with these lunatics. Barely.

Also newbie, zombie votes don’t count unless you tell us your apocalypse weapon of choice.

You smiled despite yourself. A soft flutter again. You replied in the group chat this time.

User (You): Cast iron skillet. Multipurpose. Classic. Heavy.

Pastry: Oh she’s good.

SmootherOperator: Marry me.

Baguetteboi: you won

Hulk: Please don’t encourage him.

You waited, just a little longer and then it came -

Hammertime: Good choice. I approve.

The day moved on. Classes, errands, life. But around lunch your phone buzzed again.

[Private Message – Hammertime 💬]

Hammertime: Was it too much? What I said last night.

Your breath got caught.

User (You): No. Just, honest. And maybe a bit scary.

Hammertime: Scary how?

User (You): Because I meant what I said too. And that kind of thing isn’t something I let myself believe in.

There was a pause.

Hammertime: I don’t usually either. But then you got added. And suddenly I’m thinking about it way more than I should.

You stared at the message.

Not flirtatious. Not bold. Just raw honesty typed out quietly like a secret.

You replied, this time without hesitation.

User (You): So what do we do with this?

Hammertime: Keep talking. For now, I like talking to you.

You smiled down at your phone, heart thumping.

Still no name. Still no face.

But somehow, this felt more real than most people you’d met in person.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The conversation didn’t stop.

Days passed like that - quick check ins, long stretches of silence filled with real life, then sudden bursts of messages that felt like stolen moments. It became a rhythm, one you hadn’t expected to crave.

Sometimes he messaged you first.

Sometimes you beat him to it.

Always, it felt like the highlight of your day.

Tonight was one of those slower evenings. Rain pattered softly against your window as you curled up with your phone, absently watching unread emails pile up. But one notification broke through the noise.

[Private Message – Hammertime 💬]

Hammertime: Ever feel like people know of you but don’t really know you?

You blinked. It was more serious than usual. No jokes. No chaos.

User (You): Yeah. All the time. Especially when I walk into a room and people already have an idea of who I’m supposed to be.

Three little dots appeared. Then disappeared.

Then came back.

Hammertime: Same. It’s exhausting. Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to start over somewhere. As just, me. Not the version people project.

User (You): You kind of did that with me. I don’t know who you are. Just who you’ve shown me.

And I like that version.

Quiet. Thoughtful. Funny.

Kind.

You sent it before you could overthink it. Then, heart hammering, you watched the typing bubbles appear.

Hammertime: That might be the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in a long time.

You hesitated. Then typed -

User (You): Want to tell me something real?

Just, one thing. About you.

The pause stretched longer this time.

Hammertime: I hate crowds. Everyone thinks I thrive in them.

But most days I’d give anything just to be somewhere quiet, no expectations, no cameras.

Just real.

You could feel your breath catch. Whoever he was, his words felt like they came with a weight he’d been carrying for a long time.

User (You): I’d sit next to you in that quiet.

Another pause. This one felt like a heartbeat.

Hammertime:That’s the second-nicest thing anyone’s said to me. You’re dangerous, you know that?

User (You): Only to people who like cast iron skillets.

Hammertime: That’s it. We’re definitely apocalypse partners now.

You laughed out loud.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

That night your eyes were bloodshot starring at the Monaco invitation from a few days ago. You couldn’t decide if you should go or not.

You didn’t reply.

Not at first.

But you read his message again. Then again.

Your screen dimmed and lit up with the motion of your fingers tapping it back to life, like you couldn’t bear to let it go dark while his name sat there.

Hammertime: If you come to Monaco…Make sure it’s for you.

Your chest was tight, full of something you didn’t have the language for yet.

You typed a response.

User (You): Idon’t even know what I want yet.

You stared at it. Deleted it.

User (You): I’m not good at this.

Delete.

User (You): I saw the invite.

Too bland.

User (You): Why does it feel like something’s going to change if I go?

Your finger hovered.

Then you erased that too.

The typing bubble popped up on his end. Then vanished. Then reappeared.

You hadn’t even sent anything.

And still he was waiting.

You finally gave in, your fingers trembling as you typed something imperfect but real.

User (You): Are you always like this?

The bubble appeared again, almost instantly this time.

Hammertime: Like what?

User (You): Careful, kind, hard to stop thinking about.

Three dots.

Longer this time.

Then -

Hammertime: Only with people I don’t want to lose.

Your heart thudded.

You wanted to reply.

To say something sharp or smart or honest. But your hands had gone still.

You locked your phone, holding it to your chest.

Let yourself breathe.

You didn’t answer the invite.

Not yet.

But now -

You were starting to think about what dress you might pack.

Just in case.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

You didn’t sleep much.

Not from stress, exactly.

It was more the feeling of standing at the edge of something high, toes curled against the drop. The quiet hum of maybe. Of almost.

Of what if.

Your finger hovered over the invite again sometime around 2 a.m.

Open.

It bloomed across the screen, white and gold and obnoxiously beautiful.

"MONACO."

Everyone knew what it meant in the group, expect you to be exact.

Glitz. Heat. A thousand eyes. And him.

You didn’t realise you’d clicked "Yes" until the screen updated.

Just like that.

Like it was nothing.

But it didn’t feel like nothing.

Because now it was real.

Your heart did this strange, stuttering thing. Not panic. Not quite.

But definitely not peace.

You switched back to the private chat. He hadn’t messaged again.

Good.

You weren’t sure you could take it.

Your fingers moved, traitorous and too honest.

User (You): I said yes.

Sent.

Three dots. Fast.

Hammertime: Yeah?

You could almost hear his voice in that one word. Low, warm, cautious hope wrapped inside it.

User (You): Don’t make it a thing.

Hammertime: Too late.

You closed your eyes.

Imagined the impossible. What it would feel like to see him and know, really know that it was him.

Not a username.

Not a maybe.

Not a what if.

But a person. Standing in front of you.

Breathing the same air.

Looking at you like he already knew every word you hadn’t said yet.

You typed again.

User (You): What happens now?

There was a pause.

Long enough to wonder if you’d said too much.

He then replied -

Hammertime: Now we wait. And see if you still feel everything when you’re standing right in front of me.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

It was stupid, how packing a suitcase could feel like preparing for emotional warfare.

You weren’t even leaving yet. The flight wasn’t for three more days, but your room already looked like a storm had passed through it. Clothes everywhere. Shoes you hadn’t worn in months lined up like soldiers. Three failed outfit attempts on the floor and counting.

You’d packed for trips before. Exams. Interviews. A funeral once. But never something like this.

Because how do you pack for someone who’s only ever known you in fragments?

How do you pick the version of yourself you want them to meet?

Your chest felt tight. Like something was pressing against it from the inside.

Later that night, lying in bed, your thoughts ran endless laps.

What if he wasn’t what you imagined?

What if you weren’t what he imagined?

What if all the texts and late night chats and electric not quite flirting didn’t survive the sunlight?

Or worse! What if it was real?

So real it unraveled everything else.

You rolled over and checked your phone again.

Still no new messages from him.

Just his name in your inbox.

Sitting there.

Quiet.

Waiting.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Will you expand on that, Reverse Robin, with Tim? I just found it!

I don't have too much plot for the Cuckoo in a Robin's Nest Au (the Name is a WIP) yet, so I can't write a dabble for you. For those wondering, this references the DC-only story I was thinking of writing. It can be found here.

Tim glances up as the bell on the door chimes. He knows who it is before he spots the head of dirty blond hair and the warm smile stretched against a freckled face.

Little Freddie rapidly became a regular after Tim set up a side table for him to comfortably eat and do his homework. Tim didn't know much about the kid besides the fact that he was being raised by a single father and had two older brothers. Apparently, the three were constantly working yet barely making ends meet leaving the small child to his own devices.

That wasn't an uncommon story around these parts. Not many employers were willing to hire anyone with a Crime Alley address, and those that did often only wanted to overwork them while underpaying them.

The fact that the boy still actively went to school during the day surprised the Crime Alley dwellers more. He was a School Kid, which meant something different to the people here. If Ex-Bat had to bet, Freddie's family put his future before theirs, since the boy won a scholarship to Gotham Academy.

He had to tell the boy to cover his uniform when walking home. He never knew who would mistake him for a rich kid and what they would do for a bit of quick cash in these parts.

Freddie now always came after school without his blazer and uniform shirt. He always changed in the bathrooms, throwing on a faded oversized band t-shirt and a baggy, run-down hoodie.

Even with his uniform pants, Freddie easily changed from a Gotham Academy School kid to a common Alley Crime Kid.

Tim himself had two part-time jobs, but they weren't enough to get him out of the city. He missed his resources like a missing limb, but he had survived with less before, and he could now.

The idea of creating any link between himself and the heroes made his skin crawl, even if it was to hack into the bank accounts he once had access to. Tim was already risking so much by moving through the city without documentation.

If he created a fake paper trail, he worried the Bats would pick up on it. Tim was done with them all. He died for them. They let him die.

He would never let them back in again.

That is why he chose to stay in Gotham.

It was one of the few places that didn't bat an eye at the fact that Alvin Draper only had his name and homeless shelter address. His apartment was a shed in someone's backyard, barely legal to count it as a rental space. It had a bathroom, a tiny sink, and a stove, but not much else.

It was the best he could find with what little he had to prove himself.

His big, mountain-of-muscle Russian landlord thought Tim was a runaway or rent boy because of how he talked, but he took the risk of letting him live there anyway. He at least felt safe when the man pulled out a receipt book to give him proof of payment, and after a vague confirmation that Tim wouldn't bring any trouble around the house.

He only cared that he could turn in his rent in cash and that if he needed to work odd hours, he should not make any noise past ten p.m. He also offered to care for any troublemakers who couldn't understand that Tim was only working if they followed him home.

It was oddly sweet how Crime Alley had both empathy and self-preservation deep in their bones for each other.

"Hi Alvin!" Freedie chips, throwing his scruffed-up backpack in the chair closest to the wall. He bounces in his seat, digging into the Pepperoni pizza Tim sets on the table for him. It's only three slices, but with his employee discount, it's less than a soda from a vending machine.

Tim wasn't sure how much Freddie's family was struggling, but he didn't mind providing the boy with a meal if he could.

"Hi Freddie," he answers warmly, pouring the boy some water. Since they were the only ones in the restaurant, he lingered near the table, placing his hands on his hips as he regarded the boy's appearance. Three weeks ago, he caught a bruise, concealed by makeup, near his neck, and has been hyper-aware of any reappearances since. "How was school?"

"It was pretty good. John tried to throw me in a locker, but I punched him in the nuts like you taught me before he could," the boy reveals with a proud puff of his chest. "His friends tried to grab me, but I swung my shoulder bags at them and they got scared."

Tim sniggers, pride pooling in his gut. His fake Crime Alley accent is rougher than normal, further disguising him. No one who heard him ever thought he was born with a silver tooth. "Good. Teach those prep losers not to mess with ruffians."

Freddie's smile is crooked with both a mischievous nature and the edge of barely concealed violence. "My Dad and brothers think I shouldn't let them get under my skin."

"It's important to be the bigger man," Tim confirms, refilling the boy's cup after he chugs it nearly all in one drink. "It's also important to defend yourself before things escalate."

Freddie is silent momentarily before carefully offering, "My second-oldest brother used to say that, too."

Tim doesn't know what happened to the second oldest, but he has noticed that Freedie always speaks of him in the past tense. This was another common thing in Crime Alley.

People died all the time, and everyone who called this hell-hole home had personally experienced loss at least once before turning eighteen.

"Your brother had the right idea." He settles on grinning at the boy. Freedie's blue eyes are searching, tracing over Tim's face as if searching for a lie, but the door chimes again, and he has to turn away to greet the new customers before he can ask what the boy is searching for.

He offers Freedie a slight nod while returning to the cashier. He pretends he doesn't notice how the twelve-year-old pulls out his homework after finishing his pizza slices. More specifically, he ignores how the boy occasionally attempts to take his picture between math questions.

It's cute how hard he tried to be sneaky about it and how his frustration grew with each failed attempt. Tim was having far too much fun carefully dodging his camera, making sure to move in a way that made it appear like an accident that his face was never captured correctly.

It reminded Tim of himself when he was twelve. Ah, memories.

[vanswarpedtour]

We sat down to chat with MySpace’s beloved MILLIONAIRE$ about their return to the Warped stage, old mems, and excitement for what’s to come. Learn how to LIVE FA$T and PARTY HARD before catching them at all three stops in DC, Long Beach, and Orlando this year!

How does it feel to come back and play Vans Warped Tour in 2025?

Melissa: When we got the offer, I legit was like, “REALLY? It’s actually back?!?” In my mind, it was not gonna come back.

Meredith: When I found out I was in disbelief, I was like, “Really???”

What’s your craziest Warped memory?

Melissa: [The realization] didn’t hit me until the moment I walked onto the stage for the first time. I’d never done a FESTIVAL festival…nothing like Warped Tour. I remember walking on stage and being like “Woah! Am I ready for this?”

We were treated like the losers, like the outcasts. Another girl in the band, someone threw a shoe and hit her in the face. We got a lot of shit talked to us that we laugh about now. I think it’s this redemption thing, playing this year. Like, “Fuck all you guys! Look who’s still fucking here bitch!”  

Meredith: I was going to Warped Tour every summer…I have great memories of lying to my mom and telling her I was spending the weekend at a friend’s house, and then getting in a car with a bunch of kids and driving up to Dallas in a beater not knowing if we’re gonna make it *laughs.* And then just getting a gnarly sunburn, and hanging out with my friends, not even really caring who’s on the lineup, we’re just going for the vibe.

What’s something you have to do before every performance?

Meredith: For our headline shows, we’ll have our DJ play a set, and we’ve curated that playlist with our favorite music. We hype up beforehand and dance around backstage!

Melissa: We also do our little “double double” hand thing…

Meredith: Yeah we also do uh, *patty cake/elevator hand game motion* little hand clap thing–

Melissa: And we also have nails on, so it’s like this *awkwardly does the hand motion.*

Meredith: Yeah, instead of a huddle we do a little secret handshake thing.

What’s your favorite song to perform live and why?

Melissa: I don’t know! That’s a hard one! No matter what order the set is, the first song when we jump on stage is the most hype. Also, we normally play “Alcohol” last. I think that one is so ingrained, everyone is having fun. I’m so excited to be on stage, and it’s sad to have to leave the stage, so it’s like giving my last moment of “Let’s just do it!” even if I’m exhausted.

Meredith: Yeah, that one’s just so iconic. And no matter who you are, I feel like everyone knows the words, and it’s easy to sing along even if you don’t. By that time, everyone’s balls to the walls. My favorite song is “Stay the Night.” The melody is really fun, and the dance we do to it is like old school Dream Girls vibes, and I like those types of songs.

Describe MILLIONAIRE$ in three words.

Meredith: Unapologetic. Iconic. Hot.

Melissa: Party. Besties 🫶. DGAF.

What’s your favorite part of Vans Warped Tour?

Meredith: Seeing so many friends that are also on the lineup. I think it’s really fun that we all get to do this together and it’s gonna feel almost like summer camp in a way *laughs.* Hanging out, seeing lots of friends, and watching a lot of bands that we love–there’s so many bands on the lineup that we’re both fans of. At the end of the day, even though we’re playing, we’re fans of this music, so that’s cool!

Melissa: It’s so nice to hang out again with the people we grew up listening to. Getting to see them perform and performing alongside them is a really cool feeling. I’m so happy to say they’re keeping the scene alive in Warped Tour too.

If you could collaborate with any other band or artist, who would it be and why?

Meredith: We got asked this last year at When We Were Young, and I think we said Charli XCX. That would be crazy. Maybe a metalcore band would be cool. We’re both fans of metalcore and there’s a lot of bands in the scene that are awesome right now. Yeah, I think that would be so fun!

Melissa: Yeah, and we could sing with them, or do our cutesy rap too! I would want to do a song or a tour with people that still want to keep the scene alive. I just wanna have fun, it’s not some competition. When we do shows and songs, I want it to be fun, I like that part of music!

Do you have anything exciting planned for your Warped set (that we can know about)?

Meredith: Party vibes, fun, and high energy. We’re working on a way to spice it up even more.

Are there any new or upcoming releases fans should keep an eye out for?

Meredith: We’re planning to do another release with Graveboy Records which is really exciting. To be determined when that’s gonna be, but new music is on the way, and maybe some other stuff that we can’t talk about yet.

What tips do you have for up-and-coming bands/artists?

Melissa: Never give up. No matter who talks shit about you, I don’t care, never give up! Just believe in it. It’s always been in my heart, a lot of people are like, “How are you still wearing the bow?” and all this mean stuff–it’s like dude, this is just me! Believe in your music, because other people will believe in it too.