#hey guys do you like my conspiracy theory

[radioactive-cloud]

did you know that they

[parkitrighthere]

The Black Orchid Project

Pairing: billionaire CEO!Jeon Jungkook x Secretory!Reader Genre: Dark Romance, Mystery, Thriller Word Count: 19k Trigger warning: This chapter contains morally grey characters, toxic characters, dark romance, trauma, violence, mentions of murder, death, and conspiracy. Reader discretion is advised. Summary: Jungkook is the enigmatic CEO of a major conglomerate with a haunting secret—he can hear everyone’s thoughts. But when Y/N becomes his new personal secretary, she’s the only person whose thoughts remain silent to him. Intrigued and unsettled, Jungkook is drawn to the mystery she presents, not realizing that their connection will unravel secrets neither of them are prepared to face. a/n: This story is entirely a work of fiction and is the sole property of @parkitrighthere. The characters, events, and scenarios depicted are products of the imagination and are not intended to represent or reflect real-life situations, nor do I wish for anything portrayed here to occur in reality. I kindly ask that my work not be copied, translated, or reposted as your own on this or any other platform, including YouTube. Please respect the effort and originality behind this piece. Thank you for your understanding and support. a/n: So, I finally posted. Yeah, I know, shock of the century, right? You were probably out here cursing my name like, 'Where the heck have you been?' Well, I guess I just decided not to post this time. Don’t ask me why, I don’t even know. But hey, I’m sorry for that. I know, I say sorry a lot, it’s like my default setting at this point. But I swear, I’m really going to try and post more. I promise. Maybe. Also, a super huge shoutout and a massive thank you to my absolute favorite person @closer-to-jungkook. She beta-read this mess for me, and gave me so many amazing insights, but guess what? I didn’t do a single thing with them because, you know, I’m a failure like that. So, yeah, basically I let her down as my beta reader. Sorry, girl. But next time, I swear, I’ll actually listen and make you proud... unless I forget, again, in which case... whoops. Anyway, love you guys, and I’ll try not to disappear again... maybe.

PROLOGUE MASTERLIST 02

CHAPTER TITLE: Work, Words, and Wrecks

You shifted uncomfortably in your chair, your hands gripping the edges of the table, knuckles white as you tried to appear composed. But your patience was wearing thin. He was overreacting, making a mountain out of nothing. Sure, you’d made a mistake—who hadn’t?—but this? This was ridiculous. What was his deal with the room’s capacity? Why on earth was he so bothered about having more than four people in a room? Seriously, what kind of control freak rule was that? You chewed on the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress the urge to roll your eyes. Was he scared of crowds or something? Honestly, with his attitude, he should be. If he kept ticking people off like this, one day, someone might snap—and if there were enough people, they’d form a mob. The thought almost made you snort, but you swallowed it down, biting your cheek. It was a silly theory, but it was better than trying to untangle the nonsense of his rules.

The meeting dragged on. Time seemed to crawl as if the clock itself was protesting against the sheer monotony of the discussion. It hadn’t been long since it started, but to you, it already felt like you’d been trapped in this room for days. You lost count of the times his gaze—no, his glare—scorched into you. Each glance filled with condescension that felt like a slap across the face.

He glared at you again. His soft, doe-like eyes narrowed, dark and piercing, with a keenness that made you shrink back slightly. His jaw tightened, the muscle jumping under his skin as he ground his teeth. You flinched instinctively, your body betraying you with a subtle jerk, as if bracing for impact, suddenly aware of how small you felt under his scrutiny. Your hands clenched in your lap, fingers feeling like they might snap, as you tried to focus anywhere else.

You quickly averted your gaze, your eyes darting around the room, desperate for an escape.  Your eyes landed on Taehyung. He leaned back casually in his chair, one arm draped casually over the backrest, his long fingers drumming against the table in a slow, lazy rhythm. As soon as he felt your gaze, his lips curled into a subtle smirk. He raised his brows and blinked at you—once, deliberately.

You felt your face heat, and not from embarrassment, but frustration. God, all these men are insane. You clenched your fists tighter, nails digging into your palms to calm yourself.  You swore they all had some kind of mental dysfunction. Jungkook with his silent rage, Taehyung with his infuriating charm—maybe Jimin was the only sane one in this room besides you.

You sighed, shifting in your seat again, your foot tapping nervously against the floor. Mental health courses exist for a reason, you thought bitterly, your gaze flickering between Jungkook’s scowl and Taehyung’s irritating grin. Maybe they should sign up for all of them.

 As your thoughts spiralled, you dared a glance at him… again. Only to catch the faintest twitch of his brow—precise, calculated. It wasn’t just anger in his expression; it was something darker, something… personal? And it scared you, even if you’d never admit it.

The moment you had been dreading finally came. The meeting was over.

Chairs screeched against the floor as everyone pushed back from the table. The sound grated on your nerves, but you rose from your seat anyway, hands trembling, legs wobbling as though they might give out beneath you.

 Your breath hitched, shallow and fast, a knot tightening in the pit of your stomach. Your heart pounded against your ribs, a viscous thud that made your chest ache.  Was this fear? Anxiety? You couldn’t tell anymore, but it clawed at you, gnawing at your insides like a predator circling its prey. You clenched your fists at your sides, trying to calm yourself, but the uneasy tremor in your chest refused to fade.

You risked another glance at him, keeping your gaze low, peeking through your lashes, a fleeting, nervous look that you immediately regretted.  His gaze locked onto you, soft yet paradoxically so sharp and firm, as if he could see right through you. The weight of his stare felt like a physical force pressing against your temple. You quickly looked away but it was too late.

 Your throat tightening as your heart slammed against your ribs. But it didn’t matter—his eyes stayed on you, burning holes into the side of your head like he could feel every breath you took.

There was something in the way he looked at you—a mix of curiosity and disdain that made your skin crawl, like you were an unsolved puzzle he hated having to deal with. It was as though he were studying you, dissecting you piece by piece. He looked at you like he couldn’t stand the thought of breathing the same air as you, as if being in the same room as you was a personal insult he couldn’t forgive. The corner of his mouth twitched, but not in kindness. A cold, predatory smirk curled his lips, one that made your blood run cold.

His soft brown boba eyes never left you.

And then he smiled. Cold, shrill, and entirely without warmth. A smile that dripped with obnoxiousness and delight, as though he was basking in your unease, feeding off it like it gave him some twisted satisfaction.

 You weren’t sure what scared you more—the venom in his gaze or the fact that you couldn’t look away, no matter how much you wanted to.

"Jungkook," Seokjin’s voice cut through the fragile silence like a gentle breeze, calm and soothing.

Jungkook’s head snapped toward Seokjin, and in an instant, everything about him changed.

 His shoulders, tense and rigid moments ago, relaxed, and his piercing glare melted away, replaced by something soft—gentle, even. His lips curved into a smile, one so sweet and genuine it left you completely dumfounded. You blinked, your mouth falling open in shock.

What the hell?

Your eyes widened,  as you stared at him, disbelief etched across your face.  How... how is this possible? This was the same man who had spent the entire meeting glaring daggers at you, exuding nothing but cold enmity. How could someone so rude, heartless, and obnoxiously infuriating smile like that? It didn’t make sense. It felt like a trick, some cruel joke the universe was playing on you. But there it was—his smile, warm and dazzling, as if he hadn’t spent the past hour glaring at you like you were dirt beneath his shoe.  And now? Now he looked like a painting come to life—a vision of warmth and beauty that shouldn’t belong to someone so cruel.

Your heart skipped a beat as you noticed the faint crinkle at the corners of his eyes, the way his smile softened his entire face. For a brief, fleeting moment, you found yourself mesmerized. A small, traitorous voice whispered in the back of your mind, He’s stunning. Beautiful. Perfect. And he was. That smile made him look like something out of a dream, his dark orbs soft and almost shy under the fluorescent light. He was cute too, you realized, in that infuriating way that made you want to scream. And hot? God, no one could dare bring up the concept of hotness without mentioning him.

How can someone so horrible look this… beautiful? The whisper in the back of your mind grew louder. This man is the definition of beauty.

Your cheeks flushed at the thought, and you shook your head quickly, breaking free from whatever spell he’d cast. No. Absolutely not. Don’t go there. You shook your head slightly, muttering a quiet mantra in your head. No, no, no. He’s an idiot. A rude, wicked bastard. Stop it. This is the same guy who’s made your day a living hell. Remember that. But it was hard to ignore the way your heart raced, or the strange flutter in your chest.

Jungkook didn’t respond to Jin right away. Instead, he moved. His long strides carried him around the table, each step smooth and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. He stopped beside Jin, his posture instantly relaxed as Seokjin patted his shoulder in a way that felt natural, familiar.

Jin began to speak again, his lips parting as if to offer some kind of reassurance, but Jungkook cut him off before he could finish.

“Hyung! Let’s go to my office,” Jungkook said, his voice low and soft, almost tender. “We’ll talk there?” His voice was softer than you’d heard it, polite and calm. It was so different from the cold, harsh tone he had threw your way.

You blinked, staring at the two of them as your jaw threatened to hit the floor again. This can’t be real. Him? Soft? It was like watching a lion purr—a sight so contradictory it didn’t feel real. His tone was polite, his demeanour respectful—words you would never have associated with the man five minutes ago

Your eyes darted back and forth between the two of them, struggling to make sense of what you were seeing. Jungkook, the same man who had made your day a living hell, now stood before Seokjin like an obedient younger brother. It was unsettling, to say the least.

He wasn’t just polite—he was soft. Gentle, even.

You couldn’t stop staring. The way he tilted his head slightly when he spoke to Jin, the way his hands relaxed at his sides, no longer tense or clenched. It was so different from the version of him you knew, it almost felt like you were looking at a completely different person.

Your fingers twitched at your side, itching to pinch yourself. Maybe you were dreaming. Or hallucinating. Because the Jungkook you knew? He didn’t do soft. And yet, here he was, proving you wrong with every breath. The man who had made it his mission to make you feel two inches tall was suddenly soft and sweet with Seokjin? It didn’t make sense.

But the warmth in his expression lingered, and for reasons you couldn’t explain, it made your chest tighten. He was more than what you’d seen so far… wasn’t he?

Jin’s face lit up with a bright smile as he nodded at Jungkook. Turning away, he gave Namjoon and Taehyung a light nudge to follow him.

Namjoon responded with a quick nod, a broad grin spreading across his face as he moved to join them.

Taehyung, however, didn’t move. Instead, he slumped further into his chair, crossing his arms loosely and leaning back with a loud, exaggerated sigh. His lips pressed into a pout as he stared at the ceiling like the very idea of moving was a personal offense. It was no secret that Jeon Enterprises and Kim Enterprises were very close; both companies worked hand in hand. Even Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung went to the same school and college together. Their entire childhood and teenage years were spent together, and they were still together. All three of them were always in the news, and always together too. Jungkook knew Taehyung like the back of his hand along with his antics.

Namjoon glanced over, eyebrows furrowing in that “here we go again” way of his as he caught sight of Taehyung’s antics. “Seriously?” he asked, his tone half amused, half exasperated. His hands found their way to his hips, as he watched Taehyung flap his arms against the chair’s armrests.

Taehyung raised his hand in the air, palm out, as if announcing something grand. “No!”  he exclaimed, dragging the word out as he slowly pushed himself up from his seat, slowly, deliberately, making it as dramatic as possible before turning to Seokjin. “I won’t, hyung. I refuse.”

Seokjin didn’t react right away. He merely tilted his head, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly, making it clear he wasn’t impressed. His lips pressed into a thin line as he let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head. The slight twitch at the corner of his mouth suggested he was trying very hard not to roll his eyes. His gaze shifted to Namjoon, wordlessly asking, Is this brat for real?

Namjoon only shrugged, an almost conspiratorial grin spreading across his face, as if he found the whole thing more entertaining than annoying. They both turned their attention back to Taehyung, who didn’t care—if anything, their reactions only fueled his theatrics.  "NO," Taehyung declared, his voice firm, though his lips twitched with the hint of a smile.

“What now?” Seokjin asked finally, his voice calm, dangerously calm, but the words that tumbled out were tight. It wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be—it was the kind of calm that warned you not to push your luck. His piercing eyes bored into Taehyung, sharp and calculating, a reminder that behind the soft features was a mind you didn’t want to cross.  The sharp edge to it made you flinch, even though the question wasn’t directed at you.

The tension in the room shifted as even Taehyung hesitated for a second, his hand dropping to his side as he shifted under Jin’s obdurate stare. But within minutes he was back to his usual self.

You stood in the corner, half-forgotten, watching the scene unfold as if you were invisible. For a moment, it felt like you were intruding on a private family argument. They were so lost in their little world that none of them seemed to notice you lingering.  The ridiculousness of the scene was almost enough to make you forget the tension lingering in the air. Almost.

Seokjin’s calm demeanour held stable as he waited for Taehyung’s next move, the silence stretching just long enough to make even you hold your breath.

But Taehyung, being Taehyung, jabbed his finger in Jungkook's direction without even sparing him a glance. “He didn’t invite me! Just you, hyung. Just you,” he said, voice laced with mock hurt. Namjoon sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair as he shook his head, but a soft smile tugged at his lips. How could he stay mad? Taehyung was his little brother, and no matter how ridiculous the stunt, even when they bordered on absurd, he couldn’t help but find it endearing.

Taehyung’s arms crossed over his chest, his pout deepening as he stuck his bottom lip out, eyes narrowing as he watched Seokjin expectantly.

“An invitation? Really? You want an invitation?” Seokjin asked, his voice flat and deadpan, like he couldn’t believe he was even entertaining this ridiculous request. “What is this, a wedding? You want calligraphy and wax seals?”

Taehyung’s pout deepened, his gaze shifting dramatically to the side as he huffed. "Please would do," His voice a mix of childish demand and mock offense, his eyes flicking to Seokjin for any sign of approval.

 “A proper invite,” he huffed. “With manners. A simple please.”

Jimin couldn’t hold back his laugh, it came out bright and loud, like he’d just heard the funniest joke. "What?!" he snorted, stepping forward with an amused glint in his eyes.

 His laughter only grew as he straightened, wiping a fake tear from his eye before stepping toward Taehyung. “From Jungkook? Oh, Tae, you’re delusional.” he said, his voice a mockingly sweet coo.

Taehyung’s brow twitched, and he shoved Jimin away, glaring at him. “Don’t call me delusional,” he snapped. “And stop laughing. It’s not that funny.”

Jimin, still laughing, straightened up and threw an arm around Taehyung’s shoulders. “Oh, but it is, Tae-Tae,” he teased, dragging out the nickname with enough sugar to cause cavities.

Taehyung immediately shoved him off. “Don’t call me that!” he barked, though his glare wavered when Jimin stumbled backward, his laughter echoing in the room.

“Let’s be real,” Jimin said, wiping a fake tear from his eye. “Jungkook saying please? You’ve got better odds of him baking us cupcakes with love letters on top.”

Seokjin watched the entire scene unfold with a quiet sigh, his arms falling to his sides as he shook his head. “Bloody idiots,” he muttered under his breath, though his eyes betrayed the fondness he felt for them all.

Jungkook, who had been leaning against the wall with the air of someone far too cool to care, quirked an eyebrow. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t need to. The faint smirk on his lips said it all: “Not happening.”

“See?” Jimin said, gesturing toward Jungkook with a wide grin, as if the smirk was proof enough of what he’d been saying.

Taehyung huffed, rolling his eyes as he glared at Jungkook. "He’s insufferable." he muttered, his voice flat but dripping with monotony. He threw the words out with the kind of disinterest that only Taehyung could manage, as though even arguing was beneath him.

“Always has been,” Jimin agreed cheerfully, giving Taehyung a playful pat on the shoulder.

“You want an invite?” Seokjin deadpanned, cutting through the noise like a knife. “Fine. Jungkook, invite him.”

Jungkook didn’t even look up. “No.”

The room fell silent for a beat before Jimin broke into another fit of laughter. “I told you!” he howled, practically doubling over again. “That guy would rather eat his shoe than say the p-word.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Taehyung muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

Jimin grinned, his eyes sparkling mischievously. “What’s the matter, Tae? Expecting something special from him? Maybe a song, a serenade, flowers—”

“Shut up,” Taehyung snapped, his face turning red as he swatted at Jimin His glare faltering just enough to reveal a flicker of amusement behind his annoyed facade.

Namjoon, trying to keep it together, clamped a hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking slightly with suppressed laughter. Seokjin did the same, clearing his throat to hide the grin threatening to break free. You couldn’t hold back either, a soft laugh slipping from your lips. The sound of it made everyone snap their heads in your direction, and you immediately went still.

“Oh, for the love of—” Taehyung groaned, turning to Jimin abruptly, the chair scraping loudly as he shoved it back. “This is ridiculous. Forget it. I’m not playing this game.”

“You’re still mad, aren’t you?” Jimin pressed, a laugh already escaping as he took a step back, clearly enjoying pushing Taehyung’s buttons.

“Like I care!” Taehyung shot back, his hands gesturing wildly before he turned on his heel. He glared at Jungkook one last time. “Who’d want to spend time with a jerk like him anyway?”

You couldn’t help but agree, nodding your head. It was truly, genuinely, sincerely, honestly the most truthful statement you'd heard all day. Even Jungkook chuckled at Taehyung's behaviour, and your gaze snapped back to Jungkook. You stared at him in disbelief; you never thought you'd see this man smiling. Yet here he was, standing in all his glory, proving you wrong.  Jungkook? Laughing? Relaxed? It was like spotting a unicorn in the wild. For the first time, he didn’t look like the insufferable boss you were growing to despise. He looked...earth-shatteringly handsome. You cursed under your breath, clenching your fists to keep from staring too long.

It made you feel like your brain was short-circuiting. Here was this asshole of a man, acting like he was above it all, and yet… he was smiling. It made him look almost… normal.

Why was he so ridiculously handsome? He was a jerk, a complete ass, yet... there was something about him. He was perfect boyfriend material, especially with those tattoos. You'd seen them in magazines, but you wouldn't mind seeing them in real life.

He was a jerk, but otherwise, he was perfect boyfriend material, especially with those tattoos. You'd seen them in magazines, but you wouldn't mind seeing them in real life.

You shook your head abruptly, as if physically trying to dislodge the thought. Nope. Absolutely not. Stop it.

Why were you thinking all this nonsense?

Because no matter how annoyingly perfect he looked in that moment—relaxed, smirking, and effortlessly magnetic—you knew better. He wasn’t your type. Not even close. You were way too smart to fall for someone as much of a piece of shit as he was.

As soon as your eyes met Jungkook’s, your heart dropped into your stomach.  Your legs wobbled, the ground beneath you suddenly felt unstable. You felt like the world had stopped.  The only thing keeping you upright was the edge of the table you leaned against, gripping it so tightly your knuckles turned white. It was like he had forgotten you were even there, but now that he remembered... you were in trouble.

Your thoughts were a mess, a rush of panic flooding your veins. Please, don't fire me. Please don't fire me, you repeated over and over in your mind. His stare made you feel like a sheep waiting to be devoured by a wolf—helpless and small.

Jungkook opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Jimin’s voice cut through, loud but tensed. "Why are you still standing here?" he asked, his eyes darting nervously between you and Jungkook. "I'm sure you have work to do."

You nodded quickly, too quickly, your head bobbing furiously in agreement.

“What work, Jimin?” Jungkook snapped, his voice low and brimming with frustration. “She’s fired,” he declared, sending a shiver down your spine. His words felt like a physical blow, the weight of them crushing your chest. You could barely hear the rest of his sentence as panic drowned out everything else—I've had enough of her…

What to do now?

Cry, a voice whispered in the back of your head.

Jimin, however, wasn’t having any of it. “Enough, Jungkook!” he shot back, his voice hard and commanding. The sharpness in Jimin’s words was like a shield between you and Jungkook’s anger. You could see the way Jungkook’s expression shifted—he was still seething, but Jimin left no room for argument.

“She isn’t fired, and it’s final,” Jimin said. You could see the muscles in his jaw twitching as he tried to control his temper.

Jungkook opened his mouth to retort, but Jimin cut him off with a simple wave of his hand, motioning for you to leave. You didn’t need to be told twice. You bolted from the conference room, not even daring to look back. You weren’t sure whether to be more terrified of Jungkook or grateful to Jimin. You knew you’d messed up—it was your fault—but Jimin had chosen to take your side, and you couldn’t understand why.

You sprinted down the hall toward the elevator. Your hands trembled as you jabbed—no, banged—the elevator button for the 26th floor. The wait felt agonizingly long.

When the elevator finally dinged open, you stumbled out, half-running to your desk. Collapsing into your chair, you let out a shaky breath and buried your face in your arms on the desk. Your head fell onto your desk with a loud thud.

What had just happened?

God, your first day almost became your last.

You took a deep, steadying breath and pushed yourself upright, gripping the edge of your desk to ground yourself. This isn’t the time to wallow, you thought, brushing your hair back from your face with trembling fingers. You couldn’t afford to crumble now.

You can’t mess up again, you reminded yourself, wiping a hand over your face. Jimin might’ve saved you today, but luck won’t always be there neither… he. Luck was fleeting. It wasn’t something you trusted. Not with your history. You let out a dry laugh under your breath—luck and you were like oil and water. You were the ultimate symbol of bad luck, and that delightfully beautiful director of Jeon Enterprises had simply taken pity on you. Yes, it wasn’t luck. It was Jimin’s mercy, and you couldn’t count on it happening twice. Especially not when your boss—the arrogant bastard himself—was likely already sharpening his knives for round two.

The thought of Jungkook—his dark, piercing gaze—still lingered in your mind, but you forced yourself to focus. He was a devil, no doubt, and you... you were just the unlucky fool who happened to cross his path.

You couldn't afford to mess up again. Play it safe, you told yourself. Do your job right and keep your head down. You couldn’t give him another reason to unleash his wrath.

Your eyes fell to the stack of files in front of you, and a sinking feeling hit you hard in the stomach. The pile seemed to grow taller with each breath you took. The next meeting was only thirty minutes away

You glanced at the files scattered across your desk. Focus, you reminded yourself, slapping your cheeks lightly to snap out of it. The next meeting was in thirty minutes, and you didn’t have the luxury of time to curse your misfortune or that insufferable man.

Your eyes darted over the papers, frustration bubbling up as you began sifting through them. The previous secretary—whoever they were—had left behind a tangled mess. A spectacularly awful mess.

 How was this even possible?

You could almost feel your blood pressure rise as you examined the glaring errors.  The deadlines were completely out of sync with the client’s expectations, the budget allocations were so far off it was laughable, and one section even referenced an entirely different project altogether. If this wasn’t fixed in time for the meeting, it would be a complete disaster, and you were the one who’d have to face the consequences.

“This is a joke,” you muttered. You grabbed a pen, tapping it furiously against the table as your brain raced to come up with a plan.

Half an hour. That’s all you had to fix this disaster before you had to present it to a room full of people, including him.

"Fuck you! Whoever you are." you muttered under your breath, pushing your sleeves up, ignoring the beads of sweat forming on your forehead. Get it together, you scolded yourself. “This isn’t rocket science.” Your voice cracked slightly as you muttered the words aloud, as if hearing them would calm the storm raging inside you.

You grabbed the laptop, pulling up emails and client notes to cross-check the project details. The keyboard clacked furiously under your hands. Your brows furrowed in concentration, your lips pressed into a tight line. You clicked open the soft copy of the file, eyes scanning the screen quickly.

You stole a glance at the clock, and your heart nearly stopped. Twenty minutes left. Fuck.

The dull throb behind your temples was growing each passing minute, but you didn’t have the luxury to slow down. Tears? Not an option. You didn’t have time for that. Not when your whole career was teetering on the edge of disaster.

Get through the day without Jungkook turning you into his next verbal target.

 The mistakes were too obvious to miss, too dangerous to ignore. If the client saw these errors, it wasn’t just your job on the line—it was Jeon Enterprises' reputation. And that would mean your boss, Jungkook, would tear you apart, slowly and painfully.

 what have you done to deserve this.

Your fingers slammed against the keyboard as you raced through the sections. The section referencing the wrong project? Gone, replaced with the right one. The mismatched deadlines? Adjusted. The budget allocations that didn’t even make sense? Rewritten, recalculated, and double-checked.

You needed to print the corrected version. Your hands trembled as you stared at the screen, unsure of where to even begin this process. This wasn’t just a small mistake anymore—it felt like the whole day was falling apart in real time. You stared at the screen with mounting dread. Print. Where?

You slapped the print button, watching as the computer confirmed that it was printing, but your brain was far from settled. Printer? Where’s the damn printer? Your heart pounded as you stood, snatching up your blazer and dashing out of your office.

The hallway felt endless as you looked down the corridor. You felt a wave of frustration, the kind you’d never experienced before. You could have screamed, a sound that would shake the walls, but you couldn’t. Instead, you forced a deep breath through your nose and tried to calm yourself.

Finally, you spotted the printer at the end of the hall—right by the breakroom, its small glowing light blinking. It should have been a simple solution, but when you saw the machine, all you felt was pure, hot rage. Why is it always this difficult?

Why did it feel like everything was against you today?

Because of course, it jammed halfway through. Your fingers gripped the edge of the counter as you leaned down, yanking at the paper slot with all your might. The printer groaned, then jammed, and you let out an angry sound that came out as a strangled groan.

“Come on, you stupid thing—work!” you hissed, muttering curses that seemed to make you feel worse. Stupid thing!

You slammed the print button again, your fingers stabbing at the machine. Finally, the printer whirred, clicked, and then began its slow, steady rhythm. You let out a shaky breath, pressing your hand against your forehead to steady the dizziness threatening the edges of your focus.

Finally, the documents started coming out. You grabbed them. You ran your hands over the pages, smoothing them down compulsively as though that would make them more trustworthy. You clutched it like it was your lifeline. Not perfect, but it'll have to do. Once back in your cabin, you shoved the papers into a folder, your chest still tight.

The clock on the wall caught your attention.

Ten minutes left.

 You could barely breathe as you walked out of your office, your feet moving almost on autopilot. In no time, you found yourself standing in front of Jungkook’s office.

You knocked. Once. Twice. And then… you waited.

 You closed your eyes briefly, took a steadying breath. You bit your lip, and raised your hand to knock thrice.

"Come in!" Jungkook’s voice rang out, gruff and loud, cutting through the air. You hesitated for a second before pushing the door open, and every head in the room snapped toward you. You stepped inside, your heart racing as you greeted them with a polite but fake smile, trying your best to keep it together. Only Jimin smiled back. The others... they just stared, like you were some strange creature. Jin and Namjoon looked shocked—why? What was going on? And then there was Taehyung, his eyes wide with what could only be described as disbelief.

Jimin spoke first, his voice light and effortless, and you couldn't help but thank your lucky stars—or maybe it was just Jimin being Jimin. “You need something?”

You gave a short nod and turned to face Jungkook. His eyes narrowed, his arms crossing over his chest, his whole posture screaming annoyance.  His jaw was clenched so tight it seemed like he might snap any second. You swallowed hard, trying not to show how much his stare rattled you.

"Yeah. I was merely here to remind Mr. Jeon that the meeting starts in… like ten—no, seven minutes now," you managed to say, your voice wavering just a little as you spoke. Your hands were clenched at your sides, and you forced yourself not to fidget.

You stole a quick glance around the room. Jin and Namjoon had gone back to their own conversations, but Taehyung was still staring at you, mouth slightly open like he couldn't believe you were standing there. Jungkook still hadn’t said anything, his eyes still boring into you.

"Thank you," Jimin said, his smile soft and genuine. "He’ll be there."

You nodded once, trying not to let your relief show too much. You gave a quick, polite bow of your head, then turned, making your way to the door, your steps hurried but controlled. As you left the room, you couldn’t help but think—Jimin was an angel, working for a devil. You weren’t sure what you would’ve done without him today.

As you walked out of his cabin, you caught the faintest sound of Taehyung’s voice drifting behind you.

“Damn, dude! She’s something. She must be… to get you this worked up. Wow! I loved it.”

You didn’t linger to hear the rest, though. It was like your feet were moving faster than your brain, the urgency propelling you back to your cabin. You sprinted to your desk, your hands shaking as you skimmed through the pages one final time. You stapled them together. You had to present this with confidence, one mistake and Jungkook would tear you apart.

Five minutes left.

“You’ve got this. Just fake it. Fake it all the way.”

Your heels clicked sharply against the marble floors as you made your way to the conference room. Your grip on the file tightened, your knuckles white. When you reached the door. With a firm push, you stepped inside.

Walking to the table, you laid down the stack of updated project files, replacing the older copies. Once every seat had the corrected file, you finally slid into your chair. The leather seat creaked softly as you sank into it, and you folded your hands tightly in your lap to steady them. You darted a glance at the door, waiting for everyone's but specially Jungkook’s inevitable arrival. You flipped through the files for what felt like the hundredth time. The numbers blurred slightly before your eyes, but you forced yourself to focus.

The sharp sound of the door opening made your head snap up. Jungkook walked in with the same air of authority that always seemed to announce his presence before he even spoke. His eyes locked onto you, narrowing instantly, and his jaw clenched so tight you swore you heard his teeth grind.

You stifled a sigh, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your face neutral. What now? You wondered bitterly, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. Jungkook didn’t just dislike you—he hated you—like, deep, unrelenting hatred. For what reason? Who knew. And frankly, you didn’t care.  If you could, you would’ve told him to take his reasons, his anger, and his goddamn temper tantrums and shove them up his perfectly tailored ass, but you knew that wouldn’t help you keep your job.

He moved around the room with precision, as he made his way to his seat. His attention was fixed on you, like you were some annoying fly he wanted to swat. You straightened in your chair. He dropped into his chair with an air of casual authority and grace of someone far too confident for their own good.

For a moment, your traitorous thoughts drifted. He was handsome—annoyingly so. Sharp jawline, paradoxically piercing boba eyes, and a frame that looked like it was carved by a sculptor. But his attitude? That was enough to ruin the whole package. If only his personality matched his looks. If only he wasn’t such a pompous, insufferable jerk. Instead of charm, he had an ego the size of the goddamn building. If he had even an ounce of kindness or respect to him, he would’ve been perfect. But no, instead he walked with the kind of arrogance that could suffocate a room, his back rigid and his posture as stiff as the stick lodged firmly up his ass.

You shook the thought from your head. He wasn’t worth your time.

The door opened again, and this time it was the clients. Jungkook stood, but just barely.

He simply stood halfway and gave a curt nod that was so half-hearted you wondered if it hurt his pride to be polite. God forbid Mr. Perfect lower himself to basic manners. His expression didn’t change—stoic and unbothered—while yours shifted into a polite mask. Maybe you were expecting too much. Maybe you were the problem. You slid your chair closer to the table and sat down next to him. You offered the clients a small smile, hoping to compensate for Jungkook’s complete lack of warmth.

But his eyes. God, his eyes. They didn’t stray far from you.

You placed the documents in front of him. You kept your gaze fixed on the table, careful not to meet his boba eyes. “Here! Mr. Jeon,” you whispered, your voice as even and professional as you could manage. The last thing you wanted was to give him even an inch to criticize you.

Before you could pull your hand back, his fingers closed around the file. His hand was warm—too warm—and for just a moment, your cold, dainty fingers brushed against his. The warmth of his hand lingered on yours, and you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. Your body felt paralyzed, shocked, maybe even mesmerized by the sensation.  You couldn’t pull away—not because you didn’t want to, but because you physically couldn’t.

Jungkook’s hand retreated first, leaving your fingers tingling. You leaned back in your chair, clearing your throat as heat crept up your neck. You turned your attention to the clients, offering a polite smile. They exchanged a few glances, their expressions unreadable.

Why are they looking at me like that?

Before you could figure it out, Jungkook’s voice cut through the silence, quiet and low. "Why are you making that face?"

You turned toward him, startled. “Huh?”

He didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on the papers in front of him as he leaned back in his seat. His voice was soft, like a whisper, but it hit you like a punch to the gut.

“You look like you’re constipating,” he said, his tone casual, smooth, utterly calm—and utterly cruel and casual, as though commenting on the weather.

Your face fell. What did he just say? Your mouth fell open slightly in horror, heat rushing to your face. He did not just say that. You glared at the side of his face, imagining all the ways you could strangle him with the tie he wore so smugly. Murder was illegal, but maybe, just maybe, you could make an exception.

 Ignore him. He’s not worth it or… should you just strangle him? Oh, you wanted to strangle him. No, you needed to strangle him. Who even says that? You huffed, straightening in your seat and glaring at the file in front of you.

Jungkook flipped open the folder, his sharp eyes scanning the documents.

And then it happened—a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, so subtle you almost missed it. “Let’s begin,” he said smoothly, finally turning his attention to the clients. But just before he did, his gaze flicked to you, brief but searing.

The meeting began.

The meeting dragged on. Your hand ached from jotting down notes, your fingers stiff as they moved across the page. All you could think about was how Jungkook managed to handle these clients—their demands were endless, their standards sky-high. Jungkook, somehow, handled their lofty standards with an ease that almost infuriated you. How could someone so insufferable be so damn good at this? You, however, were drained. Mentally, physically, emotionally. All you wanted was to go home, curl up, and forget this entire ordeal. But the clients showed no signs of slowing, so neither could you. You scribbled furiously, keeping up with the endless stream of requests and comments, your hand cramping around the pen. Every now and then, you stole glances at the clock, silently begging for it all to end.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the meeting came to an end.

 The clients rose, shaking Jungkook’s hand with smiles that didn’t quite reach their eyes. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Jeon,” one of them said, their tone oozing professionalism. Then their gaze flicked to you, offering a curt nod—no words, no acknowledgment of your work. You swallowed the frustration bubbling up in your chest and nodded back, forcing a tight-lipped smile. Typical. You bit the inside of your cheek, swallowing the bitter taste of resentment as they exited the room. Well, women in corporate field.

The door clicked shut, leaving you alone with Jungkook. Your mind was hyper-aware of his presence.

He was leaning back, the picture of ease, his chair swinging slightly from left to right. His left leg rested over his right, one arm draped casually across the armrest. He didn’t speak, didn’t make a sound, but the intensity of his stare was enough. You didn’t dare look up. Not after what had happened earlier. Not after what he said earlier.

You stole a glance, his tie had loosened slightly, the top button of his shirt undone. When he did that? He looked like he owned the entire world, and the infuriating thing was—he probably did.

You remembered what you thought while applying for this job: How hard could it be to work for him?

You’d found out the hard way, within mere hours.

Jeon Jungkook wasn’t just hard to work for—he was impossible. A devil in designer suits. A man who had no mercy and no patience, especially not for someone like you. Your first day had made that abundantly clear in the worst way possible.

Jeon Jungkook wasn’t someone to take lightly. He was a storm you hadn’t prepared for, and it was already threatening to swallow you whole.

You pushed the glass door open, ready to step out, but then you heard it—his voice, loud and clear.

"Pebble!"

You froze. Slowly, you turned around, almost colliding with the door in the process. His eyes locked onto yours, and a subtle smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. It wasn’t the friendly kind—it was something else. Something that made you feel both irritated and, disturbingly, giddy.

"What?" you muttered, your voice low and unsure. You weren't able to understand why you gripped it ever so tightly.

He stood from his chair, rising with an ease that felt effortless, his hands casually buried in his pockets. His movements were smooth, deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world to examine you. He was far too good-looking for your sanity, far too composed, far too everything.

 Fuck him, and fuck your good sense.

What was this? Why were you feeling so fragile in front of him? You didn’t have time to figure it out because, in three long strides, he was standing in front of you, so close that the scent of his cologne wrapped around you.  His eyes were still on you, as if he were studying you—no, devouring you with just a glance. You wanted to look away, but you couldn’t. And that, right there, made you even more furious.

Is this guy stupid? you wondered. What was the point of staring like that? It felt intrusive, unnerving, yet somehow, you couldn’t tear your own gaze away.

 Staring, in your book, was the hallmark of cheap behaviour, reserved for people with no manners or boundaries. But he somehow pulled it off, with that smirk and those features and that way he seemed to have everything in the world under control. As if his ridiculous good looks gave him a free pass.

"Coffee. In my office."

"Huh?" was all you could manage, your voice barely above a whisper, still unsure of what was happening.

He tsked, shaking his head like you were hopeless. “You heard me. Black. No sugar. Ms…” he trailed off, his brow furrowing slightly.

Your eyes widened in realization. He didn’t know your name. Or worse—he hadn’t even tried to know it until now. Your throat tightened, and you opened your mouth, about to respond, but before a single word could leave your lips, he finished with,

"Pebble."

Your mouth hung open, as you watched him leave.

Pebble.

He had just called you Pebble.

You stood there, staring, stunned, unable to believe what just happened.

He was the most disrespectful, irritating, unbearable person you had ever met.

The anger built up in you until you couldn’t stand still anymore. You stomped your foot hard against the ground.

You would make him regret this.

Oh, you absolutely would.

With a resigned sigh, you turned toward the elevator, dragging your feet. At least you now knew where the coffee machine was—down at the far end of the floor. Great. More walking. You hadn’t even done this much cardio in the past year, let alone in a single day. No wonder all the women here looked so fit—they practically lived on their feet.

When you reached the elevator, you noticed him—Jungkook—already stepping into it. Your pace slowed instinctively. No way were you getting in that elevator with him, even for a single second. He wouldn’t stop the elevator for you anyway—he was too much of a jerk to care.

But when had life ever gone according to your plans?

Before you could change direction, you heard the sound of the doors closing and sliding back open.

Oh, hell no. Your body tensed. You didn't want to step in there with him, but you didn’t have a choice. You dragged your feet reluctantly. The annoyance in his eyes deepened, and a muscle in his jaw twitched, like he was already regretting his decision to wait for you.

Finally, you reached the door.

“Get fucking in, woman.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You stepped inside, muttering curses in your head, and the doors slid shut with a soft ding.

 You didn’t dare move, didn’t dare look at him, but you could feel his gaze lingering on you, like he was trying to figure you out or, worse, punish you for existing.

Maybe he was pissed.

And you? You couldn’t decide if you hated him more in this moment or if you just wanted to get out of this damn elevator as quickly as possible.

“I thought you had work here,” he said, his tone casual.

“Huh?” you managed, surprised.

He shook his head, as if you were already the most frustrating thing he’d encountered that day.

“Do you know anything else besides ‘huh?’”

You opened your mouth to retort, but he didn’t wait. “I said, I thought you had work here.”

“What work?” you snapped. His eyes flared. But the bastard smirked, like he’d been expecting this reaction.

“What meeting do we have next, Pebble?” His voice was smooth, almost playful.

Your stomach dropped. Pebble. He had just said it again. But. You froze. His words lingered in your mind like a bad omen, but all that filled your head was white noise. The name of the company… where was it? Shit.

He chuckled, the sound low and smooth, just to make sure you knew how badly you’d messed up. “You need to collect some files from marketing and sales team. You forgot.”

The damn files. I forgot? You swallowed hard, glancing around the elevator as if the walls could give you an answer.

“What are you trying to do—break the glass and jump into the sales and marketing floor?” he said, his tone as bored as his expression. His words felt cruel, but you knew there was a bite of truth to them.

You shook your head, cheeks heating as you mentally berated yourself. You could feel the heat creeping up your neck, embarrassed and annoyed. More walking. That’s all you could think about now.

The elevator doors opened, and Jungkook stepped out first. He glanced up at you, raising an eyebrow, and for a split second, you thought—just maybe—he might say something remotely decent. But no, that was far too much to hope for. His lips curled into that damn smirk as he turned away and said, “Coffee. On my desk. In five minutes.”

Before you could even respond, he turned around and walked away.

You stepped out of the elevator, its door closing behind you. You let out a frustrated exhale. God, I hate him. You made your way to the coffee machine. You prepared the coffee just like he’d ordered, and even the smell made your stomach churn. The bitterness of it matched the bitterness radiating from him.  No wonder he was always so damn miserable. A person who drank this much bitter coffee could only have a bitter heart.

You walked down the hall to his office. The door was slightly ajar, and you knocked softly, holding the cup in your hands.

“Come in,” he barked again from inside.

You pushed the door open and stepped inside, placing the coffee on his desk. He was sitting at his desk, back straight, his sharp features focused on his laptop. The desk was neat, pristine, every paper and pen in its place, a stark contrast to the chaos on your desk.

“Here, Mr. Jeon,” you said, your voice tight with forced politeness.

He didn’t even look at you. Instead, he grabbed the cup, bringing it to his lips like it was the most important thing in the world. His eyes fluttered closed as he took the first sip, and you watched in disbelief as he sighed deeply, as though he’d just tasted heaven.

“Good,” he muttered, but it wasn’t directed at you—it was all about the coffee. Your stomach turned at the absurdity of it. He didn’t even acknowledge the fact that you’d stood there, prepared it, and handed it to him.

“Send Jimin in my office. Now, leave,” he demanded, his voice flat, as if he were speaking to a wall, not a person.

 Every inch of you wanted to pull his hair out, to throw something across his perfectly organized desk. Instead, you nodded stiffly.

“Sure, Mr. Jeon,” you said, forcing the words past your clenched teeth before turning on your heel and leaving.

Once outside, the first thing you did was head straight for Jimin, who was at his desk, buried in papers. His workspace was cluttered with post-its, notes, and scribbles. His eyes lifted when you approached, and though his face showed signs of being busy, his greeting was polite as ever.

“What brings you here, Ms. …,” he began, with a soft smile.

“Mr. Jeon wants you in his office,” you replied, keeping it brief. You didn't have the energy to engage in any more small talk.

"Why?" Jimin asked, as he stood up, closing the file in his hands and sliding his blazer on with a sharp tug. You just shrugged. Jimin gave a small nod.

“Alright,” he said, adjusting his blazer. His tone indicated he didn’t mind being interrupted. “I’ll head in there.” You watched as he walked toward the hallway.

You followed your own path toward the marketing department first. You handed over the files, your hands sore from too much writing, before heading toward the sales department. The constant movement was starting to wear you down, but you couldn’t let it show. You did the same at the sales department, before finally making your way back to your office, your feet aching more than ever. This is going to be a long day, you thought, pressing a hand to your lower back as you settled into your chair.

Before you could catch a break, the clock ticked, signaling that it was time for the next meeting. You picked yourself up again, shoulders sore and heavy, and made your way back toward Jungkook’s office.

You knocked on the door before stepping in, your hand pressing into the wood with slightly trembling fingers. This time Jimin was in there with him, seated on the couch. He looked agitated—hands running through his hair as he exchanged words with Jungkook.

You hesitated at the threshold. You didn’t want to intrude on their conversation. You quickly turned on your heel, shaking your head as you backed out. These guys were insane.

You closed the door behind you with a gentle push and let out a shaky exhale. Your hands gripped your notebook tightly as you walked back toward the hallway.

The next meetings were a blur. For reasons you couldn’t quite explain, you found yourself relieved when Jungkook skipped every other meeting for the day. He didn't show up, and Jimin took over. The clients didn’t seem to mind the change, and in fact, it made things easier. Jimin’s presence was soothing.  His voice was soft, his smile was kind. He spoke in careful sentences, his calm composure like a reassuring presence. Working with him was smoother, quieter—lovelier, even. He made the chaos of the day seem more manageable, and you found yourself wishing you found yourself wishing you could work for Jimin, just him.

But you quickly shut that thought down. That wasn’t possible, not when you were stuck in this job, tied to Jungkook. No matter how much you hated it, you had to stick around. It was unviable to leave, even though every part of you screamed for the chance to escape. You have to stick around him.

As the last meeting came to an end, you gathered the files and followed Jimin out of the conference room. He took the files from your hands. You were thankful for his help, but the lingering feeling of being under the spotlight didn’t fade. You hated the attention, and of course, everyone would stare. Having the director of the company himself helping you with your work was far too big of a deal. The eyes of all the female employees had burned into you as you walked out. You couldn’t shake the sense of discomfort, and it only worsened as you stepped into the elevator with Jimin.

"Mr. Park, you really don’t have to do this," you said, offering a shy smile as the elevator doors slid shut behind you.

Jimin, however, seemed unfazed. He gave a lazy smile, his voice light as he answered. "Oh, I’m not doing it for you." Jimin leaned casually against the wall, eyes scanning the floor numbers as they lit up.

You blinked, confused, your brows knitting together. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

He turned his head, flashing you a mischievous grin. "It’s more for me, really."

Your frown deepened. "For you?" You couldn’t hide your confusion, but Jimin just chuckled, clearly entertained by your reaction.

"You see," he began, shifting slightly to face you fully. His eyes sparkled with a playful yet sincere gleam. "I come from old money. I just can't stand the idea of a woman doing something like that when I’m around. Makes me feel like I’m failing somewhere. I’ve got this fragile ego, you know?" His voice was light, teasing, but his smile softened as he continued. "It just feels better to help out. Plus, it’s... good manners."

"Yeah?" You asked, tilting your head slightly, your eyebrows furrowing as you tried to make sense of his words. The slight smirk tugging at his lips told you he knew you were lost but didn’t care enough to explain. Instead, he only shrugged nonchalantly, his expression  so casual it almost felt dismissive.

Before you could respond further, the elevator dinged softly, and the doors slid open. Jimin stepped out first. You followed behind as you adjusted your grip on the files. He led the way to your cabin, his presence drawing a few curious glances from colleagues. You felt those stares prickling at your back again, but Jimin seemed entirely unbothered. He walked you to your cabin, while you struggled to keep up with his pace. When he finally reached your desk, he placed the stack of five thick files down with practiced ease, brushing invisible dust off his hands like it was no big deal.

"All set. Anything else you need before I head out?" he asked, his voice light as he straightened his blazer.

Thanks again, Mr. Park," you said, shaking your head.

Jimin gave a small nod in return, stepping back. Just as he turned to leave, he glanced over his shoulder. "Take care, pretty," he said, his tone casual, yet the words felt deliberate.

Your hands froze mid-motion as your head snapped up, eyes widening in surprise. Heat rushed to your face, and you felt the unmistakable blush spreading across your cheeks like wildfire. You stared at the empty doorway where Jimin had disappeared, his words echoing in your mind.

"What the hell," you muttered under your breath. Forcing yourself to focus, you picked up the files, flipping through the pages with renewed determination. It was time to finish up for the day, but not before ensuring everything was in order for tomorrow. Your fingers worked quickly, your eyes scanning schedules and notes, the lingering warmth on your cheeks refusing to fade completely.

When you finally finished your work, you grabbed the file Jungkook had instructed you to complete and headed to his office. As you approached, you noticed the door slightly ajar. Through the small gap, you could see Jimin sitting in one of the chairs in front of Jungkook’s desk. Jungkook, on the other hand, sat with his brows furrowed in a way that seemed permanently etched into his face. It was a wonder Jimin didn’t crack under the weight of his perpetual grimace. If he wasn’t so ridiculously good-looking, you were certain his demeanour would’ve been a massive letdown.

"Are you even human?" Jimin's voice rose, his tone laced with disbelief as he leaned forward, his palms slapping against the desk with a dull thud. His lips pressed tightly together. His words seemed to hit like a quiet plea, but Jungkook didn’t seem to care. His eyes stayed glued to his file as he flipped the pages.

"I am dying over here. I am that tired and you are one of the reasons behind it. Don’t you dare ignore me, Jeon Jungkook!" Jimin continued, his voice a mixture of disbelief and frustration. His words grew louder as he leaned back in his chair, throwing his hands up in the air, as if trying to physically puncture Jungkook’s indifference.

"Huh?" Jungkook’s voice was flat, almost absent, as he gave Jimin just a single glance, his eyes flickering for a mere millisecond before he turned back to the file in his hands. He gave a distracted nod, not sparing Jimin much more attention.

Jimin’s jaw dropped slightly, his annoyance reaching a boiling point. "Seriously!" he exclaimed. His fingers curled into loose fists as he leaned back, pacing a step before planting his hands on his hips. "You made me handle all your meetings and deal with my own workload. I’ve been running around like a headless chicken while you sit here, all cozy with your stupid papers! Do you not have any regard—"

"You're right," Jungkook said, his voice steady and matter-of-fact, cutting off Jimin’s rambling mid-sentence. He slowly closed the file in front of him and placed it neatly to the side. This time, he leaned back in his chair, his posture loosening slightly as he crossed his arms over his chest. His dark, boba eyes locked on Jimin’s. "I am sorry, hyung. You're always picking up the slack for me. I don't say it enough, but… I’m really grateful. I couldn’t do this without you."

Jimin froze for a moment, his brow furrowing as he eyed Jungkook suspiciously. His eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head, studying Jungkook as if he had just grown a second head. "Oh? What’s wrong with you?" he asked, dragging the words out slowly. He leaned forward in his chair, elbows digging into the edge of Jungkook's desk. "Show me your head. You punk, I’m sure you hit it somewhere."

Jimin shot up from his seat and lunged across the desk with inflated urgency, his hand reaching for Jungkook's head like a concerned but overly dramatic mother.

"Jimin-shi!" Jungkook exclaimed, his voice rising in protest as he swatted at Jimin’s hands. He grabbed Jimin’s wrists, prying them away from his head. His brows knitted together as he leaned back further in his chair, out of reach, glaring at Jimin. "I swear, I’ll kill you."

"There you are," Jimin said, a grin spreading across his face as he let out a sigh. He flopped back into his chair, dramatically wiping his brow as if the ordeal had been exhausting. "I was worried for nothing. Glad to see the real  grumpy, homicidal self's still here."

Before they could exchange any more words, you finally stepped forward, your knuckles rapping lightly on the doorframe.

Knock, knock.

The sound broke through, causing both their heads to snap in your direction.

For a moment, you felt rooted to the spot, like a deer caught in headlights. You tightened your grip on the file in your hands, suddenly hyper-aware of how out of place you felt. Clearing your throat, you finally stepped inside. "Sorry to interrupt," you said.

Jimin’s lips curved into a faint smile, and he tilted his head, gesturing toward the file. "It’s fine. Come in. Looks like someone’s got work to do, unlike us," he teased, his tone light.

You tried your best to force a smile onto your face—a polite, controlled, and friendly expression—but as your eyes met his. Your throat felt like it had closed up, your voice thin and wobbly. Why did he make you so nervous? Yes, he was intimidating. Yes, you’d dealt with difficult bosses before. But there was something about him—something that felt wrong, a shrill, intense warning in the back of your mind, like a distant alarm telling you danger was near.

Your heels clicked softly against the floor as you passed Jimin’s chair. He was sitting casually, his hands clasped behind his head, completely at ease as he looked over at you. You stopped beside Jungkook's desk, just behind where Jimin was sitting. "Mr. Jeon, I just finished the tasks you assigned." Your voice was soft but steady as you extended the file toward him. You forced yourself to meet his gaze, though it felt like staring into the eye of the devil. "Here’s the file. I’m leaving now, so I was wondering if there’s anything else you need before I go?"

Jungkook didn’t respond right away. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, slowly and precisely. His sharp gaze scanned your face, lingering on your forced smile before sliding down to the file you’d placed on his desk. A smirk curled at the corners of his lips, and his eyes—soft and doe-like at first glance—betrayed a sharp, predatory glint. "Actually," he drawled, his voice carried an edge that made your pulse quicken. He gestured lazily toward the towering stack of files on the far corner of his desk. "I do need something."

Your eyes widened as they darted to the stack, a silent gasp catching in your throat. The files seemed endless. You swallowed hard, glancing back at him, but his expression was unreadable. You couldn’t decide if you were more nervous or outright afraid of what was coming next. "See those files?" he continued, tilting his head slightly, his tone casual as if he were commenting on the weather. "I need them reviewed and sorted by tomorrow."

And you just stood there for a moment, trying to figure out whether you had a choice, or if you were already drowning. Tomorrow? That was impossible. You turned back to Jungkook, hoping to find some hint that he was joking, but his expression was calm and unyielding, like carved stone.

"I…" you began, but your voice faltered.

"Something wrong?" Jungkook asked, tilting his head slightly as if daring you to argue.

It was your first day, and you couldn’t understand what went wrong. You’d always thought Jungkook was handsome, admired him from the glossy pages of magazines and the distant buzz of news. You'd been excited, so excited to work for the most wanted bachelor in the continent. But now? Now, it wasn’t going as planned.

Too much work. Too much. How could anyone be expected to handle this much work? You thought you could handle challenges, but this? This felt impossible. This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. You’d probably have to sell your soul to some demon and even then, it still wouldn’t feel enough. You couldn’t do this. You shouldn’t have to do this. But the thought of giving up? That wasn’t even an option. You wanted to scream. No. You didn't want to scream you wanted to kick him where the sun doesn't shine.

"To-tomorrow," you stammered, barely able to believe the words coming out of your mouth. You were close to snapping, but something in his gaze made you hesitate.

"Impossible?" Jungkook interrupted, his voice a low, smooth. His eyes locked on yours, the warmth in them replaced with ice. "I’m not interested in hearing any excuses. You need to understand where and for who you’re working. Workload is a usual thing here. You either do it or resign. It’s up to you. Nobody’s begging you to stay."

The words were harsh. There was no softness to them, no room for debate, no compromise. He wanted you to know that you had no power here. His small, smug smile confirmed it—a clear taunt, a game to him, and you could feel it deep in your bones. He wasn’t just being cold. No, he enjoyed this. He was tormenting you, and you knew it. He was such a sadistic being.

"Understood," you said, the words coming out of your mouth with a firmness that surprised even you.

You turned your back to him and grabbed the stack of files from where they were carelessly left. The moment you lifted them, you knew this was going to be hell. It was heavy—too heavy—far heavier than you’d expected. Your arms shook as you struggled to balance them. You almost stumbled under the sheer force of it, but you steadied yourself.

You bit your lip, fighting back the urge to ask Jimin for help. You glanced toward him, only to find that he and Jungkook were locked in a silent staring match, their gazes locked like two wolves sizing each other up.  Jimin looked like he was about to explode. You couldn’t drag him into this. He already looked like he was walking a thin line, and you didn’t want to add to the fire. Besides, Jimin looked angry enough already.

So, you started walking.

You struggled your way out of his office. Your legs wobbled under the weight, and you nearly stumbled into the doorframe as you tried to maintain your balance. You wanted to scream. You hated him. You hated everything about this. Him. His handsome face. His smug smile. His icy tone. His ridiculous expectations. In truth, you’d never felt this much resentment toward anyone. Not even your previous bosses had managed to push you this far. But Jungkook? He was something else entirely. A walking nightmare wrapped in a handsome package, and you were stuck in it.

The moment you stepped into your office, you slammed the door behind you. You were done. You were going home. You couldn’t wait to get out of here. You grabbed your bag and purse. You cursed under your breath, knowing you couldn’t leave without grabbing those files too. There was no way you were going to spend another minute in that sterile, over-designed office. You adjusted the files again, and with a final shake of your head, you stepped out of your office. Your feet moved on autopilot as you walked toward the elevators. You didn’t look back. There wasn’t any point.

You knew you’d have to come back.

You knew you’d have to face him again.

But for now, you needed to get out.

The first day had been hell, all thanks to your devilish boss.

Jungkook and Jimin stepped out of Jungkook’s office. Jimin shot a sharp glare at Jungkook, his brow furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. Jungkook, on the other hand, wore a smug, teasing smile that danced at the corners of his mouth. He could feel Jimin’s annoyance and found it far too satisfying to ignore.

"Jiminshi," Jungkook said casually, but Jimin didn’t even give him a second glance, his jaw clenched as he exhaled sharply.

“Shut up,” Jimin snapped back without hesitation, the heat in his voice enough to make Jungkook pause for a second. It almost made him laugh, but he quickly held it back, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Come on, Jimin. We’re already late. And Jin hyung will be mad if we get even more late," Jungkook added, his tone light but carrying an edge of urgency. His smile was easy and easygoing, the kind that always got under Jimin’s skin, and this time, it did the trick. Jimin let out a slow, exasperated breath, his shoulders slumping slightly as he let his irritation simmer down. He nodded once, fingers gripping his phone a little too tightly. His hand flexed as he tucked it back into his pocket, his gaze fixed forward as they walked towards the elevator side by side.

Jungkook pushed the button to call the elevator, and Jimin stood next to him, arms crossed, still giving off that frustrated vibe. But Jungkook could see the edges of his irritation slowly dulling. Even if Jimin was pissed, he wouldn’t stay mad for long. Jimin was always the wise one, and he knew that getting upset over Jungkook's antics wouldn’t help anything. Jin had invited them for dinner tonight, and they both knew this wasn’t just another casual evening. Jimin had told Jin about you—how Jungkook couldn’t hear your thoughts, which still felt weird and foreign to him. It was strange, unsettling in a way, and Jin had wanted to discuss it. He’d called them both over, saying he needed to talk. Jungkook was curious about what Jin had in mind. It wasn’t every day that Jin invited them over, especially not without a reason.

The elevator doors opened, and Jungkook gestured for Jimin to enter first. Jimin grumbled under his breath but didn’t argue. Jungkook stepped in behind him, and the two of them stood in silence. He was looking forward to the evening, not only to talk things out but also to meet Jin's wife. She was a kind and sweet woman. If it wasn't for Taehyung, they would have never met her. Jin had been married for years, but he rarely invited anyone over, keeping his personal life guarded. Jungkook and Jimin always looked forward to her company. Jin, on the other hand, was borderline obsessed with her. It was impossible not to notice the way he adored her. They all had to be on their best behavior when she was around, though—Jin’s protective streak was well known.

The elevator doors closed with a quiet swoosh. They descended in silence, the air feeling heavier as their thoughts swirled. Both knew this night would give them more answers, but they weren’t sure what kind of questions would arise afterward.

Jungkook and Jimin soon stepped into the reception area. The receptionist was seated at her desk, typing quickly, and her head lifted the moment she saw them. She offered a polite smile as they approached.

"Good evening, Mr. Jeon, Mr. Park," she greeted warmly. Jungkook didn’t even spare her a glance. His eyes stayed ahead as he strode past her. He could hear her thoughts—granted, not every single word, but enough. Disgusting. Intrusive. He had no shame in admitting it. He didn’t feel the need to entertain it, so he ignored her completely.

Jimin, however, was different. His easy smile came naturally as he gave her a small, polite nod. His body language was relaxed, his movements smooth as he walked beside Jungkook toward the parking lot. His gaze was neutral, a simple act of kindness that contrasted sharply with Jungkook's indifference.

They reached the parking lot, and Jimin climbed into his car, his fingers gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than usual. He had originally planned on making Jungkook drive, but the irritation bubbling in him from earlier—the way Jungkook had acted with you—made him rethink. He was annoyed, not just because of what happened, but because Jungkook’s behavior had crossed a line. It wasn’t professionalism; it was just unnecessary rudeness. Pure and simple. Jimin had half a mind to lecture him, but instead, he started the engine, the sound of it roaring to life filling the air.

But Jungkook didn’t get in his own car. His eyes weren’t on Jimin, nor were they on the road. They were locked on something—or rather, someone.

You.

You were standing by your car, your arms crossed tightly over your chest, your head bowed slightly. Your shoulders looked tense, rigid, the way they always did when you were tired. You were clearly trying to calm yourself, but your lips were moving. You were speaking to yourself, or maybe the wind, but Jungkook could see it—your face contorted into something that looked like frustration, like rage.

He observed you. His body was suddenly heavy, his thoughts distracted. You looked like you wanted to set the entire parking lot on fire. From the way your hands tightened into fists by your sides, Jungkook could tell you were seething, clearly ready to explode. He couldn’t hear your thoughts, couldn’t read your mind like he could with everyone else, but it didn’t matter. Your expression was enough. You were cursing him out, he was sure of it.

It felt wrong to stare, but he couldn’t stop himself. It was like an itch buried beneath his skin. His entire body ached to know what you were saying, but you were like a closed book—impossible to read. It irritated him. That feeling of helplessness, the itch he couldn’t scratch. He hated not knowing exactly what you were thinking, hated that he couldn’t tap into the storm swirling behind those eyes. You looked like you wanted to strangle him, and the idea actually made him chuckle darkly to himself.

As much as he hated to admit it, there was something oddly magnetic about you. You looked so exhausted, so ready to shatter, your emotions playing across your face like an open book he couldn’t read. And that drove him insane. He wanted to know all of you. Every thought. Every word. Every secret. But he couldn’t. And it pissed him off.

His chest tightened as he studied you, his mind working in circles. Even though you looked like you were about to explode with frustration, there was a strange sense of calm that settled over him. Paradoxically, your anger—your confusion—was like a balm to his restless thoughts. His hands twitched at his sides.

And you, completely unaware of his gaze, kept muttering, your words too quiet for him to catch. The cold wind swayed your hair, and Jungkook wondered if you had any idea what you were doing to him. He hated that he cared. And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to know.

He shifted his weight, a part of him wanting to walk away, but another part of him... couldn’t. He hated how curious he was about you. You were a puzzle he couldn’t solve, and that was something Jungkook couldn’t stand.

You suddenly turned your head, catching Jungkook’s eyes locked on you. Jungkook’s breath hitched. The shock of being caught sent a wave of heat through his chest. His eyes widened in alarm. Shit.

He knew. He knew you caught him. His face twisted into a mix of panic and frustration, and before he could overthink it, he whipped his head around, his heart pounding. He didn’t wait. He didn’t hesitate. He bolted into his car, yanked the door open, and slammed it shut behind him. Without looking back, the engine roared to life as he slammed his foot on the accelerator, his knuckles white around the steering wheel. He sped out of the parking lot, his focus darting between the road and his rearview mirror, where you were barely visible in the distance.

But before he could even breathe a sigh of relief, the heavens opened up. Rain poured down in sheets, soaking everything in an instant.

And then—he cursed.

He hated the rain. It always made him feel fragile, exposed, as though the world was pressing in on him in a way he couldn’t control. The sound of it pounding on the roof, the windshield, and the pavement—it was overwhelming, and it irritated him that he couldn’t understand why. It was stupid.

He glanced at the road, but Jimin’s car was nowhere to be seen. Of course, Jimin was probably already halfway there, and here he was, alone and soaked in this awful weather. His head was a mess, and his frustration felt tenfold. Great. He groaned, slamming his palm against the steering wheel. Perfect. The rain made it harder to see, the windshield wipers swishing furiously, but still, everything was blurry. Most people would’ve slowed down, maybe even pulled over. But Jungkook wasn’t like most people. So, he didn’t. His foot pressed harder against the gas, not caring about the storm that made the road slippery and hard to see.

Then, Jungkook’s eyes caught sight of Jimin’s car parked outside a convenience store, headlights flickering through the rain. He let out a soft, amused chuckle, shaking his head.

Typical Jimin.

Jimin was probably picking up some random snacks or an odd gift for Jin and his wife. The thought made him grin—what could you possibly find at a convenience store that would be good enough for dinner with Jin and his wife? Not much, he figured. But Jimin would always find a way to make things interesting. There was no way Jimin would have time to get something nice, and even if he did, Jin wouldn’t care. Namjoon wouldn’t even be there; he was off with his girlfriend. It was the kind of casual thing Jimin would do, and Jungkook was sure Taehyung along with Eunji (Namjoon's girlfriend's daughter) would tease him mercilessly about whatever he picked up. He could already imagine the scene: Jimin sulking, pretending to be annoyed, but secretly enjoying the attention. He spotted Jimin emerging from the door, an awkward bag in his hands, and he wondered what he had found.

But it wasn’t enough to make him stop. He didn’t want to be stuck in the rain any longer, so he pressed on, the road slick with water. The roads were empty. His headlights swept through the downpour, and the sound of his engine roared louder, mixing with the patter of the rain. The world felt gray and cold, and for a moment, he wondered if anyone else was even out here. His eyes darted, blinked twice, then three times in quick succession. A sharp flash of light broke through the downpour—streetlights, or headlights—too fast, too sudden. He squinted, trying to make sense of it, but his vision was useless against the storm.

Something’s coming.

Before he could react, he felt it. A sharp, sudden jolt as his car lost control. His hand gripped the wheel harder, his muscles tensed. He tried desperately to turn the steering wheel, left, right—anything to steady the car—but it felt as though the wheels had no grip at all. His breathing came out in short, sharp bursts.

And then it hit.

The sound was deafening—metal groaning, glass shattering. Jungkook’s body was thrown against the seat as the car twirled. He barely registered the impact before the airbag exploded in his face with a loud whoosh, his head slamming into it with force. His vision blurred, and the pain came, biting and sudden. His chest felt tight, his breaths shallow. The car spun—once, twice, thrice. His hands trembled against the steering wheel, and his head throbbed painfully. His heart felt as though it would pound out of his chest.

For a moment, everything went silent. He could feel his body shaking. His head swam, dizziness clouding his vision. His pulse raced as the rush of adrenaline hit, but then, fear—a feeling he rarely ever felt—took over. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn't supposed to feel like this. Not after Mr. Park took him in. Not after Jimin became his family. He wasn’t supposed to feel this vulnerable. But now, the sensation was loud and personal, crawling up to his heart, through his arms, and into his bones.

Jungkook's world spun around him, the blur of the rain and the crash fading into nothingness. Suddenly, time seemed to stop. The sound of the storm, the screeching tires, everything disappeared. He wasn’t in his car anymore. He wasn’t even on the road. No, he was somewhere else entirely. Somewhere warm.

He was seven again.

The leather seats were soft, comforting, and the scent of his mother’s perfume lingered in the air. The only sound was the soft hum of the engine, a calm contrast to the chaos he had just left behind. He glanced around. His father was driving, hands steady on the wheel, wearing his familiar cheeky smile. His mother sat beside him, head against the window, her gaze distant but peaceful. Jungkook shifted uncomfortably in the back seat, squeezed between the seatbelt and the door. His arms were crossed tightly, shoulders hunched in frustration, as he kept his head down to avoid their attention.

“Hun, how long until we get there?” his mother’s voice broke the calm, soft and uncertain, reaching his father’s ears. She turned her head toward him with a small smile, her face lit faintly by the dashboard glow.

Mr. Jeon turned toward her, a subtle smile tugging at his lips. He shot her a cheery look, his eyes soft with affection as he answered. “Quite,” was all he said, but there was a warmth in his voice that made her smile.

But then Mr. Jeon's eyes found him.

Jungkook was sitting in the backseat, his little arms crossed tightly over his chest, his puffy cheeks flushed red. His head was turned toward the window, a frown tugging at his lips.

"What happened, Jung?" His father asked gently, voice full of care.

Jungkook’s gaze flickered up to meet his father's eyes, but he didn’t speak. Jungkook just huffed, his lip curling slightly, trying to hold back more tears. His arms tightened around himself, his small body so tense it seemed like he was trying to disappear into the seat. His eyes welled up again, and he sniffled, looking away.

“He don’t want to go.” Mrs. Jeon whispered softly, her voice light but firm, as though she’d been trying to ease the situation for some time. She shifted in her seat, her hands lightly brushing her white Chanel dress.

"I know that," Mr. Jeon said with a soft chuckle, his eyes flicking back to Jungkook. "But why?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Mrs. Jeon shrugged her shoulders, turning toward her husband with a helpless smile, her eyes glinting faintly with understanding. “You know how shy he is,” she whispered to him, just loud enough for him to hear but not Jungkook. Her voice was soft and wrapped in familiarity, like a gentle assurance.

Mr. Jeon chuckled softly, nodding in understanding. He then turned his attention back to Jungkook, his smile wide and encouraging. “But Taehyung will be there, too. Don’t you want to play with your hyung?” he teased, wiggling his brows playfully as he spoke.

Jungkook’s expression twisted with irritation. He pouted even more, his arms folding tighter across his chest. “No,” he snapped, his voice a little louder than before. “No, Taehyungie.” He refused to even look at his father, turning his head toward the window. His little hands balled into fists at his sides as he sat there.

Mr. Jeon froze for a moment at Jungkook’s sudden outburst. His eyes widened briefly as he glanced back at his son in the rearview mirror, but he let it go. He wasn’t angry—he never was with his son—but the outburst was unexpected. Jungkook wasn’t one to open up easily, and Mr. Jeon understood that. It wasn’t that Jungkook disliked Taehyung; he just couldn’t handle him. Taehyung was too much—too loud, too dramatic, too confident for Jungkook’s liking. His endless antics and unshakable charm always rubbed Jungkook the wrong way. It was easier for Jungkook to retreat into his shell than to deal with someone like Taehyung. Jungkook preferred the quiet, the safety of his own thoughts, while Taehyung was none of those things.

“Park uncle and his son are coming too. You wanted to meet Park uncle’s son?” Mr. Jeon tried again, his voice light and filled with gentle encouragement. He glanced back briefly, his brow furrowed slightly. He wanted Jungkook to at least be excited.

They were heading toward the Kim mansion for a grand party. A formal event with a lot of people, glittering dresses, and chatter. The kind of place where smiles felt like currency and charm was the language. It was important because their families shared good relationships with the Kim's. It was a social obligation.

But Jungkook didn’t bite. His gaze fixed on the rain streaking down the window. He pressed his cheek harder against the cold glass, the coolness against his skin doing little to ease the rising frustration in his chest. He wasn’t interested. His father’s words barely registered in his mind. The whole idea of going to a big event, the crowded space, the noise—it all just felt overwhelming.

“No,” Jungkook muttered, his voice tight, almost as if he were trying to seal off any further conversation. He could feel his father’s eyes on him, but he didn’t care. He didn't want to go. Not to meet Park Uncle’s son. Not to that party. Not anywhere. He wanted to stay home. He hated people. All of them. Parties. Crowds. They made his skin crawl. Even though Park uncle was always kind and brought him chocolate, even though he was gentle and easy to talk to, it didn’t matter. Meeting his son was a thought that felt like a chore.

Mr. Jeon’s face softened with a small, exasperated sigh. He turned his head, catching his wife’s eye for a brief moment. Mrs. Jeon gently tapped his arm, urging him to stop pushing Jungkook. But Mr. Jeon didn’t listen. He could see his son’s discomfort and it worried him. He wasn’t going to let it slide this time.

“Son, listen,” he began, trying again with more patience, his voice firm but not unkind. “You should—”

But his words were cut short by the sudden screech of tires and a blinding flash of headlights, too bright, too fast. Then—boom. Something slammed into their car, a deafening crash that shook everything around him. The impact tore through them, sending the car off the road. The world spun wildly, glass shattered, metal twisted, and screams filled the air. His head smacked against the seatbelt, his shoulders pulled hard by the force as the car twisted and turned like a broken toy. His arms flailed, his hands gripping at anything they could find, but there was nothing.

Finally, the car came to a violent stop and everything felt eerily quiet. The sound of the engine sputtering, the hiss of rain, and the faint, dull ringing in his ears filled his senses. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision, but his head spun. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood. His chest was tight, his breath shallow. Through his blurred vision, he saw it—them. Blood streaked his vision, dark and warm as it trickled into his eyes from a gash on his forehead. His breath came in short, broken pants. He couldn’t see clearly—everything felt distorted, red, and wrong.  His mother was there. Her body was twisted, crumpled, unnatural, and there was so much blood. Everywhere but specially beneath her.

“Mom…” he whispered, his voice broken, a thin, desperate sound. His lips trembled, his head shaking as though he could will it away, but the horror wouldn’t leave. His small hands gripped at his seatbelt again, his fingers sticky, his face soaked with rain and fear. All he knew was that his mother was hurt, she was bleeding and wasn't moving.  No, no, no… His chest ached, a desperate pain that he couldn’t understand.

His eyes shifted to his father, still breathing, but barely. His father’s chest rose weakly, blood dripping from a gash on his forehead, and Jungkook’s heart twisted in his chest. “Dada…” His voice cracked, the sound barely more than a whimper as he reached out for his father, his small hands pressing against the seat. The fear was suffocating, but the pain of seeing his father so helpless, so close to slipping away, was worse. His body shook uncontrollably, his tiny frame trying to fight the overwhelming terror that threatened to swallow him whole.

The silence felt unbearable. Everything around him felt like a blur, yet every detail was all real and painstrikingly cruel. His hands trembled, his body shaking, his chest aching as he waited—desperately—for some kind of answer. But before his father could respond, figures emerged from the darkness dressed in black uniforms that glistened faintly under the rain. Their presence felt wrong, but the night itself was nothing if wasn't sinful. Jungkook’s head spun, his ears ringing painfully. The sound was distorted, every word like a distant, broken whisper. But the fragments came through, jagged and broken.

“And, it’s done... Wasn't much. Let him suffer.”

Jungkook visibly flinched at their words, his heart hammering against his ribcage. His ears rang painfully, making it hard to hear, but the fragments reached him like poison.

“He denied boss, after all.”

"Hmm, all he needed was that file. Black orchid project's file."

 "Yeah, stupid motherfucker." They turned to leave, but then one of them paused, looking back at Mr. Jeon’s bloody form, a sinister smile creeping across his face. “You know, since you’re dying anyways, let me tell you something… we found her. We got the first kid from the Black Orchid project. And with her, we’ll get them all. And with you dead, who will stop us.”

Their laughter was cruel and hollow, echoing in the stillness like nails scraping across the floor. Jungkook’s chest tightened, and his stomach churned, bile rising in his throat as they disappeared into the rain. The words haunted him, swirling in his mind, but before he could process them, another sound broke through—the sound of his father’s breath.

Mr. Jeon’s body shifted, his chest rising and falling in labored, shallow breaths. His tear-streaked face twisted with pain as his eyes met Jungkook’s, the weight of everything crashing down in those last, fleeting moments. “Jungkook…” His voice was raw, barely a whisper, but it carried so much guilt that it felt like it could suffocate him. “I’m so sorry, my boy… this… this is all because of me.”

“Dada…” His voice was cracked, shaky, the fear rising in his chest like a storm. His hand reached out instinctively, trembling, but it fell short, his small fingers grazing the air instead of his father’s skin.

Just as Jungkook’s vision began to blur, another sound broke through the haze—the screech of tires and the distant sound of shoes splashing through the rain. Relief flickered faintly in his chest. Someone was coming. But his blurry gaze couldn’t make out who it was.

A pair of feet appeared before him, followed by the frantic sound of someone running, slipping in the rain as they skidded to a halt next to the wreckage.

 It was Mr. Park, panting, his face pale with shock as he took in the horror before him.

Mr. Park dropped to his knees beside the wreckage, his hands trembling as they hovered over the twisted metal, unable to focus on anything but the devastation before him. His breath hitched in his chest as his gaze fell on Mrs. Jeon’s crumpled, lifeless form, and the tears welled up instantly, blurring his vision. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. All he could manage was a broken, “Oh, my... How… what?” His gaze settled on Jungkook’s mother, crumpled and lifeless in the front seat, and his breath hitched. His hands gripped the cold, wet metal of the car, his entire body shaking as he fought the overwhelming wave of fear and sorrow threatening to drown him.

“Hang on! I’ll get you both out, I promise!” His voice cracked as he spoke, his hands fumbling against the seatbelt, desperate to pull them free.

But Mr. Jeon, with great effort, shook his head. His face was pale, slick with sweat, and blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. His voice came out hoarse, barely more than a whisper, but the words cut through the chaos. “No... no... listen to me.” He coughed, his body convulsing from the effort, and blood spattered onto his chest. “I... I won’t be able to make it out of here. Take Jungkook... get him out... and raise him. There’s no one else I trust more than you, Park. You’re like a brother to me. Please... take care of him... like he’s your own.”

Mr. Park’s eyes filled with tears, and he squeezed them shut for a moment, trying to push back the wave of grief threatening to drown him. His chest tightened, and his voice cracked as he fought to keep it steady. “I will. I promise. But don’t say that, we can still—”

“No…” Mr. Jeon’s voice was barely a whisper now, weak and distant, almost drowned out by the rain. The faintest of smiles tugged at the corner of his lips, but it quickly disappeared as he coughed, blood staining his mouth. “It’s too late for me… just save him. Please.”

Mr. Park’s hand trembled as it hovered over Mr. Jeon’s, and he nodded, his lips trembling. He wasn’t ready to accept this, but he knew there was no choice. “I’ll take him,” he whispered. “I’ll take him, I promise.”

With trembling hands, Mr. Park unbuckled Jungkook, his heart breaking at the sight of the boy’s tear-streaked face, pale and bloodied. The tiny body was limp in his arms, and he fought to hold back his own tears, knowing it wouldn’t help. Jungkook’s head lolled against his shoulder, eyes barely open, blinking with confusion and fear, but he couldn’t speak, couldn’t move.

“I’ve got you,” Mr. Park whispered, his voice rough with emotion, his arms tightening around Jungkook as he lifted him from the wreckage. Jungkook’s head rested against his chest, the faintest stir of breath against his skin. “It’s going to be okay,” he said, though he knew nothing about this could ever be okay. If anything, he himself didn't trust his words. They felt hollow.

“I’ll be back to get you. And I’ll get you out too, just hang there,” he said, his voice final, desperate, and certain. His hands trembled as he cradled Jungkook against his chest, his gaze flickering back toward Mr. Jeon, whose eyes were barely open. Mr. Park wasn't sure if he was even capable enough to fulfil that promise, but at that moment, it was all he could offer; it was all he had left.

Mr. Jeon’s eyes fluttered, a faint nod the only response he could manage. His body had grown so still, but the tear streaked face, the way his lips trembled, said everything. He knew it was a promise that wouldn’t be kept—but he nodded anyway, and the last bit of hope faded in the silence of the wreckage. With one final glance, Mr. Park turned, his arms cradling Jungkook against him, as he ran toward safety, the boy’s limp body a stark contrast to the life and pain surrounding them. The rain continued to pour, and with each step, it felt like the world was slipping further away.

Jungkook’s eyes fluttered weakly as he was carried to Mr. Park’s car. His small body felt light and cold against the older man’s chest. Inside the vehicle, Jimin sat in the backseat, his wide eyes staring at the scene before him. His small hands gripped the edge of his seat tightly, his knuckles pale in the dim glow of the headlights. When Mr. Park placed Jungkook beside him, Jimin’s shock melted into a visible concern. His little face was a mix of worry and gentleness as he shifted closer, his small body trembling slightly. Without hesitation, he wrapped his tiny arms around Jungkook, pulling him into a hug. The warmth of Jimin’s embrace was so soft, so comforting, but it felt like it wasn’t enough.

“Don’t cry… it’s okay, don’t cry,” Jimin whispered, his voice cracking slightly as he pulled Jungkook closer. Jungkook’s eyes burned, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. His throat was tight, his chest hollow with loss. The last thing he felt before the world around him went black was Jimin’s arms, holding him tight, and the warmth that felt fragile, like a thread ready to snap.

Meanwhile, Mr. Park’s hands were shaking, his desperation choking his every movement as he turned back to the wreck. His heart pounded in his chest as he sprinted toward the flames, but he didn’t make it. Before he could even reach the wreckage, the explosion erupted in a violent wave, the flames licking at the sky as they consumed the car. The explosion rocked the ground beneath him, the heat so intense it scorched his skin, and the rain didn’t do a thing to stop the inferno. The sound of the blast echoed in his chest, and for a moment, Mr. Park stood frozen, his body trembling from the shock, the image of his closest friend burning into his mind.  His breath caught in his throat, his heart twisted painfully, but he couldn’t move. He watched as the fire consumed everything—everything he had hoped to save. The rain poured harder, but it was useless against the inferno.

And just like that, Jungkook lost everything in one brutal, cruel instant. His mind hung on that moment, the crackling fire and the unyielding rain swallowing it all. The sound of the explosion still rang in his ears as he was pulled from the memory. Another sharp, blinding flash of light cut through his closed eyelids, yanking him out of his haze. His head throbbed painfully, the beat of his pulse a steady rhythm that seemed to match the aching in his skull.

A car screeched to a halt in front of him, the sound cutting through the fog in his mind like a blade. For a moment, he thought it was Jimin. But that couldn’t be right—Jimin was way behind him, far away from this mess, in a safe place. How could he have gotten ahead so fast? Jungkook’s thoughts came fast and fragmented. His breaths came quicker, his hands trembling harder as his body tensed with uncertainty.

What was happening? Was it Jimin? Was it someone else? His mind felt fractured, his body unable to respond. His body felt paralysed, useless.

The driver stepped out into the downpour, his black uniform drenched in seconds, but he moved forward with an unsettling calm. The sight of the uniform—it was like a switch had been flipped inside Jungkook. But his thoughts were too scattered, too foggy, to make sense of it. The closer the man got, the louder the buzz in Jungkook’s head grew, like lightening sissling through his skull. It was unbearable. His hands flew to his temples, fingers digging in desperately, but the pain only intensified. A low, broken groan escaped his throat.

Without warning, a loud, brutal crash shattered the silence. The man had smashed the car window. The sound tore through his body like a physical blow, breaking his fragile focus. His eyes flew open just as he felt the sting of broken glass. The shards flying like tiny stars of pain that bit into his skin. Before Jungkook could even flinch, a rough hand wrapped around his collar and yanked him from the seat. He was dragged out into the downpour, the cold, icy rain slamming into his face, washing away the blood. The cold slapped against his skin like a thousand tiny knives, but he was too weak to react. His limbs were heavy, his body numb, as if it wasn’t even his own. He couldn’t fight back. The man dragged him across the slick road like he weighed nothing, and with a brutal toss, he was slammed onto the wet pavement. His body hit the ground with a sickening thud, and the cold, muddy water instantly soaked through his clothes, seeping into his bones.

He forced himself to push up or at least he tired. His hands trembled, weak and brittle, but he couldn’t hold himself. His body gave out, and he collapsed back into the mud with a helpless, wet sound. His face turned upward, the rain blurring his vision, every droplet a sharp needle that dug into his skin. His chest heaved, his breaths coming in shallow bursts, but the pain in his skull, his limbs, and his chest refused to go away. Jungkook tried again, his body shaking harder this time. His head swayed from side to side as he struggled, but the rain felt endless, each droplet pounding into him, each one deeper, colder, meaner. His heartbeat was an erratic drumbeat in his chest, thudding against his ribs like it might give out at any moment. His vision remained a hazy blur—everything was grey, wet, and cold, and the pounding in his skull grew stronger with every heartbeat.

Jungkook’s eyes fought to stay open, his vision blurring more with each passing second, but the shape of the man in front of him became clearer. The man in the black uniform loomed over him, a dark, shifting figure that blurred in the rain. His face was a shadow, but the smirk on his lips was cruel and clear.

The man’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he watched Jungkook struggle beneath him, barely able to lift himself up on one elbow. His hand gripped the gun with a steady, deadly calm, and as he crouched down, water splashed from his chin, droplets falling onto Jungkook’s face. “Look at you,” he sneered, voice dripping with mockery, “pathetic. No high and mighty prince now, huh? Where’s your guard dog to save you?”

Jungkook’s chest heaved in ragged breaths, his heart hammering in his ribcage. He could feel the weight of his body dragging him further into the puddle, the cold seeping into his bones, but his muscles were too weak to fight back. His hand twitched, desperately trying to reach for something—anything—to push himself up, but it shook violently, unable to get any purchase. He gritted his teeth, eyes clouded with pain and dizziness, unable to respond, unable to do anything but lie there and take it.

“today was my lucky day, I guess,”  he laughed.

“You’ve been a thorn in our side for too long,” the man continued, his voice dropping lower as he straightened, standing taller. His form was solid and imposing, his boots kicking mud as he took a step back. The gun rose, glinting under the pale light of the streetlamps. The barrel was cold, steady, and pointed directly at Jungkook’s chest.

“Time to put you out of your misery, kid. Join mommy and daddy. I wager... You’ve been dying to.” A cold sweat broke out across Jungkook’s skin even in shrill rain, and for a brief moment, his breath caught in his throat. His eyes widened, flicking between the gun and the man’s mocking face, terror clawing at him from the inside. His chest tightened, his body frozen as the world spun around him, and he tried once more to move, to escape, but his legs were useless, as if the earth beneath him was swallowing him whole. All that remained was the sharp, unrelenting noise of the rain and the sickening sound of the man’s finger inching toward the trigger.

Jungkook’s body went rigid as the man’s words echoed in his mind. His heart thundered in his chest as the memories of his parents flooded him—their lifeless eyes, the blood staining the night, the terror that gripped him then and now. His hands, slick with cold rain, shook uncontrollably as he stared at the barrel of the gun. His throat constricted, but no words came out—only a choked sob that was lost in the downpour.

The man’s grin widened, cruel and savage, as he inched his finger toward the trigger. Jungkook could see the gleam in his eyes, the satisfaction of finally having the power to take everything from him. The laughter in his voice was sharp, like glass scraping against his skin, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he squeezed the trigger.

"Goodbye, Jeon Jungkook."

The gunshot shattered the night—louder than the storm, louder than the pounding in Jungkook's ears. For a brief, agonizing moment, the world seemed to stop. The rain paused in midair, hanging like frozen tears, the wind silenced as if holding its breath. Jungkook felt the world tilt beneath him, and his body instinctively braced for the impact that was supposed to come.

a/n: So, how’d you guys like it? Hate it? Loved it? I need the feedback, break me, but like... gently, okay? I’m fragile and I’ll cry, like, on the spot. But honestly, there might be some grammatical disasters in there. Why? Because I got sick and just didn’t have the energy to do much editing work on it. So yeah, don’t judge me too hard, I’m basically a walking disaster right now. Also, I really hope you still love Jungkook after reading this. Please don’t hate him. Show him some love. And, like, show me some too, because my ego is starving. Tell me how amazing it was (or, like, pretend it was) and boost my fragile little ego, okay? I need it. Love ya, guys!

[forwards-beckon-rebound]

dick grayson instagram hcs

basics

we are pretending dick is not a cop in this because i said so!

he's a professional model but also does perform at a local circus as a special guest

he's not actually going to the olympics (yet) but the american team has been trying to contact him for the better part of the decade so maybe you can convince him to go

he's kind of like one of your friends who you think is chill and normal but then you go to their ig and you find out they're something of a local celebrity?

everybody in gotham already knew him as bruce wayne's son but also he went semi viral on tiktok and got a bunch of new fans (and some edits) out of it

he used to have a less serious pfp but his management convinced him to use this one instead

followers + following

obviously you're there

as well as his friends and family

he manages to get away with following the superheroes since i mean, basically everybody else does as well

also a lot of industry people that he meets, both for modeling and gymnastics/trapeze

highlights

he is an abuser of the story function

will spend any opportunity to brag about his pretty girlfriend and all of the dates and trips you guys go on

he is weirdly good at taking photos, will give you tips on how to pose to get your best angles

also he has a lot of fans so he likes to post a photo of you every once in a while to remind everyone that he's happily taken

will also repost your work related stuff to be like hey look at how cool my gf is at her job!

dude has a million highlights that he updates for the fashion weeks each year

a lot of photos of his looks, him meeting with certain designers, it's mostly his team who posts this

same thing with his shows in the sense that it's usually other people (including you) taking photos of him while he's performing

but this is a more personal venture of his so he asks everyone to send him the pics and he decides which ones to post

will also repost stories from fans who came to the show!

oooh this man posts the most jaw dropping photos of himself

he will have just woken up and post a photo that makes you think it's so unfair how perfect somebody can be

he just likes to post when he feels good about himself and i support!

haley and (i did not come up with a name for your guys' cat so you guys can have fun with that!) also have their own dedicated highlight

it is exactly as cute and wholesome as you would think it is

there are even more highlights if you keep on scrolling. he has highlights for each year's fashion weeks, as mentioned, as well as trips you guys have been on (the most recent is a trip to greece and italy!)

posts

once again he's one of those infuriating sort of famous people who are like fine as hell but they post just enough cute and relatable content that he actually seems like a real and very nice guy (fun fact, he is!)

you can tell immediately when he's been on a trip because he'll have at least 3 posts up and they're all of the same place

you guys are like the photo taking couple

if you weren't good at taking pics before you started dating, his skills definitely rub off on you

he'll do the thing where he gets you to pose for him so he can take a photo of you and then you take the same style of photo for him

it's disgusting you guys have matching photos on your feeds of each other

if it wasn't already common knowledge that you guys are dating, i can imagine the conspiracy theory videos being like guys they were in the same place? at the same time? and they took the same type of pics? i think they're dating

he loves cooking with you (while i personally think it would be really funny if he can't cook, in some of the comics they do mention that he can cook, but either way he enjoys cooking with you)

you guys are like the parent friends who host dinner at their place and there's usually a theme surrounding seasonal ingredients and everything's plated really well

you probably watch cooking shows together and are now you can't serve a dish without some microgreens or sliced radish on top or something

also yes he did plan the picnic and he's quite proud of it

he watched all of those charcuterie board hacks to make the flowers and fancy cheese arrangements

and there were chocolate dipped strawberries, champagne with glasses, and freshly baked cookies (alfred might have helped with that one)

also yes he does wear glasses!!!! only at home when he's reading or staring at a screen too long. his prescription's not that bad

jason ver.

[funlovinzara]

The unexpected hangout

𝐼 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓀𝓃𝑒𝓌 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓌𝑒𝒾𝓇𝒹 𝒶𝓈 𝓂𝑒

(Music is intended to be played in the story, wear headphones <3) (long fic)

I grew up in this town for as long as i can remember, i wasn’t introverted, but i wasn’t an extrovert either. I spoke when i had to, leaving me with a group of friends here and there. Beginning high-school was another story, i still had my small group of friends including this one girl Momo. I don’t exactly know how i became friends with her but shes been the friendliest since i could remember.

But i find myself drowning in the sinkhole of over working, and i think she could tell because she recommended a sleepover/hangout with another one of her friends that she thought i would like. Momo is the only one i can truly be myself around so how can i expect her friend to even like me. I open to learning many subjects, although i don’t pick a favorite i like things about conspiracies or random theories to keep me up thinking.

My phone dings with a message, its from Momo

Momo👻: I’ll be at your place around 7! My friend is still coming over, trust me you and him are going to be great friends.

Me: Him? He’s a guy? You must be setting something up

Momo👻: Well I’m just saying if things between you guys progress than it is what it is but thats NOT what I’m trying to do at all🤣

Me: What if he’s really rude or something i cant handle more stress I’m too tired for this, if i wanted to have a guy friend then i would have asked.

Momo👻: No he’s not like that he’s a total nerd, he would never do anything harmful. Ive been friends with him for awhile, i talk to him about aliens and stuff all the time

Me: What makes you think i wanna deal with boys at all. I’ll try to be friends with him i guess but if he does anything that i can’t respect he’s getting out of my home

Momo👻: Alrightt no need to be so stuck up, your stressed just relax for a bit.

I stare up at the starry night and then bring my eyes to the clock, Momo is a few minutes late. But as a coincidence, she knocks at my door as soon as i have that thought. I go down the stairs to see her open the door, hmm must have been unlocked, but i remember locking.

Maybe i should be nice, ill try my best too. I mean she wasn’t worried about him or anything. Momo swings the door open giving me a big hug, i look behind her to see a boy. We make eye contact and he looks away timidly and fiddles with his hair. Momo knew i had a thing for nerds, she’s definitely setting something up.

(I was a little scared to introduce myself though…)

“This is my friend i told you about, his name is okarun!!”

He looks back up shyly, extended his hand to give me a hand shake. I give him a handshake back, flashing the tiniest smile to show the least bit of comfort. He steps closer to me to whisper something quiet enough not for Momo to hear

“M—my name is actually Ken takakura…” I nod my head to make sure Momo doesn’t think anything is up, i wonder why she calls him Okarun though. Momo yawns making her way to the living room and into the kitchen, opening the fridge to look for her favorite drink i usually keep at my place.

“Hey…y/n you don’t have any more of that drink..”

“Sorry, I’ll buy some more soon.” She walks back over to the entrance of the home where me and Ken were still standing awkwardly “its alright, speaking of which, the gas station is only a 5 minutes walk from here. I’ll go run and buy some!! My grandma gave me some money incase i wanted to get snacks!”

I look at her in despair. I whisper yell at her before she walks out the door “You’re leaving??!? Now???! Me alone with a boy??!!”

“Cmonn I’m gonna be back I’ll make it quick.” She gives me a sly wink before shutting my own door at my face. I turn around slowly, lifting my head up to look at Ken embarrassingly. He was looking at me but he shifted his gaze to some random spot in the house. I didn’t want to stand here forever..

“We can just go to my room for now while we wait…”

I guide him up the stairs towards my room, i leave background music playing to calm me and i accidentally forgot to turn it off. We enter my room and his eyes lighten up like a puppy. I had a fluffy rug, thick bed sheets many tiny figures and posters, with a neat desk and dim lights. He felt a comforting feeling as he heard the music that was left playing.

He looks around and he notices i have a book on my desk titled “conspiracy’s and theories #1: Aliens? Are they real?” I sat on my bed and i saw him approach the book for a closer inspection, his eyes glow as he looks up at me.

He realizes he touched something without asking and he places the book down quickly while fiddling with his hair again and re-adjusting his glasses. He looks down at the floor in embarrassment with a blushing face.

“I have the same book..d—do you like…aliens..?”

My goodness he is so cute. I snap out of my daydreaming after staring at him.“Well…i like reading about them. They seem cool to me and i like the unknown. I watch a-lot of documents.”

He looks up at me, with his hand still in his hair. “Do you know anything about…UAP’s and UFO’s..? I softly replied, “Yes i do read about them a little.” His eyes were in full on dull mode, he was so ready to rant. I realized he was still standing, and i was on my bed. He’s not a bad guy at all, he’s just really shy, well— so am i.

I pat the spot next to me signaling him to sit down next to me. I try to get more comfortable, i sat in a criss cross position. He looks at me with his face flushing again and he slowly makes his way to the bed, he sat in the same criss cross position facing me. His hand still in his hair obviously, his head down, he muttered…

“There have been many sightings of aliens..I—I’ve done alot of research. I should have brought my b—books but i thought that you weren’t really going to like….me..”

“Oh, i thought the same about you…that you were going to be kind of rude to me. But you like the same things as me.”

He hesitantly brings his head up to make eye contact with me, his face a pink tone due to the blush. My open window blows a cool air into the room, moonlight hitting his eyes and shining them. I avert my gaze to him to see him pondering into my eyes, his lips part as he was going to say something until we could hear the door open. It was Momo, that was really quick.

We rush back downstairs to see her with multiple bags, more than what she said she was going to buy. “Oh man, i really should have called you!! They had an amazing deal and i got so many snacks for half off!”

Me and Ken look at each-other, we slightly giggle at the goofiness of Momo. Momo ran up the stairs and came back down with a giant blanket from my closet, she places it on the couch with the snacks she bought on the table

“Cmon guys let’s watch a movie!!” I sat down with Ken trying not to be to close to make me uncomfortable, through out the movies we watched i could feel him land his attention on me. But he was very slick with it, i could hardly tell.

At the end of the night after all the movies, Momo and Ken helped clean up. Momo grabbed all of her belongings and so did Ken and they were about to leave. “Bye y/n! See you tomorrow!!”

“B—bye…” i didn’t want it to end like this… “Okarun.” He turns around and looks at me with confusion and a bit of fluster. “Could I see your phone for a sec?” He hands me his unlocked phone and i quickly type my number and my name into a new contact space and hand him his phone back. He looks at what I’ve done and his face goes from pink to a rose red. He looks up at me like his face was about to explode

It seems like he wanted to say thank you, but Momo pulled him out of the door in a hurry. The door shut on me again, but instead..i don’t feel lonely anymore. I feel a warmth entered my soul.

We could be friends…

This took forveerrr please but i love this alot like i really wanted to get the emotion in here😭🫶🏾

[cosmerelists]

Conversations Happening In The Stands When Kaladin Broke Relis' Shardplate Through A Kick in the 4v1 Duel

As requested by anon. :)

This anon wanted me to imagine what people said when Kaladin--just a normal darkeyed guard so far as anyone knew--freaking cracked a dude's shardplate by kicking it during the 4v1 duel. So here are some conversations I think might have happened in the stands!

1. 

"Storming hell--did you see that? That guard just kicked that guy and now the guy's shardplate is cracked!" "Oh…..okay. This makes way more sense now." "It…It does??" "Yeah! This is obviously staged." "….Staged?" "Ha ha, come on! You can't KICK shardplate into cracking! That can't be real shardplate. It's clear this whole thing is staged. Probably some sort of machinations that Dalinar and Sadeas came up with together." "Man, if you start with that stupid conspiracy theory again…" "I'm TELLING you! Their FEUD is FAKE and they are DATING!" "…Just watch the duel."

2.

"Uh…was that cracking sound the man's legs or the Shardplate?" "It must have been his legs! Poor guy." "No! He's getting up! I think…I think it was the Shardplate!" "He….he broke the Shardplate by KICKING it?" "No…it must have already been cracked...right?" "He did knock the Shardbearer over, though. With the kick." "Y-Yeah….I guess he never skips leg day…" "…" "…" "This duel just keeps getting crazier!"

3.

"Ugh. I don't think Relis is ever gonna live this down. Imagine being knocked over by a dude with no armor and a spear." "A darkeyed guy with no armor and a spear." "Yeah…humiliating." "We gotta uninvite him from brunch." "That's harsh but fair."

4.

"Hey, uh…just how strong are darkeyes' legs?" "They appear to be very, very strong." "Do you think I should treat my employees better?" "That's your takeaway?!"

5. 

"I didn't realize Relis' shardplate had grown that weak! Even a kick could crack it!" "Ha ha, yeah! And that guard was TOTALLY knocked over even so!" "Shardplate is so strong and magnificent, but if you strike it when it is very, very weakened, even normal human strength can do it in." "That is definitely my takeaway too." 

6.

"I knew Bridgemen's arms must be strong from, like, carrying the bridge. But I didn't realize their legs were so strong too!" "Well, what do you think they were using to run all that way?" "Still, though!"

7. 

"Oh Almighty I think he broke his legs!!!" "No, no--he's fine! Look!" "But…I could have SWORN they bent weirdly for a second." "Don't be ridiculous--what, do you think his legs just magically healed?" "No…that would be ridiculous." "Ha ha yeah!"

8.

"I can see why Dalinar chose a bridgeman to be his head guard." "Yeah." "I'm afraid." "I'm afraid too."

9. 

"I can't imagine caring that much about my job." "Hmmm?" "If my bosses' sons were in danger like that, I'd be like, 'Whelp, good luck with that.'" "That man's a guard, though." "I'm a guard." "Oh…right." "And I'm telling you. I ain't kicking any enemies in Shardplate for my boss." "That's just a healthy work-life balance." "Do you think we should give Stormblessed one of our pamphlets?" "If he survives, then definitely."

10.

"[sighs]" "…Why are you sighing dreamily?" "It's just--imagine being the sort of man where if you see a fully armed Shardbearer heading for your beloved, you immediately attack! Even if you have no armor or weapons and your life is on the line!" "He has a spear." "Spears don't count as weapons in a Shardblade duel." "Well but -- wait. Did you say 'beloved'?" "Um, yeah. What fight are YOU watching?" "Ugh. If you start in with that STUPID conspiracy theory again…" "I'm telling you! Adolin and Stormblessed are DATING and that red-haired chick is just their BEARD!" "...Just watch the duel."

[forsoobado137]

♊padparadschshc1209 Follow

🏓Gorgotmommy1225 Follow

My favorite part was when the actual Isle of Mann came showed up and was like "Hey guys it's me remember me this is what I look like I'm not a 47 year old man."

👩‍🏫teachinggaystoread Follow

I love how the others were like "This guy's a stupid conman" but Scotland was like so ready to shoot him just to prove his point.

🐸theonetrueswampgirlie Follow

England: Do you have the documentation to prove your nation status?

Scotland:

13,347 notes

🎩whereareyaoooo Follow

I know that commie kids and WW2 kids are annoying as fuck but the NatPer kids are on a WHOLE different level.

🧇Belgiangaufres Follow

🏖Allythecalibitch Follow

Teacher: And in 1937, Japan invaded China

NatPer kid: That was so dom of him lol

Me: I'm going fucking insane

21,477 notes

🐉whyamimonster Follow

I just started uni and this guy in my bio class looks exactly like Matthew Williams. I told him and apparently he gets that a lot. He's literally the most Canadian man I've ever met.

🐉whyamimonster Follow

I have been informed by all of tumblr that I share a class with the national personification of my own country.

129,560 notes

🌩goaheadgoku Follow

🦈sharkirasharkira416t19 Follow

Do people still believe nationfacts? I thought we all blocked them.

🧼scrubehindurears Follow

I'm in med school and some of the other nurses actually believe that nations are faking symptoms of illness. Conspiracy theories like these are dangerous because then nation people won't get taken seriously by doctors and will be less likely to get proper treatment. This can lead to a lack of preparation for natural disasters and economic crises because people think they're incapable of feeling sick. This shit can kill people. I'm tired of having this conversation all the time.

🐶doghelldoesntexist Follow

Every time I see this stuff on my dash I'm reminded of the Martinville tornado disaster where the NP of the united states was begging the hospital he was in to evacuate because he felt the familiar dizziness of a tornado but the doctors yelled at him for taking up space in the ER. I wonder what would've happened to all those patients had they been evacuated safely.

🐶doghelldoesntexist Follow

Also btw I know this happened in 1952, before modern forecast technology, but my point still stands. Just because it's easier to predict stuff without nations doesn't mean doctors should yell at them and accuse them of faking. This misinformation kills people.

44,029 notes

[brynn-lear]

Prompt: Yandere!Dottore x Reader... But make it a House MD au. A/n: this idea has been rotting in my brain for such a long time... Yeah no I won't budge, Pantalone is our beloved Wilson lol. Word Count: 600 (this is a throwaway drabble)

You HATE working for Doctor Zandik’s diagnostic team.

No, that’s a lie. Everybody lies. You don’t hate working for him— you’ve grown desensitized.

The doctor’s “methods” are deeply rooted in misanthropy. Yet, his eloquent and annoyingly charming way persuasions act as a get-out-of-jail card for (most) instances of ethical and medical malpractices. Your colleagues, Dr. Sohreh & Dr. Krupp, remain equally tired of being in their positions. However, the Fontainian tragedy to all this is the screwed-up fact that none of you considered resigning. You three need him.

Krupp swallows his anger each time Zandik orders him to break into patients’ homes. As Zandik loves to remind the dean of medicine, there will be no ethics committee dilemma if all his people clean their tracks right. Why Pierro keeps him in his hospital despite being a significant liability to Morepesok Teaching Hospital? Your morals will never understand. Prioritizing genius over following proper procedure didn’t sit right with you. Then again, you were only hired because of your family’s connections, not merit…

Work for Zandik until you hate him; once that threshold is passed, work until you start vomiting out the evil you’ve done for the greater good. That’s the only thing other staff members had for advice. There’s nothing after step 2. Your soul WILL fight with your body. It was only when you started feeling bile rise to your throat on random occasions that you realized there must indeed be something broken in your psyche after years of working under him. You thought the advice was played out in dramatics. It wasn’t.

“(L/n), need a little help here,” Krupp called out as he rummaged through the patient’s trash. “Can you pass the gloves?”

After you did as told, you leaned by the patient’s piano. “Fever, fatigue, and a persistent cough. Standard symptoms for most of our patients, but—”

“This is Zandik.” Sohreh shakes her head, finding this situation wholly amusing. While you and Krupp scavenged through Zandik’s trash and forgotten candy wraps (he is unsurprisingly disorganized), she had her eyes set on his documents. “The patient is our boss. We just broke into our boss’s house like we’re actively pushing his own medicine down his throat.”

Pierro ordered you three in secret to investigate if Zandik has been ill, which opened the gates of let’s-all-break-into-his-house-for-fun for coworker bonding exercise. 

“What if this isn’t anything serious?” Krupp muttered, absolutely disgruntled. “Maybe we’re just overthinking this Zandik Is Sick conspiracy theory.”

“If it’s not serious, it’s boring.” You paused. “And he doesn’t do boring.”

Sohreh breathed in.

“Hey, guys? You might want to check this out.”

Upon hearing Sohreh’s grim tone, you and Krupp immediately grabbed the file she was holding and skimmed through it.

…

“This is his medical history. There’s blood work and imaging tests here… showing elevated white blood cells, and— a biopsy?” Krupp raised an eyebrow.

“Cancer,” Sohreh spoke, letting out the thoughts Krupp was too afraid to say. “He thinks he has cancer.”

“No, no, that’s not it.”

Sohreh and Krupp turned to look at you.

“What do you mean?”

You shifted uncomfortably. “Look at the name.”

“What name?”

“Name of the patient.”

You let go of the file as Sohreh and Krupp eagerly found that they had somehow missed the person.

The two paled.

“(Y/n)—”

“It’s mine.” You sighed. “Those are my tests. I’ve been hiding it from the rest of the staff except Doctor Pantalone from Onco.”

“You have—”

“But why?” You looked down, unsure as to how you felt.

“Why does Zandik have these files?”

[sforzesco]

ANTONY: if Caesar doesn't set Sextius Baculus up in a house worthy of Lucullus for all that he did, I'll kill him myself.

so the fun thing about the Caesarians is that there is. weird stuff happening in there. a lot of focus seems to go towards non Caesarian dissent, specifically with the conspiracy of Cassius and Brutus, but there's like. stuff going on in Caesar's own camp that's very Intriguing.

There's a couple places where you can see some clear points that would be grounds for a conspiratorial falling out between Caesar and Trebonius, but from the way that Trebonius tries to seduce Antony over to conspiracy, I wonder if there was a secret third thing that was going on since Antony turned him down but. didn't snitch intriguing!

anyway, all of this is to say that this means I get to invent some shit. like, I'm drawing comics which is already invention, but this is one where I get to really start throwing stuff into the narrative soup because it has to set up three different character arcs (Trebonius, and then Antony twice)

(in theory, this would be explained in the story itself if I did the entirety of the Gallic Wars out as a comic. which I have not done because I do not want to draw horses. I wanted to fuck around with some panel layouts and not draw a single horse, so now I will provide the context and revisit this in the future)

Antony's comment about Trebonius running himself into a grave has to do with the Caesar's Gallic Wars have a lot of men doing a whole lot for Caesar that has me going. hey. hey guys. uh.

specifically, Sextius Baculus:

The War for Gaul, Julius Caesar (trans James J. O'Donnell)

and the closing comment from Antony is playing on several things: romans claiming gods on their family tree (see: Legendary Genealogies in Late-Republican Rome, T.P. Wiseman for more on this) and then divinization arc of Caesar and Octavian. Antony himself will later be taking part the same kind of god-association that has prompted his disdain in this scene

At any rate, when Antony made his entry into Ephesus, women arrayed like Bacchanals, and men and boys like Satyrs and Pans, led the way before him, and the city was full of ivy and thyrsus-wands and harps and pipes and flutes, the people hailing him as Dionysus Giver of Joy and Beneficent. For he was such, undoubtedly, to some; but to the greater part he was Dionysus Carnivorous and Savage.

Plutarch, Antony 24

and the second layer of thematic fun: Antony's later relationship with his soldiers is something similar to what Caesar had with his here, but ultimately: decayed. Antony's love affair with his military makes his failure to lead well at the end a worse betrayal. at some point I'll talk about Antony's Tormentous Military Nightmare and cite some academic sources, but Linda Bamber's description of the final tragedy of Antony and his men lives in my head rent free

Cleopatra and Antony, Linda Bamber

where's the fun in doing identity focused tragedy if you don't become unrecognizable to yourself later on! isn't that right mark antony

ko-fi⭐ bsky ⭐ pixiv ⭐ pillowfort ⭐ cohost ⭐ cara.app

[moonsdrs]

JUSTICE IS A WOMAN...LAW AND ORDER DR INTRO.

— the no b.s judge!

alexandria anderson is the homicide unit's forensic psychologist and resident badass. she likes anything that involves fancy eateries, cowboys and...anti romance? self proclaimed romance hater, actually. she hates romance more than a pessimistic munch after his not-girlfriend, felicia, dumped all his shit on the front steps of their not-shared apartment. actually, y'know who she hates more than how much munch hates felicia? her ex-husband, neo! oh..and she *checks notes* likes muffins and iced french vanilla coffee.

— anderson's QUOTES...

⟢ - "god..what's that smell?" alexandria gags as she walks into the unit's kitchen. as she discovers the source she grumbles in disdain. "munch, stop ruining our perfectly good beans trying to make coffee! now i have to go downstairs for a cup."

⟢ - "oh, shi—" alexandria's voice is cut off as she collided with a strong chest. as she pulls back she looks up. "oh.." her voice trails off as she stares up at the rookie, tim bayliss, falling head over heals for the taller detective.

⟢ - "do you know why giardello always introduces me as dr. anderson instead of detective?" alexandria's head cocks to the side as she glances over to munch.

— the pessimistic cop!

john munch is one of the most annoying, attention seeking detectives within the whole of the homicide unit. at least, that's what his partner, bolander, describes him as. he likes black coffee, conspiracy theories and well...alexandria anderson. god, don't say that to him out loud! he's gonna deny, deny, and deny until he's red in the face and you recognize that he is not montel williams. huh, you don't know that means? well...just know that he is not montel williams and that's a fact! and you know what's not a fact? that he likes alexandria anderson! ah-hem. and he likes chocolate.

— munch's QUOTES...

⟢ - "hey, at least my coffee is better than whatever diabetic concoction you drink everyday, anderson." munch chastised as he snatched the pot of coffee from alexandria's hands.

⟢ - "dr. munch..." bolander says as munch punches away at his typewriter. after the fifth time the name rolls off his tongue, munch shoots him a glare. "dr. alexandria munch." bolander teases again as munch huffs. "i don't like her. why can't you guys let me wallow in self pity about my failed relations without instigating a non existent school boy cru-" munch's voice halts as he hears alexandria's distant laughter and bayliss's hushed tone. "how about dr. anderson-munch?" "shut up!"

⟢ - munch sighs as he places his coffee down, tilting his head in such a way that his and alexandria's faces were closer than normal. "because he knows people still see you as less than themselves so he wants to make sure that when they talk to you that they do so with respect."

last minute notes: oh my god, this took so long to do! i started it this morning and finally finished it tonight. if you have any questions about this dr then let me know. expect more about it anyway because i love this dr so so much. okay, bye!

[peppermintmagicianlynn]

TimBer Week 2024: Bernard's Birthday

TimBer Week 2024 Day #6: Bernard's Birthday

This one is set in an AU where the Grieves Trio made it to senior year. Oh, also Darla has magic. Because.

--

“Happy birthday, you filthy animal!”

Bernard had two seconds to turn around and brace himself before Darla came flying into his arms. He managed to catch and spin for two rotations before he started to wobble. Luckily, Tim was there to support both of their weight. Other students sent them dirty looks for blocking the school hallway, but the trio paid them no mind. They were always like this.

“Thanks Dal, but I feel that in light of my new age, you should add Mister or Sir in there.”

She gave him a remarkably unimpressed look, considering she was clinging to him like a koala. “Or I could turn you into a frog and you can just be a filthy animal.” She raised two fingers, letting them spark with red magic as a threat.

Bernard, who never backed down from anything, replied. “As long as Tim will kiss me back to a prince, go for it. That’s the best Birthday gift I could want.”

Tim let them both fall into a giggling heap on the floor.

—

“But what do you actually want for your birthday, Bern?” Tim kept his tone casual, hoping to offset how badly he want to hold hos boyfriend’s hand as they walked the halls to lunch. They did that now and then, but Tim didn’t feel like glaring at all the shit-talkers who had a problem with their PDA. He wanted all of his attention ready for what Bernard would say next.

“You know I don’t,” the blond replied, bumping their shoulders together. “My parents max out my gift limit every time a sale comes out. I guess they think if they preemptively get me stuff, I won’t ask for anything else during the holidays. I don’t know if I’m more annoyed that that plan always works or that they know me enough to get things I actually kind of like. I hope to God they aren’t secretly mind-readers.”

“Nah, you’re just easy to read. If the Dowds were mind-readers, they would know about our plan to get you into culinary school and skip out on that biomed college you got a scholarship for. Just 7 more months before I can get the trust fund Mom left me.”

“If you’re not going to let me fight crime with you, you don’t get to pay my way through life. That was the deal, remember?”

“Hey,” Darla clapped her hands to cut off their bickering, “less sugar-baby debates and more discussions about birthday fun. This a big year, guys; we have to do something for it!”

“We’re not going to Trampoline Planet again, are we?”

“I think we’re banned from there, babe.”

“Yeah, but Aquista money gets us into a lot of places we’ve been banned from.”

Darla ignored them both, using her phone to quickly google some ideas for how to celebrate a friend’s birthday. She saw a promising idea though it would be very hard to pull off on such short notice. Maybe if she asked her mother… Darla glanced behind her, where Bern and Tim were shoving each other and giggling like saps. As long as they were distracted, Darla might manage to send some texts out and get this done.

Bernard would love it.

--

“Thank you everyone for joining today’s French Cuisine class!” Despite her heavy French accent, the instructor was bright and peppy as she grinned out over the class. “We arranged for this lesson on very short notice, I know, but I am glad to see so many of you are here. Our dish for today: a simple and elegant chocolate soufflé!”

Bernard squealed in delight.

As soon as school had let out, Darla threw them into her limo and had her drivers take them to the local community center. There was a cooking class that had spontaneously decided to host a lesson this afternoon and there were exactly three open spots available, which was just so perfect as their Bernard-Birthday activity! She’d pointedly ignored Tim’s suspicious glare while taking in Bernard’s sun-bright grin. The only thing he loved more than conspiracy theories (but less than trolling his friends) was learning new dishes.

Tim, however, had some reservations. The instructor had provided neatly drawn diagrams on the whiteboard to help if they got lost, but the detective could only stare at them like he was in desperate need of a codebreaker. He might excel in chemistry, but the baking arts still eluded him at times. Bernard offered him an empathetic pat on the back, taking a moment to admire his cute boyfriend in his sleek black apron they’d all been given, but really couldn’t contain his excitement for this class. Chocolate soufflés were one of Bernard’s favorite desserts and he was stoked to learn how to make them himself.

While the instructor went on with her explanation of the ingredients, Bernard gave her his full attention. Tim leaned into Darla's side to hiss, “We could have just cone to a restaurant, you know.”

“He loves interactive junk like this. Plus, we have a professional here so you can’t burn the place down.”

“I’m not taking that from the witch-wannabe who blew up a microwave. You’re lucky Raven owed me a favor, or else you’d have Shadowpact on your ass.”

“I couldn’t figure out how to change the temperature settings! Besides, you did worse. Dana still doesn’t know about the ‘additions’ you made to her food processor, does she?!”

Bernard placed a hand on either of their dark-haired heads and turned them gently to look towards the front of the room instead of shooting glares at one another. The rest of the class had already started following instructions, but the teacher was sending the three of them dirty looks for slacking off. You could tell she wasn’t fond of having rambunctious teenagers in her oh-so-elegant French cuisine class. The trio arranged themselves to the ‘innocent angels’ formation and this seemed to convince her they were not going to be any more trouble. Naïve.

Despite Tim's worries, they worked well together even in the kitchen. Tim chopped the chocolate, Darla measured the ingredients, and Bernard cracked the eggs and stirred the pot while they poured everything in as needed. Bernard laughed at the faces they made when he started zesting the orange peel into the chocolate. "I promise you, if you avoid the white parts, this does help make it delicious."

Darla opened her mouth to make a joke, but Tim pinched her before she could get the first syllable out, turning her word into a shriek. This got them yet another aggravated glare from the teacher, and Bernard quickly put the zester out of reach before it could become a weapon.

When it was time to whip the eggwhites, Bernard left it to Tim. He made a hesitant face when Bernard handed over the whisk, but Darla was making faces behind Bernard’s back so he had to take up the task. Bernard watched him struggle to move the whisk fast enough while controlling the bowl but after he nearly flipped the entire thing, it seemed like he’d need to rescue him.

Bernard stepped behind Tim, wrapping his arms around the raven-haired boy to help steady both his boyfriend and the bowl. He gently guided Tim's hands to hold the whisk at the right angle, showing him how to make smooth, controlled movements.

"Like this," Bernard murmured near Tim's ear, helping him create a rhythmic motion. "You want to incorporate air into the whites, but not too violently." Their hands moved in sync, watching as the egg whites slowly began to transform from liquid to soft peaks.

Tim leaned back slightly against Bernard's chest, focusing on matching the steady pace Bernard had set. After a few minutes, the egg whites began forming stiff, glossy peaks that held their shape.

"Perfect," Bernard said softly, giving Tim's hands a gentle squeeze. "See? You're a natural. Darla, would you add a pinch of salt?"

"Sure. I guess I have to serve some purpose around here."

Tim's back muscles tensed, signaling he was about to make a snarky comment. Bernard gently tapped his forehead against the back of his boyfriend's head—a warning not to pick a fight that put their creation at risk. Tim settled for flipping Darla off instead, keeping his words to himself.

Folding the whipped cream and chocolate together was Darla’s job. Mainly because Bernard didn’t want to let Tim go, so she would have to carry them now. “You got this, I believe in you.” This was muttered into Tim’s fluffy hair as they rocked back and forth together, but Bernard trusted her to know who that message was for.

Speaking of messages, there was a beep coming from Tim’s short collar that meant one of the Bats needed attention. They’d all had to remove their watches (and the bat-tech Tim had implanted in them) but he’d kept the mini receiver just in case. Bernard released his boyfriend to run out into the hall for a “personal call” while Bernard continued to not help Darla.

“You think it’s Robin on the other side? I think Tim mentioned Oracle is ‘down for maintenance’ so he had to be the call center.” Though Tim had moved on to a new name and mostly patrolled their neighborhood, he and the Bats still helped each other out. Bernard had even seen the Girl Wonder swinging through the streets when that gang war had popped off last year. She’d helped Batman save Gotham, though it was Batgirl and Nightwing who’d helped Tim save their school from those gunmen.

“Don't worry about that, Bear,” Darla said, using her magic to pull him into her side. It was as much of a comforting hug as she could offer while scooping chocolate-cream mix into the rest of the whipped cream. “Robin is way too good for Tim Drake.”

“Then what does that make me?”

“His perfect match.”

“Damn right.”

Bernard ladled the souffle mix into their cups, Darla cleaned up the edges, and Tim took over to the kitchen ovens where they would bake with the rest of the class. This left them 15 minutes to clean up their station and NOT look like total delinquents.

Which of course was when it all went wrong and this time, Bernard was at fault.

Bernard had been tasked with wiping down their station while Tim and Darla handled the dishes. Everything was going smoothly until Bernard had noticed a particularly stuck-on glob of chocolate. He poured on the elbow grease and took a step to the side, right where Darla had accidentally spilled dish soap. With a shriek, Bernard slipped backwards and crashed into the dish rack. Tim was fast enough to catch the dishes before they smashed on the floor, but Darla was knocked into the leftover flour and egg containers. Bernard made a desperate grab for the eggs but only succeeded in batting the basket sideways—launching them into another group’s perfectly clean cooking area. The flour went right into the sink where they’d left the water running.

It was like a nuke had gone off, a cloud of wet flour exploded out to coat all three teens and most of the surrounding area in a sticky paste. The instructor's shriek could probably be heard from the parking lot. "Mon Dieu! What have you done to my kitchen?!"

Bernard turned to his flour-covered friends with an apologetic grin. "Um... oops?"

Tim set aside the dishes in his hands, the only thing left unscathed, trying and failing to look stern. "This is why we can't have nice things."

"At least it wasn't me this time," Darla said cheerfully, looking like a ghost with her flour-whitened hair and stretched out on the floor where she’d landed.

Bernard wasn’t that surprised that their day trip ended with being kicked out of the lessons, only enough time to return their aprons, and left to sit on the front steps of the community center until Darla’s limo came to pick them up. “Well, that could have gone better.”

"Sorry," Tim and Darla said at the same time. They were self-aware enough to take credit for helping push the instructor to their breaking point.

"Nah, it's okay. The chaos is what I like most about spending time with you two." He leaned over to kiss Darla on the cheek. "Thanks for setting this all up, Dall."

"Hey," Tim grumbled, pulling on his sleeve.

Bernard laughed, turning to face his boyfriend. "And thank you too, boy wonder. I wouldn't have had such a great year without you in my life." The kiss he gave to Tim was on the lips, naturally.

"You're welcome, Bear." Tim smiled, with a touch of mischief. "Though, we aren't done yet."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of white candles. "I snatched this from the pantry on the way out. Darla?"

She grinned, eyes glowing as she waved one hand over her outstretched palm. Red smoke circled until a familiar white dish appeared from thin air.

"You stole one of our dishes?" Bernard grinned. It sure did pay to be best friends with a witch in training, even if her magic was a little bit evil.

"Make a wish!" Darla demanded, setting the soufflé into Bernard's hands while Tim put in a candle. Darla snapped her fingers to light the wick.

Bernard looked between his best friends in the world and really couldn't think of anything else he would want.

So he blew out the candle and made a simple wish: to be with them again like this, next year.

[thedvilsinthedetails]

Rosekiller band au microfic!!!

hey guys, I wrote the first microfic in the lil series I’m doing, you can find the original idea for it here

ik I’d said I’d wait but I’m impatient hahaha

(some of the ppl that asked to be tagged if i ever wrote it: @always-reading @blu3stars @chaoticgaywitch @1284646imjusthere @depressedtheatrekiddo @idk-what-to-put-here-123)

anyway just wrote this pretty quickly so it might have some mistakes n stuff sorry abt that I don’t do grammar or punctuation anyway here you go, enjoy:

(EDIT: link to part 2)

••• Pink lipstick stains, cigarette butts

I lie in bed, I hate my guts

A day in the dark 

A muddled afternoon, yeah

Barty pressed his cheek close to Evan as they sang into the same microphone. He could feel the buzz of the music through the vibration of the stage below him. 

Oh baby darling how I long 

To become your suicide blonde

He ran a hand through Evan’s platinum curls as he sung the line. Evan leaned into it, eyes meeting Barty’s, grinning as he sung. 

To lie beside my Romeo

Oh what a wicked way to go

Evan’s fingers moved deftly on the guitar, he lifted a hand, twirled the pick in his hand before resuming immediately, he didn’t take his eyes off Barty the entire song. 

•••

“Ah fucking hell look at the comments Bee.”

Evan was sat at the base of the sofa, scrolling through the comments on a video of their performance last night. He held the phone up to Barty on the sofa, who squinted before taking it and reading it out to the room.

“Skittlefiend57 says ‘omg Blarty and Evan! I’m so gone 4 them u guys’”

“Blarty?”

Regulus raised an eyebrow.

“We’ve been getting my name wrong all these years guys. Wow that’s a crazy thing to discover at 23.”

“Bad spelling aside, there’s way more. And it’s not all good stuff.”

Evan said and Barty looked back down at the comments. 

“Barty and Evan are queerbaiting, they act so gay but they’re not dating. It’s all clearly faked to get attention. Fucking pathetic. Why thank you peenisonapizza. Glad to see you know us personally and can therefore speak on our behalf.”

“Don’t know why they’re obsessed with accusing a band with two trans guys of queer baiting.”

Evan pinched his furrowed brow and shook his head in disbelief.

“They don’t even care about the fucking music, just us and whether we’re dating or not.”

Barty laid down on the sofa, dropping one arm around Evan and resting his chin on Evan’s shoulder.

“Hey cheer up Rosie. They care about the music. There’s a few assholes but that’s a given. If they weren’t talking about us acting gay they’d be talking about whether my tattoos are real or fake.”

“Or some conspiracy theory that Reggie’s not actually lactose intolerant.” 

Pandora chipped in.

“I’m not lactose intolerant!”

Regulus replied indignantly.

“Is that you talking or your obsession with chocolate?”

Dorcas rolled her eyes as she spoke. Regulus avoided her gaze as he mumbled out a half hearted response.

“Remus got me hooked on Tony’s chocolonely.”

While the rest of the group squabbled Evan leaned his head back against Barty’s shoulder, he pulled out his phone.

***

Evan.Rosier✔️

Hey everyone, I’ve noticed there’s a lot of speculation about me and @Barty.Grouch.JR and I wanted to say that it’s none of your business, you can think what you like but please don’t ask us or spam comment sections with theories. As always thank u so much for listening to our music, the skittles luv u x

***

Evan breathed in and passed the phone to Barty.

“You think this is good?”

Barty read it over and nodded.

“You’ve been really nice about it too.”

Evan huffed out a laugh.

“I was normal about, not my fault you would have said something like-“

“Roses are red, violets are blue, you are a cunt and I hate you @peenisonapizza.”

Barty took a small bow, flourishing his hand dramatically. Evan turned around and flicked him in the leg, which only succeeded in making him laugh. 

 “Ok I’ve posted it.”

Evan clicked post and watched as the ‘likes’ number quickly began to climb.

“Now I’m just not gonna read the comments on that post.”

Evan huffed out a laugh and Barty patted his shoulder.

“Good on you Rosie. Now who wants to watch a movie?”

Evan clambered onto the sofa next to Barty who leaned against him immediately, head resting on his shoulder.

“Rosie.”

Barty whispered.

“Yeah Bee?”

“Give me your phone. Look we both know it will bother you all evening not reading those comments if you have your phone on you. Just- out of sight out of mind, I’ll give it back to you once the movie is over but you deserve to have an evening off.”

Barty’s eyes were wide, expression genuine as he spoke. Evan hesitated then reached in his pocket for his phone.

“Don’t spam it with photos alright?”

A smirk spread on Barty’s face quickly, eyes sparkling.

“I make no promises Ev.”

Evan rolled his eyes but handed the phone over. 

The movie was something Pandora had picked, something from the late 80s, a strange mix of fantasy, reality and meta theatre that Evan actually didn’t hate.

Still he drifted to sleep at some point watching it, the stress of the day had clearly gotten to him and something about the way the top of Barty’s head made for a great pillow probably didn’t help.

Either way he woke up to the feeling of Barty shaking him.

“Come on sleeping beauty, let’s get you to a real bed. Here’s your phone back.”

Evan rubbed his eyes and got up, stumbling to his room as thanked Barty in a half asleep murmur.

He got to his room and turned on his phone, wincing at the glaring brightness, turning it down quickly. He opened his photos app, just as he’d suspected his camera roll was filled with new photos.

He began to scroll through them. There was one of his friends, all waving at the camera. A zoomed in shot of Inigo Montoya‘s face on the TV screen from a funny angle. Himself, looking dumb, sleeping with his mouth slightly open. He scrolled to the next picture and stopped. Barty with that cheeky grin of his, curled up against Evan, flipping off the camera. Eyes twinkling in that way that always made Evan feel a little warmer, a little brighter. He fell asleep again dreaming of a body pressed against his in a hug, the hum of a movie no longer playing, soft hair tickling his face and mischief painted in big brown eyes. 

For info about the position they’re sat in (it’s clear in my mind but I’m not sure how clear it is in the description), the song that they are playing and the movie they watch, look below the read more:

Position they are in before Evan gets on the sofa, red is Evan, green is Barty - yes Barty is uncomfortable, yes he would sit like that anyway bc Barty will do fucking contortion to be able to hug Evan argue with a wall

Don’t question the drawing skills, I can’t draw and did it in a moving vehicle

the song is EVOL by MARINA

the movie is the princess bride suggested by the lovely @lulublack90 who u shld defo check out bc she’s rlly amazing at writing

(Oh also Evan and Reggie are both trans in this)

[sadquickchristmassnowman]

hey so i’m new to the community fandom and i really love trobed. i was wondering what was your trobed centric episode masterlist like? or if it’s possible, is there a way to send me the post? sorry i’m new to tumblr so i’m still learning how this app works. if you see this, thanks :)

hi, welcome! I've found that community tumblr is probably my favorite fandom space I've ever been involved in, and I hope you've had a good experience so far. I totally get the New App Learning Curve thing, I'm historically very shit at learning how to use new apps, even though I'm "young" (20), but I eventually got it and you will too, Trust 👍👍👍

anyway, Yes one of the first things I did on here after joining was make a trobed-centric episode masterlist for someone who was asking lmfao. since it was one of the First things I did there's some formatting and other things I'd do differently now, and I've actually been looking for an excuse to go ahead and get that done, so. here we go.

the trobed-centric episode masterlist (revamped)

1x05: advanced criminal law

plot B

abed takes the "friends mess with each other" rule too far; he creates a whole fake language and spends a lot of money on trying to convince troy that he is an alien

"from now on, abed, friends don't mess with each other"

(this is the first time they do their signature handshake)

1/5 gayness, pretty platonic

1x10: environmental science

plot B

it's the "somewhere out there" episode what more do I need to say

3/5 gayness, something's happening fs

1x11: the politics of human sexuality

plot C

abed keeps beating troy in athletic competitions, making troy feel threatened. he eventually admits that abed is the better athlete and they make up

2/5 gayness, pretty platonic but it has its moments

1x22: the art of discourse

plot C

troy and abed work to complete abed's list of quintessential freshman year of college experiences list

2/5 gayness, they repeatedly put completing the list above looking cool in front of women

1x25: pascal's triangle revisited

plot C

troy is moving out of his dad's house and wants to move in with abed, but abed says no because he's afraid being that close and spending that much time together will result in constant annoyance, and will destroy their friendship

troy realizes that "too much of a good thing can be bad" and instead agrees to move in with pierce

1/5 gayness

2x02: accounting for lawyers

part of plot A

jeff gets sucked back into his old life as he reconnects with alan, a coworker from his old law firm. troy, abed, and annie try to gather proof that jeff's friend is the one who got him fired in the first place

more trobedison centric, and is actually the first episode where the three of them are established as a Trio™

"all I heard was suck" "YOU CHLOROFORMED THE JANITOR" "I usually have one foot out of reality and even I'm freaking out right now"

1/5 gayness, pretty platonic. they're the sillies ever I love trobedison

2x06: epidemiology

part of plot A

it's the zombie episode, come ON

trobed have coordinating costumes but troy bails during the party because he doesn't want to look lame and nerdy in front of women, which hurts abed's feelings

abed sacrifices himself to save troy once they are the last two standing during the "rabies pathogen" breakout

"I love you" "I know" (oh my GODDD sedate me)

5/5 gayness. you get it.

2x09: conspiracy theories and interior design

plot B

the original blanket fort 💯💯💯

2/5 gayness, just guys bein silly (and in love???)

2x15: early 21st century romanticism

plot B

troy and abed fall for the same girl and decide to take her to the valentine's dance together, after which she can decide which one of them she wants to date

she picks troy, but troy gets upset that she didn't pick abed (because why wouldn't she pick abed, he's so cool) and breaks it off almost immediately

I"happy valentine's day" "it is now"

5/5 gayness jesus christ this one is INSANE

2x18: custody law and eastern european diplomacy

plot B

britta likes troy and abed's new friend, lukka, who she finds out is a literal war criminal. she keeps this information from troy and abed because she doesn't want to ruin their friendship with him, but they find out eventually

2/5 gayness they're attached at the hip in this one

2x19: critical film studies

random moments

this episode is more focused on jeff and abed, but there's a lot of classic Troy Gets Jealous™ moments so I decided to include it. plus the end tag is them randomly having dinner together at the fancy restaurant (a date 😔)

basically troy is afraid that jeff is a cooler friend to abed than him

3/5 gayness even though they barely interact, troy is so silly

2x20: competitive wine tasting

part of plot B

I almost didn't include this one, and it's not even on my original list, but whatever

troy pretends to be traumatized, originally to seem less shallow in his acting class, but he keeps it going in order to attract britta. he tells abed about it and abed Does Not Like That At All

"troy. nothing good can come of this"

I wouldn't call abed being jealous a Rare Occurrence but he generally conceals it way better than troy does

2/5 gayness, could be interpreted as abed just worried about relationships forming under false pretense, but to Me he's jealous

2x22: applied anthropology and culinary arts

plot C

pierce buys the rights to troy and abed's handshake (a la Indecent Proposal) which "corrupts" it

"pierce tainted our special handshake with his blood money and now we can't get the magic baaaack :((((("

eventually they do indeed get the magic back

3/5 gayness idk there's something about the way they interact in this one that is inexplicably gay to me lmao

3x01: biology 101

plot C plus random moments

"speaking of figuring things out, me and abed have an announcement" "..." "troy and I are living together :D"

cougartown gets moved to midseason, then cougarton abbey ends after 6 episodes, abed's routine keeps getting thrown off, and troy is just extremely supportive and protective throughout

4/5 gayness troy loves him a lot!!!!!!

3x03: remedial chaos theory

random moments

(I know this ep is listed as 3x04 on streaming services but in canon it takes place here and on the dvds it's listed as 3x03. there's a joke about it in the episode too if you didn't know. anyway)

"troy and abed's new apartment!!!" "bienvenido a la casa chez trobed!" "wanna stay up all night talking in our bunk beds?"

all their pictures on the wall and their matching suits lol

the end tag "evil troy and evil abed" & troy's soft "what's wrong :("

3/5 gayness they're lowkey married your honor

3x05: horror fiction in seven spooky steps

random moments

troy's whole story he tells where they Literally become attached at the hip

"my partner"

troy dancing while abed's humming daybreak

2/5 gayness

3x06: advanced gay

plot B

troy deciding whether he wants to do plumbing or air conditioning and deciding all he really wants to do is watch tv with abed

gay symbolism? gay symbolism? gay symbolism?

4/5 gayness mostly for the conversation at the hawthorne wipes gathering. I could write an essay on just that

3x07: studies in modern movement

plot A

annie moves in with troy and abed. very trobedison centric

"kiss me woodsman troy!"

3/5 gayness once again casually in love they're soulmates your honor

3x09: foosball and nocturnal vigilantism

plot B

annie breaks abed's $200 special edition dark knight dvd set on accident, trobedison shenanigans ensue yippee!!!

"awww is that the grappling hook I got you for christmas???"

3/5 gayness for the same reasons as before

3x10: regional holiday music

part of plot A

literally putting this on here just because of the christmas infiltration rap (and baby boomer santa)

3/5 gayness it's glee club what can you do

3x11: contemporary impressionists

plot A

(once again, I know this episode is listed as 3x12 on streaming services, but in canon it's supposed to chronologically be here, and is listed as 3x11 on the dvds)

the study group helps abed pay off his debts to a celebrity impersonator website by playing characters at a bar mitzvah (after troy scolds them for trying to ground abed in reality)

they have an argument at the end ugh

3/5 gayness troy loves abed a lot and abed doesn't realize that he's doing something wrong

3x12: urban matrimony and the sandwich arts

plot C

(see the above disclaimer about episode order)

troy and abed decide to be normal for shirley's wedding rehearsal

troy and abed being normal 🤝

4/5 gayness they blow off a girl to be weird again

3x13: digital exploration of interior design

plot C

blanket fort: redux (oh god)

vice dean laybourne escalates what started as a minor disagreement in order to drive a wedge between troy and abed. it works

5/5 gayness, if a sitcom doesn't have the two codependent fanonical gays go through an unnecessarily dramatic "break up" then I don’t want it

3x14: pillows and blankets

plot A

����troy and abed are in conflict🎶 *cries*

pillow fort vs. blanket fort

they eventually make up but not before they hurt each others' feelings a Lot

5/5 gayness the dramatics jesus christ

3x16: virtual systems analysis

random moments

so this episode is more focused on abed and annie, and troy and abed actually don't Technically interact with each other very much at all, but. you know

abed kinda freaks out when troy and britta go on a date because it "messes with the fabric of the group" (🤨 I know what you are)

troy calls annie to "check on abed" boy you are on a date with a woman

4/5 gayness just from subtext you get it

3x17: basic lupine urology

random moments

troy and abed play detective as they try to figure out who sabotaged the group's biology project

"we can't both do the zinger"

4/5 gayness no explanation

3x19: curriculum unavailable

random moments

the study group is expelled from greendale and abed gets arrested for spying on campus, so he's supposed to have a psychological evaluation

troy is just very protective of him in this episode, plus the flashback clip where he and Annie are comforting him as he's freaking out about daylight savings

"our adventures are VERY manly"

4/5 gayness

3x21: the first chang dynasty

random moments

oof baboof with you two! (all the plumber shenanigans are hilarious)

mostly putting this one on here for the goodbye scene at the end of the episode, though. god

"he said, 'I know you hate when people do this in movies.' sorry I got emotional"

3x22: introduction to finality

plot B

abed "goes crazy" without troy (who's off at a/c repair school)

when troy comes back he prioritizes abed over britta (who he supposedly has romantic feelings for)

"I miss abed so much" "you're afraid you'll go crazy without troy"

4/5 gayness one could say they're a little codependent

4x03: conventions of space and time

plot A

troy gets jealous of (read: goes "psycho girlfriend on") abed's new inspector spacetime superfan friend toby

britta, even as troy's literal girlfriend, calls abed troy's boyfriend and supports troy through the whole thing

"for the first time in my long history of being locked inside things, I knew someone would come" let me just put my head through my wall really quick

5/5 gayness even though troy has a whole gf. that's how gay this episode is

4x11: basic human anatomy

plot A

troy and abed pretend to switch bodies, like in freaky friday, in order to help troy process his feelings about his relationship with britta

5/5 gayness holy SHIT y'all. I could write thousands of words on this episode. it is so hard to justify troy's actions in this one without reading him as a closeted gay person not lying

5x03: basic intergluteal numismatics

random moments

including this one because of how abed comforts troy and pushes him around in a wheelchair for the entire episode

3/5 gayness it's the casual married-ness again smh

5x04: cooperative polygraphy

random moments

this is another one I didn't include on my original list but I decided fuck it

the bit uncovering the actual origin of their patented handshake is so funny "I can't even look at you right now" "then you should know I'm crying"

also just the. look on abed's face when troy agrees to go on the trip at the end. "cool. cool cool cool." "that's a lie" UGHHHHH

4/5 gayness again. so typical

5x05: geothermal escapism

plot A

do I need to say a word

ouch ouch ouch OUCH

5/5 gayness especially the deleted dialogue from the last scene (I've posted it before but lmk if you don't know what I'm talking about. disclaimer it makes me want to launch myself off the empire state building)

alright. there it is folks. I was going to make another subsection of other random iconic trobed moments and cite the episodes they're from but basically every single episode has at least one, so that list would be Way too long to qualify as a supplement to this one lmao. however! if you have a Trobed Moment™ stuck in your head (or any Moment for that matter) and you can't remember which episode it's from feel free to ask me, I'm confident that my internal community database will be able to Remind You. anyway. hope this was helpful. bye

[utilitycaster]

fascinating how some people are acting like Liliana’s one of the vulnerable teenagers the RV has recruited and not a powerful, presumably level 20 general who’s committed horrific atrocities in the name of predathos. it’s like saying alex jones is a victim of qanon instead one of the primary peddlers of it. I get having sympathy, especially for for the troubled young mother 25+ years ago, but genuinely. what is going on here?

Hey anon,

Something I've noticed in fandom, not exclusive to this campaign, though perhaps heightened, is that a lot of people really struggle with the concept that victimhood does not absolve you of wrongdoing. It provides context; but it doesn't take away what happened to others as the result of one's actions, even those actions were taken under extenuating circumstances.

Caleb Widogast is perhaps one of the most stellar examples of this in Critical Role. There were many extenuating circumstances. He was an abused and manipulated teenager. His parents are dead by his hand. These are both true statements. Part of what makes Caleb so compelling is that he is, on an intellectual level, well aware that he was pushed into this in many ways both psychological and magical, and that he was a child. He also acknowledges - truthfully - that it was still him putting the pieces together of "my parents are traitors, and so I should do as I'm told here." The story is about him finding a way to move forward and live his life, but the victims - his parents - cannot forgive him, and the campaign indeed ends with a very clear message that what is done cannot be undone.

But not everyone liked Caleb's story. Some felt he should have been less forgiving of others and killed the entire Cerberus Assembly for letting it happen. Some felt he was unforgivable even by himself for his actions. And some disagreed with him - including in-world - and argued he bore no responsibility, and, notably, Caleb consistently pushed back.

I don't think Liliana is quite at the level of Alex Jones (who is, in my opinion, pretty much wholly unsympathetic; I've read through some articles regarding the Sandy Hook defamation trials and this guy just wants to sell supplements and will do anything to do so). But yes, she is comparable to someone actively pushing dangerous conspiracy theories and bringing others in. That is, again, the thing about cults. Even if you're not at the top, if you're recruiting others, or, in the case of cults that do harm to those other than just members - which the Vanguard undeniably does - participating in harmful external actions, then you are perpetrating violence. You are also a victim. These can coexist, but victimhood does not negate the harm done. Liliana is sympathetic. She is also actively making the lives of many people worse.

Now, some of the problem is that there are people who think releasing Predathos is not, in fact, bad, and so to them Liliana is not complicit in a sufficient level of harm. I'm not really interested in wasting my time on them; that line of thinking is pretty fundamentally at an impasse with mine and as discussed previously I find it rests entirely on incoherent and presumptive arguments linked only by broken metaphors and rank hypocrisy. But moving on, I think some of the other people arguing in defense of Liliana not just as a sympathetic character (which, again, she is) but as someone blameless and deserving of endless patience are perhaps struggling to separate "it is not helpful to endlessly flagellate yourself over past wrongdoings if you have truly made a turn for the better" with "some people will not forgive you, ever, because you have undeniably harmed them, and you are not owed anything from them." You have to live with yourself; of course you should grant yourself patience. Those hurt by you do not need to do so. If someone is brainwashed by a cult and they kill someone, the relatives of the murder victim might forever hold this against the murderer despite the brainwashing, and I, personally, do not believe this is wrong of them. I don't believe it's "inspirational" to forgive someone who hurt you sufficiently badly except in the sense that it would be put in the "inspirational" section of an airport bookstore that really means "extremely Evangelical Protestant in outlook." I don't think you should hurt them back once they've stopped doing harm, but you might never want to speak to them or interact with them again and I think you are valid in that choice. I certainly believe that any forgiveness can only come after a sustained pattern of change.

In short: I think people want a very Good or Evil narrative about Liliana when the answer is "she's a victim and she's also victimizing others, and it's valid for those harmed by her or by those she works with closely to say "I am deeply sorry you fell into Ludinus's clutches but the devastation you are leaving in your wake isn't something I can ignore or, at this point, forgive." As Ashton says, the fact that Liliana is deep in a cult doesn't negate the fact that there's a very real chance that same cult will kill her daughter - indeed, they came within a hair's breadth of doing so - and that that hasn't stopped her.

[themisinformer]

Opinion: If Homosexuality Isn’t Contagious, Then How Come I Get Homosexual Thoughts Whenever I’m Around My Gay Cousin?

Nowadays, we live in an age where the LGBT agenda is being shoved down everyone’s throats. Back when I was a kid, there was no such thing as “bisexual” or “transgender” or whatever, we were all just proud Americans. But now that we gave this LGBT Mafia of sorts a little bit of power, they want to use it so they can brainwash us all into becoming gay ourselves so they can take over the world.

Now, many of you guys may think I’m being extreme when I say this. Many of you have probably already written me off as some crazy “conspiracy theorist.” But my friends, I’m not just talking out of my ass right now. What I’m saying comes from my own personal experience.

My whole life, I’ve been nothing but a full blooded heterosexual man. Not once in my whole life did I have even have an ounce of homosexual tendencies. I was just your average American man who loved Monday Night Football, wings, and beer. That was until my cousin Danny came out as gay a few years ago.

Then, all of a sudden, I began to experience some “complicated” thoughts, so to speak. Danny was cool, funny, charming… He was Denny, and I just couldn’t get enough of him. These thoughts quickly turned sexual, and at that moment I just knew that Danny had had this planned up his sleeve this whole time.

You see, Danny had been infected with the gay, and there he was trying to infect me too. Like I said, as a part of the homosexual plot to take over the whole world. Whenever I try to explain this to people, they always just shut me down. My friends, my therapist, even Danny himself have all tried to assure me that you can’t just “catch” the gay like you might catch a cold.

But if that were the case, then how come I feel sudden urges to go vintage shopping and to discuss Beyoncé’s “Lemonade” only whenever Denny is around? It just goes to show how many people the LGBT Mafia have already brainwashed.

Before Danny came out, I was just a regular, straightforward guy. I used to do manly shit like watch Football and argue with people on Twitter about Donald Trump and Elon Musk. But now I see myself obsessing over pop divas and doing DIY projects. So why, I ask, have these thoughts crept in only after Danny became “openly” gay?

Maybe the LGBT Mafia really does have these powers that us straight folk are only beginning to understand. Ever since Danny became openly gay, I find myself more interested in exploring my “soft side.” Coincidence? I think not. He may say that he just wants to be himself, but every time he offers me a face mask or suggests that we go to the karaoke bar together, I can’t help but feel like I’m being gently lured into his flamboyant way of life.

But hey, maybe I’m just overthinking things. Maybe these feelings truly are harmless. Maybe this is just some friendly empathy that I’m feeling, or maybe Danny’s enthusiasm is inspiring my own self reflection. Or… Maybe not.

And so, I still remain deeply suspicious. So if homosexuality really isn’t contagious, then why, oh why, does every brunch place suddenly sound so appealing to me now? Why do I want to try Kombucha and actually learn how to dance? Danny may say that it’s just me being “open minded,” but open minded or not, I just can’t help but wonder if maybe… Just maybe… This contagion theory is more true than anyone is willing to admit.

[crow-in-gotham]

BLOG POST NO. 12 - WTF IS A BATMAN

If there is one thing that I have learned about the people of this city, it is the fact that literally everyone here loves to gossip. Like seriously, you see it everywhere, from people of all ages, young or old. I’m not complaining about it by any means (I’m Filipino, being a marites is kinda in my blood) but it’s just a little bit jarring to be on the bus, just peacefully minding my own business, then suddenly overhear someone gossiping in the seats behind me.

Which is exactly what happened to me today on my ride to school.

The apparent topic of the day? The identity of the ever mysterious Batman.

I know, I know, the topic has been talked about so much that if you compiled all the conspiracy theories regarding this and printed it out, the amount of paper you’d fill up might just be enough to reach the halfway point between the Earth and the Moon.

But regardless of how overdone this topic is, it’s still a pretty interesting thing to talk about. After all, absolutely no one knows who Batman is, or if he’s even a man in the first place. For all we know, the “man” in his name might be a red herring and he’s actually some eldritch alien sent from beyond the Milky Way to lull the world into a false sense of security so he can open a portal into the Dark Dimension and take over the entire world as an evil overlord.

Too much? Yeah, I think so too— but hey, what else am I supposed to do during my Differential Equations class, actually listen to the lecture? Pssh, nahhh— my attention span is way too short to sit through an entire 3 hours of just constantly being bombarded by numbers (I am so fucked).

Anyway, back to the topic at hand— Batman’s identity.

I’ve seen so many theories floating around about this, but only two in particular are that memorable for me personally. Well, three if you count the last one (we’ll get to that).

The first theory was that it might be this dude named Harvey Dent (had to look him up— and man, all I can say is that I’m sorry), but uh certain events have completely debunked that. If you live in Gotham then you know exactly what I’m talking about, and if you don’t then uh go do a quick internet search, I’m too lazy to spoon feed you all the information you need (you gotta learn how to do your own research somehow).

Then there’s the whole “Batman is Bruce Wayne” thing which is like, okay, I know where they’re going with this but at the same time I’m kinda ehh on it, you know? For one, Bruce Wayne looks too much like a personified teddy bear (I have said this once and I’ve said it again) to be the civilian identity of the literal definition of darkness and “it’s not a phase” but bat furry coded. I just don’t think the dude that flirts with women and men (istg the amount of times the tabloids just conveniently skip past this— I know for a fact I’m not the only one who’s seen that photo of this dude grab the waist of that male reporter from the Daily Planet— I see them) every chance he gets is the same guy who puts on a bat costume (am I allowed to make another furry joke?) to beat up bad guys in the middle of the night.

So what I’m trying to get at here is that I see the point being made, and I acknowledge it, but I just feel like we need more concrete evidence, you know?

I hope to fuck that I did not just summon an entire mob to come after me for that last bit.

Anyhow, onto my final theory, which is the fact that Batman might just be a cryptid born from the shadows of Gotham herself. This connects to the whole “Gotham is alive” conspiracy that started circulating around a few years ago. I don’t know how popularized it is, but it ended up reaching me when I was browsing through some forums a couple weeks back and honestly, even if it’s not true, it makes for an interesting thought. Because hey, what if cities are alive? That’d be interesting (and is also mildly terrifying).

The basic idea of this theory is the fact that Batman, thanks to being a cryptid and all that, isn’t actually human and therefore doesn’t have a human identity. He’s just Batman. As for why Gotham made him in the form of a human, not many people really answer this question (or more like no one really bothers to ask), but here’s my thoughts: I think Gotham made Batman into a humanoid because we as humans are often more inclined to be comfortable with something if it’s in the form of something familiar to us (hence, human). Like, imagine if Batman wasn’t human and was something like a massive blur of shadow and tendrils— wouldn’t that freak you the fuck out? Regardless of whether or not it saved you, you’ll still feel fucking terrified of it. But if it’s someone that just looks like a dude in a costume, then doesn’t that make you a little less scared? (I say “a little less” because let’s be real, human or not, Batman excels in being terrifying)

Well, that’s all under the assumption that the whole “Batman is a Cryptid” and “Gotham is Alive” are true.

Or that Batman even exists.

I’m pretty sure he does but there’s a lot of people that are saying otherwise, so I feel like I should at least acknowledge the fact that some people think he’s not real? Like, I even have classmates who say that Batman is just a tale told to kids so they don’t misbehave and stay out for too long— which, okay, that’s fair. I’ve heard my fair share of scary stories and beings throughout my childhood as well to be honest— also from adults who thought it’d be a great way to keep me obedient (mostly my titos and titas, my ma and pa never really liked scaring me or my brother)

Buut, I’m going to have to disagree with those points because I’ve heard Red Hood talk to his little earpiece thing (yes, Red Hood, I know you have one, because literally every vigilante/hero in a team should— no, I do not care if you say you’re a crime lord, you saved me from a mugger, get over it). And you know who he called out to one time? Batman.

And okay, to be fair, Red Hood could’ve just said the name to keep convincing people that Batman is real when he’s not, but honestly I don’t think Mr. Bleeding Bat Symbol over here would be that dedicated in making Gotham believe in something that isn’t real.

But I digress.

Do I actually care about Batman's real identity? Absolutely not. As long as the dude doesn’t bother me then I have nothing against his questionable life choices (I mean come on, what kind of life choices lead you to dressing up like a crime fighting bat?).

And also he keeps Gotham marginally safer, I guess, so that’s a win in my book.

As for the whole “What’s Batman’s relationship with Bruce Wayne?”— I've also given it some thought.

And honestly a part of me thinks they might be exes… or divorced.

But that’s a ramble for another time— I need to study for my next class.

[fullofgutsndopamine]

sway (you’re swimming in my veins)

or: hasan is too big of an idiot to say he likes you, so he gets into fights to get your attention

or: you'll have to pry drunk, frat hasan from my cold dead hands

tw/creepy men, toxic masculinity, drunk people, alcohol, cursing, excessive use of “princess” as a pet name

the music is so fucking loud, you can't hear yourself think. Your hands are wrapped around a red solo cup of water, mostly to try to fit in it, to not draw attention to yourself- your eyes scan the crowd as you nod to the music, even though you don't know what this music is at all-

"You're staring." Your friend comes over, elbows you in your side, a smirk is covered up by the rim of the solo cup.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." You lie,

"Frat guys are gross and I simply like to stare at them like they're creatures at a zoo. Some sort of odd creature to point at in awe."

"Right," Sam, your best friend snorts at your elbow, "And this has nothing to do with that hasan guy, right?"

"hasan," you snort, eyes everywhere but at Sam, “i didn’t even remember that’s his name-“

Sam rolls her eyes, "You need to leave him alone. He's bad news. And no-not in the 'i can fix him' sort of way-in-the-this guy needs to be looked at professionally sort of way."

Your voice drops, "What happened?" You ask, like it's a conspiracy theory. And it almost is, in the way you've heard whispers of him, of the bad things he's done, friends grabbing each other's elbows and pulling each other in close, cupped hands to the others ears when he walks in-but no ones ever elaborated beyond a warning to keep away.

Sam sighs, a deep breath, like it's the weight of the world on her shoulders, even though she's just telling someone else's tragic backstory.

"He's-" another sigh, "Just a dick, okay? He talks with his hands, not his mouth. He's always trying to get into a fight. Just-watch him, alright?"

Your head whips around to the guy pushed in the corner, throwing ping pong balls into red solo cups, stopping long enough to yell and throw his fists over his head.

"We're looking at the same guy, right?" You push.

This guy has a mop of unruly curly hair on top of his head, how he stops every once in a while to nervously mess with it, a too big black hoodie on, these dark bags under his eyes-you wouldn't talk to him for the fun of it, but he definitely doesn't look like he'd cause any real harm.

"Just because someone looks harmless, doesn't mean they are. Remember that. I'll be right back, I gotta tell James we'll be ready to go soon."

and she squeezes your shoulder and is off to find her boyfriend. You roll your eyes, the two of them are practically connected at the hip, and it makes you even more self aware of how alone you are.

"Y'know, you look like a creep in the corner?" A voice enters next to you, making you jump. You've never seen this guy before, short, blonde hair a mop on top of his head. "Did I scare you? I'm scott” when he smiles it reveals a partially toothless smile.

you can feel your heartbeat in your ears. a hard thump in your ears. something is wrong, you can tell.

"N-No, I wasn't scared." You try and play it off with a smile, "My friend Sam is around. I should go look for her. Drunk people, yknow-" you laugh, turning to leave, when he reaches out, his hand grips your wrist, hard.

"Stay."

in the corner, hasan is half listening to his two fraternity brothers attempt to talk politics ("Bruh. if you actually think Trump is bad-“) begging his eyes not to glaze over, just nodding his head, when his eyes meet yours.

Originally, he's caught in almost a dead space stare, just somewhere to rest his tired eyes (he'll insist later that it was just that, nothing more. nothing less.) but when he sees you try and move your arm away from this guy and him advancing on you more, well-

"Hey-" He's by your side before he can even stop himself and his Ma's voice is in his head immediately: why are you putting yourself somewhere you don't belong? but he shakes his head, pushing the thought down deep, "What's the problem over here?"

and he stands up straight, arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed, trying to look intimidating because he always insist he isn't scary at all, even if his bruised knuckles say otherwise-

And you look, well-relieved and he hates how visibility less stressed you look now that he's here, like he's some sort of hero or as if he did anything big-

"No problem." The guy speaks right away, a slight slur on his lips that makes hasan roll his eyes.

"I think you should leave, Scott. I think they're uncomfortable." hasan keeps his voice low, you have to strain to hear it over the music.

"I think they're big enough to talk for themselves, yeah?" Scott smiles and it makes your skin crawl, an involuntary shiver coming out as you shrug his hand off your shoulder again.

"Get your hands off of them," hasan is taking a step towards Scott, "I'm not telling you again to leave them alone."

"hasan-"You try, not even knowing this guy, trying to talk him off the ledge, wondering if you're about to see what his reputation is here for.

"Yeah, hasan," Scott smirks, his voice high pitched, obviously making fun of you, "Listen to the little-"

Later, you'll insist you didn't see who threw the first punch, even if you definitely saw hasan’s knuckles collide with Scott's jaw first.

A small crowd forms around the two, and in Scott's defense, he gets a few good punches to hasan’s left eye before he's yanked away by a friend.

Sam finds you, tries to get you to leave, especially after this run in with Scott still has you on edge, but you insist you need to talk to him after his little stunt.

So naturally, that's how you find yourself holding his hand, dragging him upstairs to the bathroom, ripping off the out of order sign on the bathroom and shutting the door behind you. You set the toilet seat down and nudge him to sit down and he does, with a groan as goi go through cabinets.

"I didn't even get a thank you." He mumbles.

"Are-" your head pops out from behind a cabinet, where you're digging to find some kind of disinfectant, your narrowed at him, "are you pouting right now?"

He shrugs, staring straight ahead.

"I'm so sorry, but i can't take you serious with that bag of peas on your face." You manage to finally say, barely getting it out without laughing at him as he sets it on the counter.

"Here," You roll your eyes as you finally squat in front of him (even if he towers over you) "So you don't get an infection at the very least. Jesus, that's a nasty cut."

Your hand touches the edge of it and he winces,

"You sure you know what you're doing, princess?"

You look up long enough to glare at him, pouring some alcohol into the lid, decide his comment doesn't deserve an answer.

Instead, you do what you usually do when you're uncomfortable, and make jokes: "charming. haven’t been called princess in years-“ Sure, you've never talked to him but this feels like something someone would usually add onto the nasty impressions they do off him.

he pulls away as you put your hand to his face, his eyes narrowed, eyebrows one, "thanks, i like to think it’s original-“

You stare at him hard because he has to be joking.

“sure,” you level, knowing he won’t remember this in the morning, “i’m lying.”

He nods, satisfied with himself until he sees you unwrapping various supplies, spreading them out in front of you.

"You sure you know what you're doin', princess?”

your hand is against his face as your try to bite your tongue from pointing out the pet name , instead giving him a hard look as you bring the alcohol soaked pad to his eye.

"Fuck!" He finally yells, his hand flies to yours, rests on top of your hand, "Warn someone next time, why don't ya?"

"Can't handle a little alcohol?" you tease with a smirk, bringing gauze up to his eye to blot at it.

"You're a mess."

"You should see the other guy." He mumbles flatly with a groan, "So-that thank you? i'll take it now."

you finally look up and meet his eyes and he's smirking at you.

"Let me get this straight." You grab the peas and hold them, "you just got into a huge fight-in the middle of a party your frat is hosting and you want me to say thank you?"

"I was defending your honor, princess." He insists, that stupid smirk doesn't leave his face.

"I don't need anyone to defend me, certainly not you." You pick the peas up and put them back on his face, maybe with a little more pressure than necessary you hold them there for a second, "I'm leaving, so i won't be here to patch you up. Don't do anything stupid."

and you turn to leave before you do something stupid, like thank him for helping you, or worse-sees the pink splashed across your face.

three weeks pass before you see him again, and honestly-between midterms, your job and everything else in your life, you almost forget about his existance.

That is, as usual, until your eyes wander over to his again.

He sees you staring, and before your head can whip away from his, he gives you a smirk, a wink, throws back what's left in his cup and makes his way to you.

"Funny seeing you here, princess'" He smirks, leans down to talking your ear.

You roll your eyes, "Your frat is with mine. don't act like i'm here for any other reason."

you don't tell him how happy you are to have someone to talk to, always feel out of place at these parties, and he's like a forgotten puppy in a room at a party and you're happy to see him.

"Nah, not for another fifteen minutes or so” He smirks into his beer bottle, almost empty.

"Sorry."

you can tell by his smirk he isn't sorry at all.

and you aren't either, but you have a role to play up, so you groan.

"I gotta check on Sam, make sure she's still alive." you sigh, standing up, wiping imaginary dust off your pants.

"Awe, come on, princess. just five more minutes."

"Goodnight, hasan." you roll your eyes again, walking away.

so naturally, his first thought when Adam, who's equally as drunk as him, gives him a shove, is well, at least he'll see you again, as his hand collided with Adams jaw.

"we've gotta stop meeting like this." he smirks as he holds up the bag of peas to his nose, the fight now over and he sits on the hard title of the bathroom, his knees to his chest. you only knew about the fight because when people were tending to him after he asked for you specifically, by name.

"Is that the same fuckin' bag from three weeks ago?" you ask instead, "Jesus fuck, do y'all ever grocery shop?"

But, against your better judgment, your opening and closing cabinets for cleaner.

"They're frozen, it's fine." he insists as you kneel on the floor next to him and eh closes his eyes immediately when you sit next to him. "You smell nice." he adds.

"Fuck off, hasan." You groan, but you're grateful his eyes are shut so he doesn't see you blushing.

"i'm only speakin' the truth, princess' he smiles, his eyes shut, and he's feeling too confident-until there's more alcohol on his nose and he's groaning-

by first instinct-purely, first instinct, you insist-your hand reaches out and you wrap your hand around his. "You're fine. this should probably warrant a visit to the hospital." you sigh, his hand "You're fine. this should probably warrant a visit to the hospital." you sigh, his hand stays around yours.

"I'm fine." he sighs, opens one eye, still has his teeth barred from the alcohol. "Just stings a lil is all. Listen, lemme get you a drink.

“Just one."

"if i say no am i going to meet you in the bathroom again to patch you up?" you sigh.

"Probably." he smirks, shrugging. at least he's honest.

"One drink, that's it. And no more fights." he laughs, doesn't say anything at first as he stands, offers his hand and helps you up.

"Deal. c'mon, i know just the place." and you let him wrap his hands around yours, fingers interlocked as he leads the way.