#i may like gold better but idk if it looks better on me

[crooked-wasteland]

Founded another post that made me "uuuuh" cause, now they are saying Blitz and Stolas were "exploiting one another", and that, quote, "Plain and simple they both took advantage of each others vulnerabilities, but some shit Blitz did was purely to benefit himself while hurting or blatantly disrespecting Stolas as a person".

What are your toughs on this? Are they right? Idk why it doesnt completely convince me.

Perhaps this may be a bit of a journey, but walk with me as we understand the base argument and why it feels like it's a cop out.

When the show Friends can have a more conceptualized conversation about morality, we have issues. In an episode of Friends, Joey and Phoebe get into a bit of a fight where Phoebe insists that selfless actions are something we can partake in while Joey says that nothing is actually selfless at all.

(As an aside, this is such a hilariously well written scene and I hate Friends as a show. But the fact that the writers openly had Phoebe make her mother's suicide all about herself is comedy gold. And her sense of entitlement from strangers for her misfortune juxtaposed with her insisting that altruism is real all because she needs to make herself feel like a good person worthy of importance is great. One of the few times Friends has some actual smart writing.)

The point being, yes. There is no such thing as a purely good deed that isn't also done because we selfishly get something out of it. Offering food to someone who is hungry is only something you would do if you felt you could. If you needed that good as much as that person does, you wouldn't give them anything.

Or in the case of Phoebe, while it is a sacrifice to allow your body to be used for someone else to grow their family, you only do it because it in some way is desirable to you. Because of money or just for the attention and the social boost of other people admiring the "sacrifice" you have taken.

There is no true altruism. People do things for their own benefits. People protesting outside of Planned Parenthood do it because they feel like they will get recognition from their God or religious group. They don't actually care about other people's quality of life.

People who volunteer for nonprofits do it because they find satisfaction for themselves in the cause, or they do it to find a sense of community with like-minded people, or because they want to feel like they are better people than those who do not.

No one does anything they don't want to do. The whole point is to think about why they believe they want to do it. Everyone only does things because they have a genuine belief. The whole point is to try and understand people's actions from their own perspective.

So when we look at Blitz and him stealing the book and taking advantage of Stolas, it's pretty easy to see what could motivate Blitz.

I say COULD because the show itself doesn't really care to give the characters any actual depth or values or needs. So this is just evidence based on the show that could lend itself to deeper characterization if the show was more interested in telling a story.

But Blitz has extremely damaged self-esteem due to his father growing up and also the world building being designed around this hierarchy that Blitz was born into the bottom of. That has resulted in Blitz being born into a position of low social worth as well as his individual self-esteem being shredded by an abusive parent.

On that note, Cash Buckzo is a business owner in his own right with his circus. He works for himself and that is something uncommon in the world building as explicitly states in Harvest Moon. But it is in the field of entertainment. There is some evidence to show that the entertainment industry in Medrano's Hell is structurally identical to Earth, which requires understanding how entertainment has evolved in our society.

Travelling performers are often associated with persecuted minorities like the disabled and racial minorities throughout history. Circus owners have a bit of a reputation throughout history of being subpar human beings profiting off the labor and misfortune of others. From buying and selling literal children with disabilities and uncommon medical conditions to then prostituting out their stars to pocket the money for themselves. Historically speaking, circus owners are purely bottom feeders, and it appears that Cash Buckzo is based on that P. T. Barnum characterization.

So Cash is at the top of his game, while sucking out the life and talent of those he employs. Conversely Blitz is providing real opportunity and upward mobility in a way his father never did. Half of Blitz's whole personality is his business (or at least it was supposed to be) which is tied to his need to prove his father wrong. If he can also be a successful businessman, but more successful than Cash, Blitz believes that would fix his self-worth issues (hypothetically as this is only vaguely hinted at in the show and none of this is actually confirmed in any way. It's 1 part canon and 4 parts headcanon, this is just a generous translation of the mess that is the show to try and make these characters feel less like paper dolls and more like they have a story worth telling).

If it means having sex with someone he doesn't want to, Blitz can convince himself that it actually is something he'd want to do anyway. Because his need to prove himself as valuable is his motivation to tolerate the wealthy creep that is salivating all over him. In effect, yes Blitz would believe he wants to have sex with Stolas, but that is only because the alternative is not having a successful business and proving his father to have been right about him all along.

On another, deeper level, it could also be argued that Blitz loves his employees in a dysfunctional way because he doesn't have friends.

Look, this is kind of why I disagree with people that Ghostfuckers is even a decent episode because it's too contradictory. I'm supposed to believe that Blitz genuinely cares about Millie as a friend and sought her out for hire because he genuinely respects her. But at the same time he hasn't paid her or her husband in over a month, instead blowing their paychecks on owl dolls and horse printed plates because he's sad. The idea that Blitz and Millie are even remotely friends is laughable when you put in perspective how little Blitz respects her and Moxie.

I'm supposed to trust that she would know Blitz enough to be there for him and trust him during his demon possession, but he actively lies to her, never prioritizes her (unless it's to benefit himself), and blatantly disrespects her. It's almost like women in this show only exist to serve as tools to provide the male characters story and character opportunities and the writers' disinterest in them results in the male characters also being disinterested in them and so they also never get to benefit from said writing opportunities and they almost always come out as looking worse for it.

TL;DR: Blitz and Millie's relationship in canon is a joke and no one will ever convince me that these two characters are friends. Millie is just a tool by the writers to be or do whatever they need to try and pretend these characters have depth or humanity. Ghostfuckers may be the best episode of season 2, it is still completely incoherent and nonsensical.

Anyway, if the writers had actually done the whole found family/dysfunctional Boss storyline correctly, Blitz owes it to Moxie and Millie to also keep the book. So sleeping with Stolas is also an obligation for him on top of his narrative need to want the book.

So Blitz is coming at this from the perspective of doing whatever he has to do to get what he wants. That's not so much as taking advantage as much as it is seizing a perceived opportunity.

Meanwhile Stolas has been committed to a loveless and abusive marriage without ever considering leaving it until the opportunity presents itself in the form of an Imp with a much lower social class being apprehended in the act of committing a crime. And even then, instead of seeking to escape his abuse, he instead repeatedly cheats on his wife and subjects his daughter to repeated instances of violent arguments over his infidelity.

He believes he wants Blitz because....

Well, that's sort of the problem, isn't it? Because there is no real reason for Stolas to think he wants Blitz, in fact, the show makes it clear that he simply does want Blitz.

I asked fans a year or so ago why Stolas was in love with Blitz. As in what attracted Stolas to Blitz, and the overall consensus was that he enjoyed Blitz's sense of humor. Except the show outright contradicts that.

In the canon of the show, this is simply love at first sight for Stolas. Something that is not mutually shared, by the way. And Blitz explicitly states that he never once knew that Stolas had any feelings for him.

Unlike Blitz, Stolas has no reasoning other than to have ownership over Blitz. Not because of who Blitz is, but because he simply desires him, and did so since he was a child. As much as the writers think they made Stolas appear to see Blitz as an equal, all they have shown is that Stolas has always seen Blitz as something he can possess. Even as Blitz made it clear that he was not into it.

So while Blitz has reasons to participate in Stolas' game, Stolas as a character has always consistently removed any sense of agency from Blitz, as I pointed out in previous posts.

There is no mutual taking advantage of each other then. Stolas defined the relationship from the start based solely on his own vapid desire to claim Blitz as somehow his. Whereas Blitz allows himself to be used and taken advantage of because he believes it will get him what he wants.

And due to that, there is no reason for Blitz to have respect for Stolas. Stolas doesn't deserve respect as he doesn't give any to Blitz. And while many would say Blitz also doesn't deserve respect because he gives none to Stolas, that is true. But when most people assess that world building and how Blitz is the underdog in the dynamic fighting for his right to be respected in an unfair world, he was born into a role that no one respects. Meanwhile Stolas was born into literal nobility and reverence (as seen by how people treat Stolas in season 1, like him not needing a reservation into Ozzie's while Moxie had to plan a year in advance for his date with Millie).

Frankly speaking, Stolas was born into respect and lost it among his peers through his own mediocrity. And Blitz's lack of respect is based on systemic oppression, not even because of who Stolas is as a person. Blitz doesn't owe Stolas anything as the weaker individual in the dynamic. Blitz is literally punching up when he insults Stolas, which most sane human beings would recognize as not reflecting poorly on Blitz, but on society. All while he asserts agency by warping his own psyche to think this relationship with Stolas is one he actually wants because it fills his wants while distorting Blitz's needs.

Meanwhile Stolas can just say he wants something and can get it, as seen by the fact that the only reason Blitz is even a part of his life is because he said he wanted him and his father literally bought Blitz for Stolas' enjoyment. Stolas is as much if not more of a thief than Blitz by the fact that he steals Blitz's humanity through Stolas' status alone.

By the way, Blitz being terrible to Moxie and Millie does not magically mean he deserves what Stolas does to him. Stolas and his dehumanization of Blitz in no way plays into Blitz's own dysfunction as a person and how he lacks respect for his employees. It doesn't push Blitz to respect his subordinates more, nor do they ever actually work out their issues. Instead Millie is just there to validate the direction the writers are forcing the narrative to go.

TL;Dr: What wrongdoings Blitz commits to M&M will never justify what Stolas does to him.

[itzneveroverr]

i'd like to take a moment and warn you about the sheer ramble this is going to be lmfaoo i am a tier 1 waffler

i understand the point you're making here (logically siding with jack would prevent him from being killed, hence being the wisest choice to make) and that would be an interesting route to look into, but i don't think ralph refusing would necessarily be due to his pride. we know he DOES have a sort of pride-ego battle going on with jack and the battle to being chief (bc they're kids), but that is also due to the very strict moral clash between the two of them

we see from the beginning of the novel that ralph's main aim on this island is to maintain the civilisation and 'order of society' that he grew up in (for better or for worse.) he does this primarily through seeking rescue from the island; it's his pitch as leader, and the one thing he sticks through to the end. even when the notion of a beast on the island becomes more and more real to him, he still maintains that there IS hope for survival, if they just build a fire (him and his fire 🥀🥀🥀)

he's seen to be the boy that can balance between his animalistic urges and his 'civility', for lack of a better word. he is shown to want to join the hunt; both the mock-one with robert, and the real thing with simon. but the difference between him and the other boys is that he recognises what he is doing IS wrong. he's interestingly the one that brings up the fact of aimon's murder first- 'That was murder'.

to join jack's tribe would not only negate any of his moral crises that shape him as a character, but would also be a complete contradiction of the morals and values that both allowed him to be the chief. it may also serve to take away a key motivation of his as a character. golding does ask the question alongside if evil is innate (ugh 🥀)- how much of civilisation is ingrained?

ralph is continually shown to hope for rescue and return to england. whether that's through his dreams of home, or through his long ruminations about what he would do if he had scissors to cut his hair, etc. (symbols of society.) even following simon's death, he wants to call a meeting to argue that they need 'just an ordinary fire'- again, reiterating this idea of a smoke signal, to get home.

tldr though it can be argued he IS prideful, (perhaps initially, though this seems to be a reflection of the typical british boy🥀🥀🥀), him not choosing to join jack's tribe at any point is a reflection of his own motivations as a character, not necessarily just his flaws? idk

sorry if any of this was unclear; feel free to correct me if i've hyperfixated on specific wording or misread anything :DD

ralph has the potential to be clever and intelligent but he can not swallow his pride for the love of himself and that’s the most frustrating and relatable thing about him

maybe maybe maybe i’m just remembering wrong but does he even consider joining jacks tribe at the end . He might’ve assumed it wasn’t even an offer since yknow everyone lost their marbles and whatnot but like cmon CMON man

i need to reread to confirm this and whatnot but jeezzz poor boy does not think with his mind or his heart it seems

[freaky-flawless]

speaking of Cupid I also don’t like how they did the black gradients, it looks weird that only her legs have them and the pattern looks weird too, I think its cause its too thin

Yeah the gradient could be a lot better...it isn't as gradual and soft as her G1 version and it looks really out of place since it isn't on her arms as well. Its actually a little jarring since she has so little black in her outfit.

And the pattern on her legs is a little strange. Pretty on its own, but its so delicate and intricate it also just looks a bit out of place. Hopefully it doesn't rub off easily.

[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - off the record (part one)

part one ; breaking news and breaking points

warnings ; none!

prompt ; in which you’re paired with your insufferably charming ex-academic rival turned coworker to cover a congressional scandal, and suddenly, professional boundaries becomes the only thing holding you two apart.

note ; okay. hi. hello. me again! this authors note is going to be delirious because it is quite literally 2am as i edit this and i am shot. regardless — welcome to off the record! this is my baby. my child. my toddler who can’t walk or speak yet but the concept is there

let’s get one thing straight: i am NOT a politician. i do not work in politics, i do not enjoy american politics and i most certainly am no expert. i almost failed government in high school. i’m not sure of the accuracy of White House journalism but i do know one thing. i tried my very best!! so gold star for ang <3

anyway! welcome to the disaster. this is a rom-com, emphasis on the com because these two idiots are so deep in denial. we’re talking enemies-to-lovers, but in the “we’ve been rivals since college and now sit two rows apart at white house briefings” kind of way. grab some tea. snuggle your cat. scream into a pillow. idk, whatever works for you

playlist here

series masterlist here

The thing about White House press briefings is, if you don’t speak fast, Jeon Jungkook will.

And then you’ll have to watch his stupid little smirk on the screens in the newsroom all night while your editor asks why you didn’t ask the damn question.

You raise your hand, nearly leap out of your seat to deliver the inquiry you scribbled messily in the margins of your notepad. It’s something about a new federal rollout; dry on paper, but a minefield of public and private backdoor deals if you phrase it right. The question is halfway out of your mouth before—

“Secretary Thompson,” comes a voice from three rows back, “can you clarify whether the administration still plans to partner with private sector organizations despite last quarter’s concerns?”

Goddamnit.

You slump in your chair. Of course he gets there first.

It’s a clean question. Sharp. Subtle accusation wrapped in neutral intonation. The kind of question that makes cabinet members pause and choose their words very carefully, which Secretary Thompson now does, leaning forward and clearing her throat, visibly recalibrating.

You don’t have to turn around to know he’s sitting back in his chair like he owns the damn room. The entire Metro ride spent rehearsing that question, complete with dramatic pauses practiced between stops, has been hijacked by someone who waited until your mouth formed the first syllable before swooping in.

You turn slowly, against your better judgement. The muscles on your face achieve that special brand of neutrality that actually translates to: I'm mentally signing you up for a lifetime subscription to minor inconveniences. May your phone forever hover at 1% battery and may your socks perpetually slip down inside your shoes.

Three rows behind sits the human embodiment of your nightmares, looking like he just won a gold medal in the sport of Question Sniping, expression carrying a level of smugness you want to smack right off his face. And like, yeah, it’s fine that he beat you to the punch but you’re oddly impressed by how effortlessly he did it.

He’s sporting a black suit with no tie. Because heaven forbid he follow even the most basic protocols of professionalism. Elbow slung across the chair next to him like this is a casual Monday coffee run and not a federal media gauntlet. He’s already relaxing in his seat like he didn’t just outflank you in broad daylight.

He grins at you from across the pressroom, a perfect display of professionally whitened teeth that makes you contemplate the legality of throwing your pen across the room.

Disgusting.

You whip your head back to the front before you commit a felony in front of a sitting cabinet member. Immediately, you’re pulling your phone out of your back pocket, opening up iMessage.

Okay, count to ten. One, two, three…

Mentally, you’re trying to imagine your therapist's voice saying something about "workplace appropriate responses to colleagues” (although your therapist has never met Jeon Jungkook and is therefore woefully unprepared to provide relevant advice in this situation.)

Physically, your jaw tightens with the force of some unspoken comeback.

He always does this.

And the worst part isn't just that his strategy works consistently, or that Secretary Thompson is now giving a rehearsed answer that will yield exactly one (1) usable quote for his article; it's that microscopic part of you that recognizes the brilliance of his approach.

You learned this the hard way four years ago, during your very first White House press briefing fresh out of Columbia University, notepad filled with questions you’d rewritten five different times, trying not to sweat through your blouse because Jeon Jungkook was five seats away.

You hadn’t seen him since graduation. Not since he walked off that stage behind you; second in your class, already being courted by every network with a pulse. You’d hoped that being hired at competing outlets might mean distance. Space to build your career without having to look over your shoulder every time you submitted a story.

No such luck.

He was already there when you entered the briefing room for the first time. Already seated, sporting that annoying smile when he spotted you in the doorway.

You still remember the way his voice cut through the room like it belonged there. Just the right amount of bite to make the congressman answering the question squirm. It wasn’t even a bad question, but it was sharp enough to make everyone sit up, and that was the point when playing with American politics.

One doesn’t need to be liked. They need to be remembered.

You’d raised your hand right after. You were so determined not to let him win the room that you misread the energy entirely. And when the mic came to you, you fumbled. It wasn’t with the content — you’d done your research, you always did — but with the delivery. You were trying so hard to seem composed, to prove you deserved to be there, that your voice went flat. You didn’t breathe between sentences or really pace the question.

And the congressman, an older man with a short temper and a penchant for being rattled, cut you off mid-sentence. He waved a hand like you were a mosquito buzzing too close to his ear.

“Get to the point please,” He’d said, clearly annoyed.

You had, but the damage was done.

And Jungkook? He didn't even need to smirk — a restraint that somehow made his victory all the more infuriating. He just leaned forward, elbows on knees, lips pressed in a neutral line. But you knew him well enough to spot the amusement hiding in his eyes. He didn't look directly at you because that would've been too obvious, too much like admitting that this little press room dance of yours is his favorite form of foreplay, which is precisely the kind of vulnerability neither of you would ever confess to even under the influence of truth serum.

Either way, Jungkook never needs to gloat out loud. He just waits for you to see that he saw.

That’s how it started. The silent, deadly, professional tug-of-war that is probably so entertaining for onlookers that the White House should start selling tickets.

Four years later and nothing’s changed — except now you’ve learned how to play the game too. How to keep your voice calm, how to pace your brain, how to smile like a threat. You studied your opponents playbook until the pages wore thin.

So you sit there, pen poised, chin high, and let Secretary Thompson drone on for another minute while the reporters around you settle. Jungkook is probably lounging in the back like the cocky bastard he is, no doubt smiling like a motherfucker.

When the next lull in her sentence comes, you speak.

“Madam Secretary, given the administration’s recent walkback on infrastructure spending and the pivot toward incentivizing private sector, can you clarify what measures are in place for companies receiving federal subsidies, especially those with prior violations?”

The room stills like a sitcom freeze frame, where some narrator would quip "it was at this moment they knew..." as your question hangs in the air.

Thompson blinks twice. And then, to everyone’s surprise including your own, she smiles; it’s a genuine reaction, not the wide campaign-trail grin but the subtle acknowledgment that screams, finally, a real question from someone who did their homework instead of skimming the briefing notes.

She answers in detail. All lengthy and thoughtful and some political jargon you’re jotting in your notepad like a madman. Meanwhile your chest burns with the sweet, silent glow of victory, something your overachieving soul has been chasing since you color-coded your first set of flash cards in elementary school.

You know it’s there before you see it — Jungkook’s gaze.

There will be no swiveling of your neck to face him because turning would mean acknowledging, and acknowledging would mean giving away a fraction of this perfect moment; you don't need visual confirmation when you can practically feel him watching, probably chewing the inside of his cheek with that nervous habit he thinks nobody notices, calculating how he missed this angle while the room leans forward collectively, listening harder now than they were during his question.

God, it is tempting, though.

Just one glance. One raised brow. Maybe even a middle finger held discreetly under your notepad.

But you’re better than that.

…Mostly.

Still, the corner of your mouth twitches microscopically.

Game on, Jeon. Let’s see who wins this round.

The next thirty minutes go by just like this:

You raise your hand to try and get another question in, he mirrors you half a second later.

You jot down a quote, he glances up like he’s writing the same one faster.

You whisper something to the correspondent next to you, and he makes a point to become the world’s friendliest man.

By the time the briefing wraps, your notepad is full, your recorder has thirty solid minutes of good material, and your blood pressure is only slightly elevated — which you’re going to count as a win. Secretary Thompson gives her usual nod, the press secretary calls it and the room begins to scatter in that chaotic shuffle unique to people who have five minutes to rewrite a headline before someone else beats them to it.

You pack up, shoving pens and postits and a mildly passive-aggressive question list into your leather tote. It’s not like you’re in a rush. You’ve got what you need. Jenna — your editor, manager, queen of never being impressed — will actually be pleased for once. Last week she told you your questions were “good, not great” which you’ve translated to mean “where’s the political bloodshed?” But today, you’ve got enough edge to headline the next two cycles.

You’re halfway to the exit, steps quick against the marble floor, when you hear it—

Shoes.

Nice ones. Expensive, but already too broken-in to be new.

And they’re moving quickly like the fire alarm just went off.

Your eyes don’t have to spare a look. Your spine already knows who it is.

You sigh, adjusting the strap of your bag higher on your shoulder, and keep walking. If you ignore him long enough, he might combust from the lack of attention.

“Smooth question.”

You blink up at the hallway ahead of you. What was that counting trick you were doing earlier? Oh, right.. four, five, six....

A sigh heaves from the depths of your lungs. Quite loudly it echoes off the walls.

“Jungkook.” you begin, not slowing your pace, “If I wanted your opinion, I’d ask the intern to print it out and shred it for recycling.”

He laughs at that amusedly.

“Come on,” he retorts, falling into step beside you now, “You stole my topic and framed it better. That was… mildly impressive.”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. He’s got his press badge tucked half into his blazer pocket like it’s too cool to wear properly, and the top button of his shirt is now undone.

“Oh no,” you deadpan. “Mildly impressive? Should I frame that statement and hang it next to my degree? My… valedictorian degree, perhaps?”

He leans in, a little too close for comfort. “Don’t worry. Mine’s right behind yours.”

You bite back a smile that threatens to show face. “And don’t you forget it.”

“You know, you’re lucky I didn’t ask a second question just to steal the narrative out from under you,” Jungkook sticks his hands in his pockets, pulling out a packet of gum.

Your eyes roll back into your frontal lobe, “Oh, I’m counting on it. Watching you try to top yourself is half the fun.”

Your feet betray you before you have a chance to stop them, and they stop walking, finally turn to face him. “Are you like this with everyone? I’m starting to get a little flattered.”

He looks at you for a second longer than you like. No smirk this time, just that stillness he gets when he’s thinking. Or, worse… he’s about to be really, really honest.

He shrugs, pops the gum in his mouth, smile creeping back into place like it never left. “Nah,” he’s already walking backwards toward the exit. “You’re the only one who bites back.”

His body disappears into the hallway crowd as if he knows exactly when to exit a scene, melting into the Washington ecosystem of power suits, security earpieces, and polished shoes on marble.

Jeon Jungkook is an insufferable bastard — one of the best-of-breed kind of bastards, possibly the best one you’ve ever had the pleasure (or displeasure, depending on the angle) of going to school with. Decidedly not bad on the eyes, which is unfortunate. Counterproductive, really. Because it’s hard to maintain a healthy level of hatred toward someone when their jawline could headline a fashion campaign and their smirks come pre-loaded with cinematic timing.

And yet, somehow, you manage.

Ever since freshman year when he walked into your public policy seminar and had the audacity to sit in the front row — the seat you always took, the one closest to the professor, the one with the best lighting for scribbling down notes. He didn’t even glance at you when he took it.

You clashed immediately. Over literally everything. Theories and tone and comma placement. Who should’ve been chosen to moderate the midterm debate and who had more credible citations in their annotated bibliography. You can’t even remember the first real argument anymore; all you know is it escalated quickly, something about a poorly formatted slide deck and a long-winded tangent on federalism that he thought was charming and you thought were grounds for expulsion.

To your luck, that turned into this.

Into years of mutual loathing, thinly veiled behind professional respect that makes your coworkers say things like “you two should interview a senator together!” while you fantasize about pushing him down a flight of stairs and then writing his obituary out of spite.

You can’t describe your relationship with Jungkook without sounding emotionally unstable. It’s not just because he got that one A+ in International Relations. It’s not some awkward sexual tension. It’s whatever exists in that middle ground between admiration and provocation.

Listen, you recognize his intelligence. He definitely recognizes your ambition. He’s just always been naturally, effortlessly good. Jungkook doesn’t have to rehearse or over-prepare or go through mental flowcharts in the mirror before a press event.

And the only thing worse than someone who always competes with you is someone who doesn’t have to.

That’s what always gets you. You’ve spent your entire career building scaffolding around every step forward and you are nothing if not methodical. And then he waltzes in with gel in his hair and throws out a line you write down immediately to send to Jenna.

You push the briefing room door open with your hip and walk in, tote clutched tightly.

Emma doesn’t look up. Her fingers are flying over her laptop, nails clacking against keys in short bursts of aggression. Brows furrowed, glasses slipping slightly down her nose, and her tongue is poking between her teeth the way it always does.

“Any luck?” you ask, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl that you’re 98% sure was only restocked because Emma guilt-tripped the White House kitchen staff with that one story she wrote about USDA budget cuts and “the symbolic death of the American apple.”

She grunts in response, closing her laptop quickly and swiveling to face you in her chair.

You bite into the apple, placing your heavy bag down on the floor beside your desk, which is conveniently always placed next to hers.

“How was Jungkook today?” She asks casually as if it’s not one of the most emotionally loaded questions a person can be asked. It’s a routine part of your dynamic at this point. Morning coffee, afternoon sarcasm, and one post-briefing debrief where Emma asks you how Jungkook was, and you pretend he wasn’t Jungkook.

“Obnoxious,” you shrug instantly. “Duh.”

Emma snorts while you continue on, rotating your apple to take another bite. “He was wearing this stupid smile today. I lowkey feel like he was more smug than normal.“

Emma hums knowingly. “That’s your favorite one.”

You ignore that. Just Emma being Emma.

“And of course,” you exhale, “he asked my question.”

That gets her attention.

She scoots her chair toward you slowly, like she’s gearing up for the best tea of her life. “Wait. The question? The one about partnering with private sector organizations?”

“The very one,” You sigh dramatically.

Emma gasps, places a hand over her chest. “He didn’t.”

“Oh, but he did,” you say, taking another bite of your apple, chewing long enough to build suspense. “Fell for it and beat me to it by two seconds.“

She clutches her heart like she’s just witnessed a murder. “War criminal. Both you and him.”

“It’s fine,” you snicker to yourself. “Took the bait like always. Already texted it to Jenna.“

So… there’s this minor (major) thing you do that if anyone finds out, you’re absolutely getting the boot off the Hill. You leave notes around the newsrooms with concepts that you plan to ask at the press briefings and your initials on the paper, and when Jungkook inevitably picks one up and asks them, you send the answer to Jenna. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

Emma groans and throws her head back, dark brown hair cascading down her shoulders. “God, how do you come up with this? It’s diabolical.”

“I know.”

“You’re evil.”

“I know.”

She looks at you, tilts her neck, considers. “One of these days I’m gonna get it out of you… why you hate him so much. I swear to god, if the White House ever releases security cam footage, it’s over for you.”

You scoff, leaning against your desk. “Because he’s annoying.. and arrogant and—”

There’s a pause while your narrow your eyes like you’re compiling a legal case. “He’s allergic to shirts that fit.”

Emma just blinks at you.

“It’s not complicated,” You wave her off.

“Mmm,” she says unconvinced, already spinning back toward her laptop. “Sure. Not complicated. That’s exactly what people say before saying something really complicated.”

You flip her off.

She blows you a kiss, raising her watered-down iced latte as a toast, “I wish you a very get well soon.”

It’s nice having Emma. Someone who gets it. She was the only one who didn’t blink when you got hired straight out of school, the only one who didn’t second guess it when you worked your way into every White House event rotation. She never asks why you work late or why your standards are too high.

Emma’s seen you at your most terrifying and your most tired and knows they’re usually the same thing.

You finish your apple, toss the core into the bin, and stretch your neck. You’ve got a headline to punch up, an editor to impress, and a man to destroy.

Before you even have a chance to settle into your uncomfortable chair, Jenna, woman of the hour, bursts into the room like she’s just outrun a breaking news alert.

She’s breathless, auburn hair slightly windblown like she sprinted down the hall, which she probably did — Jenna’s never walked a day in her life. She’s powered exclusively by the adrenaline of publishing scoops before Politico can even spellcheck theirs.

“There you are!” she gasps, practically skidding to a stop beside your desk. Almost like you’ve been playing hide-and-seek instead of sitting where you’re supposed to be.

Emma startles, half-spilling her iced latte.

You don’t even look up from computer that you just rebooted on to life. “Hello to you too, Jenna. Everything okay?”

“Better than okay.” She’s already tossing her phone onto the nearest desk, face alight with manic glee that usually only happens when your publication beats everyone else to the punch. “We published first. That question you texted me. I’m already having it run the evening slot with a featured quote box and a goddamn infographic. Do you know how rare infographics are on pieces like this?”

Emma perks up immediately. “Infographics?”

“Motion animated ones. And it’s outperforming by like 400%. Who fed him that question? I know that was you. Don’t lie to me, you little minx.” Jenna’s eyes are sparkling, hazel flecks in her eyes popping out more than normal.

You blink at her, expression calm, the exact opposite of the excitement living beneath your ribs. “Hm. Was it me?”

“Was it?” Jenna nearly falls over the desk. “You literally texted it to me two seconds after he opened his mouth so I have my suspicions. I watched the tapes back.”

You shrug, sipping from your water bottle. “What can I say? Quick fingers. Predictable men.”

Jenna stares at you. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“Well, I have noticed… if I leave a well-worded, question lying within reach, he’ll take it. Should I be reporting him?” Your degree was in Political Science, but right now, it’s sounding a lot more like Lying.

Emma coughs on her coffee. “Oh my god.”

“He delivers it perfectly. He never even changes the phrasing!! Almost like he wants me to know he found it,” You mimic a toddler who got pushed on the playground, all false petulance.

Jenna groans, facepalming. “Jesus, that’s terrifying. Worse than finding out you’re doing it on purpose.”

Emma gapes and plays along with it, your trusty sidekick. “He’s using you like a human press puppet.”

You smile. “Whatever. I got the best answer out of Secretary Thompson today anyway.”

You’re not wrong. Not entirely. In fact, you’re opening up Google Docs as you speak to start typing before any person beats you to the punch.

“Well,” Jenna begins, “Great job today.”

Mission accomplished.

Despite everything, you’re pretty pleased with yourself. Emma’s shoulders sag a little with those three words, though you hardly notice.

You sit back in your chair, fingers hovering over your keyboard.

Another question, another quote, another game won.

It’s not cheating. It’s journalism, baby.

Later that night, the building hums like it’s finally exhaled after holding its breath all day, kind of peaceful in the way only Capitol Hill can be when it’s past five and most of the egos have gone home. The usual bustle has evaporated into a familiar sound of click-clacking keyboards and the hum of vending machines that will forever only take singles.

You’re probably the only person left. Well. You and Jenna. But Jenna doesn’t really count — you swear to god she pays rent here.

She exists in this windowless purgatory like it’s her personal loft. Her desk is still lit, hair up in a claw clip. There’s a cold coffee sweating beside her keyboard and an unopened granola bar that’s been sitting there since at least noon. Her coat is slung over the back of her chair in a way that implies she might leave. News flash: she won’t.

Meanwhile you’re cross-referencing quote attributions for the day’s coverage when it hits.

Ping.

You barely register it at first. Just another email in the never-ending trickle of nonsense from Washington’s most noisy inbox.

But the subject line awakens something in you, jolts you back onto earth after being a zombie for the past three hours.

From: pressroom@cnnpolitics.com

Subject: URGENT — CONFIRMED LEAK: Rep. Monroe / Rep. Delgado

Your heart skips and then sprints to catch up. You open the email, trepidation bleeding into your every movement like it might bite. Skimming it at first glance, you see a bunch of buzz words: late night, caught, office, intern.

And then you're up out of your chair like you spotted free coffee in the break room before anyone else, your demeanor shattered by what's glowing on your screen.

“Jenna.”

No answer comes from your editor, who's apparently developed selective hearing after years of people bringing her stories that are "definitely going to change everything."

“Jenna!”

Her chair swivels, eyes already squinting. “What.” she says, less a question and more a verbal eyeroll.

You motion her over. She groans, wheels her chair two feet, and reads over your shoulder.

She doesn’t speak for a full five seconds, a silence so profound you’re starting to think you misinterpreted the email.

“Holy shit.”

Your head bobs up and down once. “Yeah.”

Both of you stand. Stare at the screen like the text might dissolve if you blink. The email is brief but pretty brutal. Something about a late-night vote hold, a closed-door committee session, and Monroe being seen leaving Delgado’s office at 1:43 a.m. by a very chatty intern with no understanding of political discretion. It’s like the equivalent of catching Romeo leaving Juliet’s balcony.

“Please tell me we’re already writing this,” Jenna breathes, pulling her phone out and typing. “Tell me we’re not about to get scooped.”

You’re already closing your laptop. “We’re not. I just got this a minute ago.”

“Crap, okay,” she undoes her claw clip, runs a hand through her tangled locks. “You think NBC and Fox got word too?”

“Probably,” You tuck your laptop into your bag. “But… we can figure out what the other teams are saying. If you’re game for it.”

There’s a knowing look you two share, an unspoken understanding that comes from years of working in close quarters.

Just like that, with only a few words shared, you’re both gone — shoulders brushing in the hallway, shoes scuffing in sync as you pass the security desk and head toward the press rooms. Tiny, overcrowded hives filled with correspondents from neighboring organizations who all know something but never enough, all refreshing Twitter, all waiting for the official statement that will inevitably say nothing and everything at once.

You pass two staffers whispering near the elevator, some dude pretending not to be texting frantically in the corner, and a communications intern standing so still you’re not sure if he’s waiting for an answer or just buffering.

Walk faster, you repeat to yourself. No shot you’re losing this battle.

This is it. Every correspondent’s wet dream. The moment when instinct meets information. When knowing the right people and knowing how to read them becomes everything.

Fortunately, you’re good at this. Like, really good at this.

Jenna tugs on your arm as you turn a corner.

“Remember what I said in March?” she mutters. “I told you, these senators get more scandalous by the second.”

“Well, yeah, but that was about the comms director’s divorce and a broken espresso machine,” You remind her.

“Still counts.”

A grin is suppressed from your face. Technically, it is true. In this building, nothing stays quiet for long. Rumors and gossip spread quicker than a high school hallway.

Even though CNN is the top news source in the world — objectively, indisputably, and according to your network’s annual conference PowerPoint — your rivals over at Fox, NBC, and a handful of other outlets you don’t care to name are often your best sources.

Everyone loves to talk and you adore talkers.

The Hill is built on whispers, and your favorite kind of people are the ones who don’t know how to keep secrets in the same breath they use to ask for anonymity. There’s something about long hours and winding hallways that makes people careless with information. Or maybe it’s the sense of power, that euphoric high of having access to things you shouldn’t, stories that haven’t broken yet.

Right now, you’re chasing one of them.

You and Jenna waltz into the Fox press room like you own it (which you don’t, but that’s never stopped you before.)

It’s mostly empty, except for a few people quietly panicking over the situation in that journalist way where they sit very still while their eyes scream.

It’s a solemn few feet of space, lit by flickering fluorescents and decorated with the same kind of soul-crushing government chairs that squeak if you so much as fart. Someone left a takeout container open on one of the desks and you do your best not to inhale near it.

A quick glance of the room tells you all you need to know and then, to your dismay — you see him.

Jungkook.

Hunched over his laptop at the far end of the room like he’s doing important work but probably just rereading something you published earlier to find holes in it. His blazer from the briefing is gone, slung somewhere out of sight, white dress shirt rolled up to the elbows, sleeves creased and casual and — God help you — revealing the tattoos on his right arm.

You’ve only seen it a handful of times. Most people on the Hill haven’t seen it at all. It’s not exactly Capitol dress code.

But he’s Jeon Jungkook so rules were always more like suggestions when it came to him.

Whatever. Not what you came here for. You focus on his colleague, Sana. She’s sharp as hell, desk always covered in four phones and three half-charged battery packs.

Most of the time, you like her. She’s blunt. She doesn’t pretend to like you more than she does, and she gives enough if you know how to ask.

“Sana,” You say, all business-like, sliding into her personal space like this is a casual catch-up and not an intel sweep. Jenna lingers behind you like a henchwoman.

Sana glances up and sighs. “What now?”

“Looking for background on Monroe and Delgado,” You busy yourself with your nail beds, pretending to be focused on the fact that your polish is chipping slightly.

“I know that’s not true,” she says, still typing. “You never ask for background. You ask for the stuff that makes our lawyers sweat.”

You smile, full canines on display. “Come on. You know I’d never get you sued. Fired, maybe.”

“Not funny.”

“A little funny.”

Sana rolls her eyes. “What do you want?”

You’re about to lean in with the next carefully worded ask when he speaks.

“You could just ask me, you know,” comes Jungkook’s voice from the corner of the room.

You don’t dare turn around.

Begrudgingly, you sigh, loud enough for him to hear. “Didn’t realize you were qualified to speak on matters you didn’t fabricate.”

Behind you, Jenna snorts.

Jungkook doesn’t miss a beat.

“You wound me,” he fires back. You can smell the sarcasm in his voice. “Especially after I gifted you that question earlier.”

You spin your body slowly to glance at him. He’s already looking at you, fingers paused over his keyboard, head tilted, one brow raised like he’s genuinely curious how you’ll respond.

Sometimes he does this. Pretends you’re having a conversation when you’re in the middle of ignoring him. Like he’s the main character and you’re just the supporting plot that hasn’t fallen for his clown act yet.

“I’d say thank you,” you retort, “but I think you’re confusing mediocrity for generosity.”

His mouth twitches, doesn't quite reach his eyes but manages to rattle something in your chest like a perfectly aimed pebble against a window, making noise without breaking glass.

“Well,” he stretches slightly in his chair, ink on his arm catching the overhead light, “I guess we’re both useful to each other, aren’t we?”

Verbally, there’s no response you can come up with. Almost like you’re trying to capture a complex emotion with an emoji.

He refuses to look away from you. All you can muster up is meeting his gaze, forcing your eyes not to back down from his own deep brown ones.

Which is stupid and arrogant of him.

And deeply, profoundly annoying.

One day, you’ll create a PowerPoint presentation documenting all the reasons he should be knocked down several pegs.

But, also, he’s kind of—

No.

No, not going there.

You turn back to Sana, who’s watching the whole exchange with the vaguely interested expression of someone who’s seen this movie before.

“Anyway,” you say, tone firm, “back to the real work.”

Jungkook chuckles under his breath sadistically.

Sana raises a brow. She adjusts her posture, closes out of whatever she was doing, and gives you that look. Sneaky one, might you add.

Jenna settles into the empty seat next to Sana with a soft thunk, all amusement and quiet observation, as if she’s pulled up to a live podcast and knows better than to interrupt the good part.

You lean in just a little, palms firmly planted down on her desk.

“You’ve always had great instincts,” you begin sweetly, “Way better than that guy over at NBC who thinks ‘no comment’ is an acceptable answer. And honestly? You’re usually two steps ahead of everyone in this room, including me.”

Sana’s face falls flat. “Flattery’s not free.”

“I’m just stating facts,” you reply, twirling your hair around your finger. “But if you happened to know anything about where Monroe actually was during the vote delay, and with who, and if that info happened to fall into my lap by accident…”

She taps her desk once.

You pause for dramatic effect. Jenna says nothing.

You know it’s working. Cross your heart and hope to die, Sana’s resolve is softening enough to consider it. This is the rhythm you’ve lived and died by for the past four years: collect the whispers, push at the edges, find the person who wants to feel a little important, and let them talk.

You hear the chair scrape before the words follow.

“Okay, you’re scalping her,” Jungkook says flatly, rising from his area like he’s decided to intervene on moral grounds — which is rich, considering he spent last week casually rephrasing your own coverage on-air without blinking.

You don’t even bat an eyelash in his direction.

“Boohoo,” you briefly flip through your mental Rolodex of dismissive expressions, “call the ethics board, Jeon.”

You hear his footsteps. He’s walking over like someone about to cut the red wire, like this is a bomb he’s been called in to defuse.

“Seriously,” he now stands a few feet away, arms crossed, that infuriatingly amused expression plastered across his stupidly symmetrical face. “You’ve got her in a journalistic chokehold. It’s not even subtle.”

You peer over at him and flutter your lashes innocently. “You’d prefer subtle? That’s funny, coming from the guy who once baited a senator with free Red Bull to confirm a time stamp.”

“That was different.”

“That was illegal.”

“It was unofficial.”

You scoff. “Right. Just like your fact-checking process.”

Jenna leans her chin on her fist and sighs. “Hereeee we go.”

Sana barely spares a look up. “Can you two keep it down? Some of us are trying to break a government scandal before midnight.”

Your lips are formed tightly in a line. “I’m so sorry. He just follows me everywhere.”

“This is literally the Fox pressroom.” Jungkook spits out automatically.

“And yet somehow I’m more valuable here than you are.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

You turn fully now, squaring your shoulders like this is war and he just stepped onto your side of the trench. He’s close enough that you can smell his cologne — something citrusy and woodsy that makes your thoughts inconveniently disorganized. Jaw set in that infuriating way it does when he thinks he’s being reasonable.

“You know,” he tilts his head slightly, “at some point, you’re gonna run out of tricks.”

“Jungkook, you still fall for all of them.”

Sana mutters something about noise levels.

There’s a smile on your face you do not mean. Jungkook’s watching you intently now, clearly waiting for the moment you lose your cool, which you won’t. You don’t lose your cool. That’s your thing. Your signature move. You’re composed, unbothered if you will.

If the others are tired of it? Too damn bad.

Both of you will continue to respectfully decline to flinch first.

“You’re exhausting,” he says, half-laughing, which would be charming if it weren’t directed at you.

“Good,” you snap, “I hope it costs you sleep.”

“I’ve started taking a higher dose of melatonin to account for that.”

Luckily, before you can retaliate with something that will absolutely haunt you in the shower later, Jenna cuts in, phone screen brightly illuminating her face. “Guys…?”

Neither of you turn. You’re in this weird standoff. First one to look away loses.

She’s louder this time. “Um. Guys?”

“What?” You and Jungkook say in unison, like children caught throwing hands in the sandbox.

She blinks at her iPhone once, then twice, and stands slowly, holding her phone out like it might spontaneously detonate.

“I just got the alert,” she swallows deeply. “CNN got invited to a press pool.”

The room stills. Nothing has technically changed, yet somehow everything feels different, like the universe just rearranged its furniture while no one was looking.

You snatch the phone from her hand without a second thought, scanning the email with speed, stomach already dropping because you know what this means.

Fox. NBC. CNN. Wall Street Journal. Pool assignment. Limited access. Confidential source briefings. Strict cooperation protocol.

Jungkook steps closer to read over your shoulder, and you can feel his body heat like a threat. You edge away out of pure spite.

Sana exhales, “Oh, that’s gonna be fun.”

“No,” you murmur, half to her and half to God, “it’s not.”

Jenna sits back down, hand outstretched waiting for her phone back, probably mentally forwarding the email to your entire team with ten exclamation points and the subject line ‘URGENT: PRESS POOL.’

But all your brain can focus on is the last line of the memo: PRESS POOL ASSIGNMENTS WILL BE FINALIZED BY MORNING.

You swallow, jaw setting in place. Currently, you’re trying not to imagine the absolute hell of being locked into a room with Jungkook and being expected to collaborate. Or even worse, share credit.

Press pools are the bane of your entire existence. It’s lazy reporting dressed up in exclusivity, a dog and pony show where no one’s allowed to ask real questions, just “coordinate coverage” and “represent their outlet professionally,” which basically means sit down, shut up, and don’t make your network look like a dick.

It also may have a tiny, minuscule detail to it that you deject everytime; it’s always you and Jungkook they send. The two best damn correspondents on the Hill, which everyone knows, even if they pretend they don’t. You’re the ones they trust to get the job done. To ask the things no one else will.

And that would be flattering — if it didn’t mean getting locked in a room with him, breathing the same recirculated air, trading quotes and knowing exactly which angle he’s going to try and spin. It’s not a compliment anymore. It’s a punishment dressed up in prestige.

Now — if you’ve read that email right (and you have, because you always do) — you’re going to have to share that twenty minute slot with the one man on Earth who treats interviews and policy like some sick game.

You lower the phone slowly, handing it back to Jenna in a daze.

Jenna looks at you, eyes gleaming. “If it makes you feel better, this is gonna be amazing for us.”

“Who’s us?”

You’re already praying for divine intervention. Or a natural disaster. Or a scheduling conflict. Or a press badge malfunction. Literally anything but this.

Really, there should be no surprise when Jenna is showcasing a small smile on her face, the words already forming on the tip of her lip-glossed tongue.

You beat her to it. “Let me guess. You’re going to ask me to go.”

She blinks, then nods sweetly, too sweetly for your liking.

“I mean,” she says, clasping her hands, “you’re the sharpest we’ve got. You’re strategic. Respected on both sides of the aisle—”

“C’mon, I’ve gone to every single one. Can you please send Emma?” You may as well get on your knees and beg at this point.

Jenna disregards that completely.

“I want you to own the scandal,” she corrects, beaming now. “Control the narrative. Just, you know… professionally.“

You roll your eyes so hard you see your own childhood trauma. Turning to Sana, you’re already half-defeated.

“Thanks for your help,” you sigh, giving her a nod. “And for not actively reporting me to HR during that conversation.”

She shrugs her shoulders. “It was close.”

You’re halfway out the door, already planning what stress snack you’re going to inhale before opening a shared Google Doc with 45 other correspondents when it happens.

“See you Thursday, then. Three o’clock.”

You freeze. Actually, scratch that. You malfunction.

Your body halts so fast you nearly swing into the doorframe. You swivel on your heel, well aware of how the universe personally loves to torment you.

Jeon Jungkook is smiling, cheek to cheek.

He’s leaned back in his own chair now, one leg crossed over the other like he’s settling into a fireside chat, phone lifted lazily in the air, Gmail open and illuminating.

You can only assume his own boss forwarded the press pool email to him. God isn’t exactly subtle when he wants you to suffer.

“They letting just anybody in now?” You muster up the insult.

He shakes his head. “Didn’t even have to ask. Must be fate.”

No part of you falters. You stare at him. “Or a curse. It’s also not even confirmed yet, dimwit.”

“I don’t make the rules,” He raises his hands in mock defeat, and somehow you know that’s a lie. You’re almost certain he knew this was coming and bribed someone.

Jenna pats you on the back as she walks past. “Think of it as a growth opportunity.”

You glance at her like she just told you to do trust falls into oncoming traffic. “I don’t want a growth opportunity. I want a restraining order.”

Jungkook hums solemnly. “You’ll miss me.”

“Like a migraine,” You quip.

You step into the hallway and exhale, followed by a brief intermission where you regret every life decision that led you here.

A few distant feet away, Jungkook calls out all bright and cheerful, like this is a fun little reunion instead of your personal hell, “Should I bring the talking points or are we winging it like last time?”

Not a fiber in your body stops. You just keep walking, steps fast, fury simmering beneath the surface like a pot that’s about to boil over.

Of course you’ll be stuck sharing air and quotes and probably a goddamn printer with him.

Like you said, press pools… bane of your entire existence.

masterlist + ask

taglist ; @somehowukook @lovingkoalaface @moroe-blog2 @almatiarau @hanamgi @yooniepot @strawberryberrygirl @rossy1080 @libra04 @kenzierj11 @senaqsstuff @dtownbae @xumyboo @chimchoom @satisfied18 @arcanekookz @vintagemoonsstuff @brokebitch-101 @taolucha @songbyeonkim @oopscoop @mochibites00 @whatevevrerr @lessthantmr @nesha227 @mar-lo-pap @jazzyb22 @lachesismoonmist @indyuhhhhh @sky-23s-world @jiminshi20 @khadeeeeej @withluvjm @anishasingh1233 @jksusawife @btstrology @youphoriajk @jadestonedaeho7 @diamondjeon @sharplycoldpaladin @annafarrr @tteokbokibyjk @prxdajeon @tatzzz-25 @bellefaerie @swimmingweaselzineegs

[luveline]

also didn’t realise that amanda was their little baby but here’s an idea if ur up for it. amanda inherits like spencer’s smartness i guess and so when she starts spewing facts about the random-est stuff spencer’s overjoyed and then bombshells just staring at them with adoration in her eyes?? idk something really fluffy

“Shoes?” Amanda asks. 

“Yeah, babe.” 

“No thanks.” 

You hold Amanda’s socked feet in your hands. “You need shoes to keep your feet warm.” 

“I’ll have socks.” 

You look past her tiny face to her father for some assistance. Spencer scratches his neck, looking absolutely exhausted, though he’s dressed sharply. You’d spent a few minutes finger curling his hair this morning before it dried, and he’s brushed them out gently, giving him a windblown look. You pretend to take a photo of him. He rolls his eyes. 

“Amy,” he says lovingly, baby-voice in play as he leans over the back of the couch, “you know why you have to wear shoes?” 

“Why?” 

“Because growing up, your feet are very small, and very fragile. They need time to grow in proper structures, and they can’t do that if you don’t wear shoes when you’re walking a lot.” He gives her shoulder a rub. “Don’t you wanna match me and mommy?” 

“You wear shoes… different. Mom has heels,” she insists. 

“What if I wear flats?” you ask, eager to leave the house before afternoon. 

She shakes her head, crossing her arms over her chest with a Spencer style pout. 

Spencer sits down next to her with a sigh. You’re both aware of how smart she is for her age, and while it can be interesting, it’s also made some stuff so, so hard. Like explaining shoes. “I’m not want to wear them. It’s good for my skin to breathe.” All her r’s sound soft, like w’s.

You rub your eyes. Spencer sucks in an excited breath. “Yes! Skin can’t really breathe, but it’s good to have it uncovered sometimes to help your circulation and your pores.” 

“‘Xactly,” Amy says. 

“And, you know, shoes that don’t fit right force your feet into narrow positions, which can cause a whole bunch of problems.” 

“No shoes,” Amy says. 

“But…” Spencer backtracks, thumbing under her eyelashes gently. “If you don’t wear your shoes, we can’t go out to the store for groceries and we can’t go to the bakery on the way home. Which means you won’t get your sugar donuts, mommy won’t get her slice of cake, and that’s gonna make me so sad.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I love when your mom is happy. It makes me happy when she’s happy. She doesn’t look very happy now, does she?” 

In all honesty, you’re much too pretty to be sitting on the floor, tights to the carpeting and your cute black dress bunching up your thighs. You refuse to close yourself into the ‘mom’ box some may expect of you, dressing as you had before you became a mom, but you’ve allowed Amanda the opportunity to choose your necklace; a gold pendant ring with green and pink sapphires. It’s gorgeous, colourful, and doesn’t even slightly go with your outfit. Spencer reaches for it now, tugging it straight carefully against your neck. 

You frown deeply, pulling your widest, softest doe eyes. “Please, lovely girl, put your shoes on. Or I’m gonna have to be strict, and I hate being strict.” 

“Don’t fw-own, mommy,” she says, listing into Spencer’s side, “you’ll get wrinkles. Worse wrinkles, ‘cos your muscles remember.” 

And again, all her r’s are w’s, her pronunciation lispy and sweet despite her amazing expertise. Spencer laughs and takes her face into two hands, kissing “Wow, smarty pants,” into her crown. “You’re so smart! I can’t believe it!” 

You feel your annoyance softening. Fine, she’s a smarty pants, and you secretly love it so so much. You’ll just have to carry her to the car. Or her genius dad can carry her. Actually, that could be great, Spencer’s never looked so handsome as he does carrying around your little baby, especially now he’s started working out every now and then. 

“Better role your sleeves up, Spence,” you say, standing up off of your knees. “I’m keeping my heels on. Daddy’s gonna carry you, and you’re gonna get wonky feet.” 

“That’s fine,” Spencer says to her in a whisper, “I’ll carry you forever if you want me to, even if you do get all wonky, bubby.”  

Amy preens as she wraps her arms around him and he picks her up. He takes her shoes from your hand without her seeing. 

“Isn’t she amazing?” he mouths, and he means it, his eyes wide with it. 

“She’s gonna protest socks, next, Spencer Reid, and then what are you gonna do?” you ask. You aren’t half as concerned as you’re pretending to be. Amy’s a baby. She’ll learn how important shoes are soon enough. 

“I’m gonna hold her in my coat, like this,” he says, pulling his coat over her legs. 

“Like that,” you say to yourself, grinning. “Okay, you two do what you want. Can we go now? We really need to get some groceries.” 

[lewisvinga]

that’s my girl | lance stroll x fem! reader

summary; lance’s fans hated y/n for her personality and willingness to defend him and herself at any cost. however, their views on her change when a fan meets her and posts all about it

fc; tara yummy

warnings; suggestive comments

taglist; @namgification

note; requested! i’ve been obsessed w tara yummy lately but yall my requests are closed atm, i’ll open them soon once i finish w the requests i have rn 😫 so pls bear w me n be patient 🙏

masterlist !

liked by lance_stroll, lilymhe, and others!

yourusername: my man bought me chanel. sick.

username: not her not tagging lance…

yourusername: don’t want people looking at what’s mine 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

lance_stroll: acting like you weren’t begging for a bag and a pair of shoes🤣

yourusername: not u exposing me 😩

lance_stroll: just telling the truth 🤫

lance_stroll: anything for my girl❤️

yourusername: wahhh

username: i wanna be like y/n

yourusername: to be like y/n, u gotta have the y/n mindset 💆‍♀️💆‍♀️

username: she ate this tho icl

username: ugh i don’t like her, she’s such a gold digger and it’s so obvious

yourusername: gold digger is when girl receives bags from millionaire boyfriend🤕

username: she’s so ugly and unclassy, idk why lance is dating her

yourusername: you’re pretty unclassy, but while we’re at it, lance just made out w me 😁😁

lilymhe: WOWWWW you’re so hot i can treat u better than him

yourusername: i can treat u better than alex bae

liked by lance_stroll, carmenmmundt, and others

yourusername: i 🖤 st tropez

username: here she goes again w the not tagging him💀💀💀

yourusername: big deal , i’m literally sitting on him and he watched me post this 🥱🥱

username: THE SECOND PICTURE???? IS SO???😩😩😩😩😩

username: omg the second picture i’m gonna go crazy

username: who even took the last picture?

yourusername: my boyfriend 🔥

lance_stroll: beautiful as always😍

yourusername: gonna give you a big fat kiss

username: i actually like her but he’s all daddy’s money, she should date some other driver who earned his spot

yourusername: LMFAOOO, babe most drivers on the grid ARE nepo babies and come from rich families 💀 yall just mad that lawrence is a loving father 🤕🤕

username: she ate this one thing up

username: i love her idc attitude idk

username: i don’t! she’s so mean and disrespectful to lance’s fans, it’s so nasty

yourusername: no i just defend myself and lance, maybe if yall weren’t coming at my neck every 5 seconds i’d be nicer 🥱🥱

carmenmmundt: GORGEOUS 😍

yourusername: NOOO YOUU😩

liked by lance_stroll, yourusername, and others

f1wagupdates:

a fan met y/n l/n while in new york city! she said that y/n was super nice, complimented her outfit, and even introduced her to lance! turns out the black cat of the paddock is super sweet!

tagged; yourusername, lance_stroll

username: her smile :( she looks so sweet

username: ugh i love her idc what yall think

username: omg omg i was that girl, she even gave me her lip gloss bc i asked about the shade😩

yourusername: lmk what u think bb bc the formula is so chefs kiss

username: omg shes in nyc??? i need to meet her nowww

yourusername: for a couple more days, may or may not pop up in saks tmrw at noon🤭

username: y’all were just bitter she’s dating your fave!! y/n will always be her

username: u could never catch me hating on mother

yourusername: i promise you guys i’m not scary😩😩 i’ll just defend my man or myself whenever 🤷‍♀️

lance_stroll: y/n is the sweetest girl i’ve ever met. she’s made me the happiest man ever. hating on her means hating me. i would take legal action against some people who leave nasty comments but y/n’s against it. she’s the best girl i could ever ask for. liked by yourusername, f1wagupdates and others!

lance_stroll: but that’s my girl ❤️

lance_stroll: and that ladies and gentlemen is how to make the y/n l/n giggle

yourusername: STOP EXPOSING ME😖

[ghostsirensworld]

may I please request a Luffy x fem reader where they encounter an enemy who’s devil fruit makes people reveal the truth which ends up with Luffy confessing his feelings for the reader and leaves him all embarrassed and the rest of the crew in shock. maybe he even says something along the lines of “I think y/n looks cute when she’s wearing my straw hat” idk, I just had this thought I hope it makes sense cause I feel like it would be super adorable! thank you!!

whoops i post once in a while yall gotta get used to it i fear but yesss

“Under the Hat”

(Luffy x Fem!Reader — ooc?)

It was supposed to be a normal scuffle.

The Straw Hats had cornered the enemy captain — a lanky man with wild hair and a sly grin — when suddenly, he clapped his hands together.

A strange purple ripple washed over the Sunny’s deck like mist.

“You can’t hide anything now,” he crowed. “Thanks to my Hontō Hontō no Mi! You’ll blurt out whatever you’re thinking!”

Everyone stiffened.

“Eh? That sounds annoying,” Luffy said, picking his nose lazily.

The enemy snickered. “Let’s see how long you last, Straw Hat!”

At first, nothing happened.

Then—

Without warning—

“I think Y/N looks super cute when she’s wearin’ my hat!” Luffy declared, loud as anything.

The words echoed across the deck.

A single gull cried overhead.

You froze mid-step.

Nami blinked like she’d been slapped.

Zoro made a sound like he’d just choked on sake.

Sanji let out a wail of despair, clutching his chest.

Even Franky’s jaw dropped open with a metallic clunk.

Luffy stood there, looking as casual as ever—until he realized everyone was staring at him.

He frowned. “What? It’s true.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

“You—you think that?” you stammered.

“Yeah,” Luffy said instantly, scratching his cheek. “You look cool. And cute. Like part of my treasure.”

His voice was so open, so genuine, it knocked the breath out of you.

The enemy captain cackled, delighted.

“I told you! No secrets!”

Luffy tilted his head, utterly baffled. “Huh? That’s not a secret though. I already knew that.”

The crew faceplanted collectively.

“THAT’S THE POINT!” Usopp shouted, yanking at his hair.

“Luffy… you don’t just say that kind of stuff!” Nami snapped, smacking his arm.

“Why not?” Luffy asked, looking genuinely confused. “I meant it.”

At this, your cheeks flamed hotter than a firework.

You gripped the hem of your shirt tightly, trying to hide your face.

Zoro smirked from where he leaned against the mast. “Captain’s got guts, I’ll give him that.”

Brook twirled his cane. “Yohohoho! Such youth! Such romance!”

Meanwhile, Sanji sobbed openly into a handkerchief. “To think—our captain falls in love before me! This cruel world!!”

Chopper was busy spinning in circles, tiny hooves smacking his cheeks.

“This is too embarrassing!! I can’t take it!!”

Still, Luffy, simple and bright, just beamed at you.

“You can wear it whenever you want, y’know,” he said suddenly, lifting his hat and plopping it lightly on your head.

You blinked up at him, your heart practically melting.

The straw hat — his treasured straw hat — slid over your forehead, nearly swallowing you whole.

Luffy grinned wide, that pure, honest grin that could command the seas.

“You look good,” he said again, simple as breathing.

You bit your lip, smiling helplessly under the hat’s brim.

“Thanks, Captain,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Luffy laughed — loud and delighted — and tossed an arm casually around your shoulders, pulling you close without hesitation.

He didn’t seem to even realize he was doing it — it was natural, like claiming something important without thinking twice.

The crew howled louder at the sight.

“Y/N’s officially the captain’s favorite now,” Nami said, smirking wickedly.

“You better treat her like gold, Luffy,” Franky added, striking a dramatic pose. “Or we’ll super kick your ass!”

Luffy just flashed a toothy grin.

“I already do!” he shouted.

You hid your burning face behind the wide brim of his hat, feeling like you could float right off the ship.

Somewhere behind you, Zoro muttered under his breath, grinning:

“Idiot.”

But you didn’t mind.

Because if loving an idiot like Luffy meant getting to see this side of him — bright, wild, and true —

you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[tiamathh]

Walk Walk Fashion Baby

Hi girlies new year new style ykwim anyway this is a pac that i have been wanting to make for a long time but i was like idk how many ppl will like it etc but now idc about all that i want to have fun so here it is!! Have fun and stay hydrated. muah <33 also my paid readings are open there are a few slots (15) if anyone's interested xx ciao <3 like and rb if you like xx

Masterlist / Paid Readings + FB / Tip jar

Pile 1

Hi pile 1! You need to try that classical, timeless, style, i know it can be annoying to look at all the beige and muted tones but its so much more than that like, picture this, a tailored blazer or high-waisted trousers that fit like a dream. tbh I am also getting pearls for some reason so maybe adding neckklaces as accessories can be something you are interested in to incorporate in your style next year. Start with a simple white shirt, a fitted black dress, or a pair of cut jeans. Then you can accesorise with delicate gold bracelet, a black bag, or a string of pearls again with the pearls they are calling for you right nowww.

Moreover, another style you can incorporate is just as sharp, and elegant so like the whole academia aesthetic, regardless of light or dark that doesn’t matter but what I am trying to say is, clothes with shape. Like cinched wastes and just clothes that create shape for you are like something you really should give thought to. It’s about being comfortable but also looking effortlesss while doing it all, I think basics like camis, just plain shirts/tshirts are something you need more of in your closet because theres so many ways to style them other than just for formal wear. Like one style inspo is literally Proncess Diana cannot get more elgant than her istg, enjoy muah <33

Pile 2

Y’all this is my pile you guys are my PEOPLE ok to begin with you need to stop being afraid of colour and looseness like not everything has to be tight and fitted especially just because the microtrend world says so. Experiment with “loud” colours and different textures, things you may have thought are “odd” and don’t look good, because trust me the way it can all be pulled together is crazy and so much fun!! Layer, the most important part, stack rings and bracelets and go for those colours that lowkey hurt your eyes because fashion is about colour and pattern and texture and taking all of it out of fashion just makes it dull imo.

Start with a bright coloured tshirt, maybe something like yellow, then layer on, very “indie kid” aesthetic like the high saturation stuff. Mixed with that I am also getting maximalism to the MAX layer layer layer, stack stack stack you should look like a walking apparell store (kidding) seriously though if you have been feeling like you want to experiment with something like this and oxidised jewellery and mixing different styles mainly because all of your wardrobe is mismatched (me) then go for it because I promise it will come out looking way better than you may have imagined. 

Pile 3: 

Ooo I love this, okay so very romanticised, very coquette but not really, this is also the pile which will look so good in pastels in lighter colours. All I am getting in my head are those pictures of people on picnics in their flowy outfits and dresses looking so pretty and at peace, bows and dellicate bangles, just a very dainty aesthetic im thinking light fabrics and romantic fashion like lace-trimmed dresses, pastel skirts and floral prints, very fairytaile-ish. Ruffles or embroidery too and just magical overall. Also the complete opposite of pile 2 here, minimalist aesthetic may suit you a lot so try it out next year!

I am talking about keeping it simple, not too much with the accessorising and maybe a staple or statement accessory piece that goes with everything and anything you wear. Also for some of you with this simplistic style, you may have to be pushed to try on something more glam too like a bold red lip when it comes to makeup, like be bolder with your makeup experiment with more purples, pinks and reds while keeping the outfits simpler. 

All Rights Reserved tiamathh©® DO NOT PLAGIARISE, REWORD, STEAL!

[catbread0]

Hi , first time requesting something but could you do a Qin Shi Huang x shy fem River goddess reader hc or one shot (I don't mind) , possibly fluff , reader is the goddess of the sea/rivers in China (so Mazu) , and QSH finds her after his match , wondering why she's so familiar, QSH saw her once dancing byherself when he was still a proper ruler of China. I think she'd look like how Mazu looks on the pictures I've seen, I think I'd like QSH to try to marry Reader.

Please and Thank you

Qin Shi Huang x Mazu! Reader

It was nice doing this request. Forgive me if he sounds OOC. It's because I haven't read any manga after season 2 due to there being no hard copies in English in my state. I'm only going off of what my friend has told about their personality traits, without spoilers. Hope you enjoy reading, and I'm sorry for any grammar mistakes!!

(*´・∀・｀*)

Words: 587

(!!PLEASE NO SPOILERS!!)

Fluff, idk who actually won the round

Record of Ragnarok Masterlist

Searching For You

Qin Shi has been wandering around China. Being an emperor was draining and decided to see where more forces were needed in case of an invasion from any neighboring countries.

While he was walking around, he heard a faint yet soothing voice coming from the distance.

Curiosity got the better of him, and he decided to follow the voice. There, he hid behind a tree and saw a beautiful maiden dancing in the river that flowed by here.

That beautiful maiden was you, Mazu, the Chinese Goddess of the sea. However, he didn’t know who you were.

You didn’t notice Qin Shi behind the tree as you kept dancing. Your red hanfu flowed elegantly with your movements, and the gold hairpins and jewelry that you wore swayed with you.

Qin Shi couldn’t take his eyes off of you, and he studied your appearance. However, he took a step to get a better look but stepped on a branch that was on the ground.

You immediately heard the noise and stopped dancing. You were on high alert and vanished into the water.

Qin Shi came out of his spot and tried to find you and followed down the river for a bit. But at the end of the day, he couldn’t find the maiden that had stolen his heart at first sight.

During his reign as emperor, Qin Shi would hire people to try and find the beautiful maiden. Some said that he may have been dreaming or hallucinating, but he knew what he saw wasn’t fictional. Qin Shi would ask painters to paint the beautiful maiden by giving descriptions of them.

All of them came close, but he would not be satisfied even if it was the smallest mistake.

You plagued his mind until he died.

Now, Qin Shi was fighting for his life again in the hospital of Valhalla. His match had finished, and he was recovering, but while he was watching the screen they had for him in the room, he saw a glimpse of the same beautiful maiden he saw years ago.

Qin Shi immediately asked for a nurse and asked if they knew who that maiden was. They said yes, and he asked for you to be brought to his room.

A few minutes later, you arrived, and you were in front of him. He knew you weren't a hallucination. He was glad he finally found you again.

You both talked to each other, and you had to admit it was lovely talking to someone as interesting as him.

Qin Shi explained how he searched for you when he scared you off. You laughed since you were mostly worshipped during the Song Dynasty, almost 740 years apart.

The moment Qin Shi was discharged, he went to find you and asked you to have a date with him. You both had a joyful time, but to Qin Shi, it felt as if he kept falling for you more each time you laughed or smiled at him.

After a few days, Qin Shi decided to ask for your hand in marriage. But not without making it extravagant, after all, what emperor wouldn't make a ceremony for a god and future empress?

Qin Shi learned that you are celebrated on your birthday, the 23rd day of the third month of the lunar calendar. So he gathered all of his civilians both far and wide to his palace to create the largest and best festival for you.

Qin Shi couldn't wait for your birthday to propose to you.

~Lilly's

[jjungkookislife]

Fill the Void

pairing: yoongi x f.reader

genre: best friend's brother, sort of fwb, smut 18+

summary: Yoongi doesn't do relationships, but you need him to fill the void.

wc: 623

warnings: alcohol mention/use, cigarettes, angst with a happy ending, smut, idk I just miss yoongi

date: May 10, 2025

You’d lost count of the days. Mornings blended into evenings. Your routine was mundane. You weren’t sure if you were breathing at times, and all because you missed Min Yoongi.

You felt like an idiot as you watched the sunset over the horizon once again.

It’s not like you two were a thing. Far from it, but fuck, did he create a void when he was gone. 

You hated him. 

Lies.

 All lies.

You loved him. 

More than you should. 

More than anything.

 Pathetic.

Min Yoongi didn’t do relationships.

He barely did hookups.

Much less friendship.

You weren’t sure where you stood.

When your phone rings, you ignore it. You watch as the light dims when the caller hangs up. Moments later, the screen lights up. 

A voicemail.

Ridiculous.

Fuck Min Yoongi!

~

“Hello? Are you even paying attention to me?” Jimin waves his hand in front of you. You blink a few times before meeting his gaze.

“Huh?” You ask with furrowed brows. Had he been speaking?

“I asked if you’re ready for the end-of-the-year party. Taehyung says it’ll be the best one yet!” Jimin exclaims as he shuts his daybook.

“Oh, yeah,” You nod, grabbing your drink to take a sip.

“You’ve been distracted lately. Is something going on?” Jimin asks, concerned. He places his hand over yours.

“I’m fine,” You lie with a grin. “Just end-of-the-year stress. You know how it is,” You shrug. Jimin looks unconvinced, but he knows better than to pry.

“Okay,” he smiles hesitantly. “If you say so.”

You wave him off as you ask about Taehyung’s plans for the party. Taehyung had been your best friend since high school, and unfortunately, he was Yoongi’s younger brother. You knew better than to fuck around with a best friend’s sibling, but you couldn’t help it.

It had started innocently enough.

At one of Tae’s parties. Yoongi had been bored. He had already asked if he could leave twice before Taehyung shoved him on a couch with a cold beer and an ashtray.

“Keep him entertained,” Tae had begged you as he dropped you off with his brother.

“The fuck?” Yoongi had chuckled. “How’d he rope you into this?”

“Don’t ask,” you grumbled unamused.

“Gotta be pretty special to keep Tae’s attention, much less mine,” Yoongi shrugged.

“As if you’re King Midas,” you huffed in annoyance.

“Can’t turn shit to gold, but I can make you cum until you see Heaven,” Yoongi grins, and you smack his arm.

He laughs, deciding he likes you.

~

Yoongi settles between your legs, your hands pinned above your head as you both lie naked on his California King bed.

“Fuck me,” you plead as he rocks his hips to yours.

“Beg me. I need you to need it, to cry for it,” Yoongi responds with a cocky grin.

“Yoongi!”

“Come on, babe. You can do better than that, can’t ya?”

“Shut up and fuck me!”

“Not until you ask nicely. Like you’ve earned this fat cock.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me,” Yoongi sneers as he sinks balls deep, making you forget your name, your species, your being.

Only he can fill the void.

~

Yoongi isn’t great at relationships, much less friendships.

He avoids you.

He hides.

He disappears.

He’s invisible.

You seek him.

You want him.

You need him.

Does he need you?

Does he think of you?

Does he remember how he buried himself inside you?

Does he remember how perfectly he fit?

~

“Another shot?” Tae asks as he makes the rounds.

Yoongi is absent.

You don’t look too hard for him… what’s the point?

Except this time, Yoongi shows… he seeks you out.

He needs you to fill the void.

He needs you.

He can’t forget you.

He loves you… 

© jjungkookislife—I do not allow reposts or translations of my work on any platforms, including YouTube.

[holy-amelie]

idk if it just me being depressed, but I want to live in sunday's dream. Live of escapism with nothing but joy. But I too know it's unhealthy.

AE!reader where joining the crew is their escape from their home planet, so they understand sunday's point of view of things, and to remind him he's not alone and they can grow out of it together.

idk if this is considered trauma dump or not, but if you're uncomfortable, it's okay to not write this too.

lots of love and I hope you have a good day

'Escapism' sfw (Sunday)

...when the world is too cruel ˎˊ˗

·.༄࿔ characters: Sunday, you

·.༄࿔ pairing: Sunday x g/n!AE!reader

·.༄࿔ cw: no tw, fluff and hurt/comfort, non-native english author, written before 2.7, but contains spoilers/leaks, be careful! Can be ooc but this is how I see him at the moment. You are from the Astral Express here.

·.༄࿔ a/n: thank you fror your request! And don't worry, love, I totally understand that feeling 💔 Sometimes I wish I could live in his dream too

Escapism is a refuge for the weary soul, a sanctuary where reality melts away. 

You, more than anyone else on the Express, understand how much we sometimes just want to escape the cruel reality and dissolve into dreams of a better world. That's why, back on Penacony, something in you resonated with Sunday's words.

That incomprehensible promise of paradise he dreamed of so much and sought so desperately.

But no matter how good his intentions may have been, their realization was not… Healthy. Not at all. Trapping everyone in a big, perfect dream with no choice was wrong, you knew that. Even if it was what your heart desperately wanted - a chance to escape reality.

Sunday was mentally crushed after all his dreams of a perfect future without pain and suffering were shattered. It had undermined his whole motivation, his whole purpose in life so much, that he was ready to be destroyed along with those dreams.

Waking up was the hardest part.

"Is there still a paradise?" he whispered, looking out the window at the star-studded canvas of space. "Or is there no place for wounded souls to rest?"

Sunday shifted his gaze to you, his eyes — shining pools of gold filled with endless sadness for everyone lost and abandoned in their pain. Something you've never seen in anyone else. Since he joined the Express, you've talked a lot, sometimes spending nights with a cup of tea away from prying eyes and ears. Underneath the leader's facade was a vulnerable, sensitive soul that was gradually revealing itself to you.

"I don't think this paradise exists," you replied quietly. "But… Even if it doesn't exist, if it can't be built for all who suffer, people are capable of creating safe havens for each other. Even in the most desperate times, people can create their own paradise. Small and fragile, but still."

It was a painful truth that you had to face, just like him. The way this world works, you can't just run away and hide forever. Locking everyone in a golden cage isn't the answer, too. Grief and joy go hand in hand. Without one, the other is meaningless.

He stared at you in silence for a while, trying to comprehend the depth of your words.

"You sound just like my sister," a bitter smile appeared on his lips and Sunday lowered his gaze. "In a good way."

For a while there was a comfortable silence between you, broken only by the hum of the Express' engines and Mart's loud laughter somewhere in the distance. Of course, it's hard to change your worldview at the snap of a finger, it really is, but Sunday tried. For his sister's sake, for the future, for… you.

"I understand how you feel," you said again. "I feel it too. The desire to find relief from suffering. But, Sunday…" you turned to him, and he tilted his head slightly, listening. "This world is complicated. Sometimes cruel, sometimes beautiful. Everyone has their own path, sometimes paved with suffering, and… Here at the Express, we can help those in need. And bring happiness back to them. Without forcing into anything. Without sacrificing our own happiness to create eternal paradise."

“Do you think I still have a chance to bring something good into this world?” he asked.

You just nodded. Despite everything, his soul was still noble and pure. If his intentions were channeled in the right direction, Sunday could be a ray of hope in the darkness for many.

“Then…” he smiled, much softer this time, not taking his eyes off you. “Will you be ready to find a new path with me?”

Of course. You will.

please, do not rewrite/copy/repost/translate my work without me knowing, you can always ask first, thanks

[historyslittlebish]

Hello. I would like to ask for your permission before I submit a full request.

Do you by any chance accept King Baldwin x Male!Reader request? It might involve NSFW scenario as well.

King Baldwin IV x Male!Guard!Reader One shot NSFW: (Completed!)

a/n: Hi anon and I know I declined but I'll still do it because I feel bad for rejecting, Idk how to write NSFW so it's gonna be bad but i'll do it. I also don't know if this is a scenario you wanted but if you wanna request a different one please do! Also I apologize because I have never watched the movie and I'm not sure how accurate this is.

==========================================

Warning: fluff, handjob, occ for our king I think

It was often unheard of, two men in a romantic or sexual relationship. Many thought it was sin, it wasn't something god accepted but they can never really know the answer can they? Why would god let them feel the feelings, why would god allow it to be an option? That is something many people never ponder enough.

Something that a knight named Y/N never pondered until he met with the great king of Jerusalem, Baldwin the IV.

Y/N had been hired as a knight since Baldwin was 12 and Y/N was 15 and a freshly knighted boy. As years past, Y/N was named best soldier in the brackets of the armies. He was agile, quick, resilient, strong, and most of all, loyal.

He was the kings personal guard which he didn't mind at all. He had grown close to the king, enough to get the king to show him his sore ridden face, his scars, his 'ugliness' but to Y/N, he was anything but ugly.

Y/N saw a kind hearted boy and man growing up, intelligent, brave, and strong willed, those were the words Y/N thinks when describing the king, everyone does.

Growing up, he saw Baldwin's determination to become a great king and to overcome his deadly illness. Only one could be truly possible but Baldwin was content, despite being numb to the bone, skin lesions, and more.

Today was like any other. Baldwin had a few things to get done but after that, he could have his peace.

Y/N stood slightly behind the throne Baldwin sat on, staring at the arguing lords and counsel members. Each fighting on whose strategies are better, who's morally righteous, whatever that is available to bicker about.

Y/N heard Baldwin sigh as he raised his hand and made a sound.

Suddenly everyone looked over and quieted down.

"I will meet with Saladin, we shall negotiate peace." Baldwin shifted slightly before hearing one of the older counsel members try to inerject.

"How do we know we can trust that Muslim r-" Baldwin raised his hand once more, immediately silencing the man "He may be Muslim, but we will respect him and treat him with nobility and equality.".

Y/N's heart thumped in his chest at the kings word. The kings kindness and true compassion was incredibly admirable but also making him lust for the king.

The people of the counsel glanced between each other but bowed at the kings words before swiftly making their exit, allowing the two men to be alone and at ease.

Baldwin slowly stood from his throne and looked at Y/N.

Y/N could see the exhaustion in his eyes, his beautiful sky blue eyes. Y/N snapped himself out of his thoughts and kept up a stoic expression.

"What now, my king?" Y/N asked as Baldwin stepped towards him. The king cautiously touched the mans arm and looked deep into his eyes. "I think I require a way to relax before I retire for tonight." As he said this, Baldwin's hand tools Y/N's and slowly led it down to his pelvis area where a little tent formed under his white and gold robes.

"My king.." Y/N breathed as his hand ghosted the man's bulge.

"Make me a happy man, Y/N, I long for your touch." Baldwin's raspy voice murmured as his being was consumed with lust. Y/N doesn't know how a man of God to dare go against him in terms of lust for another male but Y/N can't say he doesn't thoroughly enjoy it.

It doesn't take too long before Y/N helps the king to his quarters and settling on the soft and silky bed.

Y/N helps the king reveal his bulge.

His cock bobbed as soon as it was released from its confines. "Y/N.." Baldwin groans as his hips slightly buck. This is one of those moments when Baldwin thanks the heavens that the feeling in his crotch is not numb or too sore ridden.

Despite the sores, Y/N didn't mind at all. his hungry eyes took in all the kings cock as he played with the tip soaked in pre-cum.

Baldwin groaned as he sat half laying down as the man continued to fiddle with his manhood. Y/N loved the sweet sounds the king was making as he felt himself nearing his peak.

The man let out a loud moan as his semen spilled into the mans hand. As the king came down his high he stared at Y/N in awe, despite him being hired and a guard, he could still love a man like him.

Slowly, Baldwin sat upright and gently grasped Y/N hand, silently hoping that he would not get infected either. Baldwin leaned over and pressed a his to the mans temples.

Y/N softly smiled as he held his beloveds hand, enjoying each others presence. Love radiating off the two.

This is a sin but it is an amazing feeling.

A/N: Hopefully this is to your liking anon! Sorry if its bad :/

[felassan]

Snippets. 🐺💜

John: "one of the funnier quirks of game dev is you will never remember missions by their real names but instead by the name you called them by for several years of development it will never be 'In Your Heart Shall Burn' for me, it'll always be Setback" [source] / Blair: "there was that awkward period where half of the DA:V ones had "gods" in the title, so discussions were always some variant of: "Did you mean 'Gods Are Back' or 'Gods Are Bad'? I've heard people mention 'Egads! Gods!' but I'm not sure if that's new or a rework."" [source] / Malcolm (in reply to John): "I have one like this in DA:Ve and I can't share it yet because spoilers but I promise you it's delightful" [source]

John: "the only one i can ever remember is 'Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts' and it's because it seems to be the only DAI mission that people constantly reference by name online" [source] / Mary: "It's proper name is "Ham Ball." I put that in the file names, even." [source]

John: "idk how widely it’s been advertised but a reminder we are doing another Veilguard Q&A on Discord this Friday noon Mountain time (so 11 Pacific)" [source] / Malcolm: "Make sure you don't tell them about that one thing that happens in that place, with the guy." [source]

Trick: "BioWare released a new screenshot of Taash! I love how it captures the amazing detail work the character artists did." [source]

Image description on the Taash screenshot in Trick's post of the cap:

"A screenshot of Taash looking off to the side. The lighting is warm like either late afternoon or an interior with a fireplace, and it catches in the gold on Taash's armor and horns. Taash looks pensive or vulnerable -- not the deadpan stare or badass determination we've seen in other shots."

pensive or vulnerable.. ohh Taash. 🥺 Trick!!

User on the screenshot: "Taash looks *completely the fuck over this shit* in a totally exhausted sort of way, here. which is, mind, amazing detail work on the character artists' party!!" / Trick: "You know, it's a spectrum." [source]

Trick on DA:I - "Miss May is amazing in many ways, and especially in finding the balance of sweetness to pain for the Solas scenes. ❤️" [source] ((thankyouuu Miss May!!))

User: "it must be basically impossible to resist putting at least one extra moon around your fantasy world" / John: "if dragon age didn’t already have two you’d better believe I would’ve added another one. sitting next to a dial titled ‘number of moons’ and every so often I add another one. anyways the thing about Satina is- (a large hook drags me offstage)" [source, two, three] ((omg.. THE SECOND MOON shfuehfuehdbdh)

User: "i've been thinking about bellara's pockets and i need to know what her thoughts on cargo pants would be. would she be a fan for the utility." / John: "she wouldn't wear them all the time - she's a firm believer in a distinction between 'work clothes' and 'at home clothes' - but she is always in search of more pockets to carry more things into the field. she'd own at least three pairs" [source]

User: "The next two months are going to feel like the Fade section in DAO 😭" / Dragon Age: "Good thing we have a Veil Jumper to help you out! 💜" [source]

User: "MY SON LOOKS SO CUTE" (re: the new pic of Manfred from today) / Dragon Age: "MY BOY MANFRED 💀💚" [source]

User: "Can we change the armor/gear on our companions?" / Dragon Age: "You can!" [source]

User: "thank you for the food 🙏🙏🙏" / Dragon Age: "Enjoy your meal!" [source]

[bangchansgirlsblog]

Hey wassup

If you still taking requests may I suggest angsty fic skz xreader where they imply during argument that the MC is after their money (gold digger) idk if it's better as a reaction of all members or maybe it's easier if you just one scenario with one member without adding their names and the readers can imagine whichever member they think is suitable for the scenario

“Such a Gold digger”

- Lee know

Ahh!!! Thank you so much for the request, I hope you enjoy the stories (I’ve made a few with the different boys). 🩷

!Not proofread!

Warnings: Angst/comfort

Pairing: Leeknow x reader

Summary: Basically Leeknow is a jerk and you put him in his place

**

Tired was what Leeknow was.

His muscles ached, his head was pounding and his throat was sore.

When he walked into the door I could tell he wasn’t in the brightest moods. His hair was messy, his eyes were red and cheeks a light pink.

He looked hot tho. He always looked hot.

“Hey baby.” I say putting down the coffee mug and getting up from my comfy position on the couch. I place a gentle kiss on his pink lips and try to lay down his crazy hair which left me on my tiptoes struggling to balance.

“Hey,” he softly says putting his shoes in the wrack and walking straight into the laundry room to drop his bag. A routine he would do so that he was ready for the next day because he hated waking up early to get his stuff together.

“How was your-“ I begin to ask him a question but was cut off by his irritated sigh.

“Y/n where are my dancing sweatpants?” He says loud from the laundry room.

“I haven’t washed it yet my love, it’s in the dirty pile.” I sit back down and pick up my mug. Watching the cats all pile by my feet as we continued to watch what was playing on the tv.

“Are you serious? I asked you to wash them. I need them for tomorrow.” He says frustrated

“Jeez I’ll just put them in right now. No need to be cranky.” I sigh and get up once again to go deal with his little meltdown.

“I’m not being cranky, I just asked you to do one simple thing and you didn’t even do it. God your so annoying sometimes” I take a step back and eye him top to bottom because I was wondering who he was talking to like that.

My eyes squint at him as I try to take in this little attitude he was having. Annoying? I was the annoying one?

“Jeez Leeknow I was just really busy today with-“ I try to cool down the fire that was about to start but he cuts me off again. This time it was getting under my skin.

“I don’t care.” He slams the cupboards in the laundry room trying to look for whatever it was he was looking for. “I’ll do it myself.”

“I can do it leeknow just go rest.” I say reaching out for the stuff in his hands but he shoves past me making me stumble a little. I stood there shocked, so much anger building up. I understood he had a bad day but did he really have to take it out on me. As I rub my elbow I hear him grumble.

“Your nothing but a gold digger” My heart drops as I turn to the man that was now walking past me to go to the kitchen. I grab his arm and furrow my eyebrows.

Pain and anger filling my chest as I try and process what he said. Was he being Foreal right now? What really was his problem?

“What did you just say?”

“Nothing.”

His boy towered over mine. His eyes were dark and sad. To even look at him right now without punching the shit out of him was hard.

“I’m a gold digger? Wow Leeknow.” I repeat his words. I let go of his hand in disbelief. Now I was leaving the room but I stop to look at him. My vision blurry from the tears threatening to fall from my eyes.

“Why do you always have to take out your bad days on me huh? I was busy the whole day trying to get the stuff you need for your stupid tour! I didn’t have time to be running around doing laundry. I’m not a maid. If you really want one hire a fucking assistant. Then you’ll be grateful right? You’re a fucking prick. Oh I even fucking missed Binna (Y/n’s little sister) recital today! So fuck you. I’ve never even asked you for fucking money. Never in my life. You’ve hurt me Leeknow.” And with that I grab my coffee mug and head into the room where I break down crying.

Leeknow was always short tempered but not in a mean way. More of like a “I’m mad at you so don’t talk to me” way.

Why did he have to be a jerk? Why did he have to make sure to throw things at me that he knew would get to me? He never was appreciative.

The bed was warm but felt empty, the pillows swallowed me and the blanket covered my shaking body. Loud sobs leaving my mouth and little sniffles at the end of each cry. What felt like 10 minutes was an hour. The knock on the door making me pretend to be asleep. I hear familiar footsteps come into the room and the bed sinks beside me.

A sigh leaves his lips before he begins to talk.

“Y/nie? My love? Are you awake my love?” He asks softly. His hands drawing circles on my side but I push them away and turn my back on him. Facing the other end of the bed.

“Okay fair enough, I deserve that.” I hear him say, his voice quavering. Was he crying?

“Y/nie, I’m sorry and I know sorry won’t make you forgive me right now but I’m going to find a way to make it up to you okay? What I said was out of line and so not true. I was just tired and stressed and irritated-“

“But that doesn’t matter Minho.” He looks taken back by the name Minho cause I never call him that. “I have bad days too but you don’t see me calling you names and yelling at you when I get home.” I tell him.

“I know and I need to work on it. This is the first and last time I promise. Just give me some time to make it up to you? I love you so much and never ever will I say things to hurt you.” He’s hand searches for mine and I let them intertwine.

“You were a bitch.” I mumble and I hear him chuckle.

“Yes I was but forgive me? I can’t bare you be mad at me anymore especially when I’m going on tour soon.” I let out a little whine complaining.

“Fine a forgive you,” I roll my eyes and he smiles at me.

“You’re so cute Baby.” He automatically gets on top of me and starts kissing my face everywhere which makes me burst in a fit of giggles.

“Get off babe I’m going to explode!” I yell while trying to push him away.

Soonie and the cats all hop onto the bed and cuddle beside me and leeknow as we slowly drift off to sleep. The night being forgotten.

**

Hyunjin’s part will be out soon 🩷

[star-lights-up]

I have like 5 million headcanons for the Hear Me Out au and I can't fit them all into the fic, so here we go, part one of character headcanons:

Charles:

He identifies as queer because he experiences romantic attraction and gender differently than others due to his telepathy (much more fluid). Generally he just uses male terms but he really just doesn't care all that much about pronouns.

he's nearsighted, and wears glasses.

he may not be able to figure out his own life, but he's got great advice for everyone else (and usually it works)

he's kind of been wanting to get his ears pierced for years but he's worried it'll clash with his academia aesthetic

If he's not wearing jumpers and button-ups he owns like five million oversized hoodies in varying colors

he collects converse

He likes classical music and pop and lofi

He just randomly has teabags all the time

Erik (sorry about his face idk what happened):

He generally respects people he'd just rather not talk to them.

Learned to cook and bake from Edie, it's become cathartic for him.

Knows how to paint and draw but will never tell anyone about it. He also makes sculptures from metal when he's bored.

Likes running and working out.

Angel:

Taylor swift girly to Raven's sabrina carpenter obsession (they've got all these records on their walls)

Does yoga and mountain biking

Makeup specialist of the house (since raven can just do it with her powers)

Will sometimes go flying with sean but he makes her nervous a lot because like, what if something happened to his suit?

Haunts the local starbucks

Raven:

Only wears gold jewelry and loves pink

Will kill anyone who hurts her friends (and they'll never find the body)

Has watched the sabrina carpenter christmas special like ten million times

does "natural makeup" tutorials for mutants with all different skin colors. People send her pictures of their mutation and she shifts into them, spends time making the look, and then posts it for them.

Sean:

Started to learn to cook when they all moved in together (just simple foods for now but he's getting better and really enjoys it)

Wayyyyy too much energy at any given moment

Has perfect pitch and is a great singer because of his mutation. He can also play any instrument by ear.

[leviackermanstoes]

CHARLES XAVIER IS HOT? -WADE

Logan howlett x reader

-

DEADPOOL AND WOLVERINE SPOILERS!!! AND DAYS OF FUTURE PAST BUT I CAN ONLY HOPE EVERYONE HAS SEEN THAT.

-

Warnings: erm idk. Kinda a short one. All will make sense soon. God help me. Major Canon divergence

-

When i first joined the x-mansion as a student, Charles Xavier was old. Though I had heard from plenty of people who knew him as a young adult that he was rather good looking.

I refused to think of my old and wrinkly professor in that way. Mostly because he'd see it and be absolutely horrified I assume.

-

"Logan, I don't think there's anyone here," I stated as he approached the mansion.

Covered in vines and surrounded by rotting timber and splintering trees, the x mansion had Definitely seen better days.

"It's not looking likely that's For sure" he replied.

"Do you guys think Happy Wheels will be here? God I wanna see that old fucker"

Wade was trying to be funny, but Logan and I just glared at him and kept walking. The door to the mansion was rotting and chipping away.

"I think we're in the past" I said, guessing mostly.

Logan pushed open the door gently, and inside stood one man. He was raggedy and bearded.

"Who the hell are you?" I asked the stranger.

"My name is Charles Xavier," he stated, "the real question is who are you? All of you"

"Ho-ly fuck! Charles Xavier is hot?" Wade Gasped loudly with his hands to his mouth

"Was" Logan corrected

"I don't knooooow. I'd let old rolly hit it too"

Me and logan both made disgusted noises.

-

🧠

When Xavier first learnt, I could also use telepathy. It was when I tried to kill Jean. He stopped me and told me to find him in the office.

He tried to help me control it and tried to help me let it get under control so that I wouldn't go insane. But I did. I went crazy, and I would scream and cry and yell and rattle the walls.

And then, one day, without any warning.

It stopped.

I never rattled another wall again

-

"So, you're all from the future?" Charles furrowed his eyebrows.

"More or less, yeah, we're not supposed to be here" Logan spoke.

Well, we have been here before technically. We're just a bit out of time. I scratched my neck awkwardly.

"We didn't necessarily come here to find you. We just have to get back home" I said to charles

Wade's mouth was still agape. "Jesus, you are gorgeous, aren't you?" He was close and personal with Charles, he might as well have been inside his skin.

"Jesus man, have you ever heard of personal space or decency?" Charles scoffed and stood up, walking away from wades perverse self.

"And turn those fucking thoughts off" Charles groaned and pointed to Wade.

"Listen. I know how crazy we are from the future sounds. But to make things worse, you're also a professor in the future, and you teach" I pointed to me and Logan "us"

"I can't help you guys, i don't know what to do" Charles shrugged.

-

Why do you stick by him?

You love him, don't you?

-

🧠

By far, my weirdest interaction in the TVA was when i met a variant of Xavier, and he seemed to know me quite well. He could name my favourite colour, food, even my favourite candle and my favourite animal.

Upon closer inspection, i saw a ring on his finger. Sparkling gold with a small blue gem. I didn't bother to ask what the blue meant, I only knew that my ring on my finger was the same.

It became clear then that this was a Xavier variant I may have married in a way distant universe.

I called for the immediate expulsion of the variant instantly after.

-

Don't let him go

Do it I dare you

You love him

You love him

You love him

He's not yours

You can't do this

Don't do this

Don't do it

It's not right

-

"Charles?" I said.

It was nighttime. We were forced to take shelter in the mansion as we knew we had nowhere else to go.

"Yes?" The bearded man turned to me

"Can you do me a favor?"

-