#let me know if you know more about them and i will add it!

[theliteraryluggage]

Okay, disclaimer, I'm coming at this entirely from a manga viewpoint.

The manga was my first experience of FMA, and to me it will always be the best.

I have seen and enjoyed both 03 and Brotherhood, but BH is closer to my heart, because it's closer to the manga, simple as that.

Generally speaking, I don't disagree, I recommend people watch 03, but I also think it shouldn't be the first encounter with FMA you have. Because while they share the name, the cast and, to a degree, the worldbuilding, FMA03 is a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT STORY.

That is not a criticism. I appreciate 03 for what it is, for the themes it covers, for the emotions it conveys. But imagine someone watches 03 first, and then goes back to read the manga, expecting to see the 03 storyline in manga form, they will be disappointed.

My main issue is with the arguments that are repeated over and over again, that the beginning of 03 is more faithful to the manga because IT IS NOT. Yes, 03 takes a whole lot longer to cover the same events than Brotherhood, but that's because they change and add a bunch of stuff, to set up for the diverging part of the story. Yes, they take more time to flesh out the relationship between the Elrics and the Hughes and Nina, but they do it in a way that is completely different from the manga. Because you know what? The entire Nina story, from first meeting her to her death in the manga is ONE CHAPTER.

In that sense, BH is absolutely more faithful to the manga; episode 4 is basically a 1:1 translation of Ch 5 into anime form.

Again, I'm not criticising 03, they way they're handling it makes sense for the story they tell, for the character development they're setting up, which is different from the character development in Mangahood, but it is NOT a faithful adaptation of the manga, and I am tired of hearing it.

A while ago for fic research purposes I compared the Liore story arc in the Manga, 03 and Brotherhood. Directly compared them. Early on in the story, covered by both adaptations, let's see, right?

And yes, neither adaptation is completely faithful. Yes, BH changed the pacing and made the fights more dramatic and flashy. But 03 changed the actual plot beats and worldbuilding. ALREADY the plot is diverging from the manga this early on in the story.

So, I'm sorry, my ire isn't directed at you, OP, but at having to hear over and over and over again that (the beginning of) 03 is the more faithful adaptation. I get the feeling the people who are saying that haven't read the manga in a very long time, or not at all and are just repeating what they have seen other people say about 03.

Generally I think the whole which-is-better debate is completely pointless because again, they are different stories, so they have different beats and pacing, and are trying to achieve different things.

Stop pitching them against each other!

(not directed at OP, but fans in general)

And also, go read the manga. There. Thanks for coming to my ted talk.

Okay but the weirdest thing about the whole "Brotherhood is better you should skip 03" discourse that's become commonplace now, it sort of forgets the world Brotherhood came out in and why you should watch the original Fullmetal Alchemist. When Brotherhood came out, the original Fullmetal Alchemist was one of the most beloved and most watched animes of all time. Brotherhood assumes you the audience have already seen it because of course you have, everyone has seen it, so it skips important information and speeds the story up because it doesn't want to bore you with things you already know. Have you ever wondered "hey why does the first episode of Brotherhood kind of suck, and why am I being introduced to like 50 new characters, and why are they acting like I know what the hell an alchemist is?" It's because Brotherhood thinks you've seen 03.

The first 7 or so episodes of Brotherhood constitute dozens of chapters in the manga, and the first 25 or so episodes of the original Fullmetal Alchemist. The Nina Tucker episode in Brotherhood, in FMA 03 takes up nearly three episodes. Yoki gets a backstory in 03 and it's genuinely one of the best episodes and taken directly from the manga and Brotherhood glosses over it because: duh, you've already seen it. And so if you skip the original you miss out on dozens of really great character building episodes like Ed and Al meeting Hughes for the first time and getting to spend a whole episode helping him free a train from terrorists, or Ed and Roy having a duel that expands on the relationship they have, or episodes where the brothers just help out random people in towns before the major story gets going.

The original also paces itself quite a bit better than Brotherhood and is more in line with the mangas storytelling. In the manga we don't find out about The Gate until nearly two dozen chapters in, and the same goes for the original anime. Like, that's a twist reveal in those stories, and it's weird that the most watched series is the one where they tell you all about The Gate in the first two episodes because they assume you've already seen the original show.

What's more, people don't know that Hiromu Arakawa helped write for the anime while she was still in the middle of writing the manga, and as a result was inspired to write scenes in Brotherhood that the anime did first. That scene of Edward getting impaled by a falling beam? Directly inspired by a similar scene in the original anime. There's a lot of little instances of that and they're great when you can recognize parallels and things in Brotherhood that are direct references to the original anime, but people don't notice any of that anymore. Because the original anime is just an automatic skip these days, and it's a bummer because people don't realize what a giant it was back before Brotherhood was released. They treat it as *bad,* not realizing it was one of the most beloved anime of its time and the problems people take issue with have a lot more to do with personal taste than any kind of actual flaw in the writing. Brotherhood was never meant to dethrone it, and the original anime was always supposed to be part of the viewing experience which is why those first few episodes of Brotherhood are so fast paced. So like, please stop telling people Fullmetal Alchemist 2003 is a skip, or it's bad, or you don't need it because Brotherhood is better. Regardless if you think Brotherhood is better or not, the original wrote Brotherhood's check. It was huge, it was beloved, and Brotherhood is *banking* on the knowledge you've seen all of it and loved it. And trust me when I say there is so much to love about the original series. It's still my favorite branch of the FMA franchise, and it's worth your time, I promise you.

[rafedarling]

can you do the puppy interview with drew starkey x actress reader plss

𝐩𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰

pairing: drew starkey x actress!reader ft rustyn starkey

summary: you and drew, and your son rustyn participate in a puppy interview, creating heartwarming chaos on set.

warning(s): english is not my native language. none, fluff and family fun.

au: like, reblog and feedback are much appreciated. discussion can be send through my ask box, please feel free to send in anything. ⭐️ taglist | tagging: @rubixgsworld @rafeyslamb @bisexualcvnt @tracymbcm @maybankslover @anamiad00msday @stuffyownswrld @httpsdrewstarkey @mileyraes @enjoymyloves @akobx @noobmazter69 @victwrvale @xoxohoneymoongirl @xoxosblogsblog @wearemadeofstardust0 @saviorcomplexrry @percysley @littlelamy @winniemoe @emberaurora @watercolorskyy @kravitzwhore

“Hello, this is Y/N.”

You start with a smile at the camera.

“I’m Drew Starkey,”

Drew adds, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as a playful corgi tugs at his shoelace.

“And I’m Rustyn Starkey!”

Rustyn proudly chimes in, his little voice filling the room.

The way he says it, with a mixture of excitement and confidence, makes the crew chuckle.

“And we’re here for…”

“A puppy interview!” you and Drew announce together while Rustyn claps his hands, his energy infectious.

Rustyn immediately gets distracted by a wiggly golden retriever puppy climbing into his lap.

“Hi, puppy!” he says, giggling as the pup licks his cheek.

Drew picks up the first card, holding it in front of him dramatically.

“Alright, first question… Who is the biggest dog lover? Drew or Y/N?”

He pauses for a second before answering with a grin.

“I’ll say both because we all love puppies!”

You nod, laughing as a dachshund pup curls up by your side.

“Okay, fair answer. But Rustyn might be the biggest dog lover here.”

Rustyn looks up from petting his puppy.

“I love them sooooo much!” he declares, making everyone on set melt.

The next card is passed to you, and you read aloud,

“What would you name this puppy if you could take it home?”

You hold up a fluffy Bernese mountain dog sitting near Rustyn.

“This one feels like a Charlie to me, big and sweet.”

Rustyn thinks for a moment before pointing to the golden retriever still snuggled in his lap.

“I’d name mine Buddy, ‘cause he’s my buddy now!”

Drew laughs, ruffling Rustyn’s hair.

“Buddy’s a solid name. I’d name this little guy Rufus,” he says, gesturing to a dachshund sniffing around his lap.

“He looks like he’s up to something.”

“Dada, can we take them all home?” Rustyn asks, his big eyes looking up at Drew.

You and Drew exchange a knowing glance, both trying not to laugh.

“We’ll see, buddy,” Drew says, grinning.

“But let’s finish the interview first, okay?”

The next question is read by Drew.

“Who’s more likely to sneak the puppy treats?”

“Dada,” Rustyn answers immediately, giggling.

Drew raises his hands in mock surrender.

“Okay, okay, guilty. But you’d sneak them, too, wouldn’t you, Rusty?”

Rustyn looks thoughtful for a moment before nodding.

“Yeah, but only if the puppies are really good.”

“That’s my boy,” Drew says, laughing as a corgi puppy climbs onto his lap.

The crew brings out more puppies, creating a delightful chaos as they run around the set. One pup grabs a squeaky toy, making Rustyn laugh so hard he falls back onto the couch.

“Alright, next question!” you say, trying to regain focus.

“Who’s more likely to cry if the puppy gets hurt or sick?”

You, Drew, and Rustyn all point at each other simultaneously, which sends everyone into fits of laughter.

“No way, it’s Dada,” Rustyn insists, his tiny finger pointing directly at Drew.

“You cried when we saw the movie about the dog!”

Drew laughs, trying to defend himself.

“It was an emotional movie! And don’t act like you didn’t cry too, bud.”

Rustyn shrugs, giggling. “Maybe a little.”

You laugh, shaking your head.

“Let’s just agree that we’d all be emotional wrecks if anything happened to these little guys.”

The final question comes up, and you hand the card to Drew. He reads it aloud.

“What’s one quality in each other that would make you amazing dog parents?”

Drew pauses, his expression softening as he looks at you.

“You’re so patient and loving. You make everything, whether it’s taking care of Rustyn, the dogs, or me, feel effortless. And I know you’d raise the most well-behaved dogs in the world… somehow.”

You feel your heart swell but quickly focus on him.

“And you’re the most hands-on dad and partner I’ve ever seen. You’d be out there training the dogs, playing with them, and making sure they’re spoiled with love. They’d be the happiest pups ever.”

Rustyn looks between the two of you.

“And I’d give them hugs and kisses every day!”

“We know you would,” you say, pulling him close for a quick kiss on the head.

As the interview wraps up, Rustyn is lying on the floor with three puppies cuddling around him, his giggles filling the set. You and Drew watch, smiling at each other.

“Mommy, Dada can we take Buddy home, please?” Rustyn pleads, his eyes shining with hope.

Drew looks at you, raising an eyebrow.

“What do you think, Mama?”

You laugh, knowing the answer was already decided the moment Rustyn named the puppy.

“Alright, Buddy can come home with us.”

Rustyn cheers, throwing his arms around the golden retriever.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Drew leans over to kiss your cheek, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

“You’re the best.”

As the scene fades, Rustyn’s voice rings out

“This is the best day ever!”

[shrimpybbq]

obx actress!reader winning an award for best actress and going up to the stage, ready to give her speech. the cameras already captured her and Drew sitting by each others side and the tight hug he gave her as her name was called as the winner. the cameras also caught the big kiss he gave her, along with his lips moving as he told her “I’m so proud of you baby.”

she’s up on the stage giving her speech, about to wrap up when she takes a deep breath, turning to find drew in the crowd. she’d already thanked the directors and the crew and her parents, but now it was his turn.

“And to my Joey, I love you. Thank you for always being by my side, for always encouraging me to take risks and for being the most supportive person in my life. Everyday I get to spend with you is a gift and I will never be able to explain to you how much you mean to me. I love you and thank you.”

all in the crowd could be seen smiling widely, some close with the couple even getting teary eyed. drew and obx!actress reader had become somewhat of a hollywood darling couple, with many eager to see them succeed and remain together. it was rare to see a couple like them, so purely in love and sharing a deep respect and friendship with each other. in a culture of quick marriages and divorces, many held different hopes for these two.

as obx actress!reader returned to her seat, all eyes were on her as she flung herself into the open arms of a now-standing drew. it was clear to see that she had begun to cry as he gently stroked her back, bringing her back to her prior seated position.

for the remainder of the night, the screens would occasionally flicker back over to the couple, showcasing their intertwined hands and their in-love smiles. more than a few headlines the next day spoke of the young couple and the newly discovered nickname given to drew.

I upset myself with this one bc what do you mean this isn’t real life???

taglist: @drewstarkz @rafegf-real @yuckblushin @harrys-housewife @futuremrscameron

(Let me know if anyone else would like to be on the casual post taglist for obx actress!reader! I haven’t added everyone from the taglist for between the lines but let me know and I will add you)

[bonus-links]

Ahem, if I may impose.... Directors commentary?? 😁😁

YEAHHH lots to say abt this one

i know rule number one is don't point out the flaws in ur own work but i have to confess. i forgot to add hair highlights to this entire update. i didn't realize until i had already queued up the posts and i could not bear re-exporting and color correcting every page again. so i just let it be. it only kills me a little bit. they rlly add something y'know

i haven't seen a whole lot of comments about this to the point i worry i didn't do a good job of conveying it so: Loft's dream at the beginning is about ganondorf.

Loft has, in fact, chewed his nails to bits.

i'm gonna be so real, part of the delay for this update was bc my brain got so stuck on the logistics of where that damn bookshelf would go

korok bookends :D

i like to think the story of the hero of time is actually mostly an oral tradition on Outset, or at least that's how Gran Gran first told Link and Aryll the stories when they were children.

i worry a little bit about these 'lore recap" updates, bc like. I'm assuming you've played the games, or at least know the gist. but I feel like there's a few stories it's important for us to see Loft's direct reactions to, and the conclusions he draws from them, because it'll be important to his actions later. I try to make up for it by at least making these sections visually interesting HAHA i think this is the last major one though

on that note: I hope this comes across on its own, but Loft finishes Gran Gran's story himself because he's just realized the flood was sent by the gods, and not some external force of evil. he's also realizing that this is not the first time the gods have been willing to wipe the slate clean in the absence of a hero, and that it's actually something of a pattern. it runs up against his idea of how Demise's curse is meant to work. this is one such mystery mouseketool we'll use later.

also on that note: regardless of ganondorf's actions, i find it significant that the gods chose to destroy a man whose people suffered in a droughted desert with,,,,a flood. that thought was the conceit for this update

Loft has seen this play out in his dreams, but obviously doesn't fully know the context. also I'm gonna refer to this version of zelda as Sheik. he uses he/him pronouns thank you :-)

just wanted to show some closeups of the stained glass bc. i worked hard on them HAHA + the grayscale wip

i was really hoping this chapter would be done. last year. it was meant to be a chance to slow down for a second before the plot speeds up 😅 but we're nearing the last few updates!! thank you all for bearing with me <3 life has been kind of insane and extremely discouraging irl, so getting to post these updates and seeing you all enjoy them has been a real bright spot <333 special thank you to my patreon supporters bc. seriously it has helped more than you know.

i think that's all ive got for now! see you next time, hopefully sooner than 4-5 business months

[vbecker10]

I found the prompt “this isn’t a double date, we’re just third and fourth wheeling” and thought it would be perfect for a Loki/reader to be the third and fourth wheel-maybe another couple is trying to set them up and both Loki and reader are alllllllll the way in denial. Would love fluff, idiots to lovers, and female reader character if possible. Thanks so much! 💚

This isn't a Double Date... Right?

Pairing: Loki x female reader (Y/N), Bucky x Natasha

Summary: Natasha has been taking her role as your best friend and personal match maker way too seriously lately, setting you up on dozens of awful blind dates. After finally convincing her to stop, you resume your place as the official third wheel on Natasha and Bucky's date night. Or at least that's what you thought the plan was until you find out Bucky invited Loki to go out with you all and now he's the fourth wheel... because this isn't a double date, right?

A/N: I'm really, really sorry this took so long! I absolutely love this idea, thank you so much for sending this request! I hope you like it! 💚

Also... this is way longer than I thought it was going to be but I just can't seem to finish multi-part fics lately so I didn't want to risk only writing half of it lol

"I hate when you two are being cute," you roll your eyes as you walk into Natasha's apartment. You didn't bother to knock, you never do on blind date nights. The spy and her super soldier boyfriend know your routine by heart and are not at all surprised to see you.

Nat has been setting you up on blind dates for the last four months and each time you come straight to her apartment after. You can't tell who is more excited to see you, Nat because she is a surprisingly hopeless romantic and desperately wants to help her best friend find her perfect match or Bucky because he always has a snack ready to hear about how this date was so much worse than your last one.

Bucky's arms are wrapped around Natasha's waist as she cuts up fruit, his chest pressed against her back. "Hello to you too, grumpy," Nat laughs, shaking her head lightly when you close the door and take off your coat.

"I'm serious, it's gross," you fight back a smile as Bucky steals a piece of strawberry from the cut pile to eat.

"Those aren't for you," she swats his metal hand away before he takes another piece and he chuckles. While she's distracted with Bucky, you reach over the counter, taking a few pieces of fruit and popping them in your mouth. "You're as bad as he is," Nat laughs, throwing the top of a strawberry at you with expert precision. You fail to block the small piece of fruit and wipe your cheek as you bend down to pick it up off the floor.

Resting his chin on Natasha's shoulder he smirks at you, "I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess the date didn't go well... as usual."

"I'm going to die alone," you inform the couple, sitting at the island across from them. You drop your head dramatically on the counter and a laugh escapes Bucky.

"No you won't," he says with less sarcasm then you expect. You lift your head slightly to look at him and he smiles, "You're going to tag along with Nat and me until you die."

You lower your head back to the counter heavily with a loud sigh.

"Be nice," she looks up and scolds him.

"I didn't mean it in a bad way," Bucky tries to defend his comment. "I just meant cause she always goes out with us when we go on dates anyway."

"Not making me feel better," you groan without lifting your head.

"You are not going to die alone," Nat finishes dicing the fruit and adds it to the blender. "I'm going to find you someone, I haven't given up yet."

You sit up, "Well, I'm giving up. Look Nat, you're an amazing friend and a completely bad ass spy and I love you to death but you are horrible at this whole match making thing."

"Just let me try one more time," she reaches across the counter and grabs your hand. "There's a new guy in-"

You cut her off, "Nat, I'm serious. You set me up with one more weirdo and I'm going to make sure the next mission I assign you to is in the Bermuda Triangle."

You walk quickly down the street, holding your thin jacket closed against the wind as the museum finally comes into view. Nat waves excitedly when she sees you, Bucky's metal arms possessively around her waist as always.

"Sorry, the last debrief took way longer than it should have. Lang was giving the overview of his mission yesterday in ridiculously specific detail," you hug Nat then Bucky. Laughing, you add, "He'd probably still be going on and on if Loki hadn't very strongly suggested he learn to summarize his thoughts before sharing them with everyone."

"Well I'm glad you were able to escape," Nat smiles and links arms with you, turning to walk up the steps.

"Hold up, we're still waiting on someone," Bucky says, putting his hands in his jacket pockets.

"Who?" you raise an eyebrow and look suspiciously at Natasha. "You agreed, no more blind dates and you know I can't stand blind double dates, they're even worse."

She shrugs, "I didn't do anything, I have no idea what he's talking about. Who'd you invite Bucky?"

"Steve?" you guess.

"Oh, there he is," Bucky doesn't exactly answer your question as he looks past you down the street at the mystery person. You and Nat turn to see who he's looking at and your eyes widen in surprise. Loki looks left then right before quickly crossing the street against the light.

As he gets closer you can't help but think he looks amazing as always. He's wearing black dress pants, black dress shirt with the top two buttons open and a dark green pea coat which flows open around him as he walks. Loki raises his hand to wave at Bucky and you can see the surprise in his eyes when he spots you and Nat on the first few steps of the museum. Clearly he wasn't expecting to see anyone other than Bucky which is good, you think, that means this definitely isn't a surprise double date.

Loki smiles as he walks over to the three of you. "Sorry I'm late," he apologies, you and Nat rejoin Bucky on the sidewalk.

"Don't worry about it. I should be thanking you for getting me out of that debrief in the first place," you tell him.

He chuckles, "I did it for purely selfish reasons I assure you but I'm glad it worked out for you. I hadn't realize you and Natasha would be here as well."

"Hopefully that's not a bad thing," you smile, suddenly feeling a bit nervous as he takes a step closer to you. Bucky moves to put his arm around Natasha's waist but you barely notice. You're too busy trying to decide if this is the longest conversation you've ever had with the incredibly hot Asgardian outside of what you needed to discuss for work.

He smiles, his eyes focusing only on you, "I'm not disappointed."

"Good," you rub your hands together from the cold then joke, "We needed a fourth wheel. I'm a bit tired of being an awkward tricycle all the time."

Loki gives you a confused look but when Nat laughs he nods, understanding your meaning. "I know how you feel, I seem to be the third person in Thor and Jane's relationship quite a bit lately. I imagine they're excited to have a night out without me for a change."

"Well their loss is our gain, right?" you reply, your mouth moving faster than your brain. Loki smirks at you and you blow lightly into your hands, looking down in an attempt to pass off your blush for being cold.

When you look down, you miss the wink Bucky gives Natasha and her nodding in approval of his secret plan. "Now, can we please go in?" Nat asks, "It really is way too cold to keep standing out here."

Once inside, you immediately go to the hall to your right, wanting to see the new exhibit and Loki follows you. The two of you move to the first painting in the almost completely empty hall, unaware that Bucky and Nat haven't joined you. You begin to read the small metal information card next to the painting to yourself and Loki leans closer to read over your shoulder. Smiling when you feel him close, you read the rest of the brief description outloud as his eyes drift up to the large oil painting. When you finish, your attention shifts to the painting, enjoying the colors the artist used.

"Would you be interested in a fairly random fact about this piece of art?" Loki asks and you look up at him. You expect to see his signature smirk but instead he seems genuinely unsure of whether you're curious or not as he waits with his hands clasped behind his back.

"Oh, absolutely," you nod excitedly. "I honestly love random facts and weird trivia. Let's hear it."

He smiles, his posture becoming more relaxed as he tells you what he read about the painting years ago. You listen to him as you both move to the next painting where you once again you read the small card to Loki. After you finish, he describes the method the artist used to mix his paints to get all those different color variations.

At the third painting it's finally your turn to tell Loki something you learned about the painting. Unlike the prince's information which comes from art history books, your fact comes from someone you follow on TikTok but you aren't about to tell him that. When he doesn't respond right away, you immediately get a sinking feeling, filling with worry that you are actually wrong and now he thinks you're an idiot.

After a moment, he smiles. "I've never heard that before but it makes sense." You relax, walking to the next painting as Loki adds, "I have to tell you how nice it is to talk to someone who actually wants to have a conversion with me, especially about something like art. I honestly feel like most of the time, Thor invites me to go out with him and Jane because he thinks if he doesn't, I will just sit in my apartment alone all night."

"Would you?" you ask.

"Most likely yes, I don't enjoy going out alone," he answers. "But I'm perfectly fine sitting in my apartment and reading all night. That was my plan for tonight until I ran into Barnes right before our last meeting."

"So as far as you know then, this isn't a double date right?" you ask. "Nat's been setting me up a lot lately."

He shakes his head, "I honestly had no idea you or Natasha were going to be here. To be fair though, I didn't ask. Barnes said he had an extra ticket to the museum for tonight and told me to meet him here after work. I did think it was a little strange since we've never spent time together outside of missions." He chuckles lightly, "I just figured Thor told him to take me out so he could spend time with Jane."

"Oh, like it's Bucky's turn to babysit you?" you can't help but laugh.

He nods, "Something like that, yes."

You walk to the next painting, quickly falling into a comfortable pattern. You read the card that is placed next to the painting and then either you or Loki shares a fact you've learned about the artist, the subject matter or the style. You try to focus on the beautiful art in front of you but it's hard not to notice how Loki seems to stand a bit closer to you each time you move to a new paniting.

At the last painting in the wing, the back of his hand brushes against yours and you find yourself fighting the urge to thread your fingers between his as you listen to him tell you about the artist's failed attempt at making sculptures. You laugh, envisioning the clay collapsing in a heap around the artist the way Loki describes it.

"Would you like to see the next hall or do you need to find Natasha first?" he asks when you've contained your laughter.

Looking around, you realize for the first time that they aren't in this hall. You assumed they followed you but honestly you were so distracted by Loki you forgot to even check. He smiles, waiting patiently for an answer. "I'm sure they're fine without us," you tell him.

"I agree," he holds out his arm and you take it, blushing as he leads you to the next hall.

You giggle, covering your mouth as you look up at the first painting in the next hall. "Care to explain what's so funny darling?" he asks, your giggles cut short by the sudden use of the nickname.

"I just-" you clear your throat. "No, it's going to sound stupid."

"Tell me anyways," he insists, moving closer to you so his hand brushes against yours.

"Well..." you point to the couple sitting on the bench facing the lake with their arms around each other. "There's Nat and Bucky..." then you point to the woman sitting on the bench next to them. She's eating a sandwich that she very obviously stole from the couples picnic basket while they were distracted with each other, "There's me."

He laughs, "Ah yes, I see it!" You hit his arm playfully and he smirks, "You are much prettier then she is though."

Your face heats up and you barely manage to mumble, "Thanks," in response as Loki walks to the second painting, turning to make sure you follow.

Loki and you walk down the steps of the museum to meet Nat and Bucky about half an hour later. "I see the double date's going well," Nat jokes. "You two snuck off pretty quick," she winks at you.

"We didn't sneak off," you roll your eyes. "And we've already established that this isn't a double date, cause you said you weren't setting me up with people anymore."

"Fine, fine," she says as Bucky puts his hand on her lower back and you all start walking down the street.

"But, this is definitely the best 'not a double date' I've been on ever," you add and she smiles at you over her shoulder. You walk another block and shiver as you wait for the light to change, wishing you wore a warmer coat.

"Cold?" Loki asks, a hint of concern in his voice.

You fold your arms around your body tighter, nodding quickly. "I guess l grabbed the wrong jacket when I was leaving. I didn't think it was going to get this cold out."

"Here," he unbuttons his coat and you shake your head no. "Frost giants don't get cold," he insists as he takes his coat off. "I bought it cause I liked it, not because I need it."

"Well, it does look really good on you," you smile up at him as he puts it over your shoulders.

He smiles when you slip your arms into the sleeves. "I actually think it looks much better on you." You can barely keep from giggling as the blush creeps up your cheeks.

You laugh as you sit next to Loki at the restaurant, your knees touching lightly under the table when he leans closer to you. "Wait, do you ever sit between them when you see a movie?" you ask.

"I hate when you do that," Bucky says from across the table, his contribution to the conversation ignored by both you and Loki.

"No!" Loki laughs loudly, putting down his nearly empty drink as he looks at you. "Y/N, I must say, you truly are an evil genius. I'm absolutely doing that to Thor and Jane next time."

"Or you two could just go to a movie together," Nat suggests with a shrug. "You know, without other people? Like on a real date."

You smile at the thought of spending more time alone with Loki but before either of you can respond, the waitress walks over to your table with the bill. "I've got this," Loki says as he opens his wallet without looking at the bill sitting in front of him.

Bucky shakes his head, "You don't need to do that."

You joke, "Yeah, since this isn't a double date we should just split it." You reach for your bag but Loki waves over the waitress and hands her his credit card.

"Too late," he smiles when she walks away.

He leans back in his seat, his arm settling on the back of your chair. You shift a little closer to him and are pleasantly surprised when he moves his arm to rest across your shoulder. You look up to catch Nat smirking at you as Loki's fingertips trace circles on your upper arm slowly while he finishes his drink.

A few minutes later, the waitress hands Loki his card and the receipt. He takes his arm off of you to put the card back in his wallet and you grab his wrist lightly to stop him. "Wait, is that Tony's card?" you look at him in surprise.

He turns the card over as if he's never seen it before, "Oh, would you look at that?"

You laugh, "Loki!"

"What?" he grins as he puts it away. "Well, I think she deserves a pretty large tip, don't you?" He fills out the receipt and signs the bottom while Nat shakes her head but can't hide her smile.

"He's been looking for that for like a week," Nat says with an eye roll.

"That makes sense," he smirks as he gets up. "I needed to pick up a new series from the bookstore so I... borrowed it."

"Oh, what books did you get?" you ask as you slip on Loki's coat, you look up to catch him watching you with a smile.

"Don't encourage him," Bucky gets up and shrugs on his coat. "And borrowing it means you plan on returning it," he informs Loki.

"I'm going to," Loki responds and opens the door for everyone. "When I've finished using it."

You walk out first and wait for the others, "Do you think Tony would mind if we used it to get some ice cream?"

"I think I'll pass, I'm actually kind of tired," Bucky puts his hands in his pockets.

"Oh I forgot," you joke, "It's past your bedtime old man."

Nat laughs as Bucky folds his arms across his chest. "I'm not an old man," he says in a grumpy tone. "And if I was, that means your date is ancient."

"Okay, first off, this is not a double date and secondly... wait, how old are you?" you look up at Loki.

"1,054," he answers, chuckling lightly when your eyes widen. "But I'll live to be around 5,000 so technically I'm still quite young. Barnes however is older than the age an average human would live to."

Nat puts her arms around Bucky and kisses his cheek, "I'm gonna take my fossil home. You two enjoy ice cream in this freezing weather."

"I hate all of you," Bucky mumbles, turning with Nat to walk down the street.

"No you don't, you're just cranky cause you're tired," you giggle but your breath catches when Loki puts his arm around your waist.

"Ready for dessert?" he smiles and leads you in the opposite direction.

Your hand brushes against Loki's as you cross the street and he intertwines his fingers with yours. You smile and squeeze his hand lightly, continuing down the street in comfortable silence until you reach the Tower. The smiles vanishes from your face when he lets go of your hand but you lean into him when he puts his arm around your waist once inside the lobby.

He pushes the button for the elevator and says, "Thank you Y/N, this is the most fun I've had in months."

"I had a great time too, Loki. Shame it wasn't a double date, right?" you ask when the doors open and you both step inside.

He nods, "It would have been a perfect double date. But since it wasn't, can I take you out on a real date tomorrow night?"

You giggle, "Of course but not a double date."

"Just us," he agrees. After a moment he adds, "I'll admit, I'm looking forward to the end of our first date."

"How come?" you ask a bit confused.

He turns to face you, "Because I would really like to kiss you but I know on Midgard it's typical to wait until the end of a first date."

You look at him in disbelief but the elevator ding distracts you. You both get out and walk down the hall towards your room. "You know... we could just call tonight a date since it pretty much was one," you say as his fingers squeeze yours gently. "The museum, dinner, ice cream, lots of talking and laughing and-"

Loki cuts you off, pressing his lips to yours as you stand outside your apartment. You close your eyes and kiss him back, your hands moving to his lower back as he cups your cheek. When he pulls back he smiles and you say, "I'm assuming you agree tonight was a date then?"

He nods, "And now I'm looking forward to our second date greatly."

"Me too," you kiss his cheek lightly. "Have a goodnight Loki."

"This is your fault you know," Nat says to Bucky who's laying with his head on her lap while they watch TV.

"Goodnight Y/N," he turns and walks towards his apartment.

You watch until he turns a corner and as soon as he's out of sight, you walk quickly down the hall in the opposite direction. A few moments later you swing open the door to Nat's apartment without knocking.

"I know," he mumbles and turns off the show as you nudge him to sit up so there's space for you on the couch between them. "Tell us about your date, Y/N."

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did 💚💚 Please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

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[star-suh]

Party Sucker

Song Mingi x Male Reader

cw: multiple rounds implied.

—

yn was already feeling the alcohol kicking in into his system, he just took a cocktail with lots of alcohol, the warming sensation caused by the liquid going down between his legs. he went to the bathroom trying to hide his notorious bulge, arriving at the place and closing the door but forgetting to lock it. he takes off his pants and starts stroking his erect member, using his spit as some sort of lube.

the stimulation took over his drunk mind, tears started to form and rolled down his eyes. the music was so loud and he was so focused on masturbating that he didn't hear the door opening. “jesus fucking christ” the unknown person gasped watching the other dude, “holy shit” yn jumps in surprise trying to hide his dick, when he was about to leave a hand stops him to do it, he turns to look and there he realizes that it was the song mingi, the jock of the school just saw him rubbing one out.

“the fuck you’re doing here, pervert?” he questioned, million of embarrassing scenarios crossed yn’s mind, he saw his image being shattered by pieces and being labeled as the pervert of the school. he hasn’t realized yet but he didn’t wipe his tears when he faced mingi, unbeknownst to him it turned the jock on. “oh shush don’t cry” mingi comforted him but yn was caught off-guard he wasn’t crying for that. mingi wipe his tears with his thumb and licked them “these tears got me so hard boy, you don’t know how much i enjoy seeing my fucktoys cry” he pushed yn down to make him sit on his knees “open up” he used his thumb to push his jaw down. he unzipped his pants and let out his cock, slapping it against yn’s face “do a good job”. yn licked the tip and then the shaft “that’s right all the way to the base, take it all”. mingi was thick and long, causing yn's gag reflexes made more tears to pool on his eyes, “so pretty” mingi murmured. “this is making my cock rock hard” he pulls out and wipe the tears with his precum soaked tip.

“you were made for this. i wonder how many cocks have you sucked” mingi grabbed yn by the back of his neck and fastened his pace, “is this why you were here, pervert? waiting for a cock that needed to be sucked to do it?” mingi keeps degrading yn while focusing to go deeper inside his tight throat, “fucking cockwhore”.

mingi’s heavy balls slapped againts yn’s chin, “look at you touching yourself while sucking a stranger’s cock, disgusting”he adds. when yn tried to talk back mingi forced his dick deeper inside him “fleshlights don’t talk” he says while slapping yn’s left cheek.

at this point yn was cock drunk. mingi pulled out his cock and rubbed it against yn’s lips and face, “tell me how much you want this cock”, “i want it so much please” he replied. “that’s not convincing” mingi said, “please just fuck my face, bury your cock in my throat and flood it with cum”. mingi cockily smiled, his ego swollen now, “don’t cum unless i told you” he put his dick back on his mouth and thrusted on it while yn kept stroking his dick but stopping when he feels he’s gonna cum.

“oh god” mingi growled, “faster, fuck go faster” he demanded. “oh fuck. oh fuck. oh fuck” he kept repeating those words until familiar ones echoed in yn’s ears “i’m cumming, cum with me”.

yn spilled his sperm on the bathroom’s floor while mingi emptied his load down his throat “that’s it pervert, swallow it all” he spoke accompanied by moans while riding his high. “good job, now let go of my dick” he pulls out while resting against the counter feeling a bit weak after the blowjob session. “look at the mess you made slut.. but you were such a good toy” mingi praised him one last time before going out of the bathroom.

“you must know where my dorm is, met me there before the end of the night if you wanna get used like a real fuck toy” and just like that mingi left…

yn’s head was buried in between some pillows while mingi drilled him, his cock going in and out of yn. “fuck this hole is so tight” he said “probably the tightest bitch i ever fucked”. mingi made sure to rearrange yn's insides, paint them in white and then churn it again with his thick meat, “you're like my fleshlight now. taking load after load without complaining. you were made for this”.

the sunlight made its way through the dorm curtains, the warm rays caressing yn's face and mingi's dick that was being taken care of with the other's mouth. yn swallowed every inch, hollowing his cheeks so the suction was stronger. “fuck keep doing that and i'll cum right now”. “that's it bro, yeah~” he praises shooting his last load on yn's face, his sperm landing on the other's hair, eyes, cheeks and mouth, “did i do a good job?” yn asked with doe eyes while rubbing the tip on his lips as if it was some kind of lipstick, “yes, you took it like a champ” mingi praised slapping his shaft on the other's cheek.

[focusonkayjay]

Wildly Wealthy Koreans (7); inspired by Crazy Rich Asians

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: photographer/ filmmaker! jungkook, rich girl/ fashion designer! reader, established relationship, angst, fluff, smut

Series summary: When you invite your boyfriend, Jungkook, to accompany you to your brother's wedding in your hometown, Daegu, he’s overjoyed, eager to meet your family and experience a side of your life you’ve never shared with him. However, once he uncovers the truth about who you really are, he’s unable to grasp the full extent of your reality. The situation becomes even more complicated when a certain someone makes him feel profoundly unwelcome, leaving him to question not only your world, but also his place in it.

Disclaimer: This series is heavily inspired by the movie Crazy Rich Asians, with the storyline closely following the original film's plot. However, I wanted to reimagine it as a fanfiction, where Jungkook and OC take center stage as the main protagonists. While I’ve kept the core elements and themes from the movie, I’ve added my own touches here and there, such as altering certain character dynamics and incorporating a few original settings. Some scenes are directly inspired by the movie, and I’ve worked to recreate them in a way that it hopefully resonates with the fans of the movie. Hope you enjoy!!

Word Count: 7.7k+

Chapter Warnings: i'm assuming there are no warnings but if i need to add anything pls do lmk !!

A/N: my fav part about working on this series is having to rewatch the movie repeatedly to make sure i’m capturing its essence just right. at this point, i feel like i could recite every line by heart without even watching it lmao. anywaysss, this series is wrapping up soon, and I’m going to miss it SOOOO MUCH. pls do read this part and let me know your thoughts! <3

part 7

"I don’t want any part of your family." Jungkook announces, his voice sharp. Before you, your mother, or your grandmother can respond, he turns on his heel and strides away.

You gasp softly, a lump forming in your throat as you spin to face your mother and grandmother, your eyes glistening. "Was this really necessary?" you seethe, your voice trembling with anger and disbelief.

Without waiting for a reply, you rush after Jungkook, your heart pounding as panic and hurt collide within you. The music and laughter of the party feel like a cruel backdrop as you weave through the crowd, calling his name.

Jungkook, however, is already far ahead, his chest tight and his breathing ragged as he pushes through the sea of dancing bodies.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t look back, his mind reeling from everything he’s just heard. The weight of the accusations, the humiliation, the betrayal... it’s all too much. He crashes into shoulders, mumbles hurried apologies, but keeps moving, driven by only one instinct... to escape.

You, meanwhile, search frantically, your eyes darting through the kaleidoscope of lights and people. “Jungkook!” you call out, your voice barely audible over the music.

You somehow manage to spot Taehyung and Miyeon, who are laughing with your cousins, their cheeks flushed from champagne and joy.

"Have you seen Jungkook?" you ask breathlessly, your desperation apparent. They all exchange confused glances, clearly dazed and unaware of the storm brewing inside you. "No, I haven’t..." Taehyung answers, his brows furrowing. "Is everything okay?"

But you’re already stepping away, scanning the room, your pulse quickening with every passing second. You press through the crowd, ignoring the curious looks from partygoers as dread settles deep in your chest. You silently curse yourself for letting him slip away, knowing how deeply this moment must have wounded him.

Jungkook, now outside the hall, stands under the open night sky, his chest heaving as he tries to steady himself. The cool air stings his skin, but it does little to numb the chaos inside him.

For a fleeting moment, he thought he had found a place to belong... someone to belong to. But tonight, the cracks have grown far too wide, and all he can feel is the ache of being an outsider again.

If your mother’s disapproval had ended with him, he could have taken it... he had prepared himself for that. But dragging his only family into it, accusing his mother, the one person who had given up everything for him? That was unbearable.

The words your mother spoke play on a loop in his head, tearing at his composure. His mother... the woman who worked tirelessly, who sacrificed her dreams for his future, who always made sure he had what he needed, no matter how little they had... how could anyone think so little of her?

He clenches his fists, trying to dispel the anger and confusion threatening to consume him.

And yet, there’s a tiny seed of doubt buried beneath the pain, watered by memories of the sudden move to New York. How his mother randomly quit her job in Busan one day and told him to pack up. How she never offered a real explanation, only saying... "It’s for the best."

Jungkook shakes his head, his trust in her unshaken, but his mind remains clouded. He doesn’t know what to think, what to believe. He feels lost, untethered, as though the ground beneath him is crumbling away.

There’s only one place he can think of going right now... away from this party, away from all these people, away from the echoes of your mother’s piercing words, and that’s Yoongi’s place.

The city noise fades into the background as Jungkook walks, his steps heavy and mechanical. The streets of Daegu blur together, unimportant and indistinct, as he trudges forward, his blazer hanging limply from one hand while the other is buried deep in his pocket.

By the time he reaches Yoongi’s estate, his shoulders are slumped, his head bowed, and he looks like a man carrying the weight of the world.

The massive iron gates screech open, revealing the familiar expanse of Yoongi’s mansion. Jungkook steps inside, dragging his feet across the paved path.

The grand doors swing open almost immediately, and Yoongi rushes out to meet him. "Kook!" Yoongi’s voice is filled with concern, and it’s obvious that the guards must have informed him of Jungkook’s unexpected arrival.

As Yoongi jogs towards him, his expression shifts from confusion to alarm. He slows down when he’s just a few steps away, studying Jungkook intently, trying to piece together why his friend is here instead of at the wedding.

But when Yoongi looks into Jungkook’s eyes, he immediately knows better than to ask. The storm of emotions written all over Jungkook’s face... hurt, betrayal, and exhaustion speaks volumes.

Yoongi doesn’t press for answers, doesn’t push him to talk. Instead, he closes the remaining distance and pulls Jungkook into a firm, securing hug.

Jungkook stiffens at first, but then he lets out a shuddering breath, his tension easing just slightly as he leans into the warmth of Yoongi’s embrace. He shuts his eyes tightly, as if holding them closed can stop the emotions threatening to spill over.

//

You click your tongue in frustration, shaking your head as the voicemail drones on again. You lower your phone, staring at the screen, your heart sinking with every passing second.

Taking a shaky breath, you dial his number again, your hands trembling. "Please... please pick up, Kook... please." you mutter, but just like the 36 times before, the call goes unanswered.

Standing just outside the wedding venue, the muffled sounds of the party echo faintly behind you. The heavy bass of the music vibrates through the ground beneath your feet, a constant reminder of the celebration you’re supposed to be a part of.

Yet everything feels distant, blurred, inconsequential. Your mind is consumed by only one thing, only one person... Jungkook. His face. The look in his eyes when your mother and grandmother shattered the fragile sense of belonging he had.

A part of you knew your mother wasn’t exactly thrilled when you brought Jungkook home for the first time. She had always envisioned someone who fit her rigid mold of perfection... someone polished, wealthy, and born into a family with status.

Jungkook, didn’t exactly align with her ideal type for you. But you convinced yourself, naively, that in time she would see what you saw in him. That after witnessing how much you loved him, she would come around.

What you didn't expect was this. This level of cruelty. A literal background check? Digging into his family’s past? And then to humiliate him so mercilessly in the middle of a celebration? The memory of it makes your stomach churn, a fresh wave of guilt crashing over you.

But you don’t care about his past. You never did. Whatever your mother uncovered, whatever reasons she thinks she has to deem him “unworthy”...none of it matters to you. What matters is him... the man you know, the man you love.

You don’t see Jungkook as a blemish on your family’s pristine reputation or a potential "threat" to your social standing.

You see him as the man who stole your heart the day you met him in New York. The dreamy photographer whose eyes light up when he talks about the things he’s passionate about. The man who sees the world through a lens most people couldn’t even imagine.

You love him for his little quirks... for the way he fusses over perfect lighting, the way he scrunches his nose when he’s deep in thought, the way he pouts his lips to hold himself back from crying while you both watch sappy romcoms in his little apartment, the way he makes you feel truly seen. Not as the rich girl born into privilege, but as you. Just you.

And now, you’re terrified you might have lost him. Terrified that the person who made you feel whole might be slipping away because of the very family you’ve tried so hard to reconcile him with.

Your phone screen dims, and you realize with a jolt that your call has ended... voicemail again. Your breath hitches, and your vision blurs as desperation claws at your chest.

A tear trickles down your cheek and all you can think about is where Jungkook's gone, how he is and what's going through his mind.

//

“Kook… you gotta eat something, man.” Yoongi calls gently from the doorway of the guest room, his voice low and laced with concern.

His eyes scan the dimly lit room, landing on Jungkook, who remains curled up under a thick blanket, his back turned to the world. The younger man is a still, silent figure, lost in the folds of the bed.

There’s no response. No shift. No acknowledgment. Just the faint rise and fall of Jungkook’s shoulders as he breathes.

It’s been a full day since Jungkook showed up at Yoongi’s doorstep, looking like a ghost of himself. He hadn’t offered much explanation, but Yoongi didn’t need one. He’d pieced it together soon enough.

“Alright...” Yoongi murmurs, almost to himself, noticing how Jungkook doesn’t so much as flinch. “Maybe later.” He steps back, pulling the door shut and makes his way to the living room.

“He’s still the same.” Yoongi says as he steps into the room, his tone subdued. His gaze shifts to you, perched on the edge of the couch. You’re sitting so still, your hands clasped tightly on your lap, your knuckles pale.

When Yoongi called you earlier in the morning, informing you that Jungkook was at his place, you hadn’t hesitated. You came immediately, in hopes of seeing how Jungkook was doing.

But now, sitting here, your chest aches with a mix of guilt, worry, and helplessness. You’ve already told Yoongi about what happened at the party... how your mother humiliated Jungkook, dredging up his past like it was some dark secret to be weaponized. And now, the image of his face in that moment... hurt, exposed, betrayed, still haunts you.

Every instinct screams at you to go upstairs, to see him, to explain, to apologize. But fear holds you back. What if you make it worse? What if he doesn’t want to see you? What if he blames you, even though none of this was your doing?

You force yourself to take a breath, the air shaky as it fills your lungs. “Okay then…” Your voice is quiet, almost trembling, as you stand up from the couch. “I’ll leave now.”

Yoongi watches you with a mix of empathy and reluctance. He doesn’t try to stop you, though you can tell he wishes he could offer some kind of comfort.

You make your way to the front door, your footsteps slow and hesitant. But when you reach the door, you pause, turning to face Yoongi. “He’ll... be okay, right?” you ask, your voice soft, fragile. Your eyes search his, pleading for reassurance you desperately need.

Yoongi’s lips press into a thin line before he offers a small, tentative smile. “Hopefully.” he says gently. “I’ll keep you updated. Don’t worry too much.”

You nod, though his words do little to ease the ache in your chest. Your smile in return is faint, barely there, as you turn and step out to leave

Once you’re gone, Yoongi lingers at the door for a moment, watching your car drive away. Then, with a deep exhale, he retreats upstairs, returning to the guest room. The room is as it was... dim, still, heavy with silence. Jungkook hasn’t moved an inch.

Yoongi approaches the bed, sitting on the edge, careful not to startle him. “Kook...” he begins, his tone soft but steady. “Y/n was here.” That gets a reaction, albeit a subtle one. Jungkook’s shoulders stiffen ever so slightly, but he doesn’t turn around.

“She’s worried about you, you know.” Yoongi says gently, his voice cutting through the thick silence. “Said you haven’t been answering her calls.” He pauses, his eyes fixed on the back of Jungkook’s head, waiting for any sign of acknowledgment. When none comes, he exhales softly. “Maybe you should talk to her.”

Jungkook remains motionless, his eyes locked on the faint glow of light outlining the edges of the curtains. The world outside feels distant, unreachable, like a place he no longer belongs.

He’s seen the missed calls, the messages, each one a silent plea from you. He knows you’re worried, he can feel it even in your absence. But the thought of facing you now feels impossible.

His mind loops through the events of the night before... the way your mother’s biting words had stripped him bare in front of you. The sting of humiliation burns fresh in his memory, each detail sharper than the last. He knows it wasn’t your fault. You had no part in what happened, no idea of your mother’s cruel intentions.

Still, the weight of it all... the shame, the vulnerability, the fear that you might look at him differently now, keeps him rooted to the bed.

He misses you. God, he misses you so much it hurts. He wants nothing more than to bury his face in your shoulder, to let your presence soothe the storm raging inside him. But right now, he feels too raw, too exposed.

Maybe he just needs time. Space.

Yoongi watches him closely, waiting for even the smallest reaction. When it doesn’t come, he lets out another sigh, long and heavy with understanding.

“Alright...” he says softly, standing from the bed. “Call me if you need anything. I’ll be downstairs, okay?” His voice is calm, reassuring, as if he’s trying to lend Jungkook some of his own strength.

With that, Yoongi turns and walks towards the door, leaving the younger man alone once again. The sound of the door closing echoes faintly, a quiet reminder that the world hasn’t stopped, even if it feels like Jungkook’s has.

//

“He still hasn’t responded?” Taehyung’s voice is tinged with worry. You don’t reply, your gaze fixed on the open window of your bedroom, the soft rustle of curtains doing little to calm the storm inside you.

Miyeon sits beside you, her arm wrapped gently around your shoulders, her thumb tracing slow, soothing circles. She doesn’t say anything... she knows words won’t reach you right now.

Taehyung, Namjoon, and Seokjin stand nearby, their expressions heavy with concern. Seeing you like this... so pale, so fragile, so utterly shattered, breaks their hearts. It’s been three whole days since everything fell apart.

Three days since the party. Three days since you've seen Jungkook. Since your world crumbled.

According to the initial plan, you and Jungkook were supposed to leave Daegu yesterday to board your flight back to New York. However, the unforeseen turn of events derailed everything.

These past three days, you’ve visited Yoongi’s house every day, hoping… praying… to see Jungkook, to catch even a fleeting glimpse of him. But each time, all you’re met with is Yoongi’s somber shake of the head, a silent confirmation that Jungkook doesn’t want to see you.

Your chest aches with a pain so profound it feels etched into the very fabric of your being. You miss him so fucking much but what haunts you the most is the uncertainty. Where does this leave the two of you? Does he want to end things? Does he want to break up?

The mere thought of never seeing him again feels like an unhealing wound, a chasm that devours every sliver of hope. It’s unbearable... the kind of pain that steals your breath and leaves you hollow, trembling, and utterly lost.

Suddenly, you rise from the bed, startling the others.

“Y/n?” Seokjin’s voice is hurried as they all follow your purposeful strides towards the door. “Where are you going?”

You don’t answer. You don’t even glance back. Your steps quicken as you walk past the hallway and descend the grand staircase, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the tense silence of the house. Your eyes dart around until they find her.

Your mother.

She’s seated by the pool in the garden, sipping tea and reading a book as if nothing has happened. As if she hasn’t ripped your life apart with her calculated cruelty.

Something inside you snaps.

You shove the glass door open with a force that makes it clatter, storming out onto the lawn. Your mother looks up, startled by your sudden presence. She carefully sets her teacup down on the table beside her, a composed expression masking the chaos she’s caused.

“Y/n darling—”

“You’re horrible.” you blurt out, cutting her off. Your voice trembles, not with weakness, but with the sheer force of emotions clawing their way to the surface. Her calm demeanor falters, just slightly. “Y/n—”

“Did you really have to go that far?” you demand, your voice rising with each word. “Really, Mama? A background check? Was that necessary?”

The others... Taehyung, Miyeon, Namjoon, and Seokjin exchange uneasy glances. They stand a few steps behind, unsure if they should intervene, but they know better than to stop you now.

“Do you honestly think digging into his past, dredging up something so personal, and throwing it in his face was the answer?” you continue, your voice shaking with anger and heartbreak.

“Did you think that humiliating him, tearing him down in front of me, would make me change my mind? If you did, you’re wrong, Mama. So, so wrong.”

Your mother opens her mouth, but the fury in your eyes silences her.

“I don’t care about his past!” you cry, your voice breaking. “I don’t care about what his mother did or about your stupid obsession with our reputation. I don’t care if you think he’s a ‘threat’ to our image. None of that matters to me! All I care about is him. I love him, Mama. Don't you understand that? I love him more than anything, and I can’t—” Your voice cracks, tears streaming down your face now.

“I can’t imagine a life without him. And you’ve made him feel like he’s nothing. Like he’s not worthy of me. How could you? How could you be so cruel?”

Your mother’s calm facade begins to crumble under the weight of your words, but you don’t stop.

“You’ve destroyed the one thing that made me happy, the one person who truly matters to me. And for what? Your pride? Your precious image?” You shake your head, your voice now quieter but no less intense.

“You didn’t just hurt him, Mama. You hurt me. And I don’t think I can ever forgive you for that.” Your words hang in the air, heavy and final, as you stand there, chest heaving, tears streaming freely down your face.

Your mother looks at you, her expression frozen, as though struck too deeply to formulate a response. She simply stares, her composure faltering under the weight of your outburst.

Behind you, the others remain silent, their own hearts aching at the rawness of your pain. No one moves, no one speaks. They simply bear witness to the moment you finally let it all out... the moment your anguish and love refused to be silenced any longer.

//

Yoongi peeks his head around the door, his gaze landing on Jungkook, who is lying in the same position as always... curled on his side, back facing the door.

It’s been a week now, and nothing has changed. Jungkook remains silent, unresponsive, and withdrawn. At this point, Yoongi is just relieved he’s started eating again, even if it’s only small amounts.

"Hey, Kook..." Yoongi calls out softly, his tone hesitant, careful. He watches as Jungkook’s shoulders tense ever so slightly, a subtle acknowledgment that he’s heard his voice.

But still, Jungkook doesn’t move. His eyes remain fixed on the curtains ahead, their edges glowing faintly in the daylight. He feels like he’s become one with the bed, as though his body has fused with the mattress, drained of all energy, all will to do anything.

Every day, Yoongi tells him you’ve come by to see him, and every day Jungkook reacts the same way... he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, doesn’t give in. It’s not that he doesn’t want to see you... he does. God, he does.

But the thought of facing you feels like scaling a mountain he’s not ready to climb. The humiliation, the pain, the anger... none of it has faded. He knows it wasn’t your fault, knows you didn’t know what was coming, but even so, the wounds are still too raw.

He knows he’s hurting you by shutting you out. He knows this isn’t the right way to handle things, that his silence is only amplifying the ache for both of you.

Yet he feels paralyzed, trapped in this endless loop of shame and sadness. He’s been telling himself he just needs more time, but deep down, he wonders if any amount of time will be enough to make him feel whole again.

By now, he should’ve been back in New York. His flight was almost a week ago. His work is piling up, responsibilities waiting, but none of it seems to matter.

His body feels heavy, his mind clouded with everything that’s gone wrong. Moving, talking, doing anything... it all feels impossible. The future feels distant, unreachable, while the present keeps pulling him under.

“Someone’s here to see you.” Yoongi says, breaking the silence.

Jungkook sighs deeply, his shoulders slumping further. He doesn’t need to guess who it is. He already knows. And just like every other day this past week, he mutters the same words. “I don’t want to see her.”

“It’s not her.” Yoongi says quickly. Jungkook freezes at that, the words catching him off guard. There’s a brief pause before he slowly turns his head, curiosity breaking through his haze. He shifts slightly on the bed, looking at Yoongi standing by the door.

Yoongi steps aside and pushes the door open wider. Jungkook’s breath catches when he sees who steps into the room. His eyes widen, and he’s off the bed in an instant, his movements uncharacteristically quick.

“Ma!” he exclaims, his voice trembling, filled with surprise and a touch of desperation.

His mother stands there with a soft, understanding smile, her presence warm and familiar, like a balm for his aching soul.

But Jungkook doesn’t smile back. He doesn’t speak again. He simply rushes towards her, crossing the room in a heartbeat, and throws his arms around her.

“Ma.” he whispers again, softer this time, his voice breaking. His arms tighten around her as he buries his face in her shoulder, his eyes squeezed shut. She holds him just as tightly, her hand gently stroking the back of his head.

//

"Here, eat this." Jungkook’s mother says gently, holding a plate of food as she sits on the bed, facing him. Her voice is soft but firm, carrying a motherly authority that Jungkook doesn’t dare defy. She picks up a spoonful of rice, bringing it to his lips.

"How can you go on like this, Kook? Not eating, not taking care of yourself..." She shakes her head softly, a small sigh escaping her.

Jungkook opens his mouth obediently, letting her feed him. He chews mechanically, his gaze fixed on her face. Her expression is calm, unchanging, the same serene smile he’s known all his life.

Her eyes seem to study him with quiet concern, yet there’s an unshakable strength behind them. It’s comforting in a way that almost makes his chest ache more.

It’s been twenty minutes since she walked into his room. Twenty minutes since he buried himself in her arms, his emotions spilling over for the first time in days.

Yet, he hasn’t uttered a word about the storm brewing in his heart. He doesn’t know how she got here, doesn’t know why she’s here. Did Yoongi call her? Does she know what happened? More importantly, does she know what he’s learned about her... about their past?

His thoughts swirl in a relentless loop. He keeps telling himself it can’t be true, that it doesn’t make sense. But the questions claw at him, relentless, demanding answers.

His mother lifts another spoonful to his mouth, and he opens instinctively. He chews slowly, his mind racing as he watches her. She seems... the same. The same gentle demeanor, the same patient smile.

Finally, after a few minutes of silence, Jungkook speaks, his voice hesitant and shaky. “Ma...”

She hums softly at his voice, acknowledging him but continuing to feed him. He swallows thickly, his throat tight. “I... I need to ask you something...” he says. The words feel heavy, like they’re scraping their way out of his chest. “Y/n’s mother... she told me a few things.”

Her hand pauses for a fraction of a second, the spoon hovering in the air, a few inches away from his mouth. But her expression doesn’t falter. She places the spoon back on the plate and looks at him directly, her calm gaze unwavering. “I know.” she says simply.

Jungkook’s heart skips a beat. Of course she knows. She always knows. But it doesn’t make it any easier to hear. He searches her face for a hint of denial, some sign that it’s not what he fears. “If... If you’re wondering if any of it is true...” her voice trails off, and she looks at him with an unspoken apology in her eyes.

His breath catches. He can feel the words coming before she even says them, but he’s still not ready. “They’re all true, Kook.” she says softly, her tone gentle.

Jungkook stares at his mother with wide eyes, the weight of her confession pressing down on him like a heavy storm cloud. His thoughts are a whirlwind of confusion and disbelief, and the depth of her words only leaves him more perplexed.

But before he can even form a coherent question, she continues, her tone soft but firm, as if determined to finally unburden herself after all these years.

“When we were in Busan....” she begins, her gaze drifting towards the window where sunlight filters through the newly drawn curtains, illuminating the room with a brightness Jungkook hadn’t seen in days.

“It was hard, Kook. Being a single mother… it wasn’t easy. People weren’t exactly kind, and landing a decent job was a struggle. But somehow, I managed to secure a position at a respectable company. It felt like a turning point.”

Jungkook listens intently, noticing how her voice wavers slightly. “Life became a little easier after that.” she continues.

“I could give you a proper allowance. I was able to afford your photography courses in high school. I even started saving money... something I never thought I’d be able to do. For the first time, I thought life was finally falling into place.”

She pauses, her lips curling into a bittersweet smile. “And maybe, in hindsight, I got a little greedy. I started thinking... now that we were stable, maybe it was time for me to think about myself for once. To find love again.”

Jungkook’s brow furrows slightly, confusion flickering across his features. She notices but presses on, her voice tinged with a mix of nostalgia and regret. “My manager at the time… he was a kind man. At least, I thought he was. I don’t know if he pitied me or if his feelings were genuine, but... one thing led to another, and we fell in love.”

She pauses, exhaling softly. “For a while, everything was perfect. You were thriving in school, my bank account wasn’t empty anymore, and for the first time in years, I felt like a woman again... like someone who was cared for. I even thought about introducing him to you, about telling you that I’d found someone who made me happy.”

Her expression darkens slightly, the corners of her lips twitching downward. “But all of that changed one night. I was working late, staying overtime to finish a project. I stepped out to the coffee room for a quick break, and on my way back, I heard noises coming from one of the conference rooms. It sounded... strange... like someone was yelling.”

Jungkook feels his chest tighten, the anticipation growing as his mother’s voice lowers, tinged with unease. “I got curious and peeked in. What I saw... I still... I still wish I hadn’t. My manager... the man I thought I wanted to build a future with... was berating an employee." she pauses, letting out a soft breath.

"But it wasn’t just yelling. It was violent. He was shoving the employee, slamming papers onto the desk, threatening them. At first, I thought it was a one-off, maybe a moment of stress. But the more I watched, the uglier it got. He was kicking their knees, smacking their face, saying vile things like they were less than human.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenches, his fists tightening at his sides. “Did you... did you saying anything back then?” he asks quietly.

“I should've... but I didn't because honestly, I wasn’t sure what I’d seen... ” she replies, her voice steady but heavy with the weight of the memory. “But something inside me told me it wasn’t an isolated incident. So I started paying attention. Watching him. Watching others in the company. And, Kook... it wasn’t just him.”

Her gaze drops to her hands, now gripping the edge of the plate in her lap. “It was everywhere around the company. Managers and higher-ups abusing their authority, taking advantage of their employees. Screaming at them, humiliating them, even threatening to ruin their careers. And worse... when I started digging deeper, I found financial misconduct, embezzlement, and exploitation.”

Jungkook feels the air grow thick with the gravity of her words. “I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. So, I started collecting evidence... voice recordings, videos, emails. Anything I could use to expose them. And eventually... I did.”

She smiles faintly, but it’s laced with bitterness. “I went to the authorities anonymously and leaked everything. At first, it seemed like justice might prevail. The company took a massive hit, and several higher-ups were investigated. But it didn’t end there.”

“What... what happened?” Jungkook whispers, his voice trembling.

“The company was owned by a powerful, influential family and the scandal bothered them... a lot.” she explains, her tone growing quieter and Jungkook immediately knows who she's referring to.

“It didn’t take the company long to figure out who had leaked the information. And when they did... everything came back to me. The media had a field day. My name was dragged through the mud. People called me unprofessional, accused me of sleeping with my manager to gain favors. They twisted everything to make me look like the villain.”

Her voice cracks slightly, but she takes a deep breath, steadying herself. “I didn’t care about my reputation, Kook. But I cared about you. I was terrified that you’d be dragged into it, that kids at your school would bully you, that your life would change because of my actions. And I couldn’t let that happen. So, with what little savings I had left, I made the decision to leave. To move far away, to a place where I could give you a better future. It was hasty, yes, but looking back... I don’t regret it... at all. I’d do it again to protect you.”

Jungkook’s throat tightens, his chest aching as he watches the quiet strength in his mother’s face. Her sacrifices, her pain... it all begins to make sense, to sink in, piece by piece. “Ma... I didn’t know...” he murmurs, his voice breaking.

“I never wanted you to.” she replies, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from his face. “All I ever wanted was for you to have a life free from the burdens I carried. And if I had to do it all over again, Kook, I wouldn’t hesitate.”

Jungkook feels his vision blur with tears, and before he can stop himself, he leans forward, pulling his mother into a tight hug. His arms tremble as they wrap around her, and he buries his face into her shoulder, letting out the sobs he'd been holding back.

"I'm... I'm so sorry, Mom." he cries, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. His mother strokes his back gently, her touch soothing even as her own tears threaten to spill. "Oh, sweetheart, don’t be sorry." she chuckles, her voice soft yet steady. "You don’t need to apologize for anything."

A few quiet seconds pass. "You know... I really thought she was the one." Jungkook whispers. "But it... it just got too much. I tried so hard to be strong... no matter how much her mother tried to walk all over me." He pulls his mother closer, his grip tightening as his emotions spill over.

"I love her so much, Ma." he cries, burying his face against her shoulder. "But now... I just... I just want to go home." His voice drops to a quiet murmur.

His mother says nothing, holding him still, her presence grounding him as he clings to the one person who has always been there.

They stay like that, wrapped in an embrace that feels timeless. Jungkook feels like a child again, sheltered in the safety of his mother’s arms, a refuge against the storm raging in his heart. The room falls silent except for the soft hum of their breaths, the world outside momentarily forgotten.

Eventually, his mother shifts, gently pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. She cups his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing away the tears that streak his cheeks. Her lips curve into a soft, loving smile, though her eyes glisten.

"I may not have had much luck in love..." she begins, her tone tender. "But you, Kook… you don’t have to carry that fear. You’re not me."

Jungkook blinks at her, his sniffles the only sound breaking the stillness as she continues. "I know this is a lot to take in. And I know things have unfolded in ways neither of us ever wanted." she says.

"But you’re stronger than you think. And you deserve to let yourself love, even if it feels terrifying." She pauses, letting her words settle. Then, after a moment, she smiles again, her voice soft but purposeful.

"You know… Y/n was the one who called me and brought me here." she reveals. Jungkook’s brows knit in surprise, but he stays silent, his eyes searching hers. "That girl… she cares about you so much, Jungkook. More than I think you even realize."

Her smile falters slightly, replaced by a solemn look. "I know it’s hard." she says. "Facing her, facing everything after what’s happened... it’s not easy. And knowing the challenges her family brings into the picture… it must feel overwhelming."

Jungkook lowers his gaze, his hands curling into fists in his lap. His mother reaches out, gently covering one of his hands with her own, her touch warm and reassuring. "But shutting her out, ignoring her... that will only hurt her." she says. "And it’ll hurt you even more."

Her words feel like a lifeline, cutting through the fog clouding his mind. He looks up at her, his heart aching at the sincerity in her expression. There’s no judgment in her eyes... only love, hope, and unwavering belief in him.

"You don’t have to worry about me anymore." she continues, her voice soft but firm. "I’ll be okay, Kook. I’ve made my peace with the past."

She leans forward and presses a soft kiss to his forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling back. "So do what your heart tells you." she whispers, her voice filled with gentle conviction.

"If you still want to go back, I’ll understand. But I still think you should go and talk to her, before we go."

Jungkook closes his eyes, letting her words sink in, and for the first time in days, he feels the faintest flicker of clarity, a spark of hope amid the chaos.

//

The cool evening breeze brushes past your hair as you gaze down at the glimmering water, the rippling reflections of streetlights dancing on the surface of the tranquil sincheon river. The world around you feels quiet, yet your chest churns with restlessness.

Jungkook had finally reached out. He had called. And you had begged him to meet you. You needed to see him because frankly, you were practically unraveling without him.

Now, here you are, waiting by the walking trail that winds along the river. A soft sigh escapes your lips as you lift your gaze up to the sky. The sun has long set, but its remnants linger, smearing the horizon with hues of violet and amber, like a bruise spreading across the heavens.

You're nervous, scared even. You don’t know what you’re going to say or what he might have to tell you. You just hope that his mother, whom you had called in desperation, was able to ease some of the burden you knew he was carrying.

Your mind is a chaotic swirl of emotions, tangled in fear and anticipation but the sound of approaching footsteps halts the train of your thoughts. You whip around, your heart leaping to your throat. And there he is. Your boyfriend.

His presence seems to anchor you and unmoor you at once. Your breath catches as you take in his appearance... he looks drained, exhausted. His eyes are shadowed by evident dark circles, and his shoulders droop with a weariness that tugs painfully at your chest.

All you want to do is pull him close, to hold him, to protect him. Without hesitation, you do just that.

"Baby... oh my god." you breathe out, your voice trembling as you jog up to him. Wrapping your arms around his frame, you cling to him tightly, pressing your face against his chest. His familiar scent, warm and grounding, fills your senses. "I missed you." you whisper.

His arms move just as quickly, circling your waist with the same desperate fervor, holding you as though letting go might shatter him. "I missed you too." he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

The warmth of his breath grazes the curve of your neck, and in that moment, something inside you unravels... a knot of fear and longing dissolves into the solace of his embrace.

The world around you melts away, leaving only the sound of the river lapping gently and the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

The two of you stay entwined in that embrace and minutes stretch into something timeless, and slowly, reluctantly, you open your eyes and carefully pull away. Your gaze meets his, and the weight of your emotions crashes over you like a tidal wave. Tears spring to your eyes, unbidden.

“Kook... I’m sorry.” you begin, your voice trembling as your lip quivers. “I’m sorry for everything. I don’t know what my mom was thinking—” Your words catch, a sob escaping your chest, breaking through the dam you’ve tried to hold steady.

“Hey...” Jungkook breathes out gently, his hands coming up to cradle your face. His thumbs brush away your tears, though they continue rolling down your cheek. “It’s okay.” he whispers, his voice steady yet tender, a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

But you shake your head, overwhelmed. “I’m sorry for everything, Kook. I really am.” you choke out, your voice cracking under the weight of your regret.

“It’s not your fault.” he murmurs, his dark eyes searching yours, shimmering with his own restrained emotions. “Shhh...” he hushes you, pulling you close again.

His embrace is solid, a haven, and you wonder how someone can carry so much grace. Even now, when he should be the one comforted, he holds you together.

The tears spill freely as you bury yourself in his arms, your body trembling against his. Jungkook’s hands move gently along your back, his touch rhythmic and calming. “This past week... it’s been so hard, Kook. I missed you so much.” you manage between sobs, your voice cracking.

Jungkook feels his heart splintering, guilt threading its way through him. He tightens his hold on you, his own breath hitching as he battles the storm inside. He knows he hurt you by shutting you out, but at the time, it felt like the only way he could cope. He was drowning too.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to see your face. His hand stays warm against your damp cheek, his thumb gliding across the soft curve of your cheekbone.

When your teary eyes lock with his, something magnetic draws you closer. You tilt your head upward, closing your eyes, and press your lips to his in a kiss that feels like both an apology and a plea.

Jungkook responds instantly, his lips meeting yours with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt. His hands anchor you in place, one cradling your jaw while the other settles at your waist.

The kiss deepens, raw and full of unspoken emotions, and you can feel in the way his lips move against yours just how much he’s missed you, too.

When he finally pulls back, breathless, his chest rises and falls rapidly. “I’m sorry I shut you out...” he exhales.

You shake your head quickly. “No, Kook. You had every reason to. What my mom did... it was unforgivable. She had no right to come at you like that... and... and disrespect you like that.”

Stepping back slightly, you look up at him, your hands still resting lightly on his chest. “I had no idea she’d been scheming all of this behind my back. When I brought you here, I just... I wanted to introduce you to my family because you’re so important to me. You’re everything to me.” Your voice softens, but your words are laced with an ache that refuses to go away.

“I should’ve seen it coming, though. The first time she was rude to you in the kitchen, I should’ve taken the hint. I should’ve warned her to stay out of this.”

He exhales deeply, the sound heavy with a mix of resignation and lingering pain. Slowly, he moves past you as he edges closer to the riverbank.

"I knew she never liked me..." he starts, his voice low, carrying the weight of a truth he’s held in for too long. "It was so obvious. She didn’t even try to hide it." A humorless chuckle escapes his lips, but it’s laced with pain, not mirth.

You follow him quietly, closing the distance, until you’re standing right next to him. The cold bites at your cheeks, but the ache in his voice hurts even more.

Together, you gaze at the dark river ahead, the water shimmering faintly under the moonlight and the surrounding streetlights.

"A part of me understood her..." he continues, turning his head slightly towards you. His eyes, glistening but guarded, meet yours for a fleeting moment before he looks away. "She had every right to be worried. I mean… I’m dating her daughter. Of course, she’d be protective."

You hold his gaze briefly but remain silent, sensing he needs to say more.

"Maybe she doubted my intentions..." he admits, his tone soft but raw, like he’s peeling back layers of himself for you. "Maybe she thought I could never be good enough for you." His shoulders rise in a small shrug, his expression distant.

"All of that… it’s valid. I could accept it, you know? I would’ve tried. Tried to prove myself to her, even if it felt impossible."

He stops, his jaw tightening as he stares at the water. The moonlight catches on his profile, illuminating the subtle tremor in his lips as he fights to hold himself back from brutally cracking open.

"But when she brought up my mother..." His voice wavers, and he turns his face away, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. "She said she didn’t want to be linked to a family like mine. And that…" He exhales sharply, his shoulders slumping under the weight of the memory. "That broke me."

You feel your chest tighten at his words, your heart aching for the pain he’s trying so hard to contain. He doesn’t need to explain further because you already understand what he's trying to say.

"Kook..." you call out softly, inching closer and placing a gentle hand on his arm. "She was so so wrong... so wrong. And it wasn’t fair to you at all."

He turns his head slightly, his gaze flickering to yours, the sadness in his eyes now tinged with something else... perhaps relief at being seen, or maybe the fact that he can finally open up.

"And I’m done." you say, your voice firmer now, though it still trembles at the edges. "I’m done making excuses for her. For her actions, for the way she treated you, for the way she handled things."

You reach out with your other hand, cupping his jaw and guiding his face towards you. His eyes, meet yours fully now. "Kook..." you whisper, your breath hitching as his name falls from your lips.

"Your past, what your mom did, my reputation… none of that matters to me. It never has, and it never will." Your thumb gently grazes his cheek, and you see the tension in his jaw loosen, ever so slightly. "All that matters to me is you."

His lips part as if to respond, but the words seem to fail him. You press on, your voice shaking with sincerity.

"You matter so much to me..." you confess, your heart pounding as you take another step closer, until there’s no space left between you. "And I’m ready to leave all of this behind... I'm ready to walk out of everything if it means I can be with you. None... of this matters without you."

He looks down at you, his brows furrowing as he tries to process the enormity of your words. His chest rises and falls heavily under your touch, his breath warm against the cool night air.

"Let’s start over." you say, your voice soft but resolute. "Let’s start a new life together in New York... our home. That’s where we belong, Kook. That’s where I belong. With you."

Your words hang in the air, suspended between the two of you, and you can feel the shift in him... his walls crumbling under the weight of what you're saying.

"Let's elope, Kook."

<- part 6

series masterlist

taglist: @mirinaeii @taetaecatboy @tsukiesimp @lovingkoalaface @taekrve @jaytheatiny @loverofannabeth @jaerisdiction @whoa-jo @parkinglot-nights @reneeblack6230 @rrosiitas @shellyyy177 @majesticjung-97 @wobblewobble822

[jedi-enthusiasm-blog]

I mean they still coerce/steal children into joining them. And they left Anakin's mom to die a slave death. Like sure they aren't awful as an organization but they aren't always right?

Sometimes I wonder if I'm too harsh on Jedi antis. Then something like this happens and it hits me that no, if anything I'm being too soft.

Let's begin with the obvious, out-of-universe part. It's very rude to come to people's clearly tagged posts and say something like this. I love the Jedi I see in the PT and TCW, and I should be able to make, at least, vaguely positive posts about them without having to see this in the comments.

Now, onto your argument:

"They coerce/steal children into joining them."

You'd have a hard time arguing this, even using only Legends, the continuity that's most critical of the Jedi.

Baby Ludi doesn't offer us much information beyond "the baby's family was reasonably but incorrectly pressumed dead". Even then, these type of stories are used to show what the public opinion of the Jedi was, not what the Jedi were actually doing.

Children of the Force (the comic) is another of these stories. The Shatterpoint novel, on its own, contradicts every single instance of the Jedi being baby-snatchers or not being allowed to know their birth families/culture. Shatterpoint was written by Matthew Stover, who spoke with George Lucas personally and knew George Lucas' vision for Star Wars, and had that aside from his own personal interpretations that may or may not align with Lucas', unlike many other EU writers. This puts Shatterpoint very high in Legends canonity tier.

Jedi Path is stupid even when reading it in good faith. Movies, shows and later books with more canonity contradict it, so not good for argument.

Anything written by Karen Traviss is bullshit because 1. she disagrees with the good vs evil narrative of a franchise intended for kids, and 2. she only watched the PT halfway through, as a child. That's not getting into how she tries to paint both sides of the Empire vs Rebellion war as bad. Let me repeat, she's presenting the original heroes as bad. She's not engaging with the narrative presented to her, so what she writes is something else with the names of the Star Wars universe slapped into it.

In TCW this is trope of baby-snatchers is invoked and defied. A planet believes the Jedi steal children (manipulated by a Dark Side cult, so the people's worries were born out of propaganda), the Jedi stop going there, and the arc ends with them making up and solving the misunderstanding. To add to that, Children of the Force (the episode) is about Force-sensitive children being kidnaped by Cad Bane, and ends with the Jedi giving the children back to their parents; one of them was in the middle of an adjustment period to the Order and the other's parents had refused to give their child up, and there is zero indication that either child becomes a Jedi in the future.

In the PT the only introduction into the Order is Anakin, and the Jedi refuse. Until they can't refuse because Anakin is in danger of being discovered and brainwashed/stolen by a Sith, the Jedi say no. This is not how you portray characters to want to paint as kidnapers. Also, Palpatine (y'know, the Sith who's grooming and trying to turn Anakin against the Jedi) doesn't bring up anything related to child-stealing. If the main villain doesn't make that point, not even to be subverted later on, it's simply not true.

Coertion is an interesting argument because… it's never brought up. Yeah, you read that right. Never. Not even in arguments against the Jedi done by villains.

Jedi are not kidnapers in any continuity. Fandom made that up. Can that make for some interesting story about shady situations? Sure, if you're into that, but it's not canon. If you're critizing canon Jedi, bringing this shit up immediately makes you lose the argument.

"They left Anakin's mom to die a slave death"

No, they didn't. This post talks about her death, but something important I want to add is that she'd been free for years at the time of her death. Also, who's to say they didn't try? Who's to say they even knew she was a slave? Qui-Gon brought Anakin to the Order and then he died.

In Legends they actually had a hand in her winning her freedom, too.

You proved my point. You can critize the Order (I'm the first person to say they aren't perfect and some of their choices should be critized), but creating a narrative about the Jedi stealing children that has no basis in either Lucas', Legends or Disney canon to dunk on them is not being critical, it's just slander.

Friendly reminder that if you're gonna critize the Jedi, they have to be wrong.

"They told Anakin he wasn't fit to be a Jedi" Yeah, was he? He was unhappy the whole time, broke all their rules and eventually slaughtered them.

"They massacred the Sith Order" Yeah. Those "I'm better than everyone and everything and they all should kneel to me or die" people? I see no issue here.

"They fought in the Clone Wars as peacekeepers." Yeah. What was the alternative? Standing by as the clones, civilians and the Republic itself (the best government out those in the galaxy, although admittedly that's rather a low bar) were massacred by the Separatists? Yeah no. And peacekeepers ≠ pacifists.

"They forbid marriage." They are a religious organization, monks. Fobidding its members from marrying is pretty standard in monasteries. They also aren't celibate, friendship isn't discouraged at all and it's all but stated by Obi-Wan in TCW S6 that romantic feelings are perfectly allowed. Several of the Order's members practice their home planets' culture and religion and language (Barriss has a Mirilian Idol in her room, she Luminara Quinlan etc have cultural tattoos, many characters have accents which implies Basic isn't their first language and others don't speak Basic at all,etc). They have no dress code, they are allowed to drink, smoke, etc., even become part of other religions organizations (see Plo Koon)! Marriage being forbidden is nothing, literally meaningless next to the freedom Jedi have.

If you're gonna critize the Jedi, they have to be wrong.

No, they shouldn't change their whole way of life just because you don't like it.

[scoupsakakitty]

Request Yes! : Some requested a 14th member One Shot of Y/N fainting.

Learing to Care Again | idol!Woozi x 14thMember | angst, fluff

The practice room was buzzing with energy as the 13 members of Seventeen moved in unison, perfecting their choreography for the upcoming comeback. The air was thick with the sound of sneakers squeaking on the polished floor and the heavy breathing of the boys pushing themselves to the limit. Among them was Y/N, the 14th member, working just as hard to keep up.

However, something felt off today.

Y/N’s vision blurred slightly as she struggled to keep her balance during the sharp turns of the routine. Her head was pounding, and her body felt weak, but she didn’t want to stop. Everyone was giving it their all, and she didn’t want to be the one to slow them down.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Jeonghan asked, noticing her stumble during one of the moves.

“I’m fine,” Y/N forced a smile, waving him off. “Just a little tired.”

But she wasn’t fine. The next moment, her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the floor.

“Y/N!”

The music stopped abruptly as the members rushed to her side. Minghao carefully propped her up while Joshua grabbed a bottle of water.

“She’s burning up,” Seungcheol said, placing a hand on her forehead.

“I’m fine,” Y/N whispered weakly, trying to sit up, but Seokmin gently pushed her back down.

“You’re not fine,” Mingyu said, his voice laced with worry. “You fainted.”

“Woozi-hyung should know about this,” Seungkwan said, already pulling out his phone.

“No!” Y/N protested, her voice barely above a whisper. The urgency in her tone made everyone pause.

“Why not?” Vernon asked, frowning.

“He’s already stressed with the album,” Y/N explained, her eyes pleading. “We’ve been… arguing a lot lately. I don’t want to add to his stress.”

The members exchanged uncertain glances.

“Y/N, he’s your boyfriend,” Hoshi said gently. “He’d want to know.”

“Please,” Y/N begged. “Don’t tell him. Just let me rest for now. I’ll talk to him later.”

After a moment of silence, Seungcheol sighed. “Fine. But you’re taking the rest of the day off. No arguments.”

Y/N nodded, too tired to protest.————————————————————————————-That evening, the dorm was lively as always, with the members gathered in the living room, eating snacks and playing games. Y/N sat quietly on the couch, her body still weak from the incident earlier.

“Y/N, you should eat more,” Wonwoo said, handing her a bowl of soup he had warmed up.

“Thank you,” she said softly, accepting it.

Minghao brought over a blanket and draped it over her shoulders. “You need to stay warm.”

Seungkwan sat beside her, handing her a hot pack. “Let us know if you feel dizzy again, okay?”

The other members chimed in with their own comments and advice, their concern for Y/N evident in their actions.

Woozi, who had just returned from the studio, watched the scene with a frown.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, his tone sharp.

Everyone turned to look at him.

“What do you mean?” Seungcheol asked, trying to sound casual.

“I mean, why is everyone acting like Y/N is made of glass all of a sudden?” Woozi said, crossing his arms. “She’s not a kid.”

“We’re just looking out for her,” Joshua said evenly.

“You’re hovering,” Woozi countered, his eyes narrowing. “Why are you all acting so weird?”

The room fell silent for a moment, the tension thick in the air.

“Maybe if you paid more attention to your girlfriend, you’d know why,” Seungkwan muttered under his breath.

“What did you say?” Woozi asked, his voice dangerously low.

“Seungkwan,” Jeonghan warned, but it was too late.

Seungkwan stood up, his frustration boiling over. “I said, maybe if you actually cared about Y/N instead of locking yourself in the studio all day, you’d know that she fainted during practice today!”

Woozi’s eyes widened, and he turned to Y/N. “What?”

Y/N looked down, avoiding his gaze. “It’s not a big deal—”

“Not a big deal?” Woozi cut her off, his voice rising. “You fainted, and no one told me?”

“You’ve been so stressed with work,” Y/N said quietly. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Bother me?” Woozi echoed, his tone incredulous. “Y/N, you’re my girlfriend. How could you think you’d be bothering me by telling me something like this?”

“You haven’t exactly been… present lately,” Y/N admitted, her voice trembling. “We’ve been fighting so much, and I didn’t want to make things worse.”

Woozi ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident on his face. “So you thought keeping this from me was the solution?”

“You weren’t exactly approachable,” Jeonghan said pointedly. “You’ve been so wrapped up in work that you’ve barely noticed anything going on with her.”

“Enough,” Seungcheol said, stepping in. “We’re not here to gang up on each other.”

Woozi took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He looked at Y/N, his expression softening. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want to add to your stress,” Y/N said, her eyes filling with tears. “I know how important this album is to you.”

“And you’re important to me,” Woozi said firmly. He sat down beside her, taking her hands in his. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel like you’re not. I’ve been so focused on work that I didn’t realize how much I’ve been neglecting you.”

“It’s not just your fault,” Y/N said, wiping her tears. “I should have talked to you instead of keeping it to myself.”

“We both need to do better,” Woozi said, his voice gentle. “But you can’t hide things like this from me, okay? If something’s wrong, I want to know.”

“Okay,” Y/N said, nodding.

The room was silent for a moment, the tension finally easing.

“Are we good now?” Mingyu asked, breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” Woozi said, a small smile tugging at his lips. He turned to the other members. “Thank you for looking out for her.”

“Just do better, hyung,” Seungkwan said with a grin.

“I will,” Woozi promised, pulling Y/N closer. “I’ll do better.”

As the members returned to their games and conversations, Woozi stayed by Y/N’s side, holding her hand and silently vowing to never let her feel alone again.

————————————————————————————-

[venuslarkspur]

Personal headcanon of mine that would like to share. Batsis!Reader was personally blessed by Aphrodite when she was little and it's why she can add to her growing harem without much struggle

Cassandra during a family meeting: Do you guys ever wonder how Batsis!Reader can get anyone, no matter the age difference, hero and villain, to hook up/date her?

Jason watching Batsis get flirted on by Roy for like the millionth time: Only god knows Cass. Only God knows.

Meanwhile 5-6 year old Batsis on the Manor's rooftop stargazing with Aphrodite

Aphrodite: You know what? I like you little human. You entertain me, I haven't felt this relaxed and at peace in centuries! And for that, I shall give you my blessing.

Cue Batsis!Reader getting her charisma maxed out and continue skyrocketing even after being maxed out. Also getting a sex drive that lets her sexually keep up with any partner she wanted, basically making her the best hoe out there without a doubt

5-6 year old Batsis: Ok :v

Omg yes, I fw this.

Warning: very minor nsfw but nothing that bad is mentioned, cuss words, mentions of addiction, not proofread.

Like Batsis is semi aware of her talents and charms and also has SOME control over them, but sometimes she can meet some dickheads who try and gain her attention after she’s madeit clear she doesn’t want them.

How some of the JL are charmed

- I feel like Diana is partly aware of this connection between Batsis and Aphrodite and that’s how Diana for the most part hasn’t surrendered to her charm. Diana just loves her for her for the most part.

- John Stewart is unique, he fell in love with Batsis for much more than just her beauty but rather how she conducts herself as a person, these two are my faves.

- Barry Allen pre his marriage with Iris did find Batsis attractive and very charming, though I imagine at this time she’s dating someone else. So nothing becomes of this despite Batsis knowing she could have him if she wanted.

- Zatanna and Batsis have always been flirty with each other, they charm each other quite easily, they are either besties or girlfriends there’s no in between, the two of them and John sometimes throuple as well so take that as you will.

- Hal Jordan was easy work, he was putty the day he met Batsis. This was in the early days when Batsis definitely wanted to piss off Bruce, so why not solidity it by not only sleeping with and dating his colleague but also the colleague he can’t stand the most.

- Yeah the vast majority are just immediately drawn to her beauty and grace. She’s matching all of their freak.

——————

- But if we are talking about Villains, Deathstroke is one of her past; he was an easy bag she didn’t even have to pull out any tricks. But when she gets a bit older and matures more she stops their dynamic immediately.

- For some crack however Batsis has contemplated how funny it would be if she married Ra’s Al Ghul, like Damian having to address her as grandmother? Bruce literally having a seizure if he finds out. This thought is extinguished IMMEDIATELY however. Although she does like a challenge and wonders if her talents on him would work.

——————

This girl struggles to find an end game that truly loves her, she’s had a few who have came and gone but never imagined someone she could call her romantic soulmate (bc we know Dick is her platonic soulmate!!), but if it had to be anyone it would be Roy. They’ve been through so much struggle together that eventually they would work out, Roy gets insecure and wonders if she could do better considering the men and women of her past he’s been podiumed with.

- Batsis had made the mistake of leaving him when they were younger over the pressure getting to her, like Lian coming along, his addiction, Ollie just being a shit mentor for the most part, but Batsis really calms down with her gift if she gets serious (even if she can’t control it 70% of the time), she finally has found something good and will stick to it. Yeah he was a nasty dog when they were teenagers but when they are older he just sees the only one (besides Dinah, Dick and Jason) who stuck by him.

My lord this got sort of angsty but yeah. She’s a girl blessed.

[sweetflanfiction]

Asymetrical Symphony - Part 17

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8 • Part 9 • Part 10 • Part 11 • Part 12 • Part 13 • Part 14 • Part 15 • Part 16

• ··········· • ············ •

After some long minutes of silent work, Viktor placed the goggles on his forehead again and turned his face to your almost sleeping figure.

"Wake up." He threw a small piece of pink chalk at your chest.

"Is it finished?" You blinked away the sleepiness and chucked the chalk back to him.

"No... but I am cross-eyed looking at the thing." He took the goggles off his head and swiveled the bench to you. "Have you tried the new suffix I showed you?” 

The night of the dinner, he had sent Jayce a note with a new symbol to add to your runes. It was disappointing that he had come himself to give you the thing, but you knew how much he hated these events. 

You were certain that, in every universe imaginable, Viktor, co-creator of Hextech, would not be caught dead in a room full of Pilties unless under threat. And Jayce wasn’t about to threaten his life for a two-hour dinner, mostly because if your mother knew, she would threaten Jayce’s life in return. It was a give-and-take with these two.

“Yes, I did.” You turned on the couch so you were fully lying on it, drawing runes in the air.

“And…?” He leaned his elbows into his knees.

“I had to explain to my mother why my bedroom was in disarray after a whirlwind went through it.” You looked down at him, watching his warm eyes widen. “And then I had to explain to Voltaire why all the lights in the house went out for the whole day."

“The rune I gave you was how we… well… in simple terms… solidify the hex gem light into a laser.” He made a gesture with his hand, like a claw coming from his back. “Those results are unexpected. What runes did you speak for them?”

“The move made the whirlwind and the starlight made lightning, but—”

“Lightning?” Viktor was already opening and closing drawers, trying to find his notebook.

“Yup…and--”

“The solidified state of your move rune is a whirlwind, and the starlight is lightning. I need to write this down.” He interrupted, his words coming out as quickly as the lighting from the little marbles of light.

“I already did…but—

“Good, we should try it again in a more... secure place.” He finally found the book with a little 'aha' sound and opened it.

“I’m not going back in the broom closet.” You quickly added to his speech. “Neither of these two runes makes me comfortable in an enclosed space.”

“Understandable.” He nodded after a while of consideration.

“Anyway…what shined was the mending rune…”

“How so?”

Getting up from the couch, you walked over to his desk, intent on grabbing the closest piece of chalk on the table, but Viktor’s hand appeared, palming his pencils and pulling them away from you quickly.

You leaned your hip against his table, crossed your arms, and raised an eyebrow, your face a mask of inquiry.

“There are disposable pencils in the first drawer.” He said, motioning with his chin to the place he mentioned.

You opened the drawer, and six, somewhat new, charcoal pencils were stored. You frowned and took one out. They hadn't even been sharpened yet.

“These are brand new.” You showed him the pencil, and he nodded.

“Yes, and they are also Jayce’s…” You saw the mischievous grin on his face and shook your head.

“For your information, I was going to do this with chalk.” You broke the pencil in three places.

“That would be even worse!" He quickly placed all his writing utensils in a mug with Jayce's face on it. "Do you know how much I have to defend the use of colored chalk? I feel like I’m arguing my thesis…” 

“What's with the Academy and not giving its scientists what they need to survive the grueling task of mathing?” You joked and threw him the middle part of the pencil, watching him fumbling to catch it before it hit the floor.

"Would you like to do math? Because I can play the piano. We can switch one day. See who lasts longer." He jokingly pointed to the arachnid-looking machinery.

“Are you done with the pity party?" You asked, grinning at him, and he nodded brightly.

"Yes, go ahead." He stretched his leg in front of him as he grabbed the edge of the table.

"I've also been managing to speak the rune with fewer movements every time.”

“Abbreviations of words are very common.” He looked at the ground and tilted his head. "Once you become accustomed to speaking a word, you can simply say its condensed form, and it will be understandable."

Viktor gently pushed himself along the table to roll over to where you stood, the last push a little too strong as he came bumping into your side. You grabbed his shoulder to keep both of you from falling to the floor, and he instinctively moved an arm around your waist. You looked down at him, and he up at you. 

You both stood there for a while, and your hand moved closer to his neck, stroking it for a couple of seconds. He moved away and made a little laughing sound. You tilted your head to the side, raised your eyebrows, and didn't again.

"No." He moved away laughing, his hand dragging behind you, leaving a cold trail on your lower back.

And it was then you found out that this Viktor was ticklish. And that little childish detail, the way his eyes instantly filled with laughter, made you extremely happy. Viktor deserved to feel joy and happiness.

With a cough to clear your throat and get back to the present, you took the pencil and placed its pieces a little further apart than the last time, the middle part that you had discarded, missing. As you spoke the rune, you added the sustain and solidify symbols at the end. 

The tendrils came out of the rune and found the intended target, touching the two parts of the rough snapped wood and then solidifying around it until it had the consistency of a paste. After a second the paste started to grow, the tendrils now coming out like gravity-defying candle wax from both sides. They met in the middle, forming a bridge of a blue, slimy material. Once the missing part of the pencil was filled, the paste started to harden, becoming a blue, shimmery shape that connected and glued both parts together.

“It connects what's missing now.” You whispered, trying not to startle the enthralled scientist.

Viktor grabbed the pencil and looked it over from every angle against the light, even tapping on it with his nail. It was slightly translucent, and the noise resembled knocking on a piece of thick glass. He wrote with it, and it worked as it should.

“It is a solid shape, yes, but I believe it’s not a replica of the pencil.” He said, chewing the inside of his mouth. His eyes lifted for a moment, and he went to grab his crutch.

Autumn was around the corner, and the temperature change made his bones and muscles ache. He had told you when you widened your eyes at his crutch and leg brace that when the cold seasons come, he uses them more often to help him. You didn't need to touch his back to know the back brace was there too. 

The Viktor in your dimension had the same problem in his better days. Any weather change would bring his pain level up. He once told you it felt like his bones were grinding on his other and that his muscles were made of fire. It didn’t stop him from coming to the lab. 

It didn’t seem to stop either of them.

You hadn’t questioned him using the brace on the hex leg, but you’d assume it would help stabilize it and even out its weight. 

You were snapped out of memory lane when Viktor sat back down with a ‘humph’ on the stool. He quickly grabbed the screwdriver and started to separate the top side of the crutch from the bottom. In between them, there was a small mechanism. He grabbed that and showed it to you.

“This makes me able to readjust the height of the crutch. This spring makes this pin go into that hole and makes the crutch adjustment secure.” He told you and waited for a confirmation that you understood.

“Alright.” You nodded, confused, your eyes shifting from his to what was in his hand.

He took the spring out, and it left a space in the mechanism.

“Fix it.” He told you and gave you the broken thing.

Without questioning him, you made the rune and waited. The gooey magic substance attached to where you saw the spring start and where it ended, but it didn’t make the shape of the spring. It just connected those two pieces the same way it connected the pencil: with a solid blue cylindrical shape.

"Sorry." You told him, afraid you had broken his walking aid, but he shook his head.

“Interesting…” He grabbed a small hammer he had on his table and hit the new blue piece softly. “It creates new forms but not specific ones.”

“I just learned to speak it. Maybe it comes with practice.” He hit it again with a bit more force, and it broke. "It would be good to be able to actually create new forms."

Viktor nodded as he grabbed the old spring and set it again in its rightful place. He redid the aid, tried it a couple of times, and after he was satisfied, kept it between his knees, leaning his chin and his hands on the middle handle.

“I may be able to help you with that.” The scientist smiled and got up from the table, his leg brace whining at the movement. He went over to the hex core storage and came back with a small thing in his hand. 

“It’s a panel with a missing gear.” He limped back towards you and threw himself on the couch, motioning for you to do the same.

You did, your knees touching as he showed you what he had in his hand. It was a small copper panel with two gears on each side, an empty spot in the middle, and a switch. He touched the switch, and one gear moved, but without the middle one, the last kept still. He stopped off the switch and moved his hand, a gear appearing between his fingers.

“The shape.” He turned the loose gear over to you and pointed a finger at the panel. “The place."

Understanding what he meant, you nodded and grabbed the panel gently, turning it over in your hands.

“Yes, Professor.” You noticed his hand squeeze the gear quickly and then let go. You looked up at him and watched as his usually caring golden eyes turned into something fiery, like hot coals in a fireplace. You saw his gaze quickly shift downwards to your mouth and then up, and as quickly as it came, it was gone.

“Hum... Good luck." He awkwardly got up from the couch and sat back down on his stool, quickly grabbing his goggles and placing them over his eyes.

There was a heat behind his eyes. A small flash from your dimension told you exactly what it meant. There were some things Viktor would enjoy, and when he threw those glances at you, you could pinpoint what they were. It would mostly end up in something that both enjoyed. 

But your Viktor had been stubborn, and although you knew his feelings for you matched your feelings for him, there was always that little ‘I am dying’ detail that, no matter how much you told him you didn’t care, he didn���t forget. And you didn’t—couldn’t—blame him. 

In the end, the only thing you could do was respect that. 

You stayed in the lab with Viktor, trying to make a little gear out of the goo. You’d managed to make some shape out of it, but the gear was proving a little too difficult, and you could feel the tingle in your hand fade as you kept using it.

At some point, Jayce had joined in on the two of you, mumbling something about the council and their demands. Viktor had looked at him and simply passed him another part of ‘The Reader.’. 

For a few hours, you forgot this wasn’t where you belonged. These weren’t your old friends. For a few hours, this was just a normal day of yours. After leaving the orchestra, you’d come by and idly sit by them, listening to them tinkering and reading a book about whatever subject you felt like. Sometimes you’d bring a guitar or some of your father’s records.

You felt the couch sink next to you, and you tucked your socked feet under the leg of whoever had sat down, your back leaning into the arm of the couch. It was muscle memory. It wouldn’t be strange for Jayce to lean against you when he sat; his big shoulders and torso were most likely to be used as a pillow, or for Viktor to place his legs on your lap gently, the pain becoming bearable when he stretched his muscles after being sat all day.

“Oh!” 

Immediately you looked up and saw it was Viktor who had sat down, and clumsily you moved your feet away. Only to be stopped by a hand on your knee, a tired smile on his lips.

“There is no need to move.”

He moved his leg, so you could place your feet back where they were under his thigh, and then he rested his arm on your knees. Viktor leaned his back and shoulders against the couch, his neck stretching back and his long legs sprawled on the floor.

For a while, the only thing heard through the lab was Jayce’s angrily muttering against whatever he was welding. Whatever the council had asked him, he was not happy to comply.

“How is your gear making?” Viktor asked, turning his neck to look at you.

The board now was not as pristine as it had been. There were small pieces of crystal that you could get detached with the small hammer Viktor had provided. The best shape you could make was a splatter sort of circle, connecting the dents of the two other gears.

“Well, good news, bad news. Which one do you want first?” He showed you two fingers in the hand that had wrapped around your knees, indicating the second choice. “I don’t think this rune is made for creating shapes.”

“I was thinking as much. But I was hopeful it could take different paths to mend things.” You gave him the board, and he grabbed it, turning it around near his face and inspecting the blue goo on it. “The good news?”

“I can abbreviate the rune.” You smiled when he looked at you, eyebrows raised, impressed and proud.

The sound of a metal tool falling to the ground, followed by a curse, was heard on the other side of the room, and at the same time, a knock on the door. 

Viktor groaned and clumsily got up, using the arm of the couch, your knees, and then the table to get himself upright while you sat up to a less comfortable position. 

You quickly hid the small powdery leftovers of your tests and placed the glove on your hand. Even though it wasn’t as bright as before, it was still glowing. 

Jayce grumbled as he got up to open the door.

“Hello,” the bright young voice of Sky echoed in the lab. “The council has given me some more project briefings…”

“Great…” Jayce threw whatever tool he had picked up from the floor on his part of the table. Sky flinched at the sound. 

“Thank you, Miss Young.” Viktor grabbed his crutch and limped towards her, trying to appease the girl. “Is there anything else?”

“Hum…yeah…yes…” She looked at Viktor and smiled. “The council wants them reviewed right now.”

Jayce turned to look at Sky and was about to open his mouth to contest, but Viktor took several quick strides towards the woman while throwing Jayce a look you couldn’t see but that shut him up.

“Thank you. You can wait here if you want.” He pointed to the couch you were sitting at, and you gave her a quick wave.

“We’ll give them back as quickly as we can.”

She looked confused for a while when she saw you there but quickly gave you a quick smile and nodded at Viktor.

He looked back to watch her make her way to you and then smiled softly when your eyes met.

“Hello.” Sky said, sitting down next to you, her hands on her knees. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here after your appointment.”

“Hi!" You shrugged and rolled your eyes in an exasperated manner. "The gadget didn’t work properly, and Viktor is making some adjustments as he goes. Saves me the trips and the rescheduling.”

“Ah…yes…makes sense. More efficient that way. It's strange to have to add a planner to the multitude of other things we have to keep in check.” She pushed her glasses up and smiled, her expression showing her distaste for the added unnecessary work. “Oh, congratulations on the orchestra seat.”

“How…?”It took you by surprise that she knew about this since it only happened two days ago.

“Oh…My father works at the printing house, and the orchestra is doing the flyers and posters for this season. I saw your name on the roster.”

“Ah! It’s your father…of course.” In your world, her sister worked in the printing house. “The first winter show is right around the corner. Are you going to go?”

She looked at her hands and shook her hand.

“The tickets for the season's first shows are always too expensive. We’ll probably go later in the season.” 

“Let me rephrase that…” you grinned at the girl. Much like any other person you’d met in this timeline, some of their traits and likes probably still happened to their counterparts here. And you knew Sky enjoyed music. You had invited her several times to watch the orchestra rehearse in your time. It was a free concert for her, and it was worth it to see her just ramble about it afterwards. “Would you like to go to the first show of the season?”

Her eyes brightened up, and you smiled, but her elation stopped short, and she shook her head, sighing.

“There’s no need for you to trouble yourself.” She smiled sadly.

“It’s no trouble. I have 2 seats always reserved in my name. It’s a thing they do to their musicians. My mother and Willah have their box; these two have the Academy’s ticket and will likely be invited. I don’t mind giving you the seats; you can take whoever you want…maybe your sister could come…” Her face lit up again as you realized what you just said and quickly corrected. “If you have sisters…maybe a date…I don’t know…”

“Yes, my sister would love to go. Maybe my mother…I’ll ask…” She adjusted her glasses. “Are you sure? I truly don’t want to impose.”

“It’s no imposition or trouble. I would rather you have them than for them to be empty.”

“Thank you! You’ll be at the piano, right?”

You nodded, and the conversation rolled out easily. Talking about music and compositions and favorites. Sky had always been easy to talk to. She was a genuinely nice person. Had a huge crush on Viktor, which you teased him about, but unfortunately for her, the feelings he had for her didn’t reach those heights. When he became the Herald, he told you she lived in the astral world, always there in the core helping him navigate his new circumstances. He told you she was a friend; you knew she was his guilt.

A high-pitched sound was heard from somewhere in the lab, and both you and Sky looked at each other in silent confusion. It sounded like a kettle ready to boil over.

“Do you hear that?” She asked, looking around, and you nodded, looking around yourself.

She got up from the couch and took a step forward towards the two men sitting at the end of the table. The noise grew louder.

“Vik…” Sky started but was interrupted by a small explosion and three wheezing sounds coming from Jayce’s work table.

You ducked your head as three bolts carved themselves like bullets on the wall behind you. Viktor called your name, and Jayce ran to his station, turning off his still-working welder. You, however, were watching as three red stains appeared on Sky’s uniform.

You rushed forward as she fell to her knees, grabbing her just in time for her head not to hit the ground. She groaned and touched her hand in the three small holes in her abdomen.

“No, no, no.” You chanted, grabbing the blanket from the couch and putting pressure on her wounds. “Get someone!” 

Viktor limped his way to both of you and awkwardly plopped down on the floor, the brace on his leg making it difficult for him to sit down.

“Jayce! Get the enforcers we need to get her to the hospital.” Viktor shouted back as well, and you heard Jayce’s footsteps hit the ground running.

“Ouch,” Sky winced weakly, looking down at herself. “I hate blood.”

“We all do, dear.” You placed a bloody hand on her forehead. “You got to breathe and be calm. Help is coming.”

She nodded, and you looked at Viktor, a bloody pool starting to form at his knees. Both your hands were now holding the thick blanket to her midsection. You kept checking her breathing and making sure she was conscious, but the minutes seemed like hours.

In a moment of silence, you heard the sound of a crackling fire, an orange light shining above you. Craning your neck up, you saw the ceiling crack and move apart. Not like the glass shattering, but a slow movement as the ceiling pieces moved away. The crackling sound mixed with a slow bubbling of liquid. It reminded you of when your mother would boil caramel and condensed milk for her dessert. 

The mix of sounds and the slow movement of the cement was mesmerizing. Then a drop of a bright, hot, sizzling orange substance fell right into your gloved hand. For a moment you thought it would burn the leather away, but it simply got absorbed. It looked like a pebble hitting water, making small rounded waves. Before another drop fell, you quickly ripped the glove from your hand and caught the orange drip. Same effect, but before the little waves stopped, a bead of bright blue shot up to the ceiling. 

In the distance, you heard Viktor call your name, but you were far more interested in the liquid within the cracks going from red to blue.

You saw more tears of blue hit the ceiling as the sound of bubbling and crackling grew louder in your ears. Every time a drop landed, the cracks moved in a different direction. When it stopped, you saw a rune. A new rune.

Unlike the purple one, this one also had an urgency but not a devouring need to be spoken. It was more than the hunger to use it; it was the urgency of the situation. Like the arcane was telling you to trust it. It was still strange to have this outer pull to do something. The other runes didn’t have it.

The whole rune appeared, and you blinked, searing it into your memory. And when… whatever it was… knew you were gonna trust it, the world spun.

Your glowing hand was almost out, but it still had a bit of magic left, and it moved on its own. Speaking this rune was unlike any other; there was no intention, no need to flick it. You spoke it, and your hand snapped to the blanket. With a swift movement, you pushed the blanket away, blood gushing out of the wounds.

You, or better, whatever was moving you, turned your head to the wall in front of you, staring at the three little dots on the wall like there was nothing else more interesting in the world.

Your body worked on its own accord like you had felt in the council room when you wrote the runes on the ground. Sky’s blood felt warm against your hand for a few seconds, until you felt that same warmth drag up from your hand to your elbow, to your shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Viktor half shouted, his bloody hand grabbing your forearm, but when your gaze snapped to him, he quieted down with a gasp. 

You wanted to watch it happen, but whatever will you had to move had been sucked out, and you found yourself staring unemotionally at your friends' worried golden orbs. 

You felt a warmth go up your arm, into your clothed shoulder, as it traveled down your torso until it reached the mirrored spot Sky was hurt. 

And then the warm feeling became a searing, white burning pain. 

You’ve been punched in the gut several times. By Vi, by an array of Noxus soldiers. Even by a beautiful white and gold construct, that one hurt more feelings than flesh. It wasn’t pleasant; it made the air inside your body come out in a huff. It was painful, but it wasn’t this. 

This was like someone took a hot knife and was carving something into your flesh. You could almost smell the burned skin.

Viktor shouted your name, but there was nothing you could do to snap out of whatever trance that rune got you into. You wanted to scream in pain; you wanted to ask for help, but nothing came out. You kept your eyes focused on your friend at his concerned gaze, trying to convey the pain you were feeling, but you weren't sure he understood it. You didn’t feel any muscle on your face move, and for a moment you panicked.

Was this what the hex angels felt whenever Viktor took command of their bodies? Was this it? This lack of control over your body as your mind screamed in pain?

You felt your body fall to the ground with a thud, your heartbeat quickly drumming in your ears. You heard Viktor shuffling to your side, but the world was quickly becoming black. As your vision faded, you saw Sky's teary eyes blink as life crept back into her.

• ··········· • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa @moons-lighttrail @aysluxe @fae-doodle @kitewa @local-mr-frog @bakusquadobsessed @cherry-cola-100 @optimistic-but-very-realistic @seeksrsnn @thecordelialetters @notsaelty @lansy-4 @ayupfrogg @sammypotato @wnbrw @lucycarlisleswife @noxturnalmoth @ren-ren23 @furblrwurblr @kapitankarate @mynicknameisgasoline @octo-octopie @birbwithhat @kneelarmhstrung @dedicated2viktor @elvishstudies

[erinwantstowrite]

What do you think about Jason and Tim relationship? I know that fans are split between hatred for each other or the best brothers. But what do you think?

i fully believe that the writers dropped the ball on what to do with them.

i disagree with what they did with Jason coming back- they didn't have any direction for his character besides that they wanted a huge dramatic twist and Jason has stagnated because of it. him coming back as pretty much nothing like himself but then having zero good writing to convince me of his tragedy?? it's why a lot of people just ignore canon. if they were gonna bring him back, they should have gone in another direction.

if i HAD to keep jason as an anti hero, i would have written him to have a compulsion to protect Robin. a deep rooted fear where he projects his own time, experience, and feelings as Robin onto Tim (and even Stephanie!!) because of the damage that was done to him mentally. jason had long lasting brain damage. he was in a coma for months after he was suddenly revived, he was catatonic when Talia was taking care of him. the Lazarus pit might have healed that, but there would still be residual affects. Jason would feel younger than he is, he'd feel like a stranger in his own body. add on to that with severe cpstd, and you have a recipe for a kid (he was what, 18? 19? physically? when he got to Gotham?) who has a warped perception of his life and relationships. he would have memories that were forgotten to him, not just in his recovery stage but in the time before he died. he would have the feelings of a kid who wanted his dad to save him, who was angry at his mom for hurting him, who now has to struggle with why he ever came back at all. i'm sure he would be angry at everyone. he'd be confused and hurt and he wouldn't have a means to understanding his own feelings. but at his heart, jason was always a good kid, and he protected people, especially people who couldn't protect themselves

it makes no sense that jason came back wanting to hurt robin

so yeah, i'd have written him to be angry and volatile like a teen lashing out at a safe parent to be angry with, but when Tim or Steph were there, he'd dial it back immediately. at first it would be about not wanting to scare them, wanting to keep them safe as a way to help the kid that did die in that costume, somehow and someway. but eventually it would be about Jason seeing them, seeing how capable they are, and feeling protective over them, not just Robin.

but that isn't what happened, because the writers couldn't care less about how trauma actually effects people. they had him attack tim and become basically a sociopath and it felt like a cheap "gotcha!" twist that no one asked for

that being said, their canon relationship isn't terrible. in the beginning they didn't get along at all, obviously. but now, they have a respect for each other. they act like siblings. Tim has said multiple times that he doesn't hate Jason nor holds a grudge. Jason said that he should, but Tim didn't care. sometimes when I read them, I think about how well they might have gotten along if Jason never died. because let's be real, Tim was always headed for the Batfam with or without Jason's death. that's why fics where he's adopted earlier and Jason doesn't die are pretty popular. though in my opinion, they often overshadow that Dick and Tim are also brothers

i think they have a complicated history and relationship but they are siblings. they aren't texting each other everything (Dick and Tim, i fear) or having emotional conversations more than once every seven months but they'll play video games with each other, drop by unannounced to the other's house to eat their food and complain about something, and they work together well. they have a lot in common and they're both previously only children who became second children and eventually middle children. they both experienced neglect though it was very different versions.

in one universe where Tim had died, Jason mourned him. i think that says a lot about how they care about each other

if only the writers would let it STAY that way and not have Jason regress over and over just because they're terrified of character development

[novaursa]

A Lion's Folly (the fool)

- Summary: A story where a lion falls for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, you.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Jaime Lannister

- Note: Keep in mind how canon events have been altered to suit the narrative of this story.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (blood, gore, violence)

- Previous part: absolution

- Next part: to mend

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @butterflygxril

Jaime woke to the scent of rot and the sharp sting of something cold against his arm. His eyelids felt impossibly heavy, and for a moment, he thought he was still dreaming. The blurred edges of reality came into focus slowly—a damp, dimly lit chamber, the air thick with the coppery tang of blood and the faint, acrid odor of burning herbs.

“Ah, you’re awake,” a voice drawled, soft and unhurried.

Jaime turned his head slightly, the motion sending a dull ache through his skull. His vision sharpened enough to make out a gaunt figure seated beside him. The man’s pale face was framed by thinning hair, his dark eyes gleaming with something that might have been curiosity—or amusement.

“Who…?” Jaime’s voice cracked, his throat dry and raw.

“Qyburn,” the man said smoothly, dipping a cloth into a bowl of murky water. “Former maester of the Citadel. Now… a man of many talents.”

Jaime tried to push himself upright, but a agonizing pain in his arm forced him back down. He glanced to the side and saw his stump, the bandages now clean and tightly wrapped. The sight sent a wave of nausea rolling through him, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to stay still.

“Don’t strain yourself,” Qyburn said, dabbing at Jaime’s forehead with the damp cloth. “You’ve been fevered for days. It’s a miracle you’re alive, truly.”

Jaime let out a bitter laugh, his voice rasping. “A miracle, is it? You’ll forgive me if I don’t feel particularly blessed.”

Qyburn’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “You’ve been through quite the ordeal. Fever dreams often bring… interesting revelations.”

Jaime frowned, his mind still sluggish. “What are you talking about?”

“You were whispering,” Qyburn said, his tone almost teasing. “Quite a lot, actually. Names, mostly.”

Jaime’s chest tightened, and he looked away, his jaw clenching. “Cersei,” he muttered. “It was her name, wasn’t it?”

Qyburn chuckled softly, the sound low and knowing. “Once or twice, yes. But mostly, it was another name. A Stark name.”

Jaime’s head snapped toward him, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. “What?”

“Oh, yes,” Qyburn said, his dark eyes gleaming. “You spoke of her often. Y/N Stark. Quite fondly, I might add. Almost as if…” He trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.

Jaime’s throat tightened, his mind racing to recall anything he might have said. He cursed his fever-addled state, his vulnerability. “What do you want, Qyburn?” he snapped, his voice sharper now.

“Only to help,” Qyburn replied smoothly, though his amusement was clear. “Your secret is safe with me, Ser Jaime. For now, at least.”

Jaime glared at him, but the effort only made his head pound. He sank back against the rough cot, his breaths shallow as he tried to piece together his fractured thoughts.

“What about her?” he asked after a moment, his voice quieter now. “The Stark girl. And the wench.”

Qyburn’s smile faded slightly, his expression becoming more serious. “They’re safe for now. Lord Bolton seems to value them as much as he does you, though for different reasons.”

Jaime’s jaw tightened. “What does he want with Y/N?”

“Ah, that is the question, isn’t it?” Qyburn said, his tone almost cheerful. “He watches her closely, speaks little but observes everything. It seems he’s… intrigued by her. Perhaps he sees an opportunity. Or perhaps he simply enjoys the thought of holding a Stark under his roof.”

Jaime’s chest burned with anger, his mind conjuring images of Roose Bolton’s cold, calculating stare. “If he touches her—”

“You’re in no position to make threats, Ser Jaime,” Qyburn interrupted, his voice cutting but calm. “Your health is precarious, to say the least. And you’ll be of no use to anyone if you don’t recover.”

Jaime clenched his fist, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “What do you care about my recovery?”

“I’m a healer,” Qyburn said simply, though the glint in his eyes suggested there was far more to it. “And I find you fascinating. Besides, Lord Bolton has ordered you to be kept alive. For now.”

Jaime let out a shaky breath, his thoughts a tangled mess. The mention of your name, the faint memory of your voice cutting through his fevered dreams—it unsettled him in ways he couldn’t fully understand.

“I don’t need your pity, Qyburn,” he muttered, his voice low.

“Pity?” Qyburn replied with a faint chuckle. “No, Ser Jaime. What I offer is far more valuable than pity. I offer survival. Whether you choose to accept it is up to you.”

Jaime closed his eyes, the weight of his exhaustion pressing down on him like a stone. As Qyburn continued his ministrations, Jaime’s thoughts drifted back to you—to the defiance in your eyes, the sharp edge in your voice.

He didn’t know why you haunted him, why your presence lingered in his mind even now. But as sleep threatened to claim him once more, one thing became painfully clear: you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.

And that terrified him more than anything else.

The dining hall of Harrenhal was as cold and lifeless as the rest of the cursed castle. The long table, illuminated by flickering torches and a pair of sputtering candelabras, was laden with a sparse spread of bread, meat, and wine. Jaime stepped into the room, his steps faltering slightly as his fever-weakened body struggled to keep pace with the image of control he so desperately clung to.

The first thing he noticed was you.

You sat near the head of the table, your back straight, your expression as irked. The dress they’d forced you into—dark blue velvet with silver accents—was beautiful, but it was clear from the tension in your shoulders and the glare you aimed at Roose Bolton that you would rather be anywhere else. Your hair, usually windblown and wild from travel, was neatly arranged, though it did little to soften the fiery defiance in your eyes.

Brienne sat beside you, her broad shoulders hunched awkwardly in a plain dress that did her no favors. The indignation in her expression was clear, though she kept her mouth shut, her hands gripping the edge of the table as if to ground herself.

And then there was Roose.

The Lord of the Dreadfort sat at the head of the table, his pale face calm and unreadable, his eyes flicking to Jaime as he entered. He gestured to an empty seat across from you, his tone as smooth as ever. “Ser Jaime. Please, join us.”

Jaime forced a smirk, though his stomach churned. He moved to the indicated seat, lowering himself carefully into the chair and resting his good arm on the table. “Quite the gathering,” he said dryly, his gaze flicking between the three of you. “To what do I owe the honor?”

Roose poured himself a glass of wine, his movements deliberate. “Consider it a farewell, of sorts,” he said.

Jaime’s brow furrowed slightly. “Farewell?”

“Yes,” Roose replied, his tone calm and measured. “You’ll be leaving us soon. I’ve arranged for you to be escorted back to King’s Landing. Along with your… companion.” His eyes shifted briefly to Brienne, who stiffened in her seat.

Jaime raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening faintly. “How generous of you, my lord. I assume you’ll be sending me off with a full parade as well?”

Roose ignored the jab, his gaze steady. “I understand the value of a Lannister. Your safe return to your father will smooth tensions and ensure certain… understandings remain intact.”

Jaime’s smirk faltered as his gaze flicked to you. “And what about her?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

Roose’s lips curled into the faintest hint of a smile, though there was no warmth in it. “Lady Y/N will remain here. She’ll be returning to the North with me.”

Your glare intensified, but Roose didn’t seem to notice—or care.

“To the North?” Jaime repeated, his tone steady. “For what purpose?”

Roose took a sip of his wine, his pale eyes gleaming. “A purpose that benefits both of us. I am in need of a wife, and a Stark carries a name that commands respect.”

The room fell silent, the weight of his words settling like a stone. Brienne’s knuckles whitened as her grip on the table tightened, her jaw clenching. You, however, leaned forward slightly, your voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

“You think I’d marry you?” you hissed, your eyes blazing. “After everything you’ve done?”

Roose met your gaze with unnerving calm. “You’ll find that defiance does little to change the inevitabilities of war, my lady. Your brother’s position weakens every day, and alliances must be forged to ensure survival.”

“I would rather die,” you snapped, your voice trembling with fury.

“Let us hope it doesn’t come to that,” Roose replied smoothly, his tone unbothered.

Jaime’s fingers curled into a fist beneath the table, his chest tightening as he watched the exchange. The thought of you trapped in Roose Bolton’s cold, calculating grasp sent a surge of anger through him that he hadn’t felt in years.

“This is madness,” Jaime said, his voice low but firm. “You’ll have a rebellion on your hands if you force this. Robb Stark will never allow it.”

Roose turned his gaze to Jaime, his smile faint but chilling. “The Young Wolf will have little say in the matter. He is far from here, and my reach grows longer every day.”

Jaime gritted his teeth, his mind racing. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Bolton. Even Tywin wouldn’t—”

“Your father understands the value of pragmatism,” Roose interrupted, his tone calm but cutting. “And so do I.”

The table fell silent once more, the animosity thick and suffocating. Jaime’s gaze flicked back to you, noting the way your hands trembled slightly as they rested in your lap. Despite your defiance, the weight of the situation was pressing down on you, and it was clear you were fighting to keep control.

Jaime felt a pang of something he couldn’t name—something that twisted in his chest as he looked at you.

He couldn’t let this happen. Not to you.

But for now, he forced himself to remain silent, his mind churning with the beginnings of a plan. He would find a way to stop this. He had to.

The faint clinking of cutlery against plates was the only sound, an overwhelming contrast to the unspoken storm swirling around the table. Jaime’s left hand trembled slightly as he reached for his goblet, the fever still gnawing at him and his arm aching from the crude bandages. The awkwardness of eating with one hand only deepened his discomfort, but he refused to show weakness.

You, seated across from him, noticed.

He saw the flicker of something in your eyes—hesitation, perhaps, or pity. He hated the thought of the latter but couldn’t look away as you finally set down your knife and leaned forward slightly.

“Here,” you said softly, your voice sharp but steady.

Before Jaime could protest, you reached across the table and steadied his goblet, guiding it to his lips. The act was mechanical, devoid of warmth, but it was help nonetheless. Jaime hesitated, his pride battling against the practicality of the moment. He allowed it, tilting his head slightly to drink, though his jaw tightened at the faintest hint of humiliation.

“Don’t get used to it,” you muttered, withdrawing your hand and returning to your meal.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Jaime replied, his voice low but tinged with bitterness.

Roose Bolton, seated at the head of the table, observed the exchange with an unsettling calm. His pale eyes moved between the two of you, his expression unreadable, though the faint curl of his lips suggested amusement.

“You make an interesting pair,” Roose remarked, breaking the silence.

Jaime raised an eyebrow, his smirk faint but present. “A pair of what, my lord? Prisoners? Or pawns?”

Roose ignored the jab, his gaze settling on you. “Lady Stark,” he said smoothly, “you will remain here in Harrenhal tonight. Tomorrow, we will begin our journey north.”

Your fork clattered against your plate as you froze, your shoulders stiffening. Jaime’s own chest tightened at the words, and he set his goblet down with a deliberate motion.

“And what of me?” Jaime asked, his voice quieter now but no less biting.

“You will leave for King’s Landing,” Roose said calmly, sipping from his goblet. “As I mentioned, you and your companion will be escorted to your father. It is the… practical choice.”

Jaime leaned forward slightly, his sharp gaze locked on Roose. “And I suppose you think Tywin will overlook the fact that your man sawed off my hand?”

Roose tilted his head, his smile faint. “Your father is a pragmatic man. He will be displeased, of course, but his displeasure will be tempered by the fact that you are alive.”

Jaime clenched his jaw, his mind racing as he fought to find the right angle. “If you want to keep Tywin placated, then send her with me,” he said, nodding toward you. “A Stark at his side will soften the blow of your… oversight.”

Your head snapped toward Jaime, your eyes narrowing. “I’m not a bargaining chip, Lannister.”

Jaime ignored you, his focus entirely on Roose. “Think about it,” he continued. “A gesture of goodwill to the Lannisters. A sign that you’re willing to smooth over any… misunderstandings.”

Roose leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled under his chin. “An intriguing suggestion,” he said softly, his tone devoid of any real emotion. “But ultimately unnecessary.”

Jaime’s smirk faltered. “Unnecessary?”

“Yes,” Roose replied, his voice calm but cold. “I do not need Tywin Lannister’s forgiveness, nor do I seek his favor. My position is secure, and the Young Wolf has far more pressing concerns than the fate of his sister.”

Jaime’s frustration simmered beneath the surface, his fist clenching against the table. “You’re playing with fire, Bolton.”

Roose’s eyes flicked to Jaime’s stump, his smile faint but pointed. “Perhaps. But I’ve always been careful with my flint.”

The conversation ended abruptly, the weight of Roose’s words settling over the table like a heavy cloak. You stared down at your plate, your jaw tight, while Brienne shifted uncomfortably beside you, her hands fidgeting in her lap.

Jaime leaned back in his chair, his chest tight with anger and frustration. He had played his hand, and Roose Bolton had dismissed it without a second thought.

As the meal dragged on, Jaime’s thoughts circled back to you—your defiance, your fire, and the way you had steadied his hand despite everything. He hated how much he admired it, how much he felt it.

And as the night deepened and the shadows grew long, Jaime knew one thing for certain: Roose Bolton might hold the upper hand now, but Jaime would find a way to tip the scales. For you. For himself. For survival.

The morning air was damp and heavy as Jaime stood in the shadow of Harrenhal’s crumbling walls, the weight of the castle’s ominous presence pressing down on him. The small party that would escort him and Brienne to King’s Landing was gathered nearby—half a dozen men, armed but disheveled, and Qyburn, who was busy fussing with supplies loaded onto a mule.

Jaime adjusted the sling supporting his maimed arm, the motion sending a sudden jolt of pain through his shoulder. His face remained impassive, though his mind churned with frustration. His gaze kept drifting back to the keep where he knew you were being held, your defiance the only thing keeping you from crumbling under Roose Bolton’s calculated cruelty.

He hated that he couldn’t get the image of you out of his head—the fire in your eyes, the strength in your voice. And now, the thought of leaving you behind with Bolton gnawed at him like a festering wound.

Brienne stood beside him, her expression a mixture of unease and determination. She had been quiet since the announcement of their departure, her eyes darting toward the keep as often as Jaime’s.

As Qyburn fussed over the mule, Jaime leaned closer to Brienne, his voice a low whisper. “We can’t leave her here.”

Brienne stiffened, her blue eyes narrowing as she turned to him. “What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Jaime said, his tone sharper now. “The Stark girl. We can’t leave her with Bolton.”

Brienne’s jaw tightened, her gaze flicking to the keep again. “It’s not our decision to make,” she said, though there was a hint of hesitation in her voice.

“Since when do you care about decisions?” Jaime shot back, his voice low but biting. “You care about what’s right. And leaving her here isn’t right.”

Brienne’s lips pressed into a thin line, her fists clenching at her sides. “Even if I agree with you, how do you propose we take her with us? Roose Bolton isn’t exactly accommodating.”

Jaime smirked faintly, though the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “I haven’t figured that part out yet.”

Brienne’s expression hardened. “You’re a fool.”

“Maybe,” Jaime admitted, his gaze drifting back to the keep. “But I’m also right.”

Brienne sighed heavily, her shoulders sagging slightly. “You’re asking for a miracle, Lannister.”

“I’m asking for a chance,” Jaime countered. “She doesn’t belong here. And if we leave her behind…” He trailed off, the weight of his words hanging heavily between them.

Brienne didn’t respond immediately, her gaze thoughtful as she watched the keep. Finally, she muttered, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Jaime nodded, relief mingling with the ever-present ache in his chest. “Good. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned about you, Brienne, it’s that you’re not one to walk away from a fight.”

Brienne’s glare returned, though she said nothing, her focus shifting back to the task at hand.

As the small party prepared to depart, Jaime couldn’t help but glance toward the keep one last time, his thoughts consumed by you. He didn’t know how, but he would find a way to bring you with them. Because leaving you behind with Roose Bolton wasn’t an option—not for him.

Not anymore.

The chill of Harrenhal’s damp stone walls seeped into your bones as you sat by the narrow window of your chamber, staring out at the overcast sky. You had been restless all night, the thought of Roose Bolton’s quiet threats lingering in your mind. The faint sound of footsteps echoed through the hallway outside, growing louder until the heavy wooden door creaked open.

Roose Bolton stepped inside, his pale face as unreadable as ever, his eyes gleaming with calm calculation. Behind him, a servant hovered nervously, carrying a folded dress draped over their arm.

“Lady Stark,” Roose said smoothly, his voice as cold and biting as a winter wind. “I trust you’ve rested well.”

You turned to face him, your expression hard. “I doubt anyone rests well in this place.”

His lips twitched into the faintest of smiles, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Perhaps the North will offer you more comfort. We leave in a few hours. I suggest you prepare yourself.”

You stiffened, your hands curling into fists at your sides. “You expect me to go willingly?”

Roose stepped further into the room, his movements unhurried. “Willingness is irrelevant,” he said, his tone maddeningly calm. “You are a Stark, and your presence in the North will serve a purpose. Whether you cooperate or not is of little consequence to me.”

The servant stepped forward, holding out the dress—a modest gown in muted greys and reds, clearly chosen to reflect Bolton’s house colors more than your own.

Your jaw clenched as you stared at it, your anger bubbling beneath the surface. “You think dressing me in your colors will make me your pawn?”

Roose tilted his head slightly, his expression as impassive as ever. “You misunderstand, my lady. This is not about control. It is about practicality. The North is harsh, and its people respect tradition. A Stark by my side will strengthen my position and ensure stability in uncertain times.”

Your glare intensified, your voice low and seething. “You’re using me to betray my brother. Do you honestly think I’ll help you?”

Roose’s gaze didn’t waver, his calm demeanor unshaken by your fury. “Help or hinder, it makes little difference. Your presence is all that is required. The rest will fall into place.”

You turned away, your hands gripping the edge of the window ledge as you tried to steady your breathing. The thought of being paraded through the North as some sort of prize, a tool in Bolton’s schemes, made your skin crawl.

“Is there anything else, my lord?” you asked coldly, refusing to meet his gaze.

Roose lingered for a moment before stepping closer, his voice dropping to a quieter tone. “I understand your anger, Lady Stark. But anger will not change the course of events. It would be wise to accept your new reality.”

You turned to face him then, your eyes blazing with defiance. “The North remembers,” you said through gritted teeth. “And so will I.”

Roose studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded to the servant, who placed the dress on the bed before retreating from the room.

“We leave in two hours,” Roose said, his tone returning to its usual calm. “Do not keep me waiting.”

With that, he turned and left, the door creaking shut behind him.

You stood in the silent room, your chest heaving with frustration and fear. The dress lay on the bed like a symbol of your captivity, its muted colors mocking you.

But as the minutes ticked by, your mind began to race, searching for any way to delay, to escape, to fight back. You wouldn’t go quietly. You couldn’t.

Not while there was still a chance—however slim—to turn the tide.

The sound of shouting and clanging steel echoed through the halls of Harrenhal, jolting you from your tense pacing. The din seemed to come from the courtyard, loud and chaotic, as if the very air was charged with impending violence. You rushed to the narrow window of your chamber, peering down at the scene below.

A skirmish had broken out. Men in mismatched armor clashed with swords and axes, their movements wild and desperate. At the center of the fray, you spotted Brienne, her towering frame unmistakable as she wielded her sword with brutal efficiency. Her strikes were measured, powerful, and unrelenting, forcing Roose’s guards into disarray.

Your heart raced, your mind struggling to make sense of the chaos. Then, amidst the tangle of bodies, you spotted Jaime. He was moving with purpose, slipping through the melee with a deftness that belied his injured state.

He’s coming for me, you realized, your breath catching.

The courtyard was a cacophony of shouts and clashing steel, the air thick with dust and blood. Jaime ducked under a wild swing from one of Roose’s guards, his good hand gripping the hilt of a borrowed sword. The weight of the weapon felt foreign, unbalanced, but he pushed forward, his focus clear.

Behind him, Brienne was a force of nature, her blade carving a path through their enemies. She had started the brawl without hesitation, her roar of defiance startling even the most hardened of Bolton’s men.

“Go!” she had shouted at Jaime, her voice cutting through the chaos. “Find her!”

Jaime hadn’t needed to be told twice. The plan was simple, reckless, and brilliant in its execution. Brienne would hold their attention, giving him the chance to reach you before Roose could react.

His chest heaved as he dodged another blow, his feet pounding against the uneven stones as he broke free from the skirmish. The keep loomed ahead, its shadowed entrance a beacon amidst the chaos.

She’s there. She has to be.

The door to your chamber burst open, two of Roose’s guards rushing inside with weapons drawn. “Stay where you are!” one of them barked, his voice rough and commanding.

Your heart raced as you backed toward the window, your mind working frantically. The shouts from the courtyard were growing louder, and the guards were clearly distracted.

Now or never.

Before they could react, you lunged for the small table near the bed, grabbing the heavy ceramic pitcher and hurling it at the nearest guard. The pitcher shattered against his helmet with a deafening crack, sending him stumbling backward.

The second guard cursed, moving toward you with his sword raised. You ducked under his swing, your hands finding the edge of the wooden chair nearby. With all your strength, you swung it at him, the impact sending him reeling.

The first guard recovered quickly, but before he could grab you, you bolted for the door. Your bare feet slapped against the cold stone as you sprinted down the corridor, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

The halls of Harrenhal were eerily quiet compared to the chaos outside. Jaime’s steps echoed off the stone walls as he moved deeper into the keep, his focus narrowing with every turn.

He heard the sound of running footsteps before he saw you.

You rounded the corner suddenly, your hair disheveled, your face flushed with effort. Your eyes locked onto his, widening in surprise before narrowing in determination.

“Lannister,” you breathed, your tone equal parts relief and suspicion.

“Stark,” he replied, his smirk faint despite the urgency of the moment. “Miss me?”

Before you could respond, shouts erupted from behind you. The guards were in pursuit, their heavy boots pounding against the stone.

Jaime’s smirk faded as he stepped forward, his sword raised. “Get behind me,” he said, his voice low but commanding.

For once, you didn’t argue.

The first guard rounded the corner, his blade glowing eerily in the torchlight. Jaime met him head-on, his good hand steady despite the weight of the sword. The clash of steel echoed through the hall as Jaime parried the guard’s strike, his movements calculated and precise.

“Go!” Jaime barked over his shoulder, his voice sharp. “Find Brienne and get to the courtyard!”

You hesitated, your gaze flicking between him and the approaching guards.

“Now!” Jaime snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You turned and ran, your bare feet slapping against the cold stone as you disappeared down the corridor. Jaime watched you go, a strange mix of relief and frustration tightening in his chest.

“Stay alive, Stark,” he muttered under his breath, turning back to the fight.

The guards pressed forward, but Jaime’s resolve didn’t waver. He would buy you the time you needed, no matter the cost.

The clash of steel and the shouts of men echoed louder as you navigated the winding corridors of Harrenhal. The stone walls, cold and oppressive, seemed to press in on you as you ran, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Every step carried you closer to the courtyard, where the sounds of battle raged—a cacophony of chaos and defiance.

You rounded a corner and nearly collided with Brienne. She was bloodied but unbroken, her blade clutched tightly in her hand, her blue eyes blazing with determination.

“Lady Stark!” she exclaimed, relief flickering across her face.

“Brienne!” you gasped, your chest heaving. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

Brienne’s gaze darted to the corridor behind you, where the faint sound of boots echoed ominously. “Where’s Jaime?”

You hesitated, your jaw tightening as you pushed away the flicker of concern gnawing at you. “He’s buying us time. Roose can’t kill him. Not without facing Tywin’s wrath.”

Brienne frowned, her grip tightening on her sword. “And you trust him to hold them off?”

“I trust him to survive,” you replied sharply, though the admission left a bitter taste in your mouth. “But we can’t stay here. He told me to find you and get to the courtyard.”

Brienne nodded, her focus shifting. “Then we’ll need horses. Follow me.”

The courtyard was chaos. Bodies littered the uneven stones, and the air was thick with the acrid smell of blood and sweat. Roose’s men were scattered, their movements disorganized as they tried to contain the skirmish. Brienne led the way, her massive frame cutting through the crowd like a force of nature. You stayed close behind, your heart pounding as you scanned the chaos for any sign of Jaime—or the horses.

“There,” Brienne said, pointing toward the stables. A small group of horses stood tethered near the gate, their eyes wide with fear, their hooves stamping against the ground.

But between you and the horses were several of Roose’s men, their weapons drawn as they moved to intercept you.

“Lady Stark,” one of them barked, his voice strained but commanding. “Stop this madness and return to the keep!”

You glared at him, your fists clenching. “You think Roose will let you lay a hand on me?” you snapped, your voice cutting through the noise. “He needs me alive and untouched. Or do you want to explain to him why his prize is damaged?”

The man hesitated, his grip on his sword faltering as he glanced at his comrades. They exchanged uneasy looks, their resolve wavering.

Brienne took advantage of their hesitation, stepping forward with her sword raised. “If you won’t stand aside, I’ll carve a path through you,” she growled, her voice low and deadly.

The men flinched, their fear palpable. They weren’t cowards, but the weight of their orders—and the presence of a Stark—stayed their hands.

“Move,” you demanded, your tone icy.

They parted reluctantly, their faces grim as they allowed you to pass.

Brienne untethered two horses swiftly, her movements efficient despite the chaos surrounding you. She helped you mount the first one, her grip firm as she steadied the skittish animal.

“Ride hard and don’t stop,” she said, her voice urgent.

“What about you?” you asked, your eyes narrowing.

“I’ll be right behind you,” Brienne replied, swinging herself onto the second horse with practiced ease.

You hesitated for a heartbeat, your gaze flicking back toward the keep. The thought of leaving Jaime behind gnawed at you, much to your irritation. He could handle himself, you told yourself. Roose wouldn’t dare kill him—Tywin’s wrath would be too great.

But the image of him standing alone against Roose’s men, his smirk hiding the pain you knew he felt, refused to leave your mind.

“Lady Stark!” Brienne’s sharp voice jolted you back to reality. “Go!”

You dug your heels into the horse’s sides, and it bolted forward, its hooves pounding against the stone as you raced toward the open gate. Brienne followed close behind, her sword raised as she deflected a half-hearted attempt to stop her.

Shouts erupted as Roose’s men realized what was happening, but none dared fire an arrow or strike a blow. The fear of Roose’s wrath—and the consequences of harming you—stayed their hands.

As you passed through the gates and into the open fields beyond, a wave of relief washed over you. The wind whipped through your hair, the cold air biting at your skin, but you didn’t stop.

“Keep going!” Brienne shouted from behind you, her voice cutting through the roar of blood in your ears.

You urged the horse onward, your thoughts a whirlwind of anger, fear, and frustration. You couldn’t shake the image of Jaime from your mind, his half-smirk and sharp tongue hiding the torment beneath.

Damn him, you thought bitterly. Damn him for making me care.

But even as you cursed him, you couldn’t deny the flicker of hope that burned in your chest. He was still alive. He had to be.

And if you had anything to say about it, you wouldn’t let Roose Bolton have the last word.

Jaime stood in the center of the room, his posture deliberately casual despite the two guards gripping his arms tightly. His body ached from the scuffle in the courtyard, and the dull throb of his maimed arm reminded him of just how precarious his situation was.

Roose Bolton sat behind a plain wooden table, his pale, cold eyes fixed on Jaime with an intensity that could freeze blood. The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive, as Roose tapped a single finger against the tabletop.

Finally, he spoke, his voice calm but laced with venom. “Do you know what you’ve done, Kingslayer?”

Jaime smirked faintly, though it lacked his usual bravado. “I’d like to think I’ve done a great many things, my lord. You’ll have to be more specific.”

Roose’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze narrowing. “The Stark girl,” he said quietly, the words carrying more weight than the volume suggested. “She’s gone. Escaped. Along with your… friend, the wench.”

Jaime feigned a look of surprise, his smirk deepening. “Really? Well, good for them. I hear the Riverlands are lovely this time of year.”

The guards tightened their grip on him, but Jaime didn’t flinch.

“Don’t play games with me,” Roose snapped, his calm demeanor cracking for the first time. “You knew. You helped them, didn’t you?”

Jaime tilted his head, his smirk fading into something colder. “What if I did?” he asked, his voice low and steady. “Would you flay me here and now? Because I’d do it again, Bolton. A hundred times over.”

The room fell deathly silent. Roose leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable—anger, perhaps, or calculation.

“You’re pathetic,” Roose said finally, his voice dripping with disdain. “You’ve risked everything for what? A Stark girl who despises you? A knight who would sooner gut you than thank you? Do you think this makes you noble? Redeemed?”

Jaime met his gaze evenly, his jaw tightening. “I think,” he said slowly, “that it makes me something more than you’ll ever be.”

The room grew colder as Roose’s expression hardened. He rose slowly from his chair, his movements deliberate as he stepped closer to Jaime.

“You’ve cost me dearly,” Roose said, his voice quieter now but no less dangerous. “The Stark girl was to be my bride. Her name would have solidified my hold in the North, ensured stability in a time of chaos. And now, thanks to you, that is no longer possible.”

Jaime raised an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance. “Tragic,” he said dryly.

Roose’s hand twitched, his fingers curling briefly into a fist before he stepped back. “I should flay you alive,” he said coldly. “Peel your skin from your flesh and hang you from the gates of Harrenhal as a warning to any fool who dares cross me.”

The guards stiffened, their grips tightening on Jaime’s arms.

“But,” Roose continued, his voice regaining its unsettling calm, “you’re worth more to me alive than dead. For now.”

He turned abruptly, gesturing to the guards. “Escort him to the capital at once,” he ordered, his tone brisk. “I want him out of my sight before I change my mind.”

As the guards moved to drag Jaime toward the door, Roose called out one final time. “And deliver a message to your father.”

Jaime stopped, glancing over his shoulder with a raised brow. “A message?”

Roose’s eyes gleamed with cold amusement. “Tell him that our deal regarding the Twins is off. The loss of my bride—your doing—means I owe him nothing.”

Jaime’s stomach sank, though he kept his face impassive. The significance of Roose’s words was not lost on him. Tywin had brokered a delicate alliance with House Frey, and Roose had been a critical part of that arrangement. If Roose withdrew his support, it could unravel everything.

“Anything else?” Jaime asked, his smirk returning faintly despite the tension in the room.

Roose’s lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile. “Only that I hope you enjoy what’s left of your journey, Kingslayer. I suspect it will be… enlightening.”

The guards hauled Jaime away, their boots echoing against the stone as they dragged him through the corridor. Despite the looming consequences of Roose’s words, Jaime felt a faint flicker of satisfaction.

He had done what he set out to do.

You were free.

And Jaime Lannister felt as though he had won.

[xjcjuis]

JUST TOO MUCH

pairing: billie eilish x fem!reader

synopsis: n/a, requested

warnings: one swear word, comfort fluff, menstruation, mentions in passing of v*mit, not proofread

wordcount: 0.8k

a/n: n/a

if the day hadn't started out shitty enough already, you were in for a horrible ride.

you were lying on your side, head propped up on the armrest of the couch and basically snapping your neck in search of a position comfortable enough to soothe the growing pain in your uterus. your hands press down on a point just below your stomach but it does little to alleviate your discomfort.

you feel like you're about to be sick: there's a headache tingling in the very back of your brain; your throat had closed up in preparation for possible sick; and your body was simply too heavy to move around.

billie sits at your feet on the couch, scrolling through her phone and periodically checking on you every time you let out a groan, which, really, was every two minutes. "you okay, love?" her brows knit in concern when you shift to the other side and curl into a ball. "that bad?"

you nod, however it wasn't visible to her due to you being buried deep beneath a blanket. "i want to stop existing completely."

she laughs softly at that, "well, now. that's a little dramatic of you, isn't it?"

you know she didn't mean anything by it. it's obvious from her light-hearted tone, and the bright smile on her face as she reaches out to softly caress your leg, but your eyes prickle with tears anyway.

for whatever reason your mind had subconsciously decided to take the statement personally, and hot tears roll down your cheeks. and then you were angry for crying over a simple, stupid joke. and then you were annoyed at billie for saying it in the first place, followed by resentment towards yourself for feeling negatively towards your girlfriend over something as small as a joke.

eventually it evolves into a carousel of emotions, each one negative and directed at everything and everyone and yourself. the smile slowly slips off of billie's face, noticing the deafening silence that came after she opened her mouth.

"baby?" no reply, just a quiet sniffle. "are you okay? does it hurt?"

you continue to ignore her, screwing your eyes shut and then blinking them rapidly in an attempt to stop the tears uselessly running down your face. now you were annoyed at that too — adding to the discomfort in your lower region, the side of your face was wet from the pool of tears you'd shed on the seat cushion.

your girlfriend, worried now, stands up, moving closer to gently peel away the blanket from your face and catching a glimpse of your reddened eyes and nose before you yanked the cloth back over you.

"oh, honey, no," she cringes at herself. billie drops to her knees on the floor to be on level with you. "is it what i said? i'm sorry, baby, i forgot how you get."

whoops. she should've phrased that differently. you whine in irritation at her words, causing her to take them back quicker than she'd mindlessly let them go.

"no, that's not what i meant!" billie adds hastily. "everyone's a little down when they're on their cycle and i totally understand. i'm sorry, my love, please forgive me?"

you're turned away from her, but you could hear the pout in her voice. you knew she was beating herself up for her fumble in her head, and you hated that, but even though the more intense of the negative emotions had gone away, you weren't quite ready to be all touchy and lovey-dovey.

oh, but how quickly you retract that thought when you feel a soft pair of lips pressing onto your temple. a softer hand snakes beneath your blanket to stroke your arm, up and down, rhythmically.

she repeats this pattern for a while.

up stroke. down stroke. kiss. up stroke. down stroke. double kiss.

"you wanna move to the bedroom?" she finally whispers. "my knees are about to be bruised, sweet girl. i want to cuddle you."

you huff, rejecting her, but you couldn't resist her soothing actions and silky words any longer. "fine." your voice is small, trying hard to sound disinterested, but billie's face brightens in triumph. she hooks an arm under your knees and carries you bridal-style to your shared room.

she lays you down gently, ridding herself of her slippers and getting comfortable beside you. billie wraps her arm around your waist, providing the extra heat you need. she pushes herself up to lean over and kiss you shortly on the lips and once more on your forehead before laying back down and cuddling you properly.

"i love you." she mutters in your ear, kissing the space behind your ear.

"mmhmm," you murmur back, words slurring as sleep turns your lids heavy. "love you too..."

as you're set free from the torture of cramps and the ache, billie stands guard, ready to comfort you if need be. and ready to run faster than a track athlete if you ever had any cravings.

[lulunothulu]

Okay hear me out…Ballerina!Reader x Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin. One day he passes a dance studio and sees reader practicing and he’s mesmerized by her grace and elegance. He ends up seeing her at the Hard Deck and when he tries to flirt with her, she’s completely and totally unimpressed with his antics. It’s like a couple weeks later when he runs into her again and tries a more toned down approach which she seems more open to.

That or maybe like head cannons if they’re dating? I just think it’s cute to picture a douchebag losing his mind at the pretty girl not giving him an ounce of attention he so desperately craves. 🤭

OMG I LOVE THIS I also know nothing about ballet so let’s see how this goes lol I’d also like to apologize for taking so long to post this 😭 depression likes to kick my ass sometimes. 

"A Pretty Ballerina"

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Ballerina!Reader

“Short cut it is,” he mutters.

Jake thought he would take the short cut to base, something he rarely did because it required walking through the little stores that were scattered throughout town. Today the little streets were slightly busy. Cars drive by him on their way to work or school, there’s civilians walking in and out of shops—probably buying things they don’t need.

He’s in the middle of passing a dance studio when he turns to look in and that’s when he sees you.

You’re beautiful.

Slender body moving like liquid at whatever it is you’re dancing to. Your arms move like wings of a bird and you’re standing on your tiptoes in some ballet shoes.

A ballerina. The prettiest one he’d ever seen.

Not that he’d seen a lot…but still.

You were an intoxicating sight. He didn’t want to look away—he couldn’t. How could he when the most perfect and graceful person was right there? You’re dancing so beautifully and with so much elegance, that he could barely see the way you lightly furrow your brows in concentration.

Then, you’re spinning on one leg, the other wrapping and twirling you faster and faster. He imagined the world seemed like a blur to you. He must be a blur.

And then you stop, arms stretched out and head held high with a slight smile on your lips. Then, you were slouching and arching your back. He watches as you crack you neck and look in the mirror before you.

He’s about to go in and tell you how beautiful you looked, when he gets a call from Coyote.

“What?” he says as he answers the phone.

“You’re gonna be late and Maverick is pissed. Where are you?” he says on the other side.

Jake sighs. “I’m on my way.”

He glances back into the studio to find you looking at him, eyes curious and had tilted to the side. You were even more stunning, especially with your eyes on him. Jake awkwardly lifts his hand up and waves at you, a cheeky grin pulling his lips back. You wave back and almost crack a smile had it not been for the text he received from Coyote.

Coyote:HURRY UP

Jake sighs but turns away from you, almost jogging all the way to the hangar.

~*~*~*~

Jake had forgotten all about that pretty ballerina he saw that morning. That was, until he was at the Hard Deck and saw her walk in with a group of friends.

He was in the middle of trash talking Rooster into not scoring at the pool table when you’d walked in. His words died off his lips and his eyes followed you to the bar where you now stand, a beer now in your hand and making its way to your perfect lips.

“Hangman!” Phoenix calls out. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you just got distracted by a very pretty lady.”

Behind him, he hears a few chuckles, but doesn’t give them the satisfaction of turning and looking away from you. Instead, he chugs the rest of his beer, lightly setting it on a table beside him and begins to stalk toward you.

He didn’t know what he was going to say to you. All he knew was that he need to talk to you.

He stands to your right, asking Penny for another round of beers before turning to face you and your friends.

“Hey Penny? Can you add another round for these ladies?” He winks at your friends but then focuses back on you.

“Coming right up,” Penny tells him.

Your eyes search his in the same curiosity, you gave him that morning before you perk up a bit. Your eyes practically twinkle at the sight of him, smile growing when you finally speak.

“Wait, you’re the guy I saw standing outside of my studio this morning.”

“I am,” he says. “And you’re the beautiful ballerina I saw.”

You chuckle, unimpressed by the compliment. “Are you stalking me?”

“Not at all. I saw you walked in and decided I’d come buy you and your friends a beer.”

He watches your eyes flick up and down his body and almost flexes his muscles at you.

“Are you even allowed to wear your uniform around like that?” you ask him. “My dad was in the Army and he was never allowed to go to bars with his uniform on.”

Jake shrugs and flashes you a smile. “I can because I’m a naval pilot.”

“So you’re arrogant?”

Jake is taking a back at how blunt you are, but he smiles even wider. “Why? Does that turn you on?”

“No,” you reply. Penny sets a new beer in front of you and your friends, which then prompts you to stand up from the stool you’re sat at. “Thanks for the beer…” You look at his name tag on his chest. “Seresin.”

Jake is about to respond and ask you out on a date when you abruptly stand with your friends and cross the bar. Jake is so dumbfounded by your actions that Penny has to tap him roughly on the shoulder to get his attention.

“Here are your beers, cowboy.”

~*~*~*~

It’s been weeks since he’d seen you. He even tried walking by the dance studio a couple of times. Jake was starting to get desperate and almost went inside the studio one time. It wasn’t until today, two weeks later, when he randomly decided to take his shortcut again.

And there you were.

You were in a pink leotard with a matching skirt, your hair was freely around your shoulders instead of the usual bun. You were sitting on the floor, tying the last ballet shoe and rotating your head to stretch your neck muscles.

At the side of you, Jake knew he needed to act quickly before he could talk himself out of it. So he took a deep breath and pray to God you wouldn’t call him a stalker before he pushes the door to the studio open and enters.

When the bell over the studio door jingles, your head whips up in his direction. Jake almost falls to his knees at the sight of your perfect eyes, your perfect nose…your kissable lips. He wants to scoop you up into his arms and kiss them, to apologize for coming in a bit strong at the bar two weeks ago.

“Hi,” he says. Hi? That’s all he has to say?

“Hi,” you reply. “Can I help you?”

“I, uh,” Jake starts. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Why did he say that?

“Looking for me?” You question. “Why?”

Jake clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck. “I wanted to apologize about how strong I came off at the bar.”

“Oh?”

“I’m not always…I mean I’m not—” Why was this so hard for him to say? “I didn’t mean to come off that hard. Actually some days I’m worse.” he shakes his head and chuckles. “I don’t know why I said that.”

When you laugh, Jake swears the world stopped spinning, and his heart began to beat fast, faster, and harder in his chest.

“I’m sorry I came off that way. I just think you’re very beautiful and I think you dance beautifully.” Jake can feel his cheeks and ears reddening. “And I was wondering if maybe you’d like to go out for dinner sometime?”

Your eyes widen in surprise, but then fall back into a normal size—a smile growing on your beautiful lips.

“Well, you don’t seem like a weirdo. Aside from the fact that you did try to find me two weeks later,” you tell him.

“Actually, I came this way at the exact same time every day in hopes to find you.”

You scoff. “Who, me?”

“Yes, you.” Jake’s voice is earnest, almost pleading for you to believe him. It makes you open your mouth in an “O” and just for a second, he feels like you’re about to say no.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

You nod. “I’ll go to dinner with you.”

The relief Jake feels in his chest echoes as a sigh from his lips. He walks toward you and hand you his phone. “Let me have your number?”

You smile, but begin to type in your number into his phone. From your peripheral vision, you can see him anxiously twiddle his fingers.

“You don’t get nervous a lot do you?” You ask.

“I don’t,” he tells you.

“Good,” you say, handing him his phone back. “I don’t either.”

“So…I’ll see you tonight?”

You smile at him and at that, his world shatters into a million pieces. The only thing left is you. 

“Of course, Seresin.”

he turns to leave but stops in his tracks before saying, “My name is Jake, by the way.”

“Y/N,” you tell him.

Y/N.

“I knew you’d have a beautiful name,” he tells you. He walks to the door, opening it slightly before turning back to you and smiling. “I’ll see you later, Y/N.”

He’d never been more excited to see the end of the day than he was today. All because of a pretty ballerina.

Omg two posts in one day??? I’m on a roll 😂 For more: check out my MASTERLIST

[darcytaylor]

Theorizing vs. Facts: Let’s Talk

One thing that keeps popping up in fandoms (and life in general) is the mix-up between theories and facts. Let’s break it down:

A fact is something we know for sure - confirmed, verified, undeniable. A theory is a guess - sometimes informed, sometimes wild, but it’s still a guess. It’s when we take what little we know, add in what we think, and arrive at a “what if” scenario.

Here’s how this applies to some current discussions:

Nicola and Jake

Nicola and Jake hang out.

They go to events together.

They are in the same friend group. These are all facts.

Is Nicola dating Jake? There’s a possibility, sure. But since neither of them has come out and said they are, that’s still speculation. You can talk about signs, actions, or what you think it all means, but until the main players confirm it themselves, it’s still a theory (maybe even an informed one), but not a fact.

Luke and Antonia

Luke and Antonia are in the same friend group.

They have gone on vacations/traveled together.

Antonia posted a video at the same restaurant Luke was at in Rome. These are facts.

That’s what we know (and yes, there are other facts). The rest - whether they hang out one-on-one, whether Antonia was in Rome specifically to see Luke, or anything else - is speculation. Saying they’re in a relationship might be informed speculation, but it’s still not fact until the main players say so.

Luke and Nicola

They are on the same show and play each other’s partner.

They did a world tour for the release of season 3 of Bridgerton.

They have a unique relationship (and no, I’m not saying it’s romantic) that nobody in this world will truly be able to understand. These are facts.

We don’t know whether they hang out in private - they might, and they might not. All of that is speculation. And honestly, they have no obligation to share who they do or don’t spend time with in real life. Who they are dating or not dating.

(Obviously, with all of the people I mentioned above, there are more facts out there, I just named a few)

Now, here’s the part that’s been on my mind:

Sometimes people say they’re just “looking at the signs” and piecing things together because they’ve been in the fandom for a while and have the “information.” But what information do you really have? Things posted on social media, where everything is curated and never shows the whole picture?

I’ve been in this fandom for a long time, too. Most of that time, I wasn’t posting - I was a silent lurker. I’ve followed the actors since 2020. Some might think that gives me more knowledge about what’s going on, but it doesn’t. I’ll never claim to have insider knowledge, because I don’t know any of the people involved personally.

Do I maybe have more context about the wild speculations and in-fandom fights that have happened? Sure. Do I get sent things in private messages and asks because I now have a blog? Yes. But I really don’t have more facts about these people than anyone else, because most, if not all the facts are easily attainable. It’s the speculations people cling to that make them feel they have more information or insight. But guess what? Fan theories and speculation aren’t facts.

Now, I know what I’ve written here is very black-and-white, but that’s what facts and non-facts boil down to. It’s in the grey areas that theories and speculations are born. And while I do think there can be some value in exploring those grey areas, we have to remember - they still aren’t facts.

Look, I get it. People like to feel special. They want to believe they have unique insight into celebrities’ lives because they’ve followed them for years or been in the fandom for a while. But that doesn’t make you more knowledgeable than the next person. It doesn’t mean you have insider information or a clearer picture of what’s really going on.

And honestly, it gets weird when people start putting labels on others they don’t even know in real life. Relationships - even friendships - are nuanced. There will never be a pretty little box that all relationships in this world will fit into. When you label people based on limited knowledge, you’re creating a parasocial dynamic that’s both extreme and invasive.

A problem comes when speculation gets repeated so often that it feels like fact. Suddenly, a harmless guess becomes “proof,” and then people start arguing over something that was never confirmed in the first place.

So, here’s my little PSA:

🌟 Speculate responsibly. It’s okay to guess and wonder, but make sure it’s clear that’s what you’re doing. Also, there are things that just shouldn't be speculated on. Have some class. Have some empathy. Have some grace. 🌟 Acknowledge what’s real. Facts are facts. Theories are theories. Let’s not blur the lines. Nobody - and I mean nobody - has more information about people they do not know than the rest of us. We are all just fans of people in a TV show. 🌟 Stay grounded. The truth might not always align with the most entertaining theory - and that’s okay.

Let’s keep theorizing and speculation fun, don't stress. ❤️