#which no one cares about but ME but still. and also i just think they have a lot of colors on their head.

[emmyrosee]

His foot taps anxiously against the floor of the flower shop, eyes glazing over the beautiful bouquets and vibrant colors that splash under the fluorescent lights that crackle above his head. The smell of so many flowers is getting into his head, powdery and sweet, but the nausea brewing inside of him is not budging.

He messed up. He knows that.

He also knows he relies on the bet that you’ll accept flowers every time he messes up, which while seldom, happens more than he still would like.

You deserve the utmost love and respect. And he can’t stand that sometimes, he feels like he can’t give it to you and has to hope flowers will be enough for your trust again, like a bandaid on a scraped knee.

After this, he’ll run to the bakery for a pastry, wrapped in a little box, waiting for you to enjoy it-

What is he thinking, countless gifts won’t make up for it, for all he’s done. You’ll never forgive him, each bouquet and each slice of cake when he messes up surely is only driving you away, and he cards a hand through his blonde hair as he has a small, teeny freak out in front of the display.

He looks to the old man next to him who easily picks out a bouquet of assorted flowers with a predominantly purple color story. The old man sniffs them, and smiles, before sighing happily. He turns to Atsumu with small nod, “think she’ll like ‘em?”

Atsumu tenses up before offering the old man a small chuckle, “sure is one of the prettiest bouquets in here,” he encourages, and the man hums as he looks around the boquete for any imperfections in the petals. “She’ll be lucky to have them from ya, yessir.”

The man smiles, “no, son; I’m lucky to have her.” He sighs dreamily, “there isn’t enough bouquets in the world to show her how much she means to me.”

Atsumu freezes. For some reason, unbeknownst to him, a lump forms into his throat at the man’s words. He tries to swallow it thickly, keep his emotions at bay before he wails to this strange man about all the ways he’s hurt you over the years and how always, he’s never been able to fully forgive himself despite you assuring that you do.

This argument would be no different.

Atsumu nods his head in understanding, “I think you might be in the same boat as me,” he says, wondering if this man too, is making up for a mistake he made. If this man is trying to repent, and the first way to do it is to bring her flowers, a symbol of a love he’s determined to keep blooming, keep alive, keep beautiful.

But maybe, just maybe, he’s not relying on the fact that flowers are an apology, perhaps they’re being purchased just because, just to make you smile.

Perhaps Atsumu should start doing that for you. Just something nice.

Something to look forward to.

The man chuckles once more; it’s raspy, like perchance he’s one to indulge in a cigarette when the craving arises, but it’s comforting, and for the first time in hours, Atsumu feels a little more at ease.

“At least we’re in the boat, my friend,” the man says. Atsumu swallows thickly once more, but he flashes the man a comforted smile.

“You’re right. We sure are, sir.”

The man bows at the blonde, “you take care of yourself,” he says simply, before coolly turning to make his way to the registers. Atsumu looks back at the boquetes and grabs one that reminds him of you; bright and pristine, like bubbles on a warm day, a warm blanket at night. Like the movie you can repeat by heart by now, but he’ll still watch with you like it’s the first time.

He smiles, sniffles and blinks the sting in his waterline, thrilled to be in the boat with you.

[ppssession]

Wonderful freedom

In a long time there used to be a group of demons that lived in the human world. They were extremely lustful demons but sadly their bodies were not attractive to them. These demons that craved hot bodies came to the human world. They often lured many humans into falling for their sweet offers. Humans who fell for their sweet offers would eventually have their bodies snatched away. These demons would then possess humans.

Legend also says that it was so greedy for male genitalia that it didn't care whose body it belonged to. Kings, royalty, knights, peasants, and many others were possessed by the demon and used for sexual purposes.

Fortunately, at one point, the world of those demons was sealed off by a group of people with special powers, and the stories of demons possessing human male bodies were gradually forgotten.

When he finished reading, Brandon closed the book. “These legends are so ridiculous, where in the world would there be demons possessing men for sexual purposes?” Brandon complained about the collection of stories he had rented from a bookstore.

The handsome young man, Brandon, put down his book and prepared to go to the library to return the boring book he had borrowed.

Shortly after Brandon returned the book, he began wandering around the large library, looking for interesting books to take home and read.

But suddenly the library became dark. Even though he wondered what was going on, he continued walking to find the book he wanted to read. He walked back and forth in the darkness where he could see things.

After a while, he found a strange-looking book. It was a black book with an eye in the middle. At first, Brandon thought it was just a fancy book with just plain paper inside.

But as he was about to walk away, his mind felt strange, as if his body was being led to open that book, his mind ordered it to be that book, he slowly walked over to touch the book, when he picked it up, he felt that something was definitely going to happen, but he still couldn't stop himself from opening the book.

When he opened it, he looked inside, there were countless unknown characters, and those characters slowly floated out, they gathered together and turned into a large smoke, as the large smoke in front of him rushed into his body, a large amount of smoke entered his body through his mouth, causing Brandon's body to twist, his muscles twitched, and his eyes rolled back.

The book cover slowly crawled into the smoke, and the strange-looking book turned into an ordinary book.

Brandon's body, which was inhaled by the strange smoke, slowly twisted his muscles and moved his neck a few times before speaking with an evil smile, "I confess, I'm free now. That stupid seal only locked me for a few hundred years. Do you think I can't wait?"

A demon that desires a human body like mine can live for hundreds of thousands of years, it wouldn't know. The demon possessing Brandon replied yes as his body rubbed against it. "Wow, it seems I hit the jackpot, this body is insane, these muscles are making me horny," a large tent formed between Brandon's legs.

But unfortunately, I don't have enough power. I'll let this guy control his body for now while I take my time to recover and devour him. Haha, after speaking, Brandon's eyes rolled back and forth, he regained control of himself, and he couldn't remember anything about the strange book. "What happened? Oh yeah, I got the book from the library. Oh, I can't remember. Never mind, let's go home."

After that, about a month passed. แบรนดอนกำลังนั่งสบายๆ อยู่ในบ้านหลังจากทำธุระมาทั้งวัน เมื่อเขารู้สึกแปลกๆ ในท้อง

“Ahh, what happened?” Brandon’s body didn’t listen to his commands, it started moving on its own without his control, his muscles tensed, his penis hardened uncontrollably.

His hands were rubbing his body, now Brandon's mind was spinning, instead of being afraid, his mind was enjoying this feeling, the feeling that something was slowly taking over him, his eyes rolled back, that was the last time the real Brandon was conscious, suddenly his eyes returned to normal.

I'm so horny

The devil has taken over Brandon's body.

Okay, I have to deal with my hard cock first. One hand unzipped my pants and pulled out my big, thick, long cock from my pants.

His thick hand lightly touched the large cock, the other hand played with the nipple that was on his shirt. The moans of a man possessed by a demon echoed throughout the room that only he could hear.

Soon, the new Brandon was chasing after the climax, the speed of his hand was increasing, the rhythm was becoming unstable. In no time, the moan of the possessed man was heard along with the semen flowing out of the tip of his cock. “Ahhhhh.”

Brandon took a weak breath, this was his first release after being sealed away. He picked up his phone and found news of a new park being built in a nearby town. “Oh yeah, that’s where another one of my friends is locked up. I should probably go help him out, since he has the same taste in body possession as me.

Then the devil took a photo of himself with his new hot body a few hours later. The new Brandon was busy masturbating all night long.

After finishing, I must say that this story will have a sequel where Brandon will release the demons that are imprisoned in various places. Let's see what kind of demon friends the new Brandon will meet. See you, bye.

[spinnysocks]

HELP this is pretty much it yeah 😭 /pos

[fillinforlater]

The Archive of Smite

This page belongs to the writer named Smite. He wrote fics starting in September of 2021 up until April 2024. In these 2,5 years, over 8.000 people followed him to read some of the craziest k-pop girl group smut out there. Almost 150 stories of sex in all kinds of positions, for many reasons, all over the world (and in outerspace), with too many kinks to count.

"When I started, I kinda wanted to become the best. I wanted my favorite writers at the time - Levi, Peach, Sins, and many more - to know that I could write as good as they can. I wanted to go wilder and crazier."

Smite, though ambitious, was also stupid and naive. At roughly the same time he started writing, two other community legends began their careers. IZ and Kaede crushed everything in their sight, especially the former becoming an absolute legend.

"Writing was fun. At times, it was escapism from everyday worries. At other times, it was fulfillment of fantasies I could never reach. Mostly though, it was just horny. BFH that just became words. If you go through my Masterlist, you might see which idols had some random heights or were just... Always on my hot list."

Smite never really stopped writing, not for long stretches that is. It didn't really occur to him that there might be a sudden, drastic reason to stop. He considered doing so anyways. Something about writing porn about irl people without them knowing or wanting - needless to say, it is an odd hobby. Nevertheless, he enjoyed it amd the community it brought with it.

"I fucking love these guys. So many hilarious peoplefrom all over the world. One became like my best friend, a rock during my emotional struggles. Another was my boyfriend for a short time. Man, I screwed up with him kekw. There are too many to mention. I've had long talks with some, others just came by and listened to me mald or something. I love you all, some of you I consider true friends - part of my soul - and I feel connected, even if you are thousands of miles away."

2024 started stressful for Smite. The pressure of Uni started to collapse on him. Even the thought of big kpop concerts wasn't enough to cheer him up. Luckily though, there was this girl. Sweet, kind, caring and in the same position. Soon, he had found something that seemed impossible. She was in love with him and he in love with her. And when everything unraveled.

"I stopped writing. I burried my drafts. I finished only one story and released it way later. I'm sorry I didn't announce it properly, but I just felt that this smut writing career was over. I don't regret it - I gained something beautiful I want to keep for the rest of my life. She is at least as pretty as Minju, so I call that the biggest win imaginable lol."

So no more smuts from Smite?

"99% no"

No more fanfictions/girl group stories in general?

"Eh, 80% no. Still some unfinished angst that I would love y'all to read tho"

Will you ever reach those 150 fics?

"We will see. In this count there are fics with less than 1000 words. I might just sneeze and finish it kekw"

Any fic you regret not writing?

"Not really? Maybe a proper ending for Starship: Horizon? Or yet another Minju fic? Futa stuff? Gaeul angst x female reader? Or how about a fic with 69 different idols at once? Who but me would dare to write something so stupid?"

Do you think you reached your initial goal?

"Do I consider myself the GOAT? No. That title belongs to either Peach, Levi or IZ. But I know that of my now 8.700 followers some consider me their favorite writer. I'm flattered and thank you very much for reading amd enjoying my work."

Now for the most important question: does this post mean you are finally leaving the community behind for good? Is this your last hoorah?

"..."

"Never."

[creatingblackcharacters]

Hello! Thank you so much for all the effort and care you put into this account. I am a white high school english teacher and most of my students are Black; I cannot overstate how beneficial your lessons have been to my work. A lot of it has been in how I pick which texts we read. I’ve tried my best to carefully search for as many different Black authors as I can, especially modern ones, and it’s made me so happy to see my kids get excited about Black characters in stories! I FINALLY got a kid (who had refused to read all year) hooked on a book because he said the main character was just like him. You’ve also given me some really good advice on how to guide their critical thinking about race in a way that puts their own voices and experiences and feelings at the center. I’m learning so much from them as well, and when I make mistakes out of ignorance, your lessons have been invaluable for helping me maturely correct myself and make things right with kids. Besides, it’s plain easier to communicate when I’ve done the work at home to get more familiar with important parts of Black culture and experience. I definitely still have work to do for myself and with my white coworkers, but I just want you to know that what you’re doing is having a real positive impact on some young Black people in the world :)))

I think out of all the responses I get, my favorite is when I find out that the Black kids that people are around benefit from the newfound perspectives. Black children are treated so poorly in schools, like it honestly breaks my heart how we get sent in and expected to fail. It really can fuck up your perspective on the rest of your life when you have teachers that you're supposed to listen to... And they practically enforce that you don't matter. So I appreciate that you actually made that space a little more welcoming for our kids; that means the world to me. 😭😭😭😭

And really, just think about it- you got that job without ever having to think about these things before. For every teacher that's like you, there are hundreds that just... Aren't. That don't do the extra work. And they don't have to!

[bird-inacage]

The Heart Killers EP1: Kant & Bison's Desire for Agency

I recently wrote a post around Kant being the vehicle for Bison's freedom, but I'm spotting a bigger theme that these two lovebirds share in common. Both feel stripped of their agency, their ability to dictate their lives freely on their own terms and by their own ideals and desires.

For that reason, they're respectively struggling with where they are versus where they want to be, as factors beyond their control currently inhibit that from being attainable.

"I've cleared my name of car theft. My hands are so damn clean now." Kant is keen to put his past behind him, however Captain Chris has him cornered under the threat of re-opening his previous felonies and possible jail time, dangling custody of his brother as a bargaining chip. "If you get this done for me, not only will your criminal record be swept away, I'll wipe it clean." "If you go to jail, who'd take care of your brother?" This leaves Kant with no choice but to begrudgingly concede.

Bison feels similarly trapped by a life he didn't choose, clearly eager at any opportunity to 'clock off'. "I do what I have to do. Now I want to do what I want to. Can't I just live a little?" "If being hitmen makes it so hard to live, shouldn't we just quit?" "I don't want to kill people for a living my whole life... I just want to live my life." He just wants to enjoy a normal life - to have fun, to be frivolous, to embrace being a 24 year old.

TOGETHER WE BREAK FREE

Their relationship serves as temporary relief or escape from the situations they both find themselves in. Bison finds Kant's company a break from routine and monotony, a welcome distraction in between killing and working at the burger bar (neither of which he chose for himself). Dating Kant is an insight into the joys of life he fears missing out on. 'When I'm with you, I'm not a killer, I'm just a boy'.

By some poetic irony, Kant's mission to instrument Bison's capture would grant him access to the freedom he is seeking - allowing him and his brother to truly start afresh. There is absolutely more backstory to come as to why Kant wants this so badly, that he’s willing to throw so much in. Dating Bison may begin as a means to an end, but Kant does find himself falling in love, despite his objective.

Once everything is out in the open, I do think they'll aid one another in acquiring the agency they each so desperately desire. No one can better understand how it feels to be trapped than someone who is also fighting against the bars of their own cage.

OVERCOMING YOUR RESTRAINTS

On their first official date, Kant shares the following with Bison: “Would you believe me if I told you that I'm afraid of the ocean? Something happened when I was a kid. I almost drowned. Now I'm still afraid of it." One could argue that we don't know if Kant's admission is true, but I don't see any reason for him to lie about this specifically.

This promptly takes me back to this moment from the trailer, which has prominently stuck in my mind. I still get the impression that they are working together when Kant jumps in. If Bison was on the offensive, I don't think he'd be as stationary or calm. Maybe he's performing under someone's watchful eye, or his gun is aimed at something out of shot, or they're practicing a specific stunt.

Whatever the context, this scene now has considerably more weight. The fact that Kant jumps in whilst his hands are bound, when he has a fear of drowning is an indication he's putting his complete trust in Bison (who is adept at swimming), to rescue him if needs be. The implication here being that Bison may quite literally, mentally and symbolically free Kant from his restraints, helping him to overcome what he’s most afraid of.

BDSM: THE PLEASURE OF CONTROL

Funnily enough, this duo's exploration of BDSM even aligns with their shared desire for agency. From the few snippets we’ve been shown, Bison likes being the one in control. Your partner consents to be at your mercy, affording you the power to enact pleasure and/or pain. And there’s a heady thrill in being handed that control. (It's worth noting the inherent power play in taking a life, but whether Bison derives any pleasure from this, I'm not 100% sure. Kant also knows Bison is capable of killing, so letting him dominate actually says a tonne). During their one night stand, Bison even quips, "you're not doing this solo, you know," which teases that he's no passive participant.

Kant seems happy to indulge Bison in taking the reins. Having his agency taken away during acts of passion, but on his terms is completely different to feeling forcibly pushed - because you've chosen how and who you forfeit that agency to. This is partly why I suspect Kant actually gives Bison permission to tie him up in that boat scene (above).

You can keep tabs on bird-inacage’s BL meta directory for my other long-form posts around The Heart Killers, which I’ll be updating as the show airs.

[whumpster-fire]

Oh boy okay I think my smallest / least known fave is Ambersun (formerly known as Albion, changed because of how many other bands have the same name), and I am begging everyone to listen to this band because seriously it is so good.

Summary: it's a power metal band which I think may be basically a one man show plus various guest vocalists I'm not sure, which does story-based concept albums based on different works of fiction. Possibly qualifies as Rock Operas? Anyway I love "fandom music" and this is one of my all time favorites even though two of the albums are for "I don't even go here" fandoms and the other is for a book I found through the music, because the sound is awesome, the lyrics are awesome, and you can just hear the passion put into them.

I'm now going to post a bunch of lyrics under the cut please please please listen to these songs. Actually just listen to the albums in order, this is one of those bands where the songs are already good as standalones but you really need to listen to the full album to get the full experience.

We are lost, in an endless night, the sun drained from our eyes

Gone, when we sold our lives to the plague that stole the sky

"Life Before Death," from The Poison Skies

Erased and they don't care, but you would still be here if only you'd stayed, been mine only mine

It's so unfair to leave me, the tribe I formed deceived me, but now I'll fight in your name

There's no way to hide from their stare,

I still feel their eyes everywhere

And the hatred that clouds all their minds, it hides the truth of it all

"Out In the Wilds" from The Poison Skies

The one to keep the noble name, to carry all their hopes and dreams, a future severed when one night became forever

"Run" from The Poison Skies. This. Freaking. Song. Has changed me. "Run" is a banger on its own, but reading The Afflicted and reaching the scene this song is about made it so much better and also slightly painful. Which can be said about the entirety of The Poison Skies but this song especially, because the entire song is a character high on adrenaline, deluding himself into believing he can actually pull off the promise he made to his friends that he was going to survive the badass self-sacrificing stunt he was pulling. Also I have no idea how I have not gotten a speeding ticket while playing this in the car yet.

Visions that I can't erase, every time I see her face,

She reminds me of how I never tried

Now I watch us as we fall, can't help anyone at all,

Why did I alone survive?

Survivor's Guilt!

"Survivor's Guilt" from The Poison Skies

This worthless weapon symbolizes who I am

Remaining silent, offer no resistance,

And I become the iron mask

"Disappear" from The Poison Skies

Survive one last dance through the wind and the cold,

We can't change our stories, but they still can be told

"Snow" from The Poison Skies

Sealed in cryogenic cold, I'll dive into the dark, reanimate your soul

Together we will rise up hand in hand this blackened night

"Morning" from The Day the Night Slept

I'll burn in the night, I'll light up the sky, you'll see,

And I'll be the Scorpion's Fire!

"The Scorpion's Fire" from The Day the Night Slept

Lost in the night, but still he survives

I'll tear apart time so his heart never dies

"Asriel Must Be Saved" from Buried Souls. Yes this is exactly what it sounds like from the title. A 15 minute musical fix fic about finding a way of saving Asriel Dreemur from Undertale with some sort of timeline fuckery I don't understand because I haven't played the game. And it's glorious.

Mighty wheels will turn again, flames of faith ignite

Chase the legend of the sun, and bathe our world in light

"Bring Back the Sun," currently a single release.

enough about taylor swift already. reblog and tag the smallest, least known artist you listen to

[beomiracles]

⌞ 𝟏𝟖𝟐𝟔 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 ⌝

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

“Mommy! Mommy!” Teddy darts through the open door leading out onto the patio, his muddy feet leaving prints all over the floor as he rushes into the kitchen. You’re just about to tell him off for being so inconsiderate, does he cling to your leg, burying his face in your thigh. “Mommy! He hit me!” Teddy whines, lifting his head just in time to catch Beomgyu blasting through the door as well, his shoes equally dirty as he, too, drags mud all over the place. 

He stops not far from the two of you, a frown on his face as he pants lightly. “Hey! That’s a load of bull–” He coughs, clearing his throat, “A bunch of nonsense, is what I was gonna say.” — You shake your head, trying to hide the small grin on your face. “I told you not to play fight too hard with him, wait until he grows a little”, you hum, caressing the top of Teddy’s head. 

Your son peers up at you with a petulant pout, “I am grown up mom! But daddy plays unfair!” Teddy sends a not–so-threatening glare Beomgyu’s way, to which he scoffs, folding his arms across his chest. “He started it”, Beomgyu then states, pointing an accusing finger toward his son. 

Teddy sticks out his tongue, prompting his very immature dad to do the same as they have a silent stand off in the middle of the kitchen. Eventually they turn to you, both with expectant expressions, as if awaiting your verdict. “Well?” Beomgyu says, and Teddy grips your jeans tighter. You shake your head, stifling a small chuckle. “I think…” Your gaze drops to the muddy footprints across the tiled floor, “That this room could use some mopping.” 

Both your son and Beomgyu are quick to follow your line of sight, their eyes widening as they spot the mess they had so inevitably caused. Beomgyu is the first to speak, clearing his throat as he beckons Teddy over. “Let’s go back outside”, he mouths to which his son eagerly nods. — Without giving you the opportunity to question them, they dart out of the house just as quickly as they had rushed in. 

You should’ve seen it coming, the play fighting, the mischief and the bickering. They were so alike. Yet you can’t find it in you to hold them accountable for the mess on the kitchen tiles. Instead you brush said thought away, approaching the patio doors as you lean against its frame. — Your small garden is basked in the warm afternoon light, the sun making the brown in both Beomgyu and Teddy’s eyes shine as they wrestled one another out on the grass. 

Not only had your son found himself a loving father, but also a best friend. Someone he could be himself with, someone he could learn from and someone he could lean on. Beomgyu was just the father Teddy needed. You realize now, as you regard them from afar, that Beomgyu was exactly what had been missing in both of your lives up until now. Part of you wonders if you were what had been missing in his. 

Watching in amusement as they trip over one another, Beomgyu quickly scooping Teddy into his arms at any signs of discomfort from him. — It was with great tenderness that Beomgyu cared for his son, the love radiating off of him whenever they were near. You wish he could see himself, see his own smile and how much Teddy looked up to him, his daddy. 

The sound of the doorbell grabs your attention, and a faint grin creeps onto your face. “Boys! Come back inside, Teddy, your uncles are here!” 

The two of them freeze mid fight, their heads snapping in your direction. “Uncle Yeonjun and uncle Taehyun?” Teddy exclaims, beaming with joy as he quickly untangles himself from his dad. You nod, “And uncle Soobin and uncle Kai”, you add, to which your son jumps to his feet. “I love uncle Kai!” He squeals, particularly fond of the youngest. Before you get the chance to reply, he’s running off, ready to greet your guests. 

“Not more than me though?” Beomgyu calls out for him, still seated on the grass as he watches his son’s retreating figure. “Right?” When he doesn’t receive an answer he sighs. You can’t hide the giggle bubbling in your chest as he approaches with slumped shoulders. “Replaced so soon?” You drawl, parting a few strands of his disheveled hair. 

Beomgyu scoffs, his arm snaking around your waist as he pulls you close. “Of course not”, his gaze narrows down the hall, the soft chatter of the other’s just barely reaching your ears. “In what universe would any of them replace me?” — “Oh, you’d be surprised”, your reply is laced with sarcasm but Beomgyu still flashes you a pout. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He says. 

Shaking your head, you bring his face level with your own, lips hovering above his. “Nothing”, you smile before leaning in to kiss him. You can feel his smirk against your lips, the hand around your waist slipping beneath the fabric of your loose shirt. — Neither of you register the soft padding of footsteps until Teddy’s high-pitched shout echoes through the room. 

“Ew, gross!”

[whoreforsexymen]

Strong Drinks & Broken Links 🍺⛓️‍💥 CH. 1

Gray Hair & The Absence of Care

(Gif creds: me <3)

Pairing(s): Vander x Reader

Pronouns: GN!Reader (for now— please see this post for details)

Rating: SFW, except for strong language and consumption of alcohol (drink responsibly, people). Reader is old enough to drink, despite what Vander thinks.

Word count: 4.7k (the rest are going to be far longer, so be prepared)

Tags: Slowburn, Reader is implied to be 21+ years old, Age Gap, Heavy Use Of Language/Alcohol, Reader might be a little too angsty (I’m sorry), Tense Situations, Vander being the caring mentor type he is but in a poorly thought out way.

Notes: I don't think I've ever posted a fic on this account. So, welcome to my only outlet for the brain rotting obsession I have for this man. ALSO I SWEAR TO GOD NO ONE MENTION ANYTHING ABOUT SEASON 2, OR I'LL FIGHT YOU.

((If any of you want to be added to a tag list for this fic, please lmk!! Ask box is also open for requests/suggestions/comments 🤍 feedback is always appreciated 🤍🤍))

It had been a terrible night so far.

Not only had you been shortchanged more than two-thirds of the agreed-upon pay for a job you’d completed—but that paltry sum had quickly slipped from your grasp entirely, taken by a gang of thugs.

You had to give the undercity credit—it had an uncanny ability to remain a perpetual cesspool. You’d managed to take down two of the muggers, but the third—the one who’d made off with your coin—had slipped away while you were dealing with the others. Just your luck. The payout had been pathetic to begin with, and now you were left with nothing but the bitter taste of failure. It looked like you’d be scraping the dregs of the city to find enough for your next meal, yet again. 

That is, unless you decide to drink your dinner. As well as your sorrows, in the process. The idea struck you as you neared the central bar of the undercity, still sulking as you were making your way back to the shack you called home. The Last Drop. A name that said it all. If there was any place where the undercitizens of Zaun gathered, it was here. No doubt the owner had to be the wealthiest man in the area, though that wasn’t exactly saying much in a place like this. 

You made your decision. A warm meal might be out of reach, but liquor could suffice—if you drank heavily enough, that is. Or at the very least, it might dull the sting of the night’s failures. 

The bar was an eyesore, a hulking building among the rundown structures of The Lanes. A garish neon sign blinked above the entrance, buzzing like an angry fly, casting sickly light on the grime-streaked pavement. Inside, the din of loud music and the clatter of drunken chatter spilled into the street. It was a haven for folks with any background, no matter if they sought business or pleasure within its walls. 

You pushed through the door, noting how no one even bothered to glance your way. That was how you liked it—under the radar, always out of sight, always out of the mind of untrustworthy beings. 

Then again, you didn’t trust anyone anyway.

You duck and weave through the crowd of rowdy patrons, eyes scanning the bar for a table or booth at which you could hunker down and nurse your drink in peace. Your frown deepens beneath the hood of your jacket when you come up empty-handed. Typical. No matter, though. You’d have to order at the bar anyway, regardless of where you sat.

It’s when your eyes settle in the direction of the bar that luck seems to briefly shine upon you—there’s an empty stool. Without hesitation, you make a beeline for it, not wanting some drunken fool to snag it before you could. You practically dive-bomb onto the seat, landing with a small grunt, air knocked from your lungs. After the night you’ve had, this stool feels like an oasis, despite the new absence of oxygen beneath your chest. You settle into it like it’s the only thing left in the world, clutching the seat as if someone might try to commandeer it if you let your guard down low enough.  

The realization dawns on you that, in order to get a drink, you’d have to interact with the bartender. You hold that fact in high regard with contempt. 

Chit-chat? Not tonight– or truthfully any night. You’ve never been crazy about casual conversation. The events of the evening have only soured your mood further, and the last thing you need is some eager bartender trying to make nice. Normally, you’d avoid sitting at the bar for that reason alone, yet here you are.

Thankfully, the bartender pays you no mind, his attention fully set on the patron he’s currently tending to. That is, until said patron leaves and the barman finally turns to you, his new source of focus. 

The sheer momentum with which you rolled your eyes almost knocked you out of your seat. 

“Welcome to The Last Drop. What’ll it be?” His voice is deep, and heavy, garnering a thick accent that clung to every word. 

He’s an older man, though exactly how old is hard for you to pin down. His hair’s gray, his eyes tired, the lines of age having etched themselves into his face long ago. However, there’s something youthful about him—something that makes it hard to tell whether he’s an old-looking thirty or a young-ish fifty. Frankly, you don’t care enough to continue your mental evaluation of him. Age shouldn’t matter when it comes to bartenders. They either know how to pour a decent drink, or they don’t.

You don’t waste time with pleasantries.

“Something strong.” You mutter, your voice mostly flat, but with a hint of irritation that danced along the edge.

The bartender scratches at his graying beard, his gaze thoughtful as he considers your request. You grit your teeth, hoping he won’t try to scam you by giving you something weak and overpriced, just to line his pockets with your hard-earned coin. You’d seen it happen to others, and you’d be a damned fool if you let it happen to you. 

The bartender studies your face, or at least what he can see of it beneath your hood, before his gaze shifts to the shelves beneath the counter. After a moment of deliberation, he selects a bottle with thoughtful ease, pulling the cork out with his teeth. With his free hand, he grabs a tin cup and pours in a copious amount, sliding it toward you with a swift flick of his wrist. You’d almost call it a generous decision on his part, considering the fact that you hadn’t even paid your dues first. His choice to serve you first goes a long way in easing your suspicion, at least for the moment.

You dig into your pocket, retrieving the few gold coins you’d managed to hold onto when dealing with the aforementioned thugs. They weren’t enough for one measly meal, but they were enough for a drink or two– or three, but who’s going to keep track? Certainly anyone but you. You’d only stop once your pitiful wealth ran out. Without a second thought, you toss them onto the bar top, making it unspokenly clear to the bartender that you were hoping for much more than just this one drink. You grab the cup, lifting it to your lips and downing the lot of it in one quick, greedy gulp. The warmth spreads through you almost immediately, and it feels like a small victory over the obnoxious turn your night has taken.

The bartender watches this with a faint chuckle before you slam the empty cup back down onto the counter. He takes it without a word, refills the tiny tin chalice, and begins passing it back. Without missing a beat, you grab the cup from him, draining the contents in a second gulp before he even has time to set the bottle back down. 

“You look like you’ve seen better days,” he remarks casually, his voice low and steady as he finally reunites the bottom of the bottle with the countertop. 

“I’ve seen a lot of things.” you mutter, your eyes fixed on anything but him. The words come out flat, though there’s a weight to them. It’s more than just a refusal to talk—it’s a refusal to let anyone look too closely. You avoid eye contact like the plague. Eyes, after all, are the windows to the soul. And letting someone peer through them is a risky gamble you’ve never been apt to take.

You were clearly beyond uninterested in the beginnings of this conversation. The lack of willingness to be friendly reigning clear as you shove the tin cup towards him yet again. He grabs the empty cup and refills it once more—your third drink in under five minutes. He seems reluctant to hand it back. He maintains a grip on it as he eyes you again, this time much more thoughtful.

“Care to chat about it? Might be healthier than drownin’ yourself at the bottom of a bottle,” he offers plainly.

You give him a sidelong glance, not even trying to mask the edge in your voice. 

“Doesn’t sound like a good business strategy, encouraging your paying customers to cut back.” You fire back quickly, the sharpness of your words outpacing even your annoyance at the unwanted conversation.

The bartender chuckles again, a spark of amusement flickering in his tired eyes. There’s a glimmer of understanding in his smile—maybe he’s seen more than a few like you in this dive. Or maybe, he knows in the same fashion as you, that sometimes it’s more palatable to fill the silence with alcohol than with words.

“Fair point, but I’d prefer to keep my patrons alive. Helps me sleep at night, y’know?” The bartender shoots back, his eyes fixed on you, all too curious about what’s hidden beneath your hood. The conversation quickly turns uncomfortable, a painful reminder of why you’ve never liked bartenders—they always talk too much and ask too many personal questions. As far as you’re concerned, they should stick to the charade for the sake of their regulars, and leave all unsuspecting customers alone. 

The momentum of yet another roll of your eyes causes your head to bob ever so slightly— your hood creeping back towards the line of your hair. The new, incredibly subtle, view of your face made the barman clench the cup in his hands with rigor. 

His eyes narrow slightly, the amusement fading from his voice. 

“Where’re your parents, kid?” He asks, his voice low and in demand of an answer. 

The question hits you like a slap, and for a brief second, you find yourself caught off guard. You’re not someone who’s usually thrown by imbecilic remarks from the residents of The Lanes, but this one? It’s different. Not just the audacity of asking such a personal question, but the clear assumption of your age being made so boldly. 

Your head snaps up, and before you can stop yourself, you push your hood back, breaking your own rule about eye contact. Why? Who knows. Today has already gone off the rails, and you’re too far gone to care. The liquor’s sudden grip on your senses began to cloud your judgment, and honestly, it was far from shocking. To be fair, you had asked for something strong… Not to mention having no substantial food in your belly to dilute the potency you sought after. All in all, there was no ignoring how the liquor was starting to pummel you like a brick to the face would. 

You meet his gaze, eyes scanning his face for any sign of what he’s gunning after by asking such a question. But there’s nothing obvious behind those gloomy eyes of his. No clear motive. You can’t tell if he’s purposefully trying to get under your skin or if he’s just another fool with a quick tongue. 

“Rotting in their graves,” you mutter, voice sharp and, in addition, spiteful. 

“Which I’m sure you’ve got one foot in, yourself, Gramps.” You make a mockery of the decades that are clearly stacked against you, hoping to push him back into his corner.

He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he practically snorts, running a hand over his silvery beard as he crosses his arms; resting them across his stomach with the casual authority of someone who’s seen it all. He’s not rattled by your quips—no, not in the slightest. 

“How old are you, kid?” His voice is flat now, a hint of something more serious creeping in, though you can’t figure out why. You’re even more unsure now about his intentions. Constantly expecting the worst from people was your lot in life. 

“Too young for you.” You snap back, pushing forward with your usual sharpness, trying to regain some control over this ridiculous conversation. You reach for the cup he had refilled for you, but before you can even graze it, he snatches it away, clicking his tongue like a disappointed parent.

“Tsk, tsk,” he tuts at you, as if you’ve done something wrong.

“I asked how old you were.” he repeats, his voice now devoid of any amusement. 

He watches you carefully, his gaze inspecting your face as if he’s trying to peel back layers you didn’t even know were there.

You roll your eyes, irritation growing, and narrow them at him, unwilling to back down. You can’t tell if he’s probing for something deeper, or if he’s just getting off on making you uncomfortable. Either way, you’re done playing his game.

“Why are you so curious, huh?” you scoff, leaning in and making a bold decision to double down on your irritation. “I’m just another patron here to drown in my sorrows and drink them away. Not to mention, I’m paying for the privilege.” Your words are bold, and with that same boldness, you reach across the bar and rip the cup from his grasp.

You try to bring the drink to your lips, intent on finishing it off. But just as the cup nears your mouth, the bartender’s large, rough hand slips over the opening of the cup like a solar eclipse. 

He glares down at you, his eyes narrowing as he sizes you up with a look that could strip paint. In that moment, something clicks in his mind. The defiance in your voice, the way you’re carrying yourself—it all reinforces his suspicion. You’re not old enough to be here. When you walked in, your hood had obscured most of your face. But now that it’s gone, he can see it clearly: you’re just a kid, trying to score some alcohol. The only thing that kept him from throwing you out on your ass, was your cadence. You looked young, and spoke carelessly, but you sounded grown. If you were in fact grown, he’d ease up. 

However, with the way you look—bloodied and bruised, no less—he’s convinced you’re in some kind of trouble. The kind of trouble he doesn’t want being drug through his bar. He doesn’t know where you’ve been, who you’ve pissed off, or what kind of people you run with. But this? This is his bar, and he’s fought too hard to maintain the fragile peace that reigns here. He won’t let you ruin that for him and his loyal patrons by dragging your poor choices in with you. 

“Seems I’ve struck a nerve,” he says, his voice no longer playful but flat and serious. “Either tell me your age, or you’re cut off.”

The room seems to hush around you. The muffled chatter of patrons behind you fades as the bartender’s tone sharpens, leaving no room for argument. It’s a quiet threat now, the kind that lets you know exactly how much leverage you have—and how little he’s willing to tolerate.

“You didn’t strike shit,” You hiss. “and I don’t need to answer to shit.” You add. 

The bartender bends over the counter, his face inches from yours. The bitter scent of smoke hangs thick on his breath, hot and rancid, and it presses against your skin like a physical weight. The damp air in the bar swirls around you, brushing your cheeks with an uncomfortable warmth that feels suffocating, as if the room itself is closing in.

“Keep talkin’ like that, and I’ll have no problem lettin’ my loyal patrons cut your tongue out for us to hang above the bar.” He says fiercely. 

You glance over your shoulder, catching the eyes of the dozens of patrons who have fallen silent, their conversations and business abruptly halted. It’s clear—they’re waiting for a signal, ready to back up their beloved bartender if things escalate.

“You can call off the cavalry, Gramps. I was just leaving,” you retorted, swiping one of your coins from the counter, as if to refund yourself for the drink you’ve yet to have. You release your grip on the cup, almost slingshotting it backwards from the sheer force you two had each been bestowing upon it. 

“Sit down.” the bartender commands, his voice low and final, as you attempt to abscond. 

You don’t reply, instead moving to shoulder through the row of patrons who are standing like silent sentinels, waiting for the slightest nod from their bar’s gatekeeper. It’s not like you expected them to part, but the way not a single person dares budge makes your blood boil. The crowd might as well be a wall of stone. 

“Sit. Down.” the bartender demands again, his tone sharper this time, a razor edge cutting through the haze of the bar.

You grind your teeth, your patience wearing thin.

“I’ll take my patronage elsewhere—”

You don’t even finish your sentence before a hand, seemingly out of nowhere, pushes you roughly back. You stumble, barely managing to stop yourself from falling flat on your ass. The sudden movement sends a rush of heat to your head, the anger spiking through your veins like fire.

You seethed at the touch, the anger burning hot in your chest, every muscle in your body coiled with frustration. But you knew better than to keep pushing your luck. Not today. Not in a situation like this, with dozens of hungry eyes watching, their hands twitching near their weapons of choice, waiting for the slightest excuse to make a move.

Biting back a torrent of curses, you forced yourself to swallow your pride, choosing to stay quiet—at least for now. It wasn’t worth the fight. You could practically feel the heat of their glares digging into your back as you turned on your heel, eyes locking once more with the bartender’s. You reclaimed your seat at the bar with deliberate flair, each movement oozing a sense of defiance and attitude. It was a performance, one you were used to. To you, it felt like you were playing the part of someone tough. But you knew, deep down, that to anyone else—especially the bartender—you probably looked like nothing more than a naive, immature idiot who didn’t know when to shut up. It wasn’t a great look, but at least it kept people from getting too close.

“I’m sat,” you muttered, voice brimming with the remnants of your irritation.

The bartender shook his head slightly, a hint of amusement creeping back into his expression. You could feel the tension in the room dissipate, the energy shifting as the crowd behind you resumed their rowdy conversations. The noise began to swell again, and for a moment, it almost felt like the bar was returning to some semblance of normalcy.

He grabbed a dirty glass from the counter, handling it with practiced ease, and pulled a rag from beneath the bar. As he began polishing the glass, he didn’t so much as glance your way. His focus was on the glass, and for a few moments, it felt like you were nothing more than a background detail to him. You could feel your impatience growing with each passing second. If he had something to say, you wished he’d just say it already. At least that way, you could get out of here—and maybe keep some of your pride intact.

The bartender continued his slow, methodical motions, running the rag around the rim of the glass with an almost exaggerated calmness. He didn’t bother to look up, yet you could feel the weight of his gaze on you through the silence.

“I’m gonna ask you again,” he said, his tone neutral, almost too much. “How old are you?”

You weighed your options. If you didn’t answer, you had no idea what would happen next. If you did answer, you still had no clue. It was a gamble either way.

“(Insert age here),” you muttered, the words slipping out begrudgingly, each one like a weight lifting off your chest.

The bartender scoffed lightly, a soft laugh escaping him that made your skin crawl. Your fingers began tapping impatiently on the bar’s edge, the rhythm a soft counterpoint to the growing tension between you.

“____ years old and still so naive… You really are just a kid, eh?” His words hung in the air, his eyes still locked on the glass in front of him, but you could see the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“There are worse things I could be,” you shot back, your voice laced with a mix of defensiveness and defiance.

“S’pose that’s true,” he replied, finishing up his polishing with the air of someone who had all the time in the world. He set the glass down next to the others—clean, polished, and waiting to be used. With a fluid motion, he slung the rag over his shoulder, then placed one hand on his hip and the other on the edge of the counter. He shifted his weight, leaning just slightly into the bar, his posture relaxed yet somehow still imposing.

“But on the other hand,” he said, his voice dropping to a more serious tone, “what you already are ain’t too good either.”

It wasn’t a threat—more of an observation, one that hung heavily in the air, like the smoke in the room. You felt the weight of it, but you couldn’t quite tell if it was a warning or just another way to mess with you. Either way, you could tell this conversation wasn’t over.

You could feel the first few bubbles of anger rising in your chest, the heat creeping up your neck as your blood threatened to boil. You’d always been quick to anger—an unfortunate side effect of your temper and stubborn streak. They were the crosses you’d carried for as long as you could remember.

You scoffed again, the sound sharp and biting, as if it were the only defense you had left. You had already rolled your eyes a dozen times tonight, but it felt like you were on the verge of an explosion.

“What’s your goal here, Gramps?” you spat, your voice dripping with sass, every word a little jab. You didn’t care to hide your bitterness. You liked to fight with words just as much as you did with your fists, and the bartender was starting to see that loud and clear.

“You got the answer you were looking for. Whether you believe me or not, you’ve already served me twice. If my age was such a concern to you, you would’ve kicked me out long before I even sat down.” Your words hung in the air once more, and you could see the gears turning behind his eyes, but he didn’t speak.

He just let out a quiet laugh, as if your logic amused him. And he didn’t bother to answer, not even in the slightest.

The silence stretched, thick and tense, and it was clear he wasn’t going to explain himself. He wasn’t about to give you the satisfaction of an explanation. He simply leaned back, eyes flicking over to the rowdy crowd behind you.

It was infuriating.

You stayed silent for a beat, but only because you knew you’d have more to say. And damn right, you did.

“Do you do this with every new customer?” You snapped, your voice rising now, the frustration boiling over. “’Cause if you ask me, I’m not sure how this shithole’s still in business. You discourage your customers from drinking, even though this is a fucking bar, and that’s all people come here to do. You make it impossible to drink peacefully, just like you make it impossible to drink at all!”

The words spilled out like fire, each one more forceful than the last. Your temper was no longer something you were trying to hold back—it was running rampant, and it felt good to let it out, even if it was in the form of a scream. You weren’t about to let this bartender—this stubborn old man—have the upper hand. Not when it felt like he was deliberately pushing your buttons.

“So if it’s alright with you, Gramps, you got your answer, and I don’t owe you shit. I’m leaving.” You actually raise your voice purposefully this time, slamming your hands down onto the counter as you push yourself off of the stool once more. 

The bartender wasn’t fazed by your outburst. In fact, he’d dealt with feistier, louder, and much more difficult people than you—people who could out-shout you or out-punch you if they had to. He wasn’t bothered by your temper. He had raised four kids on his own, after all. He’d learned a thing or two about handling stubborn personalities, whether they were kids or grown adults who carried themselves like children. And you, in his eyes, were just another brat testing his patience.

“You’re not going anywhere.” His voice was steady, calm, and authoritative, with an edge of finality that cut through the noise of the bar.

Before you could react, his hand shot out faster than you expected, grabbing your shoulder with an unexpected gentleness. He tugged you back into the seat with a kind of effortless force that made your breath catch in your throat.

You shot up from the bar stool in a flash, but his hold was stronger than you anticipated.

Instinct kicked in, and your own hand shot out like a snake, grabbing his wrist with a quick, almost violent motion. You shoved it off your shoulder, irritation flaring up like wildfire.

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed, your chest heaving as you glared up at him, the heat of the moment burning in your eyes.

You huffed, your fists clenching at your sides, teeth grinding. The room seemed to close in around you, but you weren’t backing down—not now, not after all of this. The tension between you and the bartender was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. You could feel the weight of the crowd’s silent attention being drawn to you once more as they waited for your next move, but you weren’t afraid. You didn’t have time to be.

The man let out a heavy sigh, the sound thick with disappointment. 

“Look, kid—”

“By the fucking god’s, I’m not a kid!” you snapped, your eyes flashing a level of ferocity that sliced straight through him.

He pressed his lips into a thin, hard line, his gaze cemented on you still as he took a long, steadying breath. Patience was his virtue, and he was willing to endure this sparring match for as long as it took. 

“It’s clear you’re in some kind of trouble,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “Maybe, just maybe, instead of lashing out, you could let someone help—”

You cut him off mid-sentence, your words an unpleasant interruption.

“Help? You want to help? Surely that’s the wrong word. Surely, I heard you wrong, cause, from the way I see it, you’ve done nothing except cage me in here, threaten me, and withhold what I paid for. So if it’s with any consolation, take your ‘help’ and fuck off.” 

Enough was enough. Without another word, you climbed atop the stool, bracing yourself for what came next. You steadied your balance, then launched yourself toward the crowd with calculated precision. The dismount was quick—intentional, forceful. You tucked your legs in, soaring over their heads in a perfect flip, and extended them just before hitting the ground behind them. Without pausing, you bolted for the door, heart pounding in your chest.

To your surprise, you made it—flying through the door and slamming it shut behind you with a satisfying crash. Finally, you were free, never to be seen within a hundred yards of this bar ever again. 

The patrons had made a half-hearted attempt to grab at you as you rushed past, but a sharp, deafening whistle from the bartender stopped them in their strides. He shook his head softly, a silent message that it wasn’t worth the chase. That it was better to let you go. If you were in trouble, it would catch up with you soon enough.

Deep down, the bartender hated seeing someone so young seal their own fate in such a way. But, in the end, there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t save them all—no matter how badly he wished he could.

He couldn’t help but wonder— if maybe, just maybe, he’d been a little too assertive, or downright impetuous with you after all.

But it didn’t matter now. You were gone. All he could do was hope you’d survive out on those streets. 

taglist: @blogforhoes @committingcrimes-2047 @dirtandcrime @eternalgoddessofart

[vinelark]

I've been going through ur fic recs and after binging through "A Meditation On Railroading" and "The Long Way Home", I'm now obsessed with Jason and Tim. Something about hating each other but not really, all the bad blood and hurt and still becoming brothers bc how couldn't they

I wanted to ask if you know any other fics that are about them?

Thanks! :)

i had to make a real effort to keep this (relatively) short or it would just be hundreds of fics long. here is a very incomplete list of old favs and recent reads! i've definitely rec'd some of them already, but i think others are new to my fic rec tag.   you already mentioned a meditation on railroading and the long way home; i’m linking them again here for anyone else who wants them, because they are two of my favs and would kick off this list if you hadn’t already read them.   robin!jason era   Brother Wanted by Vamillepudding one of the most impressive things a story can do, imo, is pull off a really believable kid/teen pov—this does it twice, for both tim and jason, and it’s one of my fav rereads.

Like a Hinge, Like a Wing by @bonesbuckleup i’ll always be reccing this one; it’s one of my favorite slow-burn hurt/comfort fics, and the tim & jason relationship in this context is very sweet + compelling as they deal with some rough edges unique to this story.

1-800-ROBIN by spqr jason volunteers for a mental health hotline, and this leads to bonding with tim. this has some incredibly tender moments and a great robin!jason pov.   red hood!jason era

cake is a four letter word by @sonosvegliato jason just wants to make a loaf of bread. then tim shows up. i love when a writer nails tim in peak Annoying Mode (❤️).

geolocation by @envysparkler i love a good forced-to-work-together oneshot, and this one gets bonus points for the sheer amount of “actions speak louder than words” going on with every single thing jason does.

Tim in a Bottle by @coyote-nebula (wip) angst and humor galore; tim and jason and their giant pile of unresolved issues all get locked in a walk-in freezer together. need i go on?

the trolley problem by @silk-scarlet-ribbons this is—i say with full appreciation—an absolute pangfest. jason is taken by an enemy, and that enemy has kidnapped a "random civilian" (you guessed it: tim) for leverage to get jason to do what they want. (also check out requiem for the forsaken by the same author, which is the fic that finally got my best friend to start caring about robins with me.)

Short-Term Memory Loss (Leads to Long-Term Sibling) by Vamillepudding a bittersweet + hopeful story in which red hood!jason gets temporarily whammed back to robin!jason, and bonds with tim.

Say Uncle by @megaerakles an incredibly fun twist on tim’s fake uncle with layers upon layers of identity shenanigans.

of crime lords and literature by @adelfie a wonderfully angsty, plotty fic in which tim ends up in danger as himself, and—after a very rocky start—jason is somehow the one who rescues him.

unequipped by Valkirin there’s a lot of jason saving tim on this list, and this story is a delightful reversal of that trope. red hood’s in trouble, and tim shows up to bail him out.

For All The Just Alike Birds by @sunflowersandink tim breaks his arm, and jason makes it his problem. featuring some excellent begrudgingly worried jason pov!

alternate universe

clean it like you mean it by @wynterstars (wip) i adore this jason-joins-the-family late AU; the central robin!tim & sort-of-civilian!jason dynamic is so compelling. marked as a wip, but currently leaves off in a very satisfying place!

[lovelyshu]

han jisung and yn being absolutely in love with each other for 5 minutes — [1.3m views]

description. Cute moments caught on camera between han and yn

tags. f!reader, gidle!reader, maknae!reader, use of yn, gidle has a video with skz of competition, reader calls him oppa like once

comments. I have nothing to say, these are just some random scenarios I thought about and wrote. Please enjoy! <3

✰ first clip

During an award event, yn was yet again lost in the crowd. And the other members were trying to find her, even if discreetly.

But then, one of the cameras caught yn bumping into someone. Well, that someone being han jisung.

It was clear even from a distant that both of them got embarrassed by it, quickly bowing and apologizing.

Both of them stayed there awkwardly smiling, until han grabbed his phone to show yn something. To which she excitedly typed something in, before seeing Shuhua running in her direction.

Saying a quick goodbye, she ran off to shuhua's arms, having to listen to a scold and a teasing about always being lost.

What the camera did not caught was their conversation.

“You got his number?!”

“Yess!! I'm literally dying right now!”

“If he says anything bad to you I'm hunting him down all over Korea!”

✰ second clip

As the chk chk boom challenge went viral, a lot of idols were quick to do them. That meant that yn was also doing it.

In the clip, yn is seen trying to hold back her laughter, standing right next to han who was with the same expression waiting for the chorus to begin.

Yn did the challenge with han smoothly, until she messed up at the very end, making both of them burst out in laugh.

Laughing, yn lost the strength to keep standing on her legs, now almost falling to the floor.

Well, until han almost ran (even if they were already pretty close) to her and caught yn on his arms, still laughing.

It's very hard to see due to the camera, but if you squint your eyes hard enough you'll notice a tint of blush on jisung's face, and yn slowly getting more flustered if not for the video ending.

✰ third clip

During han's one kid's room, one of the topics were about people he really cared about.

As the conversation went on with mentioning all of the members and his family as well, until jeongin remembered of someone.

“Isn't there yn too? He's always talking about her.”

“Oh yeah you're right, han never shut ups about her.” - Hyunjin continued, all of them now laughing at some inside joke.

When it was jisung's turn to talk, he said almost the same thing, until he looked down for a moment smiling, suddenly feeling shy.

“There's also yn. We talk a lot and she's probably the closest person I have outside the group and my family. She's very special.”

✰ fourth clip

Gidle was in an interview, answering fans questions about their songs, life, future comebacks and the usual.

Some of the questions were directed to specific members. And one of them being "Does yn have someone she really loves apart from her group?"

Thinking for a moment, yn smiled without even noticing, excited to answer the question.

“Yeah! I really love han from stray kids. His very friendly and kind, I enjoy his company a lot.”

The other members looked at her with widen eyes, a surprised smiled on all of their faces, making yn confused. Until she understood what it might have sounded like.

“I-I mean that in a friend way! I love him as my friend!”

And that was all it took for them to start laughing at her, soyeon even holding on her shoulder lightly.

✰ fifth clip

Felix was recording a vlog, filming the backstage before one of their shows. Everything was chaotic as usual, as he talked about the show.

Suddenly, han came out of a room, not noticing the camera. Felix went silent as he pointed the camera to the man, now hearing what he was talking about.

“Have yn called to any of you? My phone is almost dead so turned it off. She said she would call me before the show begun.”

He continued to talk about the idol, until noticing the camera, making him freeze for a moment before slowly waving at it, an awkward and shy smile on his face.

Jisung was already walking away, regretting his life decisions, and wanting to disappear even more as Minho shouted to him.

“No, she haven't called yet!”

✰ sixth clip

Miyeon was filming a vlog of how their day was going. Yuqi and shuhua were talking on the couch, while soyeon and yn were no where to be seen.

Searching for them, miyeon caught the sight of yn sitting on the corner of the room, hugging a little quokka plushie, a photocard and cellphone in hands.

Giggling to herself, she approached the girl, who quickly noticed the camera and was desperately trying to hide the objects.

“Hi miyeon unnie! Do you need anything?”

“I'm just filming our daily life. What are you doing?”

Yn stared at her with a dumbfounded smile, pressing a few times on the screen before showing it to her unnie.

“I'm listening to our songs.”

Miyeon knew she wasn't, but not wanting to make the poor maknae die on camera, she just nods, walking away to continue the filming.

✰ seventh clip

The first time gidle had managed to record something with stray kids, it was a competition between the members.

They formed seven teams with two people, han and yn being paired up together.

After some games and a lot of chaos, the next game they had to play was one in which, two teams will compete, trying to pull the tail from one of the members.

The one who manages to pull the tail out of their clothes first wins. And the final teams to play were han + yn and shuhua + jeongin.

It was the final round, and yn was the one with the tail, while han was mostly trying to protect her and avoid the other two to get too close.

After around thirty seconds in running around, yn managed to pull the tail from jeongin, making both of them cheer in excitement.

Without thinking twice, jisung and yn ran to each other for a hug, staying there for a long moment before pulling away, a slightly timid expression on both of their faces.

✰ eighth clip

At the music bank program, yn had the opportunity to be one of the mcs for a short period of time.

During this time, stray kids went to the program. Yn was doing an amazing job at being the mc, to which jisung complimented.

Feeling shy from his compliment, yn thanked him, clapping her hands together to avoid looking too timid as she smiled.

“Thank you jisung oppa!”

He mirrored her smile, as the other members laughed a bit.

After a few seconds of talking, seungmin bumped into han's shoulder, not saying anything, but a smirk forming on his face.

Han only looked away, embarrassed by the tease, without saying anything as well to not get the attention of anyone else.

[leavemetrappedinacage]

EVERYTHING WAS A MISTAKE — i. cheater.

⤷ summary: Leaving home isn't hard, coming back to home is, you're determined to find your sister, but Gojo has many things to say to you.

⤷ pairing: yandere!satoru gojo x fem!vampire!reader.

⤷ warnings: angst, abuse (physical assault), a bit of gore, blood, abusive behavior, it's implied that Gojo has assaulted reader other times in the past, gaslighting, mentions of cheating, mentions of death, psychological violence (Gojo is manipulating the reader into thinking that everything is her fault), spoilers (JJK0).

⤷ more information about story: here.

⤷ notes: this chapter is a bit hard to read (it was hard to write too), if you are in an abusive relationship or have just come out of one reading it may cause triggers, so please stay safe. 🤍 (I forgot to post the chapter yesterday, sorry. 😭)

⤷ word count: 2867.

Human lives are bubbles floating on the surface of the water, fleeting, but the life of a vampire is perennial, like the Pinus longaeva, which will last for millennia if it is not uprooted. You let go of Satoru's clothes, to whom you were clinging tightly until recently. The words he said to you seem like a bad joke, but the part of you that knows him knows that he wouldn't lie about such a serious matter. A million possibilities run through your head and none of them seem right. Your older sister is the current head of the clan, she succeeded your mother after her death, she is also married to Satoru's older brother and is therefore part of the Gojo clan by marriage, no one in their right mind would harm her, unless they wanted to provoke a war that they would never win.

In the past, after you broke one of the clan's three taboos, your sister came to understand your side of the story, and although you confessed your sins out of your own mouth without showing remorse, she knew you well enough to know that you would never commit a crime of this proportion unless it was truly necessary, you were hot-headed, not a serial killer. However, there was a limit to her influence, your sister had to withdraw from the investigation not long after, the other investigators claimed there was a conflict of interest and personal motivations on her part because you belong to the same lineage, although you knew very well why they wouldn't allow her to investigate, you comforted her by saying it was all a mistake.

You accepted the death sentence so that her and her family's reputation wouldn't be tarnished by her crimes, but when you found out what they would do with your corpse after your death, you had no choice but to run away. You escaped from prison and left everything behind, so you would never see your family again and would forever be an outcast, but you knew that Gabi, your beloved sister, still had hope.

You fall to the ground on your knees, your heart breaks into a million pieces that you may never be able to put back together, the tears flow endlessly, but you don't make a sound. Your sister once told you: "One day, I will die, and you will be the last member of our family. And when that day comes, you'll miss me so bad when I'm gone, Y/N!" She said it laughing, you didn't care because she was the head of the clan, and just like your mother, she would die of old age with three children or more, but now those words blowing in the wind have taken on a new meaning, as if she knew deep down that it would happen. You put your hand on your chest and lean forward until your face touches the carpet, you open your mouth to scream, there's no strength left in you to do so, only a bitter taste of defeat in your mouth.

Satoru gets down on his knees in front of you and hugs you, you don't pull back because it's the only comfort you can have right now, you cling to him like you're clinging to your last thread of hope, you allow yourself to cry because it's the only thing you can do right now. He's never seen you react like this, you never cry, you didn't shed a single tear at your own mother's funeral, you were like a beacon in the middle of a stormy night, strong and resilient, no one has ever been able to shake you, so seeing you so vulnerable makes him feel he needs to protect you. He lifts your face with both hands and wipes the snot off with the sleeve of his shirt, you're a wreck, but you muster the strength to get up. Now with a clear head, you know you have to solve this problem, no matter what.

"I'm going to kill them all." You mutter, the glow you're carrying fades and gives way to a gloomy aura, you turn away from Satoru, you're planning how to kill these people, there are too many of them and only one of you, but you've been in a similar situation before, so you think it won't be a big problem. "Thanks for warning me, but I don't want you to meddle this time, it's a matter of fa-"

Satoru suddenly interrupts you. You don't have time to associate what happened right away, it was so fast, only then do you realize that he's hit you, you touch your cheek and it's hot and tingling, your ear is ringing as if a bell is inside your head, and it feels like one of your eyes has popped out of your skull because you're not seeing well. You're so bewildered that he has to hold you so that you don't fall to the ground again.

"I don't know what the hell you're thinking, but stop. Now." He gently grabs your face and presses down on your right eye with his thumb in order to put it back in place, and you stand there as if you were a doll being carefully repaired. "You're a hothead, aren't you? God! Are you thinking of killing someone else? I hope not, I don't want to have to do it again." He scolds you, he doesn't like the idea of having to hit you, but you always cross the line, it's so annoying. "If you make a single slip-up, everyone's efforts will be for nothing, your sister's life is at stake and we still don't know the intentions behind the kidnapping, so. Stop. Acting. Impulsively." He spoke slowly and nodded, waiting for you to agree. "Answer me."

"But-"

"Answer." Somehow his aura seemed to pressure you, it's always like this, he says he doesn't want to hit you, but if you keep doing things the way you want, he'll hit you again and again until you stop, you shrug and he sighs. "Y/N... answer me, I won't do it again, so be a good girl and say you won't do anything."

"I won't act on impulse, I promise."

"Yes, yes. I knew you were still a good girl." His tone of voice has changed, the pressure on his shoulders is also gone, he pushes back a lock of hair and kisses your forehead, it's almost as if he's someone else. "I'd love to spend some time with you here, but we have to go now."

"Now?" You hear a pop, Gloria and the children are still waiting for you, you can't leave without saying goodbye, you look around the room for the bread basket and find it completely ruined, you let out a breath of air through your nose. "I couldn't go and see any of you anyway."

"Who are you talking about?" Satoru grabs you from behind and buries his face in your neck, you're tense and stiff, it would be bad if he found out about Gloria, he's not the kind of person who tolerates jealousy. But fortunately he doesn't seem to know, he sees the basket of bread on the floor and remembers the children you greeted earlier. "I didn't know you liked children so much."

"Oh, yes, of course?! So you were stalking me at that time too?" He replies with a 'mhmm', you roll your eyes. "You're awful." You let out a dry, mirthless laugh. "Oh, I never had a chance, did I?"

"I'm glad you know your place." He's so overbearing and arrogant, yet if you had only half the power he has, you'd act like it too. "I'll help the children later if you behave yourself on the journey back."

"Really?" Your shoulders relax, you lean in to look at him, he nods in agreement and you're relieved, but everything has a price...

"But you'll owe me one." He whispers unassumingly. "Two, actually." He holds up two fingers, you choke. "Or have you forgotten that I'm going to have to take you in secret?"

"I thought you were going to give me up! I even thought I would need Suguru's help."

"Of course not!" He shouts, irritated, an icy chill shakes your body, you lower your head and he continues shouting. "What kind of monster do you think I am? I would never hurt you, Y/N. I... I... forget it." He pushes you away and massages his temples, then stops abruptly and runs his hand over his face as if he's just remembered something. "Oh, one more thing, Suguru is dead."

"WHAT?"

"I killed Suguru, he committed some crimes, but nothing compares to the fact that he hid you from me." Satoru lets out an infamous chuckle, you can't believe what he's just told you, but given the circumstances, you know he's not lying, the only person who knew your whereabouts was Suguru. "You remember when you abandoned me, don't you? Didn't you think about me? How I might feel?"

"You weren't the only one I left behind, and-" You start to speak, but he signals you to shut up and stop making excuses he doesn't want to hear.

"But as far as I know you haven't abandoned Suguru, have you?" You feel the air get heavy and Satoru's shadow covers you, he seems much bigger than you or you're feeling too small, you don't know, you go back and grope the tree, there's nowhere to run, you close your eyes and wait, maybe for the next slap or something worse. "He told me everything before he died... so we have a lot to talk about, Y/N."

Mistrust is like a deadly poison that eats away at you from the inside, it makes love grow cold, but it also gives birth to a weed called resentment. There's no fixing something that's been broken, when you put the pieces back together, the cracks and scars of the breakage will be there forever, it will break again if you fill it with water. There is no way to mend the heart of someone who has already been betrayed or abandoned.

Satoru look at you with a fake smile, the corners of his mouth are twitching, a bad sign, there's no escape for a change, there's only the two of you on this deserted house, even if there was someone here no one would come to save you, there's no place you can use to hide, but there's no way and no reason to hide when the Six Eyes are looking for you. You open your mouth, but give and accept that there is no other option but to stay quiet, he seems satisfied with your decision, the smile on his face widens.

"Satoru..."

"You cheated on me." He repeats with tears in his eyes.

"WAIT, WHAT? I never cheated on you." You choke, you don't know if he's making it up or Suguru said something that made him get it all wrong. "I don't think this is the time or the moment to talk about it."

"But I do." He retorts. "You disappeared for ten years, Y/N. DAMNED. TEN. YEARS!" He puts a lot of emphasis on that. "You didn't try to contact me during that time, you didn't even make an effort to make me try to understand your side, but..." He paused dramatically. "There was enough space for Suguru to continue in your life. Do you know how painful it was to find out from him that you'd been in contact and seeing each other for all those years?" He frowns and laughs like a maniac. "What about me, Y/N? I was alone in the dark for ten years. I had no news of you, I didn't know where you were, how you were or if you were even alive, but he knew because he told me before he died." He scratches the back of his neck and bites his lower lip. "You didn't even bother to break up with me."

"You turned your back on me first! You spent weeks ignoring me before everything happened and-"

"Because YOU were hiding things from ME!" He shouts and points at you accusingly. "I never knew your side because you didn't trust me enough to open up to me, your own boyfriend." He uses both hands to point at himself, the veins in his neck and forehead bulging, he's furious. "But Suguru knew, because you told him everything, didn't you? You even asked for help to escape."

You choke, you don't know if Suguru revealed all the details to him, but your mind goes blank like a blank canvas for lack of arguments, you can't retort, because what he's saying is the truth, at no point did you consider the possibility of trying to contact him, you didn't explain why you killed all those people in the first place, you just accepted the fact that he hated you and decided to walk away without saying a word. Who told you he hated you? Did he really think you were a monster? The fine line between what was true and what wasn't was so thin that you couldn't tell the difference anymore.

"I forgave you for killing those people and for running away, but this..." He points at you and for a portrait of you and Suguru on the bedside table, then makes a cutting sign with his hands, shaking his head frantically. "I'll never forgive that. Never."

"I'm sorry."

"It's too late to say you're sorry." Satoru reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black blindfold. "You never really loved me, did you? You loved him, I was just... an idiot. That's the truth. I was just a substitute for him."

You see the tears streaming down his face, he brushes them away with the back of his hand as if he doesn't want you to see him cry, you feel your stomach lurch, you don't have the courage to approach him, it's bad enough to know that everything that happened in the past was a big misunderstanding, to be abandoned and in a way betrayed, you can't measure his pain. And although you have your share of the blame for his suffering, he has to understand that you were on the run, many came after you to kill you, familiar faces, you have a lot of traumas to carry, and you don't want or need to carry the weight of this ill-fated relationship, but you can't help it.

"I expected a little loyalty from you. But you're one of them." Satoru refers to the fame of vampires and their multiple partners, but you're not like the others, you really only loved him, but he's so blinded by hatred that he can't see. You love him so much that you trusted him with your life. "You... you cheating bitch, I did everything for you, I... I even tried to forgive you for it, but then you started thinking about going after him? HAHAHA, I'm really stupid."

"I'm not a cheater. I've NEVER cheated on you." A lump forms in your throat, you can barely defend yourself against these unfounded accusations, based on jealousy and paranoia, you sniffle and wipe away tears that wanted to escape from your eyes. "I swear, I never did that, I-" 'love you' You continue the sentence mentally.

You endured everything in silence for fear of sharing the burden with someone else, because you are afraid to lose everyone, but you also believe that if you had been honest from the beginning, he would have understood you, and maybe your sister wouldn't have had to go through what you're going through now, but now it's too late to be honest.

"You just used me and are still using me for your own gain, you just want to ensure your sister's safety and leave. Like everyone else... I'm just a tool for you."

"That's not true, stop it."

The truth hurts, and he's telling the truth, from the beginning you thought of him as a tool to find your sister, but not everything is true, you also want to spend time with him, since finding him again has ignited something inside you, but you don't have the strength to go against him. You take a step forward and he moves away, you reach out to touch him and he rejects you, it's so painful that you'd rather he hit you, you grab his hand and he's so cold, so distant, as if an abyss were separating you. You open your mouth to beg for forgiveness once again, but you feel a stinging pain in your head and heart, a buzzing in your ears makes you dizzy and makes you scream hysterically, your nose and ears began to bleed non-stop.

"Y/N?" Satoru's voice becomes distant and his image blurs. "Y/N?! Are you all right?"

"I... I... I feel... so... sorry... I... will... tell you... everything..." Your vision suddenly darkens.

The last thing you hear is Satoru's voice shouting your name.

[focusonkayjay]

between the ride and the roses (3)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: biker/ motorcycle shop owner! jungkook x flower shop owner! reader, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, slow burn, angst, smut, fluff

Word count: 3.8k

Series summary: There's an insane turn of events when your calm and peaceful life is intruded by Jungkook, a biker boy who sets up his loud business right next to your own. Your paths cross under unlikely circumstances, starting with a clash of personalities but gradually you find yourself establishing a deeper connection with the annoyingly attractive biker jerk. You both have no idea what's in store for you guys as you try your best to put up with each other.

Chapter Warnings: argument, jungkook is mean, OC is mean. both have high egos.

A/N: part 3 is here <3 i'm having sm fun writing this. also, i got this anonymous ask which stated i was using chat-gpt for my stories. i didn't like the tone of their message so i blocked them. however, i just want to say i have not used chat-gpt for my stories. i take time out of my day to type this story because i really want to put content out there that people might enjoy reading. i want to make stories that i have always wanted to read, but never found. truthfully, i did use chat gpt for the names of a few flowers, plants and bouquet combinations though, because i'm not a professional florist and i have no idea about flowers. i hope that's understandable. anyways, thank u for reading. let me know your thoughts :)

part 3: blooming grudges

The sun is setting, painting the street in hues of orange and pink, but the peace you’re so badly yearning for is shattered by the rumble of motorcycles and boisterous laughter right outside your shop. It’s been a week since Jungkook’s shop had started running and it has surprisingly quickly become a hotspot for bikers to gather in the evenings. The constant noise and chaos spill over into your once-quiet corner of the neighborhood.

You have no idea what they do and what the point of all these gatherings are, but you dread it every single time you hear a bunch of men lounging outside your shop.

As the evening progresses, you’re in the middle of arranging a bouquet when the sharp crash of breaking pottery jolts you out of your work. Heart pounding, you glance outside and see one of Jungkook’s biker friends near the sidewalk through your window. Still confused, you stand up and storm out to see what the hell had happened.

Anger surges through your veins as you spot the man casually standing there as if he didn’t just knock over one of your handmade ceramic pots off the display stand that was right outside your shop. “What the hell is wrong with you??!!?!” you snap, glaring at the man and then at the jagged pieces of your pot just lying there, near his feet.

The biker barely spares you a glance, shrugging nonchalantly. “Relax. It’s just a pot.” he says.

“Just a pot?” you repeat, your voice rising. “Do you have any idea how much time and effort went into that? Or do you only care about things you can rev or ride?” you feel your heart thumping as your anger skyrockets.

Before the man can respond, Jungkook suddenly steps out of the crowd near his shop. His leather jacket gleams in the fading light, and his dark eyes flicker to the broken pot before landing on you. “What’s going on?” he questions, his voice low and calm, but there’s an edge of warning to it.

You point at the shards of pottery. “What’s going on? One of your friends just broke my pot and doesn’t even have the decency to apologize!” Jungkook looks at his friend, who just shrugs, then back at you. “It was an accident.” he dismisses, his tone clipped. “I’ll pay for it.” he continues and you watch his friend just leave the scene, completely unbothered.

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “Pay for it? Do you think that solves everything? This isn’t just about the pot, Jungkook. Every night, this street turns into a circus because of your shop. My customers can’t park anymore, and now your friends are trashing my things.” you begin, moving your hands as you speak, unable to remain calm anymore.

His jaw tightens, and he takes a step closer. “Look, I’m sorry about the pot, but don’t act like I’m the reason your shop isn’t doing well. Maybe it’s not the noise. Maybe people just don’t care about overpriced flowers.”

Your breath catches, his words cutting deeper than you expect. “Wow,” you say, your voice trembling with anger. “You really think you’re better than everyone, don’t you? Just because you’ve got your flashy bikes and your little gang of followers?” you ignore the way your heart twitches at how he had just disrespected you and your business.

His expression hardens. “Better than everyone? No. But at least I’m not the one blaming other people for my problems. You’re so focused on what’s wrong with my shop, but maybe the issue isn’t me. Maybe it’s you.”

Your fists clench at your sides. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve been here for years, building this business from the ground up. And you waltz in, turning this neighborhood into a mess, and act like you’re doing everyone a favor?” you see red as you fight with him, unable to contain the flow of words that are spilling out of your mouth.

Jungkook’s voice sharpens and he doesn’t hold back. “You think I don’t work hard? That I haven’t sacrificed everything to make this shop work? You don’t know anything about me. But sure, keep throwing stones from your little glass house.” he counters harshly.

“Oh so you can say anything about my business, but i can’t? You can talk about me like you know me, but i can’t?” There’s venom in your voice as you argue and Jungkook clenches his jaw, trying to calm himself down.

The tension between the two of you is suffocating and each word cuts like a blade. As an awkward silence fills the air, you shake your head. “You’re unbelievable.” you breathily say. “You don’t care about anyone but yourself.” you add.

“And you...” he fires back, “care so much about your damn shop that you can’t see past your own damn ego.” You look at him with your lips parted, unable to come up with a comeback. You feel your eyes sting and nothing makes sense anymore. You hate it here. You hate him.

Before you can respond, one of the bikers calls out to Jungkook, and he turns away, his shoulders tense. He doesn’t bother looking back at you and just leaves.

Fuming, you crouch down to pick up the broken shards of your pot. Your hands tremble as you scoop up the jagged pieces, and a sharp piece slices right through your finger. You hiss, dropping the shard as blood wells up from the cut. Your eyes tear up as you watch your finger bleed. You were so done with this man and his stupid shop.

Ignoring the sting, you finish cleaning up and head back inside, pressing a tissue to your finger. You flip the sign on your door, deciding to call it a day since you weren’t really in the mood to face any new customers. You retreat to your counter, where you slump into your chair, frustrated, exhausted and seething.

//

Inside Throttle and Torque, the atmosphere is much quieter, now that the bikers have left. Jungkook leans against the counter, his expression stormy as he thinks of the interaction he had with you 4 hours ago. Yoongi, Jimin, and Hoseok sit nearby, watching him with varying degrees of curiosity and amusement.

“You look like you’re about to punch something.” Jimin says, breaking the silence. Jungkook scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “It’s that flower shop owner again. She’s impossible.”

“Y/N?” Hoseok grins. “What did she do this time?” he questions. Jungkook glares at him. “One of the guys broke her pot, and she went off like it was the end of the world. Then she starts blaming me for everything—says I’m ruining the whole street. Like it’s my fault her shop isn’t getting customers.” he speaks, his tone filled with annoyance.

“Isn’t it, though?” Jimin teases, earning a sharp look from Jungkook. Yoongi, raises an eyebrow. “Sounds like there’s more to it than just a pot.” he states.

“She doesn’t get it hyung...” Jungkook says, his voice growing louder. “She acts like she’s the only one who works hard, like I haven’t busted my ass to get this place running. And then she has the nerve to call me selfish? Like she knows anything about me.”

“Sounds like she hit a nerve.” Hoseok snorts, a smirk on his face. “Shut up,” Jungkook mutters, but the irritation in his voice betrays him. “She thinks she’s so perfect, but all she does is complain. It’s like she’s looking for reasons to hate me.” he rolls his eyes.

“Maybe she is.” Yoongi says, his tone thoughtful. “Or maybe you’ve already given her enough reasons to hate you.” he continues. The room falls silent, and Jungkook scoffs, pushing off the counter. “Whatever. She’s not worth it.” he dismisses, not wanting to think of you or the raging encounter he just had with you.

//

the next day; The morning sun spills through the large windows of your flower shop as you rearrange a fresh batch of chrysanthemums. Despite the beautiful blooms around you, there’s a heaviness in your heart. Last night’s argument with Jungkook replays in your mind, his sharp words still stinging.

The little bell above the door jingles, pulling you out from your trance. You turn to see a man walking in—a face you recognize from the group that always lingers outside Jungkook’s shop and sometimes with him as well. “Hi.” he says, his voice calm but kind. “Y/N, right?”

You blink in surprise. “Yeah… and you’re one of Jungkook’s friends, i suppose.” you say, moving away from the flowers as dry your hands on your apron. You notice how his eyes fall on the bandage wrapped around your finger, so you quickly hide it by crossing your arms over your chest. He pretends like he’s seen nothing and nods, his hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket. “I’m Yoongi. I came here because I wanted to talk to you, if you don’t mind.” he says, his voice tender.

Your instinct is to put up a wall, but something about his tone disarms you. “If this is about last night—”

“It is.” Yoongi interrupts gently. “But not in the way you think.” He steps closer, his gaze steady but non-threatening. “I’m here to apologize. On behalf of Jungkook. And… the idiot who broke your pot.”

You blink again, caught off guard. “You’re apologizing? Why?” you gulp, something about this, not sitting right with you. “Because he won’t.” Yoongi says with a faint smile, though his tone carries a hint of seriousness. “Jungkook’s stubborn. He knows he messed up, but he’s too proud to admit it outright. And, well, someone has to try to make things right.” he admits, blinking his eyes.

Yoongi observes your expression, noticing how you still look quite unconvinced. His face softens as he continues. “Jungkook’s not a bad guy, Y/N. He just… rough around the edges. Give him time. He doesn’t always know how to handle things. He gets defensive when he feels cornered.”

“Cornered?” you echo, frowning. “I wasn’t cornering him. I just wanted some peace.” you defend yourself. “I know.” Yoongi agrees. “And I think, deep down, he knows it too. But he’s been under a lot of pressure with the shop, and sometimes he lashes out without meaning to. Not that it excuses anything.” he adds quickly. “You didn’t deserve what he said. Or how he treated you. ”

His honesty surprises you, and for the first time, you feel a part of the weight lift off from your chest. “Why are you telling me this?” you suddenly ask, eyeing him even though, deep down you’re trying your best to believe everything this man says.

“Because I think you’re both better than this petty back-and-forth... interactions.” Yoongi says simply, shrugging. “And maybe, if you understand where he’s coming from, it’ll help. Or not. I don’t know. I just thought you deserved an actual apology, even if it’s not from him directly.” he finishes, flashing you a small, kind smile.

For a moment, you’re silent, processing his words. Then, to your own surprise, you smile faintly. “You’re a good friend, Yoongi.” you softly say, earning a chuckle from him as he scratches the back of his neck. “Someone’s gotta keep him in check.” he grins.

After a moment, he steps back towards the door, pausing before leaving. “Take care, Y/N. And if he steps out of line again, let me know. I’ll knock some sense into him.” he nods at you and you laugh lightly, the sound easing some of the tension in the room. “I’ll keep that in mind.” you say, waving at him.

//

Jungkook sits on the edge of the counter, a wrench in hand, intently focused as he works while Jimin, Hoseok, and Yoongi lounge around. The conversation flows between them, lighthearted at first, until Yoongi brings up his visit to your shop.

“So....” Yoongi begins casually, “I stopped by Y/N’s shop today.” he says. Jungkook freezes for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “What for?” he asks, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

“To apologize.” Yoongi replies, leaning back in his chair. “On your behalf. Figured someone had to.” he adds. Jimin snickers, while Hoseok whistles low. “Apologizing for Jungkook? That’s new.” he laughs as Jimin gives him a high five.

“Very funny.” Jungkook mutters, but his attention stays on Yoongi. “What’d she say?” he questions and Yoongi shrugs. “She wasn’t exactly thrilled to hear your name, but we talked. She’s not as tough as she seems, you know. She’s just… tired. Your shop and the noise—it’s really messing with her.” he explains calmly.

Jungkook doesn’t reply, his jaw tightening. “And she’s hurt, by the way.” Yoongi adds, his tone sharper. “I noticed her hand. I guess she cut her finger while picking up the broken pieces of the pot your friend broke yesterday.” he explains.

The guilt that had been simmering in Jungkook since last night, suddenly boils over. “Why didn’t she say anything?” he snaps, more to himself than to his friends. “Maybe because you were too busy arguing with her to notice,” Yoongi retorts, his voice calm but firm. “She’s not your enemy, Jungkook. Stop treating her like one.” he says gently, hoping the younger one understands.

The room goes quiet, the weight of Yoongi’s words settling over them. Jimin and Hoseok exchange a glance, sensing the tension. Jungkook exhales heavily, tossing the wrench aside. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.” he admits quietly. “I just—” He stops, frustration lacing his voice.

“You don’t know how to back down,” Jimin finishes for him, a teasing edge to his tone. Jungkook glares at him but doesn’t deny it. Instead, he leans back against the counter, running a hand through his hair. “What else did she say to you?” he questions Yoongi. He smirks slightly. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he asks, wiggling his brows.

Jungkook’s glare intensifies, and Yoongi chuckles. “Relax. She was civil. We just talked about you a little and that’s all. She thinks I’m the ‘good friend,’ by the way.” he smiles to himself.

The comment makes Jungkook’s stomach churn with something he doesn’t want to name—guilt, jealousy, maybe both. He stays quiet as the others laugh, his thoughts swirling.

He’s messed up, and he knows it. And now, the thought of you opening up to someone else, even Yoongi, twists something deep inside him. For the first time, he wonders if the damage he’s caused can ever be repaired.

//

It’s just another day—or at least you hope it will be. After the pot-breaking incident a week ago, things between you and Jungkook have only grown tenser. Though Yoongi apologized to you on behalf of his actions, you were still very annoyed by the way things still hadn’t changed.

His friends still gather outside his shop in the evenings, their bikes parked so close to your store it’s nearly impossible for customers to walk in without squeezing past them. You’ve been trying to keep your head down, avoiding any unnecessary interaction with Jungkook.

However, despite the ongoing tension you can’t help but notice how hardworking Jungkook is. For a brief moment, you feel a twinge of guilt as you think about the bad blood between you guys. Maybe you need to start putting your differences aside and try to get along with him.

You shake your head, telling yourself not to think about that. You leave that thought for another day, when you’re less busy and have more time to waste.

A new shipment of flowers and pots arrives after about an hour. You’re juggling the chaos of directing the delivery workers when disaster strikes. One of the crates slips from a worker’s hands, scattering flowers and dirt all across the curb—and, unfortunately, onto one of the shiny motorcycles parked outside Jungkook’s shop.

You barely have time to assess the mess before Jungkook storms out. His face is a mask of irritation, and his voice cuts like a blade. “What the hell is this?” he immediately snaps, gesturing at the scattered soil and dirt-streaked bike.

You sigh, already bracing yourself. “It was an accident. We’ll clean it up right away.” you calmly say, knowing damn well this wasn’t something you were about to get to away with. “An accident?” he repeats, his tone laced with disbelief. “You really need to start taking responsibility, Y/N. You can’t just keep saying it’s an accident every time you screw something up.” he angrily says.

Your frustration bubbles over. “Excuse me? This is the first time I’ve caused any inconvenience to you. Meanwhile, your friends park their bikes outside my shop every evening, blocking the entrance, and I don’t say a thing!” you argue.

“Oh, here we go...” Jungkook retorts, his voice rising. “You’re always whining about the bikes. Maybe if you managed your deliveries better, this wouldn’t have happened.” he scoffs loudly.

“Don’t turn this on me!!” you snap, stepping closer. “You act like this street belongs to you and your gang of bikers. Maybe if you had a little consideration for others, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation!” you stomp your feet at the last word, wanting this interaction to just end. But were you going to be the first one to stop? no.

Jungkook’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think he might say something even harsher. But he just shakes his head, his expression dark. “You know what? Forget it. Clean up your mess and stay out of my way.” He coldly says as he turns around and walks back into his shop, leaving you standing there with your hands clenched into fists.

//

After the chaos of the day, you’re sitting in your shop long after closing time, staring blankly at the broken pieces of another pot that lays lifeless on a piece of paper on your counter —a casualty of the earlier mishap. You close your eyes, feeling an overwhelming sense of exhaustion.

Yoongi’s voice echoes in your mind from the other day, when he’d come into your shop to apologize on Jungkook’s behalf after the first pot-breaking incident. “Jungkook’s not a bad guy.” Yoongi had said, his voice calm and reassuring. “He’s just… rough around the edges. Give him time.”

You had wanted to believe him. For a moment, you even thought there might be a chance for you and Jungkook to coexist peacefully. But now? Now you feel stupid for ever entertaining the idea. Jungkook has made it perfectly clear that he has no intention of meeting you halfway.

You sigh, rubbing your face. You didn’t like how this whole thing had been affecting you. It was draining and just sooooo not worth it.

Forcing yourself to get up, you clean up one last time and then proceed to lock up the shop, so that you can finally head home. As you begin your walk home, you notice how the streets are quiet, the faint hum of distant traffic is the only sound accompanying your footsteps.

Your thoughts are heavy, clouded by everything that’s happened. The arguments, the pot-breaking, the way Jungkook’s words today had stung more than you wanted to admit. You wonder if you’re overthinking things, but the lump in your throat says otherwise.

You hug your jacket tighter against the cool night air, eyes focused on the pavement in front of you as you walk briskly towards your house.

//

Jungkook stands outside his shop, ready to lock up he watches you walk down the stairs at your entrance and cross the road, not noticing his presence at all. His chest feels tight, an unfamiliar mix of guilt and something he can’t quite name. He doesn’t like how things escalated today. He doesn’t like the way your voice cracked when you argued with him.

As much as he hates to admit it, he knows he’s been unfair. It wasn’t just about the dirt on the bike or the delivery mishap—it was the way you stood up to him, pointing out how inconsiderate he and his friends had been. You weren’t wrong.

He steps away from his shop, just to get a clearer view of your walking form. He watches intently, observing the way your shoulders are hunched slightly as if the weight of the world rests on them. The sight stirs something protective in him. It’s late, the streets are too quiet, and he knows better than anyone the kind of dangers that can lurk around in the dark.

For a split second, he considers calling out to you so that he can offer you a ride home. But then his pride kicks in, the argument from earlier replaying in his head. His ego won’t let him take that step—not yet.

Instead, Jungkook makes a quick decision. He leaves his bike parked outside his shop, shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket, and starts following you from a distance. You walk briskly, your mind elsewhere, completely unaware of the quiet footsteps trailing behind you. Jungkook keeps his distance, making sure to stay out of your line of sight.

His gaze scans the dimly lit street, the quiet unnerving even to him. He can’t help but feel protective as he watches your small frame move through the shadowy paths. Every now and then, he glances around, hyper-aware of his surroundings.

He follows you for several blocks, his pace matching yours but always a few steps behind. When you pause to adjust the strap of your bag or check the time on your phone, he stops, leaning casually against a lamppost or pretending to examine something in a shop window.

You finally reach your building, pausing to fumble with your keys at the front door. Jungkook stays back, watching as you disappear inside. Only when he hears the click of the door locking do his shoulders relax slightly. He lets out a long breath, rubbing his nape as he turns to head back towards his shop.

As he walks back, his mind is restless. He thinks he’s ridiculous for following you all the way home just to make sure you reach safely. “Why do you care so much?” he mutters to himself, kicking a loose pebble on the sidewalk. But he already knows the answer, even if he’s not ready to admit it.

When he finally reaches his shop, his bike still waiting where he left it, Jungkook glances once more in the direction of your shop. A strange mixture of guilt and something warmer lingers in his chest. He doesn’t know what to do about it, so he just sighs, climbs onto his bike, and decides to head home.

While he rides back home that night, a quiet resolve settles in his chest—a growing realization that maybe, just maybe, he owes you more than just a silent apology.

<- part 2 // part 4->

[millysastroblog]

⚡️Solar return chart 2022⚡️

Hello I’m am back with SR Chart observation as I promised from 2022, these are just personal observations and experiences if you haven’t experienced any sorts of things that’s complete fine. These are not facts neither predictions so don’t panic and think that the same situation will manifest for you. Alright ??? 😉

yeah let’s just get into it ! 🫶🏽

⚡️Cancer Rising:

This placement literally made me emotionally expressive and MOODY more than ever. From the start of that year i stayed at home for literally 3- 4 months after I dropped out of school. I very much enjoyed being at home with my family, cooking, cleaning doing domestic stuff . It was very interesting how the people in my environment started being very supportive and protective over my well-being like those of a little child. I definitely expressed my emotions openly : like randomly crying , huge outburst of laughter , or simply smiling a lot. I felt more caring and nurturing towards others . Thought about moving out surfaced a lot. Cancer is a very comforting energy but since it’s ruled by the moon there a lot of drastic unstable changes that could occur in once live.

⚡️Moon , North Node in the 12th house:

This placement brought a profound sense of isolation and introspection. I found myself naturally drawn to solitude, spending hours meditating, practicing yoga, or simply enjoying peaceful moments in nature. It felt like a spiritual awakening—connecting deeply with my intuition and exploring dreams that often felt like messages from a higher source. Meditation and Manifestation became a daily practice. While these moments of stillness were empowering, they also highlighted an inner restlessness and a desire to understand my true purpose. This phase was about healing, embracing the unknown, and surrendering to the flow of life.

⚡️Sun, Neptune, Jupiter in the 10th house:

Career and life path became the central focus during this time. I found myself dreaming bigger, envisioning a life where my efforts and aspirations aligned perfectly. I applied to different companies and got a new good job, I was in my hustling and bag area it was pretty good and productive year. I started thinking about the impact I wanted to have in the world like how I wanted to be perceived and what achievements I wanted to be known for. It was all about refining my goals, building a stronger work ethic, and setting the stage for future success.

⚡️SR Rising in natal 3rd house:

Communication became a major theme since I had went to a lot of interviews, had to reintroduce myself to different people which pushed me out of my comfort zone. Also writing job applications, or reconnecting with siblings, it felt like the universe was nudging me to refine my voice and share my thoughts more clearly. Short-distance travels were frequent, giving me a sense of curiosity.

⚡️Venus, Mars, Pluto in the 8th house:

Now these placements fucked meee upppp and I really mean they fucked my life up and turned it to 180

With Pluto being in my 8th house, the intensity of this year was amplified 10x. The 8th house rules transformation, trauma, money, intimacy, and taboo topics, so this energy hit hard. At the start, I was determined to open a bank and savings account, but it took forever with endless complications. I became obsessed with earning money—whether through my own efforts or others' help. Mars pushed me to focus on loans, investments, and financial security, while Venus amplified my desire for deep, soul-bonding relationships, intimacy, and, let’s be real... a lot of … Pluto, however, had other plans, flipping my world upside down. It made me face every fear and trauma regarding death, losing loved ones, intimacy, change, love, and even illness. I got sick for six months straight, lost friends, stability, and other things. It led to a mild depression, but in true 8th house fashion, I rose stronger. Now, I feel like Wonder Woman nothing and no one can shake me. I survived the storm, and that’s power. 💪🔥

⚡️Saturn in the 9th house:

Soo with this Saturn placement your girl has been hustling for good grades in school to not fail for the year. like since then I hated going to school bc it very stressful, and bad for my well-being , like I was always tense and stressed bc of school, in our normal societal living that is very much expected from us but honestly I just wasn’t having it. And even when i changed to another school it was the same shit like the environment and people were very cold ,strict and depressing I honestly didn’t had a nice time at school but at least I was motivated to study and learn as much as I can but at the end I decided to rather drop out because it was fucking with mental health. Also traveling long as hours for work and school purposes drove me crazy, that’s an area where I have been very disciplined at but It definitely took patience and determination to get there ;) .

⚡️Uranus, Chiron in the 11th house:

Guese who tf lost all their friends suddenly ??? And had a hard time fitting in new social groups because they felt different from everyone else:

🙋🏽‍♀️

(but no for real the energy is 10x intensified bc I have it natally additionaly Saturn is transiting my natal 11th house so yeah 🙁) not only did I loose most of friends but when engaging with different kinds of social groups I felt so uncomfortable and weird, like I had a very detached feeling. I hated to even be surrounded by groups of ppl that don’t hold the same value to mine or I that I can’t engage in intellectual topic of my interest. I was mostly bored asf when in interactions and stoped giving a fuck about trying too fit in and please their expectation and needs, I surely saw also trough the fake persona of a lot of ppl that I encountered and distanced myself even more. But It was that easy being all alone and isolated.

[our-hextech-dream]

i haven't seen anyone fully articulate what i personally felt disappointed by wrt viktor's s2 persona and ending so i guess i have to do it myself even tho i'm bad at talking!! can someone who is better at this just read my mind and say it fancier and more coherently?

agency, the loss of

i have seen people already mention the way disability came into play at the end and what a wild choice it was for jayce - born able-bodied and healthy - to be the one to tell viktor - trapped in a body that was actively killing him - that actually your disability is a part of you and made you who you are and you owe everything to it. ... huh? jayce (by which i mean the writers), do you think without his disability, viktor wouldn't have still been a genius? yes, viktor is disabled - that's not even remotely what makes him a compelling character and power player. it is his mind not his body that makes him who he is. the fact that he had to waste almost his whole life fighting against that body to achieve anything is the entire crux of his frustration - imagine what he could have dedicated his mind to if he weren't constantly struggling to find a way just to survive another year, another month, another week, one more day. have you thought about it? because he has. so yeah that whole conversation, trash. bruno mars just the way you are ass one direction that's what makes you beautiful ass argument. viktor was not going crazy over cosmetic surgery, he was trying not to die.

but it strikes me as just one more expression of an overarching theme for s2 viktor - that of the complete and total loss of his agency. (more on a meta level than in the show itself, but also in the show!) i said after act 1 that viktor had died in that explosion and jayce was going to be chasing that corpse until the end, and i was correct. viktor bounced from one mindset to another, never seeming to have any consistent ideology of his own that couldn't be changed as soon as the plot demanded it. at any given point he was just kinda... wandering around, doing some random shit with the powers that worked through him. gone was the viktor who used his own hands and mind to influence the world directly, to bend it to his will. i always always felt this and i stand by it - taking viktor's abilities as an inventor and scientist away and turning him into some arcane mage jesus figure was a mistake and a disservice to his character. arcane said no this boy wasn't smart or determined, his ability to build and invent and seek and learn don't matter and never mattered, he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and as soon as the arcane got its goop on him he just became the most specialest magic pixie dream boy to ever live and his own goals, dreams, ideals, morals, talents, skills, and hard work ceased to matter in any meaningful way. he never had to work to master magic to be able to use it to further his goals, because he immediately stopped having goals.

viktor became a non-character. he became whatever ideological and technological threat level the show needed to challenge to heroes and never more. he ceased to have any control or understanding over what was happening to him, rather he just gave up and decided to use his magic indiscriminately for whoever made the most convincing argument, a choice that would have been completely antithetical to his character up to that point if he'd still been alive. 'fuck zaunites, sure i'll turn them into robots so a foreign power can use them to attack and take over piltover and zaun, who cares. it's not like these are the people i've spent 30 years of my life trying to protect and save.' <- something viktor would never ever ever have agreed to! ever! no matter what! they have played us for absolute fools.

ambiguity, the loss of

the thing i wanted the most and was expecting because of the way viktor's original lore was set up was that the series would end with viktor and jayce unreconciled and with mutually exclusive worldviews, both fully believing they were right and the other was misguided but not evil or irredeemable, setting them up for future conflict. this felt like what was being set up when arcane made it a plot point that jayce was being convinced to turn hextech into weapons while viktor started getting unethical and unhinged with the experimentation. they both had good reasons to do what they did - and i'm absolutely not going to insult jayce's intelligence by claiming he was just manipulated into it by anyone, give me a fucking break - but the point was that both of them were doing something the other thought was misguided and dangerous. and they also felt that if they could just make the other person see their completely logical and rational pov, they could fix the divide between them and make up and be best science buddies again.

but then at the end arcane completely gave up on viktor having any belief in his own ideals. it just turned into 'aw actually he was just lonely all along and none of that science stuff or difference in morals or worldviews mattered bc he's got a buddy now and he's completely unequivocally on jayce's side. :)'

it was like. insanely selfish. as in, self-centered, concerned *only* with the self. the viktor i liked, and the one i wanted to flourish and hoped arcane would canonize, was someone who was entirely dedicated to zaun, to righting the wrongs of piltover and helping the people in the way he thought best - no matter what jayce or piltover thought about it. an ambiguous villain, just like all the other really well-written ones in arcane.

accountability, the loss of

viktor killed people. not sky, who was an accident despite his fixation on her; i'm talking at least a hundred or more zaunites during his stint as the machine herald. he ripped their minds out and made them play house with him, then turned them into weapons of war for ambessa's siege, and all of those people - primarily sick, desperate zaunites - died. this was always the entire crux of the conflict between (league) viktor and jayce giopara. viktor was willing to destroy people and use their bodies for his own gain unapologetically because he thought what he was doing was a blessing and the people were better off under his control because they would never feel fear or anger again. agree, disagree, depends on your view of free will and human nature, but the fact is that everyone who came to viktor hoping for a chance to be healed so they could pursue their own dreams and lives had those dreams and lives ripped away from them and they never got justice or even a single scrap of acknowledgement from the narrative.

in arcane, the horror of viktor's actions just... fade away into the background. viktor and jayce waltz off into magicspace together, leaving viktor's dead, ruined victims for piltover and zaun to deal with. he doesn't return their minds or bodies, he doesn't even seem to remember or care about what he had just been doing to other sentient living human beings. he's not sorry, he doesn't feel regret, he got what he wanted (a friend) and fuck everybody else.

because the narrative just shrugs and handwaves and says no no forget all that it doesn't matter it was just the hexcore or whatever, viktor becomes a flat, uninteresting character. he loses the depth that villains like ambessa and silco had, villains who had their victims validated by the story, who faced challenges in their arcs specifically because of the people they had hurt despite thinking they were doing the right or noble or most important thing. and not just the villains! even the heroes had to wrestle with the people they stepped on on the way to their lofty goals. but not viktor. he just floats away scot free, completely blameless, having no affect on the world and the world having no affect on him.

on arcane's status as the new canon lore and the Implications™

reminder that arcane is somehow supposed to tie into the world of runeterra at large, but now viktor and jayce both have been seemingly entirely removed from it. if it only mattered that they knew the people we'd already seen them interact with, okay, i guess. but that isn't the case. they both have a ton of connections to other champions - from regions other than p&z even - that haven't been introduced and don't have any plausible explanation for how they could have met in the past, which means they should have been set up to meet somehow in the future. implying that jinx escaped and has gone traveling the world is the perfect way to incorporate her in-game relationships with people like lux - she could have met her while traveling! but jayce and viktor don't get that plausible continuation of their story and development of further relationships - they just disappear out of existence. (ambessa also has this problem because they killed her, but unlike jayce and viktor she does have a huge amount of unexplored backstory where she could have spoken to (for example) swain and hwei and shyvanna at some point.)

note 1 - jayce and viktor are so old that they don't have any voice lines in game when meeting other champions. but other champions who are either newer or who have had voiceover updates do talk to them, which is how (aside from the old lore) you can infer that they do have relationships with other champions including ones who weren't in arcane.

note 2 - maybe riot actually doesn't care and none of the champions are really supposed to know each other or be involved in each others' lives canonically, they just have random quippy voice lines that imply that. which would fucking suck. having the lore of the game have no impact on the game itself and vice versa would objectively suck. if the characters talk to each other on the rift and say something interesting, i want that to have meaning. i want to be able to extrapolate the state of the world and the relationships between the characters from the things they verbally say with their mouths. i'm not arguing about this. the voicelines should be seen as the most high irrefutable canon that there is for the game because it is the ONLY source of lore in the game itself.

anyways there's my bible i guess. i miss evil laser robot viktor i want him to perform unethical brain surgery on me (fixing my adhd but also turning me into his personal puppet attack dog) and then give a weapon to a child so they can kill their bullies.

[mythalism]

There’s a theory going around (what with DATV shut out of the game awards) that the writing sucks so hard because EA or BioWare forced an AI rewrite after firing a chunk of the writing staff. I won’t say I fully beleive it, but I will admit that quite a lot of the dialogue in Veilguard feels…off. It’s hard to really describe.

I know EA had mentioned wanting to use AI writing in their games, but I figured that meant future games. Any thoughts on this?

this is devastating to me but i hate to say... i can see it. and feel it, more importantly, which i think is the key with AI. a few things that make this seem plausible to me are that bluesky post from epler that has since been deleted talking about how he agreed with the biggest criticism of veilguard (without specifying what he was referencing) was something he agreed with, and trick and another dev chimed in and added that not only did they all agree, but they tried to fight it and lost. we are never going to know exactly what this was referencing, but i think it does allow us to infer that there was a significant amount of friction between EA and bioware. the kotaku article on vg's development from 2019 also has a rather telling couple of lines: "I kept hearing one interesting sentiment from current and former BioWare staff: They felt like the weirdos in EA’s portfolio, the guys and gals who made nerdy role-playing games as opposed to explosive shooters and big sports franchises. BioWare games never sold quite as well as the FIFAs and Battlefields of the world, so it never felt like they could get quite as many resources as their colleagues at other studios. High-ranking BioWare staff openly wondered: Did EA’s executives really care about narrative? Did they really care about RPGs? Those questions have always lingered, and still do today." so... yeah. that feels relevant to me with this.

the second is the datamined dialogue people have been finding that reveal what is frankly a far better written game and more in-depth dialogue. some of it is still cheesy and marvel-esque, but theres so much MORE of it that shows a much more coherent vision for the plot that for some reason is just.... gone? and i have no clue why. idk if we will ever know this for sure, and it is genuinely difficult to pick out AI from any other kind of profit-focused corporate writing other than just.... intuition. you can often feel the lack of humanity within it. and considering we know what bioware writing feels like and its the reason so many of us are here on this website yapping about their stories and characters... and how veilguard feels like something is just missing... yeah. i dont think its outside of the realm of possibility