#and that's all really- peace and love etc. ✌��

[kithtaehyung]

minted (explicit) | myg

title: minted (explicit) pairing: street king!yoongi x street cart vendor!reader rating/genre: explicit (18+) ; angst , suspense , smut ; haegeum au , gang au summary: all you do is wake up, sell your fruit on the dusty streets below your flat, and go to sleep. but everything changes when a customer you always look forward to seeing turns out to be dangerous. really, really dangerous. note: again, this wasn't on the docket for 2024 until i saw one (1) mint yoongi edit on my pinterest feed💀 anyways, this is dedicated to hali @sailoryooons for ur belated bday, nary @joonary for being a cutie pie and letting me adopt the tangerine cart girl idea in general, and luce @minttangerines for ur url and for being a wonderful friend. love you all! warnings: this series may not be for everyone, language, violence, weapons (guns/knives/chopsticks/etc.), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, murder, gang activity, poor reader is just trying to get through the day, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, tension, slow burn, choking, reader suffers from “my cabbages” levels of disaster, slight e2l, fight sequences, multiple future explicit scenes, yoongi deserves his own warning, chains but who is ever ever shocked, graphic depictions of violence drop date: august 5th, 2024, 9:03pm est word count: 9.4k aiyaaa✌ mood playlist: here

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Ever since you could remember, gang activity in your town has run unchecked. 

Anything goes. Rough fights out of nowhere, car chases busting streets, or even random delinquents snatching food on the run, dust kicking up onto stock they left behind. 

And out of all the districts, yours is begrudgingly the second worst. 

Why? You still aren’t completely sure. But you do know that the darkest is reserved for the underbelly that only slithers in rumors. A place in which you will never find yourself. 

But you do wonder what must happen there to warrant the winning title because each day here is a battle to keep yourself afloat. 

All you do is sell fruit. Why are you fighting for your life every week? Why can’t you exchange goods for money in peace? If you could compare it to the movies you grew up watching on an outdated television, it’s a grungy reflection of the wild west.

But through all the shit you’ve chosen to endure, at least one person is always kind enough to buy his wares and go.

And today is no different.

You still don’t know his name. But you yearn to. Because his hair is the color of magic and rebellion, and his tattoos really set off that bright mop of locks. 

If those lethal, piercing eyes weren’t enough.

When he lifts three long digits, it takes all your strength to nod and get his purchase together. This is the part that never changes, either.

Just like always. One, three, or five fingers for tangerines. Never two, never four, and never any other fruits. 

It’s charming, in a way. As if he’s more particular than most about what he wants—a trait elusive to many.

Like clockwork, you would hand his order over in thin plastic, and he would walk away to hitch a ride on a passing cart. Just like he does right now with a lazy gait, white tee billowing from his jeans. 

Another day. Another exchange.

In the wavy heat of summer, you sigh. Wondering if anything is ever going to change, and if you would ever get to know more about your most frequent, most mysterious patron.

After a while, you do try talking to him. 

Those looks of confusion slowly turn into little hums or grunts, then into single words that keep you going for days. Even though you rarely hear it, his voice is just as attractive as he is. 

One day, you offer him a plantain, handing it over and telling him it’s on the house. 

“Thanks,” he says amongst the clinks and conversations of the street, pocketing the food away. 

When he does, you see a flash of black metal, and you already know what he’s carrying. You’re used to seeing all sorts of those around nowadays. In this district, you’d be shocked if he didn’t have an arsenal on his person while traveling through.

Besides. Even you have a couple collecting dust in your own flat, handed down by extended family but never used.

“If you ever need anything other than tangerines,” you start with a point to his pants, “Please buy those instead.” 

He’s unmoving. Blinks are all you get so you have no choice but to explain,

“I’m so tired of eating them with everything.” 

When he huffs in amusement, your heart flutters thrice. There’s no reason for a sheen of sweat and sticky mint locks to be so deadly. 

“Then eat something else,” is all the stranger advises before walking off. 

Well.

Even though you don’t have much of a choice, the guy does have a point. You wouldn’t be shocked in the slightest if his aim’s just as straightforward as his wit.

Once one exchange lasts longer than a sentence, the two of you start little conversations during his visits. Which prove more fatal than normal since he’d rest his tattoos on the top shelf of your cart. 

From what you can make out, there are creatures stretching in beautiful teal and vivid orange, and even striking white on his other arm. They ripple so well with his veins, a canvas that sways and hypnotizes with every drum of his fingers. 

You know what they symbolize, though it’s unique to have all of them together. 

Taboo, even. 

But you can’t hold back your admiration because of the sheer beauty. What would they feel like if you just… 

“You always stare this long?”

Shit. “Oh, sorry. I just… I rarely see anyone’s ink up close.”

To your dismay, he takes his arm back. “I don’t have a lot of time today, princess.”

“Right, sorry. Hold on,” you respond, cringing hard at blurting two apologies in a ten second span. 

Meanwhile, your way too handsome regular cocks a brow, clearly comfortable making you squirm as you hand over his bag. 

Effortless. In your chaotic life, It’s almost intoxicating feeling someone this resolute in their whole demeanor. If only you could be so commanding and assured one day. 

But here you stand instead, pretending to count fruit you one hundred percent know the stock of already. “Your art is really nice, by the way,” you admit to your inventory. “All the high-powers. I like what you picked.”

“Didn’t choose these.”

Ah. Way to assume things. 

Raising your head, you make to apologize a third time.

But he’s already retreating with his tangerines, hand stuffed in a pocket and beautiful waves a little less vibrant than you recall. 

“What.” 

“I worry sometimes.” 

His gaze lifts. “About me?” 

“Yeah.” 

You don’t know why you choose to say that of all things. But it’s honest. You always wonder about him and think about the weapon in his jeans. Does he use it? Does he ever need to? 

Maybe you should pick up a hobby or two.

Fingers resting dangerously close, he asks with a tilt of his head, “What would you do, doll? If something happened to someone like me.” 

Someone like him? What does that mean? 

Great. Now you have even more to wonder about, as if he knew that was your exact predicament.

You stare, roaming along his arms before meeting his eyes—almost. “Find someone else to buy my tangerines.” 

Huffing, his brows tick up with his mouth. “I respect that.” His attention doesn’t leave your face as he slowly takes his purchase. “See ya.” 

“Bye,” you whisper back, watching him go. More thoughts and concerns bouncing around your mind in the sticky heat of midday. 

These little nicknames he’s using also aren’t helping your issue in the slightest. 

It starts when you hear shouting from a block down.

“Here they come!”

“Bunch of idiots this time.”

“What do you mean this time?”

Rough raiders this early? They should know it’s almost time for Dragon’s sweep. Bold.

After you hear the telltale yells, clanks, and bangs, your section of the street braces for impact. 

And it swoops in like a whirlwind, ruffians tearing through, pillaging and stealing and swiping goods into thick woven baskets. 

Baskets? The usual suspects always carry leather bags. You assume because of their sturdiness and inconspicuous nature, but what do you really know.

Here it goes again. 

As your fruit is taken right from your cart, you sink to your toes, mourning the regular loss of your menu.

No use fighting. Like every other time, you all let it happen because there’s no point in trying to protect anything that isn’t valuable. Perishables and small homemade goods aren’t worth getting gutted over. Truly, the worst losses you suffer are when—

Your cart shifts violently before thieves topple it over, cracking one of your wheels and splitting the wooden boards in three places.

Springing to your feet, you douse the perpetrators in anger, “What the hell!”

“Oh, this was yours?” Someone chides while his cronies run past. “Thanks for the oranges, love!”

“They’re tangerines!” you correct at his retreating back, kicking your cart before yelping at your bad decision. “Damn it…”

Back to your knees you go. Head drooping, arms encircling, and disappointment pooling around like a shadow.

More shouts and feet in the road rampage through. Then it gets quieter. And quieter. 

Then it’s done.

After silence swells in the wake of chaos, groans start making their way down the street. 

“What’d they get from you this time,” you ask your neighbor, a charming old man selling anything from bowls to wide, round frying pans. 

Looking over his little wreckage, he blinks hard. “They got my woks. Nothing as bad as yours. You okay?” 

Walking over to help clean his mess up first, you bend down with a sigh, “I’ll be alright. But it still sucks.. My poor tangerines..” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Not much to do about it now,” you resign, all your energy taken from you, too. 

A little bit of time passes as you complete your usual round of help, though this raid was worse than others. As they all give their thanks, you keep thinking about how to make the whole situation better. Moreso for them than you because you’ve always been one of the least vulnerable ones on the block.

“You should find another place to sell, dear.” 

In disagreement, you slip into a saddened smile. “I can’t leave you guys,” you explain to the lady you’re holding pails for. “Who will help clean everything up?” 

“Don’t underestimate your elders now.” 

“Fair,” you respond through a chuckle, handing her one of the metal buckets. “If only better protection was an option around here.”

“You know the rules,” another shop owner drones through lingering spices, “Dragon won’t protect us if it isn’t in their own interests.” 

Unfortunately, he’s right. Every single raid that hasn’t coincided with a gang sweep goes overlooked. Even the city police don't bother coming down your street anymore, which is another issue in itself.

If only Tiger or Crane had been the high-powers in place instead. 

At least they seem to be more fair.

After you finish helping, you finally venture back to your own cart, realizing that the trek is a lot further than you thought. 

Did you really walk so far this time? The damage was dealt for much more than a block at this point. 

Not like you need to sprint back, though. What’s left to steal? Everything you got swept into those woven containers.

Still so odd…

But not as odd as the sight that greets you on your return. 

Because instead of seeing your wreckage of a cart tilted and abysmal, it’s upright and being mended.

By none other than your favorite set of hands.  

What the hell? What’s he doing here? You quite literally have nothing to give so there’s no reason for him to spare a second at your broken stand. 

Fast-walking, you hastily try to halt his help, “Oh, shit, you don’t have to—” 

“Course I don’t.” 

That shuts you up. In your split second of silence, you note with agony that his hair is messily tied in a minted bun. Are his sleeves bunched at his biceps, too? Great. What were you even telling him again? 

Ah, yes. You were telling this mystery of a man that he doesn’t have to literally put your stand back together. “Seriously, I got it.” 

“Don’t sweat it.” 

“But it’s my cart, I don’t need your—”

With one look over his shoulder, your mouth snaps shut. And suddenly can’t move to argue again. 

What the hell is up with today? 

Forget all that. What’s he doing? At least you’re familiar with all the shop owners and vendors on your block, though you can’t say you wouldn’t do the same thing for someone you don’t know. But this guy has always been so standoffish and barely approachable. So how is he lending both hands to help you right now? 

Whatever. If he’s gonna be as stubborn as this heat, you can be, too. 

Scanning the area for scattered tools, you find a sun-warmed hammer and get to work, fixing one end of the cart while he works on the other. When you feel his gaze on your working shoulder, it takes massive strength to ignore him—even if you wanna know what his issue is and why he smells really, really good this afternoon.

Looks like you need more nails for this board to fit. When your eyes find a couple on the ground, you clinch a second piece between your teeth while hammering in the first. 

Sounds stop at your side, but you wait until you pluck the metal nail from your mouth and stamp it in to look over.

Oh. He’s eyeing the hammer. Not you. Obviously. 

You wordlessly hand it over, arm slicked with exertion. Because after the day you’ve had, you don’t feel like everything needs a spoken sentence attached. 

It takes the guy a bit to take it from you, but when he does, he holds your stare. “Thanks.” 

You simply nod, eyes sticking to him as he works on the tattier side wait it looks almost new. Better than it has in a very long time. Did he really get that much done in the time you were gone? There’s been great care taken during his repair if that’s the case.  

Hmm. You finally learn something about your favorite customer. Maybe he’s just been a mechanic or carpenter this whole time? 

Contemplative, you get up on sore legs to walk to your cooler—something thankfully missed by the rough raiders. Digging through the clinkage, you retrieve a local beer you recently procured from the restaurant across the street. 

It’s not much. Absolute bottom shelf. But it’s all you got other than a few pieces of oni-coin, so he’s gonna have to deal with it.

When you offer the glass, your regular eyes it for a moment. More than enough time for you to get a good look at his striking floral top.

Well. Mechanic and carpenter are out of the question because that one piece of clothing looks more expensive than your entire apartment building.

Who even is this guy? Now you feel destitute handing him something so cheap.

Just when you think he’s gonna refuse, he takes the beer and smoothly shucks it open, suddenly making you wonder how a bracelet can do that and why it was so attractive.

God. You need to walk straight to the nearest inlet stream and dunk your head right in.

“Thank you,” you whisper, gulping at his full swigs. “You really didn’t have to do all this.” 

“Got some time to kill,” he shrugs. Standing, the man takes another sip, peering along the street with sunlit eyes. With the bottle near his mouth, he murmurs, “You really need to set up somewhere else, doll. This street’s turning into a hot spot.” 

Squinting up at the long lines of clothes and curtains floating in the breeze, you sigh at the building nearest. “I live close,” you sulk. “And this is the easiest place to get to.” 

Those are excuses. Just tell him the real reason you won’t venture out and plop yourself somewhere more profitable. Well, maybe not all of the reasons, but the main one. 

Leaning back on your cart, you stare at the loose dirt, swiping some with your shoes. “Maybe I’m just used to it at this point.” 

He won’t respond. Or he’ll respond in his own way, which is mostly silence. 

But a bright strand falls over his face before he hums, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

Many people have warned you at this point. It’s basically your stubborn and spiteful nature that’s making you stay in the first place. Why would you move when you chose to be here? Why leave a place you actively choose to call home? 

Fighting spirit quelled, you nod right to your stand as you count what’s salvageable. “I know, but I like it here.” When he lifts an unbelieving brow, you look away. “It’s true. But trust me, if there was a way to just make it all stop, I’d take it.” 

He takes another swig, both of you looking into the street and watching things slowly get back to normal pace. Adults and kids alike are back to wandering around, buying what’s left and offering condolences. 

“I’m not fixing another cart,” your patron turned repairman grunts, motioning to your wheel as he steps back. “So don’t fuck this one up.” 

Huh? It wasn’t your fault! All the accidents and chaos that blow through aren’t something you can control oh he’s grinning. Why is he grinning? Why do you feel hot all over? 

His teeth shine in daylight. “I’m messing with you.” 

Ah. 

This version of him is not good for you at all.

When he starts to walk away, you blurt out a quick, “Wait!” 

Shit! Why did you do that? What are you possibly supposed to say right now? All you wanted was to see him a little longer… And while staring at his backside would be more than enough, you kinda wanted to actually talk. 

What do you do? He stopped; he’s waiting. 

And he looks impatient as hell. 

Snapping into action, you round your cart and trot over, offering your name as if you didn’t just give up where you lived. 

Then—without thinking—you ask for his with the most curious, innocent, “What’s yours?” 

Silence has never been so booming.

In the dusty swirls of your street, you wait with a back that’s getting sweatier and colder with each passing second. 

Was that not okay to ask? Did you fuck up with a single question? 

Perfect. You just blew your one good thing about being out here. Wincing, you crush your words so hard you think your teeth will break into dust, drifting off into the very breeze wafting his striking locks. 

After a condescending puff, he only smirks.

Then he takes one step. And another. And another.

The air around you melts, weighing on your shoulders while lighting them aflame all at once. It’s a feeling you can’t describe to anyone else, because they would just need to stand next to this man to believe it. 

Checking to see if the street is clear, your best customer leans over. Slowly. Purposefully. “Yoongi,” he offers with a voice so handsome you’ll think about it for days. “But don’t fucking tell anyone.” 

Oh. 

Why did… you kinda like that? 

Blinking, you swallow. “I won’t.” 

This is when he’s supposed to just leave. He’d walk away, bag swinging with his strides. But ever keeping you on your sore toes, the man just chuckles low before rasping out the most devilish sentence in existence, 

“Always took you for a good girl.”

Then he backs away, turning on his heel and leaving you a statue in the street.

Yoongi. 

For a hardened soul, his name is so… 

Tender. 

For the next sixty days, you don’t get ransacked once. 

But there’s also been no sight of Yoongi. 

As the weeks trudge by, you can’t decide which outcome is worse.

The skies are magnificent today. But obviously at a molten price.

“Thank you for trying,” you say to a lovely wares owner before venturing back out into simmering streets. Exhaling, you wipe sweat from your brow, squinting before choosing to walk left or right. 

Left seems promising. 

You’ve been searching for hours now, perusing through shops, checking out vendors both nice and catty. But after a whole day’s search, you still haven’t found what you’re looking for. 

It’s nothing urgent or pressing. But you would at least like to be prepared. 

Since your initial mission is a bust, hopefully your next one makes up for it before you melt right into gravel and dirt.

Find a meal.

Walking along the busy roads, you pass a few options and keep them in mind, making sure to greet a fellow tangerine cart vendor with a smile. Hopefully they do well today.

A couple steps further, a giant cooler catches your eye. Seafood of all types lie inside along cubes of ice, and you weigh the pros and cons of smelling like fish just to have a cool head.

But before you can make any choices, the smell of spices and hearty soup softly pull your feet inside the restaurant nearby. 

What’s here? Noodles? You’re always down for that. Apparently even in scorching weather.

After ordering, you take your seat at a random middle table in a chair facing the entrance. 

Always facing the entrance.

Damn. You really need to accomplish what you set out to do. But sunset is fast approaching these days, and you aren’t anywhere close to home. All you have time for now is eating and heading out. 

The service here is quick, at least. You’re already thanking the owner for sliding a bowl in front of your sweaty form. 

With a head full of thoughts, you stare into nothing, stirring your noodles and waiting for the heat to die down. 

Maybe you should’ve just walked a shorter distance and checked the shops you originally wanted to browse. If things went to plan, you could’ve been back by now, freshly showered and curling up on a worn down bed. 

But instead, your feet are sore, your head is anything but washed, and you have to trek home empty-handed—on the first day off you’ve had in months. 

Defeated, you sigh, going back to your bowl and watching sliced vegetables swirl in aromatic broth. 

At least the food in this area seems good. And the fading decor really adds to the… 

Ambiance. 

Wait. 

Dragons. A lot of them. 

You can’t pull your eyes away from the crew walking in, bringing heat from the sweltering sun in their eyes and donning their telltale, striking teal. 

But you can only kid yourself for so long because the one that truly has your gaze tethered is the man in front. The one you haven’t seen in weeks. The one looking right back at you with a visage so shadowed you feel like moving tables to let him pass. 

…Yoongi? 

His jacket. The colors.

He’s in Dragon?

Suddenly his hair makes terrifying sense.

As his guys stalk through, you swallow hard, not expecting to see him and having no earthly idea what to do with this harrowing information. There are so many thoughts overlapping each other that they all amalgamate into one huge batch of sludge. 

Aren’t you smack dab in Crane territory? There’ve been white suits peppering the streets everywhere. 

So what the hell is Dragon doing here?

From the slight confusion pinching his forehead, you know Yoongi didn’t expect to see you, either. Which makes it even weirder when he slowly takes your chopsticks right from your fingers. 

Hold on, what—

“What are you—”

A lone, long digit over lips is the only response you get, silencing you immediately before you whip your head around to watch him rush past. 

All of them waste no time tearing up the stairs, a myriad of blues blending with gritty paint and smoke. 

And just like that, your reunion is over. 

Home. You need to go home. Leave, leave, leave, because something is bound to be going down upstai—

A thud faintly shoots out into the staircase, and you spin around again in your chair, eyes snapping to the ceiling. 

Shit. 

Even though you’re on high alert, you realize with a quick sweep that no one else is noticing. Or moving. Or even paying attention to anything else but their own company. 

Does no one else care about the commotion? Do hits happen in this area that often? 

Mind running, you can’t decide what to do. Because even though Yoongi’s guys have plenty of weapons, he clearly had nothing since he needed to borrow your damn eating utensils.

Another crash rains dust on conversations around your shoulders, causing you to look up one last time. 

Go home, go home, go home. In what universe would Yoongi himself ever need your help here? 

With one more look at your noodles, you curl your lips before biting a side. 

Already yelling at yourself for choosing to book it towards the back staircase. 

Shit shit shit this is so stupid. This is probably the worst decision you’re gonna make in your life.

But your gut is churning thinking about Yoongi. Even a seasoned swordsman needs expertise to wield mere chopsticks and win. 

Fuck, if you succeeded in your search today, you probably could’ve been a little more useful. 

Swiping your own set of red from a nearby cup, you hightail it up, slowing as you round a corner and immediately hear multiple clangs and scuffles beyond the last turn.

Stop. You can go back. You can still turn around and go home.

An inhale.

Your feet propel you up and into a dark hall. As you slowly slide along the wall, your gut churns and churns. At a bang, you crouch with a skipped beat of your heart.

This is really, really dumb. But you can’t stop yourself and you have no clue why.

Nothing happens around you. So you keep going. With each careful slide of your foot, you get closer and closer to the noise.

Approaching the corner, you very slowly stick your head out for a peek.

And it’s pure commotion. Pure chaos. Holy shit, what is going on? 

Fuck, there’s already a body lying limp on the floor meters away—

Your chopsticks. You wanna hurl.

But a man flies out of a room ahead before he grips and wrestles with another, and you reel yourself back to avoid being seen by either one.

Where is Yoongi? Is he okay? Did he leave already?

You give one more peek, scanning the long raucous corridor as swift as you can to see any sign of.. Mint.

He’s still here. How’s he just walking so nonchalant as his crew fucks shit up? Crap, he just went into a room and out of sight. 

“Where’d they go?”

“Upstairs!”

Fuck, that was in the restaurant! Get up get up you have no choice but to hide now. 

With pounding steps, you rush forward and book it, entering a large room to dive behind some steel shelving and large, woven baskets right as more Dragons come in behind with fists clenched.

Breathe. Steady. Calm the fuck down.

The grunts rush to the hallway to join the fray, and you wait in the now pungent solitude of your room. With only a still body to accompany you. 

What do you do? What even can you do? 

Just as nerves grip your stomach like a vice, Yoongi strides into the open area, heading right for the exit and not even sparing his kill a glance. 

Go. Go now. Why can’t you move? Why aren’t your hands letting go of your cold confinement? It smells like death and blood and you need to leave with the only person you know—or don’t—so why can’t your feet just fucking—

Someone else slithers into the room. A man in brown with a knife. A knife, a knife, a knife he’s getting faster and Yoongi doesn’t hear him the guy is too quiet fuck! “Yoongi!” 

It all happens before your brain can paint the bloody picture. Shooting out from your hiding spot, you race towards the assassin, slamming into their lanky build just in time.  

Both of you topple to the ground, your target roaring in pain and twisting like hell to fight back fuck you didn’t get him how you needed to he’s got you—

Pain erupts in your hip as you’re grabbed, the room spinning as you’re thrown to the side and your ear hitting concrete right before chopsticks ping down. Thinking quick, you knee the guy as hard as you can, scrambling to finish the job because if you don’t, you’re gone gone gone.

“Bitch!” Your opponent clutches your shirt right as you reach for the nearest red pair, seizing your throat right as you grip and swing them around to stab the other side of his neck with a yell.

Luckiest timing of your life. 

“Hng!” Fuck, he’s still holding down hard and choking, choking, squeezing. “Fuck you!” 

Fight back. Keep the weapon inside he’s too strong finish him finish him. 

Darkness. Ink drops in water. Your vision taints as your grip loosens, and you can only hope that Yoongi got away safe. He had to. At least you… Were able to do… 

This one thing… 

…

Oxygen and life rush back into your lungs, color burning through your esophagus as you gasp for sweet sweet air. Right as you come to, all you witness is the heavy heel of a boot twisting the forearm latched onto you. 

And when the shoe leaves your vision. Lifeless eyes stare back.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck that was close. Oh god. You actually did it. Oh fuck. 

Coughing, you rush up as you get tugged and pulled right against chains and embroidery, your ears ringing with a gravelly command and glass breaking in the nearby corridor,

“Don’t say my fuckin’ name so loud.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Yoongi roughly lets you go before pinning you with pure anger. Not to say thank you. Not to tell you any words of gratitude at all. The only other thing he finds the need to say is simply, 

“You shouldn’t be up here.” 

What the fuck. You just murdered someone for him and this is all you get? Eyes welling, you feel your body slick and sticky with crimson when you turn, coughing and spitting out regret before you wheeze, wheeze, wheeze, “That’s—that’s all you have to say?” 

Dread swirls around your stomach like poison.

But the sternness from before completely vanishes as Yoongi lifts your chin. His eyes scan your throat and chest, and you rip your head away from his touch because he is not excused just yet. 

“It’s not mine,” you snap, knowing exactly what he’s looking for and what you must look like to him. Dirty. Gross. Certainly a far image from the girl selling tangerines.

But your face is gently held again, and somehow this softer turn carries more strength to swivel you forward. 

Why is Yoongi still looking? Now he’s holding your gaze as if he’s never seen you before. What’s that about? You’re still the same, the same, the same.

…Are you?

More crashes and shots are heard down the hall, and Yoongi snaps his head up in an instant. 

God, you smell. You reek. Your nose is tainted and your hands even more so. There’s no way he’s gonna have anything to do with you now. 

But you get the shock of the century when the man commands you to come along. “Let’s go.” 

Absolutely not. This is all you got in you for a lifetime. “What? No, no, no. No way, I’m going home.”

“And they’ll follow you the whole way back.” 

“I—I didn’t mean to—” 

Shots ring out before grunts barrel out into the short hallway. All of them piling out from crevasses and hidden passages. 

You give one more look at the two men now crumpled on the ground, bile rising up and threatening to spill. 

“Tough shit, princess. You did, now live with it.” 

Live with it. How poetic. 

You were protecting him. You did what you had to do. But you have blood on your hands again and now Yoongi will see you as something else besides a fucking street vendor. 

“Are you coming or not?”

You’re gonna puke your guts out.

With a stilted cry, you bend to snatch your weapons up yet again—gagging at the squelches and much deeper red—before following Yoongi’s long steps. 

Your hands. They’re shaking so bad you can’t even pocket the chopsticks properly. But you finally get them down, crushing your palms and squeezing just to stop them from rattling. 

When you wait behind Yoongi checking the corner, you turn around to make sure you aren’t being followed. And seeing the hallway still a moving mass of broken glass and hard swings, you think you’re safe. 

The stairs feel so different on the way down. Is that because you feel completely changed? There’s no coming back from this. Another side of you died right alongside those two people upstairs. 

No time to think about that. You have to follow his lead. And he’s slowing down why is he slowing down? 

Oh. Normal. Be normal to not garner suspicion. You have to do the same. 

Wait. You can’t go down there with a shirt full of stained evidence! Grabbing him and pulling back, you whisper, “Yoongi—”

His growl is so fierce your head spins, “What the fuck did I say about my n—”

“My clothes,” you panic. “I can’t.” 

Yoongi gives you a quick look before gripping the duffle strap. Brows lowered, he grits out while dumping it, “Lose the shirt.” 

“What?” 

“Do it.” 

“Where’d he go?”

“It’s gone!”

Your heads snap up before you lock eyes. And he doesn’t need to say anything to show you what he’s thinking behind those minted bangs.

As you hastily strip, your brain works in weird ways. Instead of processing how you very much need to hurry the fuck up, you lament the bra of choice today. And how sweaty you look. Because of course those are your thoughts of choice right now. 

Something’s dumped on you before your shirt hits the ground, and you think about its warmth before you realize exactly what’s on your shoulders. “You sure?” 

He’s already heading down. Oh god. You’re really putting this on shit shit shit. 

You’re quick to slip into the material before checking for your chopsticks, rushing down the rest of the stairs to meet him. Nerves firing on all cylinders, you follow Yoongi out of the restaurant with a single, disturbing thought. 

This is going too well. 

But you’re passing tables, you’re walking by the fish display, don’t fucking sob you’re out in the street now. 

Relax. You’re walking. His white tee is flawless and people have no clue you left a bloody shirt on a stairwell. Don’t fucking cry.

But suddenly.

Shouting erupts behind you both, just as a cop car rolls past the restaurant only to get surrounded. 

And with one look back, your brain freezes. Right before Yoongi sounds a little too delighted to say something so foreboding,

“Looks like you’re in it now.”

Adrenaline spikes as you burst into motion. Hot summer air stings your lungs as legs propel you forward, with nothing in sight except for your partner in high crime. 

Yoongi’s right. 

You’re in it now. 

And just like the delinquents that you despise, the two of you both kick up dust on the run. 

You’re really doing this. 

Holy shit, you’re really doing this and there’s no waking up, no jolting awake, no pinching yourself to know that it’s all a dream. The only thing pinching is your sides, fresh stings of karma with each heavy footstep through crowded streets, buildings, levels, wherever the fuck you go. 

At least Yoongi is commanding as he leads you through the city—clearly from a heap of experience. Though rattled, you follow him with more adrenaline than questions. Because running is all you know. Run, run, run, escaping is your only objective and you cannot let up even once.

Your feet pelt down a staircase before you leap onto a disposal bin, impact denting as you follow Yoongi’s long strides across the colorful tops. Shouts and metal pings echo behind you as your chasers catch up, and you grit your teeth so hard they rattle as you jump to alley ground. “Fuck!”

Searing, searing pain rushes through your legs as you twist and wind through busy corridors, squeezing into the gaps Yoongi finds as he barrels in front. 

“Get back here!” 

“You fuckers!”

Who’s following you? Are they even Crane? You don’t see a shred of white on their clothes at all so are they working for some random guy Yoongi stole from?

When you watch him turn at the shouting, all thoughts vanish as your gut churns. 

He’s grinning.

You just killed someone for him. And he probably has more blood on his hands than you can imagine. 

And he’s… enjoying this? 

You feel sick, mind blazing with a million red warning signs. How could you ever have had feelings for h—

You bounce off a passerby as you run, grunting at the sudden pain in your shoulder when another person rams into your back and topples you over, dirt scraping into your palms and knees. 

Shit shit shit it’s so dusty on the ground and all you see are traveling shoes where are you? Where is he did he leave did he even see you fall? It’s too condensed here there’s no way he’s not taking the next chance to disappear.

Forget all of that, they’re coming. The chasers are coming and you see them see you down get up get up get up what the fuck get up now.

Ripping out a groan, you rush to your feet as soon as someone swoops in, bashing someone right behind you with someone’s crate of fruit. 

Yoongi? He waited for you?

“Go!” 

Both of you hightail it with you now in the lead, and your eyes buzz as you slip through holes in the crowd. Left, left, right, around, left again, between. 

An intersection ahead. Yes. Lose everyone in the vehicle traffic or hitch a ride with a stranger. Fascinating how the survival tactics that spawn from your block develop in real time on the run.

Almost there, almost there, almost there—fuck! 

Whiffing in front of your nose, a metal weapon smacks the ground at your toes. 

Flailing, you dodge the next swing, ducking before you see a black duffle smack your assailant in the face. 

Keep going. Finish him and get away. As Yoongi shifts left, you lunge forward, sending a swift punch to the guy’s ribs that hurt like hell goddamn oh fuck someone brought a knife!

“Yoongi!” Just as the surrounding civilians yell and clear out, you rush toward his aid before you’re tackled, air whooshing out of your lungs as your back pummels into gravel. Fuck fuck fuck this masked woman also has a dagger. A thick one. Don’t let her win don’t let her win hold on for dear fucking life. 

Did you think you’d find yourself in a grudge match to keep metal from sinking into your chest today? No. Ever? Also no. 

Your arms are shaking. Shots ring out. Sweat is your enemy. The street is in uproar. Where’s Yoongi did he hear you? Fuck, the metal tip is pricking you now this is— 

Mercifully, your attacker yelps as something slams into her side, dark brown clothes crumpling before you’re hoisted upward and dragged back into the crowd. 

“Let me go or I’ll kick your ass—”

“You good?” 

Oh, it’s Yoongi. Again. Okay. Eyes swirling, you lock onto the gun held flush in his other hand before you nod. “I—I think so—”

“Then keep up.” 

Winding between people, you’re only focused on getting away. But when you catch glimpses of him, he’s back to his glint. He’s exhilarated.

If only you were both doing anything else. If only you weren’t so queasy and guilty and loathing of your own self.

Right as you finally burst into bustling traffic, Yoongi boldly stops a taxi at its hood, motioning you to follow him inside. 

Shocked but head reeling, you open the door closest to your sweaty legs and slide in. 

And before you can even greet the shouting driver, Yoongi pulls you to his side and rushes something out in your ear, 

“Kiss me.” 

“I said get out!” 

“What?” 

“Come here.” 

You’ve kissed before. Not many times, but enough to know that this man knows what the fuck he’s doing because you feel like your soul just abandoned you to exist in this car forever. You don’t know why this is happening or where this came from, but his lips feel as soft as his name and as deadly as the gun he’s pulling on your driver—

“Han Station,” he drawls, halting time and space. “Or your papers are burned by morning.” 

Oh. 

You were just… Oh. 

Lips puffed and head swirling, you sit frozen in your spot, marinating in the realization that the best kiss of your life was a mere distraction. And as you watch Yoongi keep his aim straight, you assume he probably didn’t even think much of it, either. 

“…I thought you looked familiar,” the driver slowly grits, hands gripping his wheel before he shakes his head. “You’re a little far from home.”

You think that’s all he’s gonna say. But his eyes are sharp in the rear view mirror, knowing a gun is pointed straight at his dome. “Aren’t you.”

What is he getting at you need to leave fast—

“Agust.” 

…Huh? 

Agust? 

This is the first time you feel a heartbeat against your arm, and you hold a breath as Yoongi tightens his fingers on the gun. 

When he doesn’t reply, the car fills to the brim with tension, and you feel crushed by its liquid weight. 

Don’t you have to go? Aren’t you in a chase? Are you getting a little too hot?

When you go to slide to your own side of the car for some space, the hand around your shoulder squeezes. 

And you’re more confused, exhausted, and thrown off than ever. 

“Han Station,” is all Yoongi—Agust?—repeats, voice ice. “Now.”

To which the taxi driver stares, standing his ground until he breaks eye contact first to obey. 

“Fuckin’ Dragons and their useless whores.”

Oh, fuck that. 

Before you can lunge forward to outright strangle the man, Yoongi does something that has your eyes magnifying into saucers and hands shooting up to your mouth.

He fires the gun straight at the man’s thigh, yelps leaving both the driver's throat and yours holy fuck! 

“You bastard—”

“You’ll live. Drive.”

“Fucking—fuck!”

The car shifts through traffic, swerving left and right and cutting off slower vehicles. When force smushes you closer into Yoongi’s side, you can’t help but notice how fit he is, and how calm he’s being despite the whole chase. Despite that spike in adrenaline. Despite blowing a hole in a stranger’s leg for six words.

He also feels really, really good against your side, but you can’t let that matter anytime soon. There’s absolutely no way you can let this dangerous man in, especially after this entire nightmare of a day. 

So you swallow, trying to compartmentalize because you’ll reach insanity if you don’t.

Does anyone out there know you took a life minutes ago? Or hours ago? You just kissed a criminal five and a half minutes ago. Would they care about that, too?

The window is suddenly much more interesting than any of your wandering, slingshot thoughts. 

Wait. It’s very pretty in this area, and you finally can tell some semblance of where you are. Because you only know of one part of the city that looks like this, and it’s deep in Crane territory. 

Did you both really make it this far? 

Carefully tended to, it’s a lot greener on the sidewalks, and more open on the roads. And it’s on one of these roads that you finally notice the sunset, gold accents shining on sleek street signs and the tops of buildings that seem much more at rest than you do. 

Rest. Sleep. Home. 

With the luck you’re having, it would be a miracle and a half to reach even one of the three. 

Did you get followed? You don’t know how much longer you can run, so you really fucking hope not. 

“Almost there,” Yoongi whispers, voice scratching your ear in the worst and best ways. “When we get out, move your ass.” 

When you watch the wary, heavy breathing driver in his rear view mirror, you bite out, “I know how to get out of a car, thanks.” 

“Just listen to me.”

“Why?”

“Do you trust me?” 

“No.” 

That came out quicker than you could stop it. But Yoongi only lets silence come between you before he squeezes your shoulder. When he speaks, you can hear how carved out his smirk is without even seeing it, 

“Good girl.”

And you spoke the truth. It wouldn’t have come out so fast if it weren’t. But you know to at least follow his advice here because he’s kept you alive thus far. He didn’t need to drag you out and protect you the whole way, so it’s not like he would steer you wrong here. Right? 

Right? 

“Here,” Yoongi orders before the car slows to a stop. 

That wasn’t so bad. You can get out normally now so why did Yoongi say—

Right as your foot hits ground, the taxi peels out, forcing you to throw yourself out of the side before the rest of your body leaves with it. 

Fucking hell that hurt what the fuck was that for? 

Dirt and dust coats your tongue before you do anything to spit it out. Saliva rushes from your glands as you cough and hack, all while feeling every muscle group in your body begging to not stand up. 

But you feel rough, commanding hands on your arms. “You good?”

“Yeah—”

“Then get up. Get up.”

Straining and wincing like hell, you follow Yoongi’s lead yet again. Because you hear cars rolling up with bad intentions and that means you have to sprint again. 

What the fuck did Yoongi steal? And how the hell are these guys still on your tail? Their resources have got to be as good as Crane’s and yet, they don’t feel the same at all. 

You’re hobbling, but you’re going. You’re rushing. You’re going to get through this alive. 

Instead of heading into the underground, you find yourself ascending a flight of steps. Rumbles and rattles hit your ears as you realize exactly what kind of station this is—one you haven’t seen anywhere in your district. 

Han Station is a floating railway? 

Holy shit, where are you?

Yoongi skids around a corner before you plant hard to stop yourself, only to see him clash with someone before something connects right with your stomach, and you crumple before you feel a solid hit to your head. 

Oh.

The world spins and moves as you hear vibrations, slowed sounds that could be shouts. Gunshots? Or maybe songs? You don’t truly know but your head is aching—

Your arm rushes up to block something before your body follows, and you scream before gripping whatever you can and flipping a whole body forward. 

Reality crashes back into your ears as you snap out of your head. 

You haven’t had to do that maneuver in forever. Was muscle memory more than enough?

“Come on!”

Go. Go, follow him, both of you need to get to the rail shit it’s leaving!

The blaring reverberates through the air, pinging off metal and wheels screeching on the track lines as you bolt for the open doors.

Mid-stride, Yoongi swings to look at the people barreling up the stairs. “One more time: do you trust me?”

“No!”

“Good”—his hands grip your waist—“Jump!”

Head empty, you leap onto the railcar right as it starts to pick up speed, and you watch in horror as Yoongi empties his clip behind him until he can’t anymore. 

“Yoo—” Fuck, what was his name? He seems to not prefer the one you call him and that has to be for good reason. What was it?

You’re leaving. He’s gritting his teeth while hitting the bottom of his gun but he needs to get up! What was his fucking name! 

“Agust!” 

Yoongi finally whips his head around, dashing to the end of the train and straining to carry the duffle. 

He needs to launch it or leave it behind. There’s no way he’s not being weighed down so hard. “Here!” you yell, knowing that look is only reserved for people he doesn’t want to trust. It’s normal. But it still stings. “Hurry up!”

After one more second, he swings it around and flings, leaping onto the side handrail after you get blasted by the bag holy fuck that hurt. 

He was running with this the whole time? No wonder his shoulders are so cut this is heavy.

Straining, you peek out into the wind, seeing Yoongi holding on and scooting along thin steprails towards your awaiting hands.

Shit, this is dangerous. Buildings and the city below fly by, and a parallel train whooshes and roars past as you finally tug him inside with shaky wheezes.

Just like that.

You made it out.

What the fuck. You did it. No one else was able to get onto the train. You’re safe for now. 

Finally, finally, finally able to breathe. 

But goddamn, you both stand out like blood on a blank page.

As you struggle to fully stand, you notice everyone else on the train—well-kept, carrying themselves in sleek linens and lush outfits, hair done beautifully and to perfection. 

Which makes it unsurprising that plenty of them regard the pair of you with suspicion and morbid curiosity. While intrigue covers the one with an unfairly handsome face, zings of jealousy and judgment fire your way. 

You feel so out of place. You are so out of place. But that doesn’t give anyone the right to look at you like filth. The words from the taxi driver pierce your brain again, and you feel rage and pain bubble up to your tongue,

“Anyone got something they wanna sa—”

But Yoongi does something that has your brain chemistry altering because he casually bends a knee in front of you while holding the top rail, forcing you back into the side of the train car and only seeing his jewelry. 

When your eyes snap to his, he regards you before peering outside. “Stop,” he mutters. “You're causing a scene.”

“Me?” Oh, he has some nerve. “What did I do, you’re the one—”

“Quiet.”

Ridiculous. Huffing, you let disagreement tug your lips while joining him in watching the world go by. 

Realizing with a pang that you are probably never getting back home. You’re never gonna see your favorite neighbor with his woks and caterpillar eyebrows. All the produce you were planning to sell will only succumb to mold and time. 

Your tangerines… 

When a tear falls, it glints in your reflection before quickly being swiped away. 

No. Don’t do any of that here where people can see—where he can see. No one will know what the hell you just went through today. Be normal, strong, normal. 

The ride lasts a little longer, with people coming and going during each stop. When there are seats open, neither you nor Yoongi move to take them. The two of you stay glued where you stand.

Silent, together, and covered in hidden blood.

The next stop seems to be in a quieter sector of the city. All around you are buildings you’ve never seen before stretching miles into the sky, and the streets are so neatly paved you’re convinced they’re fake. 

“This is us,” Yoongi whispers, hand guiding your hip to move toward the doors.

Skin scorching under his touch, you can only nod.

Where are you now? Where are you getting off? 

You both exit the train with a few others, and you watch with heightened curiosity as they carry satchels and wear shoes that look horribly uncomfortable. As you move down the steps, you keep craning your neck to take everything in, and more questions fill your head than answers. 

But the truth remains even as you and Yoongi stop in front of your destination.

You cannot run anymore. Even if more of whoever those guys were showed up, you may just choose to sit down instead of take another stride. Besides, your body is still running a thousand steps even though you haven’t moved since getting on the train anyway. After today, the chase may never stop.

“We’ll stay here.” 

We? Stay? 

“Here? This place is…” You keep peering up and up, the top of the building so high your neck hurts. It’s so foreign and magical your only adjective is a quiet, “Nice.” 

At your side, Yoongi seems annoyed when he asks, “Expect something different?” 

“Yeah, like… I dunno, a secret lair or something.” 

Air whooshes from his nostrils, but there’s a stark absence of a smile. Looking up at the building, too, he explains something that you’ve never heard of before,

“We’re in a grey zone. No one will follow us here.” 

Right. Because that somehow makes sense to regular civilians like you. Because you are one, are one, are one. “Allegedly,” you scoff, not knowing what to believe anymore.  

Yoongi pauses before heading up, and his agreement makes you look. “Allegedly.” 

Mm. 

After taking the tiny steps to the entrance, you wonder what he must be thinking bringing your haphazard look in tow. 

Because he could’ve left you behind at any point in time. But he didn’t. What does that mean? Why is he keeping you alive and at his side?

While you’re taking in the opulent and vast lobby, Yoongi guides you toward the front desk, shifting the duffle on his shoulder. 

This place is gorgeous. Nothing like you’ve ever seen. How were they able to install a waterfall in a building? What kind of money does this so-called grey zone have? 

Yoongi nods toward the concierge, who quickly nods back and scurries away and into a room.

If you weren’t so tired, you could probably make something of that exchange. But you are very much exhausted so frankly, you don’t give a shit right now. 

Although. You do give a shit about the fingers suddenly interlacing with your own. As your hand is held, you shoot your best client a look so potent he stares back. “What now,” you snip, question low and dripping with distrust. 

Unfazed, Yoongi slowly pulls you into his side, a steady hand coming up to wrap around your tired hips. So nonchalant, so lax, so confusing as he murmurs,

“Just wanted to.”

Your heart trips into the next beat.

On sore legs, you wait until the concierge comes back with a key, eyes swiping over you as if they finally noticed your existence. Which seems to perplex them as they hand over the metal device.

And Yoongi just takes it, not a word said before he directs you across the lobby to what look like elevators.

Even these look fancy as fuck. Wherever you are and whatever this place is, you feel even more out of place than on that judgy train. 

A hotel worker bows before he motions to the opening doors. “Nice to see you again,” he murmurs to the ground, seemingly expecting the same non-response given to the front desk. “Would you like the usual, Mister—” 

“No,” Yoongi clips him off. “Not this time.” 

“Understood.” 

Brows pinched, you’re starting to get a weird feeling. 

How does everyone know Yoongi so well here? He said this was a grey zone, which you’d think would be akin to a neutral or non-threatening one. So why does it feel like he’s got this area on lock? Who exactly are you getting into an elevator with? 

…Who exactly did you save? 

Yoongi was right when he said you’re in it now. But faced with more questions surrounding him than anything or anyone else, you’re starting to wonder what pit of hell you dropped yourself into. 

Especially after catching the look of utter panic from the serviceman. 

Right before sliding doors shut the world out. 

—

—

⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist

a/n: thank you all for being so patient as i work through this! it was originally supposed to be a oneshot, but i like, need characters to get to know and learn about one another before heading into spice lmao. I NEED PLOT OK. THERE WILL BE LOTS OF SMUT I PROMISE DSHFKDSF we just gotta get through the slow burn first >:)) a/n 2: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ minted masterlist

[kinesthetiachomoromanticore]

update

so a few nights ago i had like a very intense traumatic cry in the middle of the night and called my mom at 4AM panicking in tears (lol!) and she came and picked me up and i stayed with her for the last 3 days and talked to her about it it was a very thorough and short healing period so i'm way better off now but i'm still very very sad lol and have been tearing up at work a lot etc. I don't really know how to explain my reason for being so sad atm so like it's gonna remain undescribed right now, just know that i've been hurting almost all the time. hopefully things get better peace ✌ love you guys

[spotsupstuff]

whats your opinion on the games scugs?

(monk, arti, enot, etc.)

which ones are your favorite lore wise / gameplay wise?

i don't have much of opinions! as one could... probably tell from my excessive iterator posting and extreme lack of scug posting

lore wise i will forever stick with my ultimate fav scug, Hunter. being a pre-Downpour fan has conditioned me into thinkin of the vanilla scugs the most and i'm most attached to them as well. Hunter is my fav of the three because of how unique they are compared to the other two, the amount of special lore and explanations their campaign offers to us. also i fucking love NSH endlessly so those two are a combo to open up my heart. they are actually the reason why i ended up hyperfixating on RW the first time around!

Survivor at the end of the day is the most basic scug, no matter what people say that's just a factual truth with her bein the first lil bugger peeps usually try out, but i've had a lot of fun playing with her characterization and my absolutely favorite thing to do is pair her up with Pebbles. Survivor is Five Pebbles' Cat to me. from the olden days

still up to present

even with Arti around now these two get to me emotionally more still. my old ass is cursed </3

i don't have much to say about Monk except the fact that i'm still quietly laughing about how on THEIR campaign i got more pissed than anywhere fuckin else except Gourmand i think. like this peaceful little sunshine parading around in the world and then there's me behind the screen cursing up a fuckin Storm truly embracing my inner Bitch... i had fun with that..... either way, the fact that he can see traces of Survivor in the shelters is So Fucking and the possible parallels between vanilla scug sibs n Pebs n Moons are eating my brain alive whenever i dedicate a braincell to the slugcats

the Downpour scugs are more in the bg to me and also offer a sort of like... not exactly completely 100% continuation of the game, but one of the possible canonical paths the story could've taken n i ain't gon lie i often forget or ignore some Downpour facts because of my ass bein so stuck with the vanilla game

either way, Arti's maul ability is the best thing invented for this game, Gour is Neat and i really gotta go and explore OE better with Surv cuz that place is Very interesting from the lore stand point (also that map Pebs flashes when openin the gate is SUPER cool). Spearmaster is prolly my favorite of all the scugs cuz of their mechanics n the whole uncollapsed LTTM structure is a delicious world-building, along with the first hint towards the climate, the shit with Seven Red Son-of-a-bitches and the broadcasts at large. i'm affectionate for Spear. that lil fella can climb up with the vanilla scugs i shall allow it. Riv was... the most notable things to me about them was The Rot/Pebbles condition/his last words and then their crack cocaine eyes. love headcanoning UI made 'em like that with actual crackies. the ending with Moon didn't... really hit me for some reason- but still, i'd rank the coolness of their lore on the third place because of The Rot kush

now Saint... Saint is a though nut to crack to me because of Two ✌ reasons. 1. i still haven't fucking finished playing this asshole. 2. there is a lot of room for interpretations. which is a GOOD thing, i Like when that happens, but it makes talking about the lore of the rat harder. ultimately without any brainstorming, Saint's lore is a confusing outta-nowhere mess that is so extremely far from the original ideas and themes of the vanilla game that my head spins. at first i legit thought that the lore of the thing would break what vanilla has already laid out, but thankfully i'm a person who likes to shrug so i shrugged and let it be n started figuring out my own interpretation of it all which has been a lot of fun. what i have going on for Saint in my stuff i adore all SO so so much n ofc shout out to shkiki's interpretation for being one of the coolest i've seen too

n Sain't mechanics have. made me stupidly daring with death jumps i don't know what's happening but that tongue has made me basically jump off a ledge without any preparation before that Sky Islands/Chimney karma gate n i didn't even flinch about it cuz the.. tongue... i don't fucking know what happened to me there but it was bizarre n i like bizarre in this game so i'm givin that shit 4 pats out of 5 you-tried stars. i also got fucking BULLIED BY A SCAVENGER IN FRONT OF A SHELTER FOR TEN MINUTES THATS GETTING A 5 MINUTE FROWN OUT OF GODDAMMIT THIS GAME

[twinsimming]

Get To Know You - Sims Style

Thank you to @descendantdragfi and @bioniczombie for tagging me 💙💙💙

What’s your favorite Sims death?

I haven’t had any sims die recently, but I do have one wild story from several years ago.

When my 2nd Gen heir Maya and her sister went off to university, they stayed in the sorority house. The general university shenanigans were taking place (sims not cleaning up after themselves, piles of laundry everywhere, etc.), but I didn’t realize some of their roommates weren’t eating... until it was too late 😬

THREE (3) girls in the dorm died in one night! Two of starvation and the third from thirst (idk how she became a vampire). Since they all died so close together, the Grim Reaper just hung around the dorm until he reaped all of them. I had Maya collect their tombstones and take them back with her to Lucky Palms when the semester ended. Now they’re all resting in the mausoleum, hopefully in peace lol.

Alpha CC or Maxis Match?

Maxis-match with some alpha pieces here and there. Though I feel like the line between what’s considered maxis-match and what’s considered alpha in TS3 is way more blurred that in TS4.

Do you cheat your sims weight?

Rarely. Some of EA’s premades are just so skinny sometimes!

Do you move objects?

All. The. Time. I can’t remember a time where I’ve played or built without it on. It makes it so much easier to squeeze sitting chairs or plants or floor lamps into tight corners and make nice collages of different wall art that overlap each other a little.

Favorite Mod?

Gosh there are so many mods that I absolutely love, and lately the TS3 modding scene has been putting out banger after banger, but my most recent favorite mod is @thesweetsimmer111′s More Toddler Interactions! I love being able to feed toddlers outside of the highchair and actually give them baths. And Savanita’s animations are always so cute!

First Expansion/Game Pack/Stuff Pack?

The Sims 3: Showtime! (crazy, I know lol)

Do you pronounce live mode like aLIVE or LIVing?

ALIVE. Idc if it’s the wrong pronunciation, I’ve committed to it 😤

Who’s your favorite sim that you’ve made?

Probably my test sim, Leia. I created her from scratch and use her to test my mods and any CC I download, but lately I’ve been thinking of actually playing out her life. She’s also the adult sim in my Yoga Mod cover photo. Here she is!

Have you made a simself?

I did a few years ago, but I never got around to playing her. I wonder if I still have my simself’s household somewhere...

Which is your favorite EA hair color?

I haven’t used an EA preset hair in 10,000 years, but I guess the black one isn’t too terrible.

Favorite EA hair?

The braids from The Sims 3: Island Paradise!

Favorite life stage?

I feel like Young Adult is a boring answer, so I’ll say Teens lol.

Are you a builder or are you in it for the gameplay?

Mostly gameplay (and testing mods/cc :p). When I build, it’s usually remodeling the interior of an already existing build. 

Are you a CC creator?

Yes!! I started with TS4 to TS3 conversions, but I’m also a modder now 😁

Do you have any Simblr friends or a Sim Squad?

The Sims 3 community on Tumblr is pretty small, and I feel like we all know, follow, or are in a Discord server with each other (shoutout to the TS3 Creator’s Cave members!!). So, in a way, we’re all in the same squad ✌

Do you have any sims merch?

Unfortunately, no.

Do you have a YouTube for sims?

No.

How has your “Sims style” changed throughout your years of playing?

I used to exclusively play with families and progress through a few generations, but recently, I’ve been playing with more single sims to experience parts of the game I hadn’t really touched on before. I’ve also gotten a lot better at avoiding “same face” syndrome when I give existing sims a makeover or make them from scratch. Getting more comfortable with custom sliders has definitely helped with that too.

Who’s your favorite CC creator?

There are a ton of creators whose content I absolutely love, so I won’t be able to name everyone, but here are a few:

@aroundthesims, @anitmb, @aisquaredchoco, @bioniczombie, @chazybazzy,  @deniisu-sims, @danjaley, @enable--llamas, @echoweaver, @faerielandsims, @franglishetchocolat, @flotheory, @givresims, @grandelama, @greenplumbboblover, @ifcasims, @ilvansims3conversion, @jamiegirlposts, @jazzysimlife, @joojconverts, @justmiha97, @kotajose, @lazyduchess, @martassimsbookcc, @monocodoll, @mspoodle1, @nectar-cellar, @nightospheresims, @ninaaposts, @olomayasims, @omedapixel, @pandelabs, @phoebejaysims, @pixelfrogslegs, @plumbdrops, @poisonfireleafs, @potato-ballad-sims, @potatobuttcheek, @puffkins2000, @rstarsims3, @simbouquet, @simsdeogloria, @sim-songs, @simtanico, @sweetdevil-sims, @tasteslikefridge, @technicallyswagpizza, @teekapoa, @theplumdot​, @thesweetsimmer111, @xiasimla, and @zoeoe-sims!

And that doesn’t even get into all of the talented TS3 creators over on Mod The Sims or NRAAS!

How long have you had Simblr?

Going on 5 years now. At first I was just reblogging other creators’ content so I could put it in my game, but then I started doing my own conversions in late 2019, so this blog became my simblr and I continued reblogging CC on @twinsimmingccfinds.

How do you edit your pictures?

Gimp 🧍‍♀️

What expansion/game pack is your favorite?

The Sims 3: Seasons! I love watching the seasons change, the holidays, the festivals, and the feeling of progression. I also love snow and the winter season in real life, especially when I was younger, so seeing my sims going about their day in a snow covered world is very nostalgic for me.

Most people have probably been tagged by now, but if you haven’t been tagged yet, I just tagged you 😉

[darthmaulification]

jango fett nsfw alphabet

A/N: jango fett... my love of loves... 😳🤲💗 also, pronouncing jango as yango in my mind as i write has become my fixation for the week. 😌 i wish we got more of him though. woulda been nice. 👊😔

this has been sitting half-done in my drafts for... a while... and i know that i’ve had a couple of requests for a jango nsfw alphabet, so i sat down and finished up this bitch. 😤

again, when i write nsfw alphabets, they do tend to imply afab!reader, because that’s just my experience and what i’m most familiar/comfortable writing. however, if you omit particular lines, it works well enough for gn!reader as well! ✌

nsfw below the cut! 😘

A = aftercare (what are they like after sex?

Jango takes aftercare very very seriously. He’s naturally caring, so it also comes easy to him as well. Jango wants you to be fully comfortable, clean, and not have any serious aches after any round (or rounds) of sex. He gets you anything you may need, like a damp cloth, a massage, or he’ll even run you a warm bath/shower. He’ll be talking to you throughout the whole routine, in this soft, almost sweet voice, because he’s kinda all mushy from that after sex glow as well. Jango, as part of the aftercare, also cuddles you.

B = body part (what’s their favorite body part of their partner? what about themselves?)

Jango genuinely does love every part of your body, so it’s hard for him to choose a favorite. You’re perfect to him which makes it difficult to love any part of you more than another. However, he does tend to favor the more tender areas of your body. Be that your thighs, ass, tummy, breasts, etc etc, Jango likes the soft, malleable parts that he’s able to squeeze. He particularly enjoys seeing your plush flesh spilling from between his fingers as he rails you, and the drastic difference of your soft body against his firm, muscled one. 

If Jango had to choose a part of his body as his favorite, he’d choose his hands. He does everything with them, his entire life’s work has been carried out by his hands, from firing a blaster to raising Boba. They are the epicenter of every action he’s ever enacted, and they work pretty damn good, so his hands are definitely top priority. Also, Jango really enjoys seeing his hands all over you. The juxtaposition of his weathered, large hands on your smooth skin is a heavenly sight for him.

C = cum (basically anything to do with cum)

He cums inside, without fail. Jango loves nothing more than to bottom out inside you, pushing his cock as deep as it can go, and feel the warm, velvety heat of your core around him as he fires a load straight to your womb. Jango has a good amount of cum too, hot, sticky, white stuff that comes out in lengthy staccato spurts, that always takes a couple of good, hard thrusts to fully finish. Though if your less than thrilled to have Jango cum inside you, his pull out game is pretty damn strong, and he’ll oblige no questions asked. 

D = dirty secret (what’s their dirty secret?)

Jango just wants to settle down somewhere, preferably on a remote enough Outer Rim planet or moon, and just... make babies. He wants to make a whole damn squadron with you, have a hoard of brats (lead by Boba, of course) running around, with you pregnant and glowing, all while you live unbothered and away from Jedi, Kaminoans, war— everything. Jango has this vision in mind of you, him, and Boba just packing up and leaving to some distant planet’s village and building from the ground up, starting a new, peaceful life. He desperately wants that domesticity with you, filled with Boba and even more children and love and happiness. 

And even if you don’t want any more children, he still wants everything else with you.

E = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Jango may not have been the biggest stud out there, but he has had his fair share of conquests. He’s never had a solid, actual relationship before you, all the others being hook ups from cantinas or brothels, because his job, lifestyle, and later Boba really demanded most of his attention. But, Jango has gotten close with enough women to know his way around the block, as well as read enough material to learn rather interesting ways to please another person.

F = favorite position (what’s their favorite position?)

Jango is a bit vanilla when it comes to positions, because he has his favorites that he doesn’t really stray from. So here they are:

Missionary. Jango likes basic missionary for the control it gives him. He loves being on top of you, able to do just about anything he pleases with your body and watch as you writhe and moan beneath him. He likes watching your face contort with pleasure when he’s flush on top of you, hips bucking and fingers toying with your clit. he likes when you pull him close with your legs, though sometimes he’ll grab you by the backs of your knees, folding you back, and slam into you like there’s no tomorrow. Jango also likes missionary for how intimate and personal it is, how yours and his bodies are entwined together.

Butterfly. He loves this position so much. Jango loves having you like this on the bed or a table, loves having your ankles on his shoulders or holding your legs at his sides as he ruts deep into you. It gives him a lot of control, which he enjoys, and the most perfect view of you coming undone, the way your lips cry his name, how your breasts bounce, and the view it gives of his cock plunging in and out of you. It’s also the position Jango’s able to hold out the longest in, and especially the one he’s able to fuck you thoroughly through your orgasm in.

G = goofy (are they the more serious type, or more humorous?)

Jango is a Closet Romantic, so he can get uncharacteristically sappy during sex. He’s not goofy, he won’t be cracking jokes or smiling like a madman, but he will have just the most tender look in his eyes, alongside the lust, like he’s realizing he loves you over and over again. This makes him less serious in return, because he looks too damn happy to be all stoic and overly focused. But that doesn’t mean he’s slacking or letting up in any way, that’s for sure. Jango is fully focused on making sure you wail from the pleasure he gives you.

H = hair (how well-groomed are they?)

Jango is very into his personal upkeep, so he’s always sure to trim downstairs. He isn’t vain, but he is a functionalist, so he keeps the tuft to a minimum. Same goes for the rest of the hair on his body, Jango keeps his hair short and is cleanshaven 98% of the time. It’s all about manageability for him.

I = intimacy ( how intimate are they during sex?)

Again, Jango is a Closet Romantic, so he is pretty darn intimate, despite how rough, hard, or kinky the sex may be. He keeps sex intimate through other means, like how he’s almost always face to face with you, or how he’s constantly calling you pet names like “Mesh’la” or “Cyar’ika”. Jango is always so close to you, like his being is one with yours, and it is amazing. He’ll be pounding you raw, gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises, but the whole time he’ll be telling you how much he loves you and you’ll feel it in your soul. Jango is intimate in a brutally wonderful way.

J = jack off (do they masturbate?)

Before he met you? Not all that often, maybe once in a blue moon. He didn’t have much time, to be honest, nor the will to. After he met you? ... Well, whenever you’re on his mind and he’s got that itch that needs scratching. It doesn’t happen often, but Jango does realize he’s yanking it more than he ever used to.

K = kinks (any kinks?)

Oh, yeah. Jango’s the type of man who looks all unassuming and vanilla on the surface, but Maker when you dig a little, he’s one kinky gentleman. Here’s his main ones:

Daddy kink. Jango is a bonifide DILF, so if you call him Daddy he’ll be on you in no time flat. He likes how the name falls off your lips when he’s got you bouncing on his cock, or how there’s a satisfying ring to it when you’re begging him to let you come. In fact, he likes the name so much he’ll probably be okay with it if you say it to him in public.

Breeding/pregnancy kink. ALL MANDALORIANS HAVE BREEDING KINKS. I said what I said and I meant what I said!! Fuck, Jango wants to get you pregnant so bad it has his balls aching. He cums in you every time, makes sure all his cum stays deep inside you, and grunts out how sexy you’d look with a round belly, with tits full of milk, all glowy and beautiful in the way pregnant women are. It’s his desire for family that really kicks in, and that Jango was raised to value and honor parenthood and children like every Mandalorian is taught.

Bondage. Specifically with blue ribbon, of all things. Jango loves nothing more than to tie you up, maybe lace your wrists together behind your back, tie your ankles to the bedposts, he loves the control it gives him, the access. He is also very much a fan of the view, of your tight, glistening cunt that’s all needy for him. If you’re not a fan of bondage though, Jango won’t be upset or hold it against you, but he may just ask for you to wear the blue ribbon, like lingerie he’s able to pull at a little.

Marking. Jango doesn’t like biting, but he does love leaving dark, big hickeys all over your body. His lips are constantly on your skin, whenever he isn’t busy teasing, sucking dark marks on your neck, back, breasts, everywhere. And again, he doesn’t like biting, but there’ll be times when his teeth just barely graze your skin, and sometimes he nibble at your earlobe or other delicate parts of your body.

Size kink. Jango may not be the biggest man, but he’ll always be big to you. It’s his presence that really does it, the aura that surrounds him and makes him ten times larger. It’s powerful and intimidating, and Jango knows this and revels in it. He loves being the big, strong man doting on his sweet, small partner, loves how you look under him and his hands, how your pussy has to stretch around his cock. It’s utterly obscene how horny it makes Jango to see your cute slit swallow his dick, how your tight core takes him with a bit of struggle every time. It makes him go especially feral if he’s able to see himself poke against your skin from the inside.

L = location (favorite place to “do the do”?)

The bedroom, for a couple practical reasons. One, Boba exists, and it’s every parent’s nightmare to have their child walk in on them doing the do. Two, it’s the most secure and safe place Jango and you have. He keeps the bedroom fortified like he would a small army base, there are hidden weapons, sensors, etc— In fact, yours and Jango’s bedroom also doubles as a safety bunker should it be necessary. 

And since the bedroom is so safe, Jango is completely comfortable and at ease inside it, so he’s more inclined to do positively nasty things to/with you.

M = motivation (what gets them turned on?)

Jango gets pretty motivated to roll in the hay quite easily, but if there’s any sure fire way you can get him hard in seconds it would be lingerie. He finds you so sexy in something downright scandalous. You’re dressed all scantily clad just for him? Yes, please. You lean over and whisper you’ve got a thong on? He’s making sure Boba is off doing something for a long period of time so he can have his way with you. Lingerie and other suggestive clothing makes Jango weak in the knees.

N = NO (what’s their turn offs?)

Jango draws the line at sadism. He doesn’t, and won’t ever, want to hurt you in any way, even if you asked for it. The thought of him laying a hand on you like that makes him shut down. It’d be a definite mood killer.

O = oral (do they have a preference in giving/receiving?)

Listen, Jango is a caring man, he loves to give head. He lives for the feeling of your thighs on either side of his head, the way you tremble and clench, the taste of your wet pussy and delectable, sweet release. Jango seeks to work you to near overstimulation with his mouth, bringing you to the edge and leaving you there before he brutally makes you hit orgasm. And if you haven’t cum at least twice from him going down on you alone, Jango feels he failed and it’s now a dire mission to correct the wrong.

Now for receiving head... Jango gets kinda feral when you do. If you want to suck him off, he gets very controlling and very dominate. He clasps a sturdy hand on the back of your head, controls your pace, and orders you on exactly he wants done to him. Expect to take his whole length, with enough prep, in your mouth and have Jango all but throat fuck you. You’ll definitely be deepthroating that bitch, so slobber on his cock a little bit, Jango likes seeing you all messy like that.

P = pace & PDA (are they soft, sensual, rough, or feral? are they open to displaying the relationship?)

Jango fucks like your his lifeline, which you kinda are, so he often times goes hard and rough, but with an overpowering sensuality that leaves you breathless. He spends every second he’s on you making sure you know you’re utterly perfect while simultaneously blowing your back out and ruining you with all the dirty things that come out of his mouth. His hands never leave you for a second, always he is exploring your body like it’s always the first time he has, lips leaving searing kisses all over you, completely and utterly ravishing you. Jango puts his entire being into fucking, all of his effort into loving you. 

Sometimes though, Jango will go gentler. He’ll maintain that same intensity, but he’ll be more tender, something akin to soft. Usually he’s like this if he’s feeling particularly sappy and/or lovey-dovey, but he’ll also go like this if you ask, specifically if you use the words “make love”.

Q = quickies (what’s their opinion on quickies?)

Jango would have definitely been more inclined towards quickies pre-Boba, but since he has a son who’s no longer a baby and can walk and has the tendency to explore, Jango can’t really ensure the privacy of a quickie in a hallway, or the kitchen, or the Slave I... or anywhere for that matter. So while he does thoroughly enjoy them, any opportunity to stick his dick in you is golden in his book, he and you kinda have to be aware of the young boy who has the possibility to pop up whenever.

R = risks (are they okay with experimenting? do they take risks?)

The only risks that Jango would ever take would be in an environment where Jango has full control over any and all factors. This means he won’t pull you into a storage closet to fuck unless he knows for a fact no one is coming down the hallway anytime soon, or he knows that no one uses the empty bedroom you found, or anything else for that matter. However, Jango can’t always ensure that, so don’t expect too many sexual escapades in less than appropriate areas.

On the topic of kinks, positions, toys and whatnot, Jango is far more willing to experiment, especially with toys and positions. He likes a little flare, so he’ll gladly accept to try fun sex positions you’ve seen on the holonet, or a new toy you purchased. Jango will only draw a hard line at stuff that has too high of a potential to hurt you, or him for that matter.

S = stamina (how many rounds can they last?)

Because Jango paces himself so well and is a master of self control, he can go for a long time, especially if he’s fairly well rested and in relatively good condition. He can easily last 3-4 rounds before his body tells him to go the fuck to sleep, and even when that happens, he might eat you out one last time (if you’re so inclined and willing). 

T = toys (do they own/use any toys?)

(in Patrick voice) Is ribbon a toy? Jango owns a length of cobalt blue ribbon that he uses to tie you up, and a small vibrator that he likes to overstimulate your clit with, should you be okay with either of the two. He’s never personally had toys of his own (waste of money, no one to use it on, etc) but after meeting you, those (especially the ribbon) were the first ones he’s ever bought. If you have any toys, Jango might be a bit adverse to any that you intend to try on him, depending upon the toy’s purpose.

U = unfair (how much do they like to tease?)

Yes. Jango teases in the smuggest, most prideful way possible that’ll make you want to rip your hair out, but it’s all so painfully eloquent and well-mannered, it’s sexy. He’s the master of making his teasing sound worth it, that’ll you’ll want to hear it all over again and again. This sentiment extends to what he actually does to you as well, which sucks but is so perfect at the same time. Jango is able to tease you just right, stopping at perfectly infuriating times that’ll have you hot and bothered before indulging you wonderfully before he does it all over again.

V = volume (how loud or quiet are they during sex?)

Jango is more talkative than anything else, spending most his time teasing you, letting the most polite dirty things slip past his lips. But when he really gets going, Jango gets louder, grunting more, low groans reverberating in his chest and throat, occasionally cussing in Mando’a. It all depends on the type of sex you’re having, whether it’s slow and passionate or rough and frenzied.

W = wildcard (what’s a random headcanon?)

Jango loves it when you mark him up a bit too. Whether that be leaving cute little love bites on his chest and neck, or long scratches down his back, or even only the barely noticeable divots of your fingernails on his shoulders— Jango will wear them unapologetically and proudly. He won’t go out of his way to show them off (who even sees him out of his armor anyways?), but knowing that they’re there is enough for him to get a little smug about it. 

X = x-ray & x-tra (what’s underneath those clothes? any more random headcanons?”)

Jango’s got a nice bod, that’s for damn sure. He’s doesn’t have that statuesque, male model body that’s plastered on advertisements, but his sturdy frame certainly isn’t undesirable in the slightest. Jango is broad everywhere; from his wide, strong shoulders, to his large hands, to every beefy muscle on his body. He has probably the best pair of pecs out there, bulky and deliciously brushed with dark chest hair, and a very cute firm stomach with minimal yet powerful definition. There’s also something to be said about his arms and legs, all of which are absolutely stacked with bulging muscle, toned from years of training and fighting. Jango has a body that radiates strength and power, intimidating but incredibly handsome.

He has some scars too, most mar the bronze skin of his hands and arms, but there’s a few significant ones on his torso and legs as well. Most have gone silvery with age, but there’s a couple that are more pink. Jango may not ever admit it, but some of the older scars, especially the larger, thicker ones, give him phantom pains every once in a while. He finds it very comforting if you kiss them.

Now, the best part. Jango is packing heat in his pants. He’s got a good cock on him, that’s for damn sure. He’s not pornstar big, coming in at 6.5 inches in length, but Maker is he girthy. Jango’s penis is just under 3 inches in diameter, almost the width of a soda can. He’s uncut, and when erect it has a subtle tilt to the left and up. It’s also weighty, so you’ll really be able to feel it when he’s in.

Y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Jango has a moderately high sex drive. He’s not one to find everything you’re doing a turn on (coughMaulcough), but he gets a lil’ frisky and handsy if you’re looking all cute doing your thing. Jango also tends to want you a bit more if he’s been parted from you for any amount of time, especially after long, tireless missions when all he thinks about is returning to you.

Of course, he has to exercise his self-restraint, because there is a certain third party by the name of Boba who Jango does not want to have walk in while he’s doing... less than appropriate things to you. So Jango is able to quell his sex drive quite well and save it for later.

Z = zzzz (how fast do they fall asleep after?)

Normally, Jango kinda has a bit of trouble falling asleep, often laying awake for a long few hours, because he has a lot to worry about in his life (and a lot of unresolved guilt too). Though, after a few rounds or so of sex, he’s more inclined to fall asleep from the exertion and that mellow, sleepy afterglow sex has the tendency to be followed up with. Jango still doesn’t fall asleep all to fast after, but once he’s got you cleaned up and you’re both happy and curled up next to each other, he’ll fall asleep maybe half an hour or so after you have. He always falls asleep after you, regardless.

[mtgc858]

I saw that post abt asking questions abt ur ocs so... (Btw you don't have to answer any you don't wanna ^_^):

How do you think The Salesman might react to Therapist? Or really any of my own ocs of your choosing?

Is The Salesman friends/know any of your other ocs? Or do they all know each other somehow?

Has Slasher's biology ever been studied or investigated? Mostly asking because the claws are very interesting lol.

Are all of your ocs contained? Have some escaped containment? Have any never been contained?

If Raven ever does get into a relationship (relating to your crackships+etc), how does she feel about it?

Does Twister like Breakcore? Drums and Bass?

Can Twister dance to anything or just specific songs/genres?

Yeeesssss a lot of asks :)

(Sorry for bad grammer)

<First question>

The Saleman would think positive on The Therapist cause of him having a simular personality, He is a trouble maker and enjoys making normal people nervous when he trys to enter there house by force so they would be good friends.

<Second>

The Salesman knows Raven and Joey but not Twister and Slasher,How he meet Raven was by accident when they ran into echother which Raven felt super bad for it and tried to help but he ran away before cause he was being chased by the Tcf.

He then was caught along Raven (They weren't mad at her but just wanted her back at the contaminent) and as they were being transported to the place they got introduced to echother and got to know echother more....so yeah there friends.

Joey on the other hand, He met him when he broke out again and happened to meet the Fish man face to face when he turned a corner, He had a fright but the two became to know echother just a little bit, So they know echother but aren't friends and see echother as "Oh I've seen you.....Ok bye"

<Third question>

The Tcf have checked Slashers biology before as they were cerious about his design to which they didn't find much about him just his body being a tall skeleton thingy.

-Forth question-

Raven use to only break out through a vent or when the Tcf are distracted by another trollge for note books and toys so she wouldn't be bored and unconfrable, But now that she has "New friends ✌👊✌👊"....one moment she is drawing to herself and next she is being dragged or carried out of containment.

Twister rarely leave contaminent cause he can dance in peace and in secret with out cameras, He insisted not having a camera to which the Tcf unwillingly got rid of them to which he feels confortable and not wanting to leave.

Joey does get out and about as he trys to get to the water, And once he gets to it...oh boy it will take a freaking week or two to find him cause the man got hiding spots everywere.

Slasher is still in contaminent and haven't left once so there keeping a eye on him just in case.

The Salesman is out at the moment and there trying to find him as we speak.

<Fith question>

Raven would be nervous of course, After all she is very awkward with talking to others and such and gets easily flustered.

But she will be happy about it and would be glad that someone enjoys her company and shows affection to her as she never had proper affection before her transformation.

<Six question>

Yes Twister likes drums and bass, Honestly he loves all kinds of music but he does have some he dislikes more than others in his own opinion.

<Last question>

Twister danced to classical music and piano (Jankens? xD) through his past life and useily did calm dances(Think Ballora for exemple).

He likes other types of dances and since he can bend his body in any angles now he can do other crazy things with his body.

👍

[asongofhopeandjoy]

💔✌👎💦💣 hehehehe

I decided to put my answers under a cut because this got long, lol. 

Also if you haven’t watched season one of Jujutsu Kaisen, the A Silent Voice movie, the Heroes Rising movie, read the Chainsaw Man manga, etc. - I recommend not reading this post so you don’t see mild to detailed spoilers. 

If you do enjoy spoilers though... have fun! 

Ship that makes me sad: Yuji and Junpei from JJK. 💔 I won't go into what happened, but I will say we could have had it all. 💔

I am also in denial about what happened to Reze and Denji in Chainsaw Man, even though I also like the tragic aspect of their relationship. It hurts so good. <3 

Ship that you find cute but you don't ship: Rei and Nagisa are adorable and would probably make a good couple, but during my time in the Free! fandom I always saw them as just friends and I don't know why. Ironically, they were the only ship almost everyone in the Free! fandom agreed on.

Ship that you can never see happening: While bakudeku could most definitely be canonised and not hurt the story or characters at all (especially due to recent developments between my boys in the manga), the world is unfortunately not ready for two male bisexual or gay protags to kiss in a popular shounen manga. 💔

This may sound a bit cynical but I think Shounen Jump will always put the male, straight audience they have first as long as that audience keeps paying their bills. So unless significant parts of that audience start to get really cool with a lot of things really quickly, I don't think Shounen Jump would take the creative risk, even though I'm sure it would be received well by a lot of people, including myself. 

It sucks that this is the state of the world right now, but I have made my peace with the fact bakudeku is unlikely to be canon by the time the series ends because at least we have the Heroes Rising movie. Parenting small children and arguing about how to raise them? Risking their lives to save each other? “It’s fine if it’s you”? It’s *chef’s kiss*

Also... one day in the future a bakudeku shipper is gonna make their own manga and make their male rivals kiss and it will be glorious! Bakudeku fandom if you ever get a book or comic published, call me! I want to support you.  

Ship that is taboo: 

I almost didn’t answer this one because um, yeah... Even though I’d say my tastes are pretty vanilla, that’s still no guarantee someone won’t want to put you in jail for shipping crimes. 

That said though, I’m one of those people who don’t mind bully x victim ships on the condition that the the bully atones for what they did. 

I love the movie A Silent Voice, where Shoya unfortunately bullied Shouko for being deaf as a small child and the movie is all about him making up for what he did. Sign language is very hard and can take years to learn, and a lot of the kids in their class didn’t want to be bothered to learn it and this obviously upset Shouko who was trying really hard to make connections. But then Shoya studied it on the very off chance that he would get to see Shouko again and apologise to her and I was like: “Poetic cinema!”. I’m absolutely weak for big emotional and thoughtful gestures like that and it’s an absolutely fantastic way to get me to ship something. 

Maybe it’s also because I was bullied as a child for being autistic, but there’s also something satisfying and cathartic about seeing a former bully victim have their former bully wrapped around their finger. *insert good for her gif here* 

So yeah not very exciting but even the most vanilla ships can be problematic if you try hard enough! 

Ship that pisses me off: Some members of the A//TLA fandom will want to look away... It’s k*taang, ma*ko and z*kka. And water is wet. 

I don’t have a lot of NOTPs anymore because I’ve chilled out a lot about shipping, but the first two ships committed the cardinal sin of being problematic AND boring. You only get to be one or the other and only if the writers have taste and know what they’re doing!  

I think it is hard to screw up the friends to lovers or childhood sweethearts trope but somehow these white men keep doing it by using the cursed “will they won’t they” device in story telling, then get mad when we don’t praise them for creating a romantic subplot we have seen done horribly a million times before. There’s also some questionable ma*ko and k*taang scenes that never get called out by the series’ narrative and they make me not want to ship the pairings on principle. Told y’all I was vanilla, lol.

Z*kka is just boring to me because both the characters have much more interesting romantic possibilities with most of the other characters around them. And S*kka’s romantic relationships are so tied to his fantastic character arc that I don’t want to mess with them. I won’t deny that the fandom also ruined the potential of me ever liking the ship, and that helps me move onto my next point...

These three fandoms encapsulate everything wrong with modern shipping culture. The obsession with their interpretation of canon to the point they will outright refuse to understand other people’s perspective or appreciate transformative works, the refusal to curate their online experiences and inability to understand they can’t control others, the unhealthy ways they tie their identity to their ship, the hypocritical morality policing, the bullying, the harassment, etc. 

Canon was already a big hurdle for me to ever like or appreciate these ships and the fandoms just make them outright intolerable so on the block list they go. 

[moth-moth-the-magic-moth]

I'm a genderfluid bi person (afab) who thought i was a lesbain for a long time. (only mentioned my assigned gender at birth for context for the lesbian thing.)

I delt with this for a LONG time. To the point where I was trying desperately to compartmentalize men I was attracted to into different kinds of attraction--aesthetic, gender envy, etc--which are ALL valid forms of attraction and were partially right, but not entirely what i was feeling.

And that was with like, singers and fictional characters and actors. It took meeting a person (he/they) who I realized I was really attracted to to make me start taking down those walls and realize, it's okay that I'm bi. And yeah, I still experience gender envy, because I'm still under the trans umbrella. But it's okay that I like boys. It's fucking great actually!

MEN ARE HOT ACTUALLY and there's so many different kinds of men!!! People have different tastes in men and that's so cool!!

I'm kind of sad to say that when I started dating the guy who made me re-question my sexuality and re-come out as bi, the most support i found for the relationship was from my cishet female coworkers. they were super supportive of my queerness and my gender identity and the were just excited that I found a great partner, asked where I had found such a good guy. I was kinda scared to re-come out as bi in queer spaces because i was such a proud lesbian for so long.

I identified myself by my love of women exclusively for so long I became ashamed of my love for men.

So try not to fall into that trap that I did!!! love who you love and love yourself for that please. and don't shame other people for who they love. We've been fighting that for far too long, we don't need that coming from within our community.

Peace out queers ✌✨

if you think that what gender you are attrached to as an indication of morality then....you're fucking sippin the radfem juice. i hear SO MANY young women say they feel bad for being attracted to men. they groan and say, "I know it's wrong but I find men so hot."

like...what??? have we really doubled back so far that we're back to shaming women for their sexual and romantic desires???

radical feminism hurts everyone, even the ppl it claims to be for.