#industrial mining tanks

[harshdakadam]

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[reasonsforhope]

"A 1-megawatt sand battery that can store up to 100 megawatt hours of thermal energy will be 10 times larger than a prototype already in use.

The new sand battery will eliminate the need for oil-based energy consumption for the entire town of town of Pornainen, Finland.

Sand gets charged with clean electricity and stored for use within a local grid.

Finland is doing sand batteries big. Polar Night Energy already showed off an early commercialized version of a sand battery in Kankaanpää in 2022, but a new sand battery 10 times that size is about to fully rid the town of Pornainen, Finland of its need for oil-based energy.

In cooperation with the local Finnish district heating company Loviisan Lämpö, Polar Night Energy will develop a 1-megawatt sand battery capable of storing up to 100 megawatt hours of thermal energy.

“With the sand battery,” Mikko Paajanen, CEO of Loviisan Lämpö, said in a statement, “we can significantly reduce energy produced by combustion and completely eliminate the use of oil.”

Polar Night Energy introduced the first commercial sand battery in 2022, with local energy utility Vatajankoski. “Its main purpose is to work as a high-power and high-capacity reservoir for excess wind and solar energy,” Markku Ylönen, Polar Nigh Energy’s co-founder and CTO, said in a statement at the time. “The energy is stored as heat, which can be used to heat homes, or to provide hot steam and high temperature process heat to industries that are often fossil-fuel dependent.” ...

Sand—a high-density, low-cost material that the construction industry discards [Note: 6/13/24: Turns out that's not true! See note at the bottom for more info.] —is a solid material that can heat to well above the boiling point of water and can store several times the amount of energy of a water tank. While sand doesn’t store electricity, it stores energy in the form of heat. To mine the heat, cool air blows through pipes, heating up as it passes through the unit. It can then be used to convert water into steam or heat water in an air-to-water heat exchanger. The heat can also be converted back to electricity, albeit with electricity losses, through the use of a turbine.

In Pornainen, Paajanen believes that—just by switching to a sand battery—the town can achieve a nearly 70 percent reduction in emissions from the district heating network and keep about 160 tons of carbon dioxide out of the atmosphere annually. In addition to eliminating the usage of oil, they expect to decrease woodchip combustion by about 60 percent.

The sand battery will arrive ready for use, about 42 feet tall and 49 feet wide. The new project’s thermal storage medium is largely comprised of soapstone, a byproduct of Tulikivi’s production of heat-retaining fireplaces. It should take about 13 months to get the new project online, but once it’s up and running, the Pornainen battery will provide thermal energy storage capacity capable of meeting almost one month of summer heat demand and one week of winter heat demand without recharging.

“We want to enable the growth of renewable energy,” Paajanen said. “The sand battery is designed to participate in all Fingrid’s reserve and balancing power markets. It helps to keep the electricity grid balanced as the share of wind and solar energy in the grid increases.”"

-via Popular Mechanics, March 13, 2024

--

Note: I've been keeping an eye on sand batteries for a while, and this is really exciting to see. We need alternatives to lithium batteries ASAP, due to the grave human rights abuses and environmental damage caused by lithium mining, and sand batteries look like a really good solution for grid-scale energy storage.

--

Note 6/13/24: Unfortunately, turns out there are substantial issues with sand batteries as well, due to sand scarcity. More details from a lovely asker here, sources on sand scarcity being a thing at the links: x, x, x, x, x

[mytheoristavenue]

MHA Bassist!Sero Hanta x Reader 🍋 - Back to the Bus

Kinktober 2024 - X

Face sitting + Piercings

Summary: After scoring backstage passes to your favorite band's show, you're surprised to find the lead singer seems interest in you.

Warnings: Oral (f!receiving), face sitting, praise, a bit rushed

You couldn't believe your luck! Not only had you just finished watching your first concert ever, you were now in line to meet the band backstage!

"You're going to crumple your poster." Your best friend croaked from beside you, gently taking it from you, having to pry it from your nervous hands. "How about I hold onto this for you?"

"S-Sorry, Tsu." You murmured sheepishly, handing it over. "Gosh, I'm totally freaking out!" You gushed, wiping your sweaty hands on the front of your distressed band tee. "I can't believe we're gonna meet the Pop Rocks!"

The amphibian girl simply beamed at you. Truthfully, she wasn't into this scene, only indulging you, though she didn't mind the music. She just preferred lighter stuff. "Try to calm down, yeah? You don't wanna squander your chance, do you?"

"No," You laughed nervously, moving up in line. "But don't pretend you aren't excited too! I bet you can't wait to meet Bakugo! You even started following him on social media!" Tsu paused, blushing a bit.

"I admire his dedication to his craft." She dismissed, swallowing dryly. "Besides, no crush of mine could top the one you have on the bassist- what's his name again?"

You exhaled heavily in annoyance. "Hanta Sero? The love of my life?"

She simply giggled at you. "Yep, you're definitely obsessed!"

As the pair of you excitedly chatted away, the line in front of you began to dwindle until all that stood between you and the band were a velvet curtain and two more fans. "Tsu, I can't do this, I'm too anxious."

"What?" She deadpanned, shoulders slumping.

"I'm gonna throw up." You warned her, heaving. She placed a firm hand on your shoulder.

"If you back out now, you'll never forgive yourself." She pointed out, glancing over your shoulder as the two in front of you stepped behind the curtain. "You got this, they're just people!" She gave a reassuring smile.

"Famous people!" You whined back, covering your mouth and gagging.

"Fame is a myth." She rolled her eyes, pushing you forward by a few feet. "Don't you wanna meet Sero?"

"Y-Yeah..." You murmured. She was right and you knew it. You steeled yourself, putting on a brave face, turning to face the curtain. And then it opened and your heart stopped.

You both were led directly behind it where five people lounged on a pair of plush couches and a slew of beanbags and armchairs. The set up looked like some sort of music video with the way it contrasted with the industrial background of the closed stage. "Hey, thanks for comin' out!" One of the guitarists chirped, jumping up and offering his hands for both of you to simultaneously shake. "How'd you like the show?"

"I-It was amazing!" You gushed, starstruck, eyes dragging over his wide crimson hair, smudged eyeliner, and torn muscle tank that stretched taut over his chest.

"Well, if you didn't already know, I'm Kirishima, Kaminari and I play electric," He smiled, tossing a thumb over to the blonde, lounging on one of the couches. "That's Sero, our bassist, Bakugo, the drummer," He nodded to the other couch, towards another, ashier blonde, and a smug ravenette, home on a beanbag respectively. He then motioned to one of the armchairs, which held a petite woman in heavy gothic makeup with fishnet tights. "And Jiro, our singer."

Of course, you knew them all by name and role, you never memorized their birthdays. But, fearing letting that on wouldn't bode well, you played ignorant. "I-I'ts great to meet you all!" You chimed breathlessly. The girl smirked, peering at you expectantly.

"Do...you have a name?" She chuckled to herself.

You felt like an idiot, of course, you were supposed to introduce yourself! "Oh, sorry, uhm..."

Sensing your discomfort, Tsu stepped forward. "This is (Y/N), and my name is Tsuyu, but everyone calls me Tsu!"

"Nice to meet you both," She replied, mellow, before turning her attention back to you. "Listen, we're just people, no need to be nervous." You nodded shyly, face red.

You and Tsu continued to chat with Jiro, Kirishima, and Kaminari for a few minutes. Bakugo listened in idly, never letting his tough guy facade crack, and Sero simply watched with an amused grin. You were quite disappointed that you hadn't gotten to talk to the latter, but you did have his signature on your poster, it having been passed around by each member, so what was good.

After your allotted time was up, you and your guest were escorted to a backdrop, where the band crowded around you for a picture. You and Tsu posed in the center, hugging each other closely, and the other five followed suit, all back to the chest after one of you with goofy grins on their faces. You could plainly see Bakugo hugging her from behind, and the stark redness on her face. Behind him was Kirishima. That meant the other three were behind you. You wondered if it was behind you. Probably Kaminari, if you had to guess, as the arms around your waist were far too toned to be feminine, and the head that rested on your shoulder was higher up than Jiro was tall.

"Say cheese!" The cameraman chimed, stepping behind the tripod, giving small notions to adjust posing. Focused on your practiced smile, nothing could have prepared you to catch a small glimpse of inky hair cascading over your shoulder. Though, what really got you was the voice in your ear that cooed:

"Can I get your number after this?"

In a blinding flash, the photo was taken and you were escorted out of the way by the event staff. You were permitted to say your goodbyes to the band, but you only needed to speak to one person. "Is that a no?" Sero chuckled, stepping in front of you.

"Y-You really want my number?" You swallowed nervously, backing away a bit.

"Mhm," He grinned before turning sheepish. "But... I left my phone back on the tour bus. Wanna go with me to get it?"

"I-I could just write it down or-"

"I'll lose it." He hinted with a wink and your face lit up like a homecoming bonfire. "You gotta put it in my phone yourself." Th smirk on his face grew as he Thenodded towards the back door. You glanced back at Tsu, who had been pulled aside as well by a certain drummer, cheeks pink as she shyly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She nodded to you, giving a discreet thumbs up.

-----

You could hardly recall the last several minutes. It wasn't for a lack of memory, but the events went by so quickly, you could hardly register them. One moment, he was pulling you out the back door to the venue and aboard the tour bus, showing you around it, and the next, he had you on the couch, raking his slender fingers through your hair. "I could be totally misreading this but..." He chuckled sheepishly. "I think you like me a little bit..."

"I do..." You swooned, eyes tracing over his pierced features. "You're like my favorite musician ever..."

"Oh, stop," He grinned, leaning in close. "Flattery will get you everything." His smile subtly faded, bringing your face closer by your chin, your thumb brushing over your pouty bottom lip. "I don't want you to think I'm some scumbag who hooks up with every groupie..." He coos, breath fanning over your face. "I really do think you're cute..."

"Y-You do?" You gasp nervously, melting at his touch, leaning in with him.

"Yeah, fuck, it's like-" He laughed dryly. "Kept gettin' all nervous on stage with how you were lookin' at me. You looked like you saw a shooting star."

"I did," You sighed, lovesick smile creeping across your face.

"Hey, what'd I say about flattery?" He hummed, lips dangerously close to brushing against yours.

"That it'll get me everything?" You answered sheepishly, suppressing a flirtatious giggle. "What does that one get me?"

"A kiss, should you choose to accept it." He smirked, pressing his lips firmly to yours.

"Y-You sounded amazing tonight..." You gushed breathlessly, eagerly kissing back.

"Better stop baby..." He chuckled into your mouth, parting your lips with his tongue. "You keep talkin' all sweet to me and I might just have to kiss you all over..." Suddenly, you yanked away from him, startled by the feeling of cool metal clicking against the back of your teeth. He stifled a giggle at your flushed face. "Hey, hey, it's cool, just my stud." He reassured gently, sticking his tongue out to reveal a small barbell nestled in the center of the pink muscle.

You eyed it curiously, face flushed and nervous. "O-Oh, sorry..."

"Ya know..." He gave a dry laugh. "It vibrates."

-----

You couldn't be bothered to stifle the sobs tearing from your throat, so overstimulated and spent that you couldn't even feel the build-up to your orgasms anymore. Painted fingernails dug crescent moons into your thighs and cool silver rings left imprints in your flesh as he held you firmly in place from below. You couldn't even begin to wrap your head around it. Not only had you caught the attention of your idol, but you were riding his face on the couch of his tour bus.

"'Nother one, c'mon," He rasped words a bit muddled as his tongue hung from his mouth before pressing to your clit. You shrieked, drool dripping down your chin as your back straightened. True to his word, the stud did in fact vibrate, and was he getting his money's worth from it.

"C-Can't!" You wept, fingers raking through his midnight locks, tugging gently at the roots. "T-Too much!"

Sero simply chuckled again, sweetly kissing at the slobbery flesh surrounding your core before running his tongue through it again. "One more, please, you can do it, baby." He begged, voice muffled as he continued to drink you in. When he felt you settle against his face again, he groaned with delight, one hand leaving your hip, digging into his jeans hastily. "Ugh, fuck yeah, good girl."

You immediately positioned yourself to focus on building your climax, shy at the sound of his needy moans and squelching of his cock fucking into his wet fist. "S-Sero, I-I-!" You hissed, a weak and undeserved orgasm rapidly approaching. Your body had already had enough and this was all it could offer as you grinded your hips into his face.

"That's it, pretty, ride my fuckin' face so good." He heaved, whimpering prettily into your thighs, his hips jerking into his hand as he neared his high. Without any way to stop or slow it, your final orgasm finally hit, leaving you sobbing loudly, rocking your hips into his face. "Ahhh, fuck, princess, good God," He strained, riding you both out with no regard for volume control.

Carefully, when you were ready, he helped you down, sitting down beside you on the bench seat, and pulling you against him. "Holy shit," He huffed, smiling lazily. "Yeah, I'm for sure gonna need your number, like actually."

[seat-safety-switch]

I haven't fucked up this bad since the time I brought a package of Jiffy Pop to the veteran's hospital. Lots of people were screaming at me, both then and now.

For the longest time, my town had a coal mine. Shortly before my birth, they decided to close it. Coal was the fuel of the past, the town fathers said. Well, they didn't count on a TikTok trend (possibly sponsored by the coal industry) telling kids to burn it for clout. Suddenly, there were teenagers trying to break into the disused coal mine for more than just Halloween dares and pseudo-spooky makeout sessions.

Something had to be done about this. A security guard had to be hired. And, in flagrant disregard for free-trade agreements, they hired someone local. Me, specifically. It turns out that I am the only person left in town who is not working two or three jobs, and therefore perfect for the gig of night watchman at the coal mine. It also helped that my release conditions mandated I maintain employment, and my parole officer was starting to get suspicious that the screenshot of Microsoft Excel I taped onto my bedroom window did not actually constitute gainful "remote work." Bigot.

Now, you know me. You've gotten to appreciate, or at least tolerate, my whole "thing." I knew that I could work hard for maybe thirty minutes tops before I would, too, be descending inside that coal mine. Putatively, it would be to search for wayward kids (or the skeletons thereof) but in reality we both know that I'd be looking for an internal combustion engine to monkey with. Not like I didn't warn the town: I told them that they needed to get me a cool kei truck or something to patrol the mine with, but they were just like "bluh bluh it only has one entrance bluh bluh our road budget is already too high" and then they kicked me out of the Mayor's car.

I certainly did not have to look very far for one. The miners left a pretty rickety-looking mine cart right there at the opening. I could fuck with a train to pass the time, I thought. If any kids come, they'll be too scared by all the cursing and tool-dropping to break in here for French kissing. Or even Danish kissing, if they're freaks.

Anyway, it turns out that the mine shaft also had a bunch of tanks of pure acetylene lying around, and the little diesel engine pulling the mine train really liked that. Up until the pistons turned into incandescent bulbs somewhere along the highway into town. I'll tell you this much, though: after plowing right through the side of the high school, none of those overgrown children are going to think it's "cool" to fuck around with stuff in a disused coal mine ever again.

[overtlydinosaurian]

I love cities skylines (1) so much. They have this DLC for the stock market, where you can invest in your cities industries from the city's budget to allow the industries to prosper and make more money. When the industries do well, you all benefit. When they fail, you all lose money. Jobs affected, layoffs, etc. very very cool dlc, makes the industries even more fun to interact with and all that. Except one thing. There's this glaring exploit that idk if it just snuck through QA or if people just thought it was realistic, but basically... You are in charge of the very industries you're investing in. You can completely abuse the game to make as much money as possible. For example, I could ban gas vehicles and require all citizens to ride bikes everywhere. This would TANK the mining industry, and make stock super cheap because it's doing poorly. Then I can buy a ton of stock in it for dirt cheap, then suddenly ban bicycles and public transportation and make people only use cars anywhere. Suddenly, the mining industry is exploding and I can make millions. This only takes like 10 in game years, which depending on speed played at is like 3 real life minutes.

The game just lets you be corrupt. And you never see punishment for this.

[makeila04]

I was playing as Adler in Liberty Falls, and when he drank a macchiato, he said, “Who wants to be my punching bag?” To which I thought, “Wait… that means, that… ADLER BOXES?!?!?!" (It should’ve been obvious, but whatever…)

So I started thinking about this, and I want to share it with you:

I imagine myself walking into his gym—or wherever he practices privately, alone, empty, probably in the dead of night. I imagine that after so many wars, especially Vietnam, he struggles with insomnia… so he takes it out on the punching bag late into the night… burning energy and… partly blaming himself… for something that happened nearly 30 years ago.

He… overthinks it, but then again, it’s not like he can just “turn it off” and move on.

Adler is so focused he doesn’t hear me. Or if he’s noticed me, he doesn’t care.

I walk in slowly. I’m behind him, so he probably doesn’t see me. Russell is 54 years old, and I’m so young… He’s a giant—6’1” (1.85 m), 209 lbs (95 kg)—while I’m barely 5’5” (1.65 m) and very slim…

The scene is hypnotic.

The gym is empty at this hour, lights off except for the dim glow of an industrial lamp hanging from the ceiling, casting long shadows on the walls. It smells like leather, sweat, and a faint trace of tobacco mixed with something else—something that’s just him.

Russell is there, in the center, facing the punching bag. His torso, clad in a plain white tank top clinging to his body, glistens with a thin layer of sweat, every muscle defined by years of discipline. His skin, weathered by age and scars that tell a lifetime of violence. Every punch he throws is sharp, precise, controlled. No wasted movement. No grunts or heavy breathing like others. Just hits. Over and over.

He doesn’t seem to notice I’ve entered. Or maybe he has, and he just doesn’t care.

His mind is elsewhere. Maybe in a suffocating jungle thirty years ago, when he was still young and the weight of the world hadn’t fully hardened his face. Or in the latest mission, replaying mistakes he’ll never admit aloud. Or in his own reflection in the gym’s cracked mirror, wondering how much longer he can keep doing this.

I step closer silently, knowing any sudden noise might trigger his instincts. Small beside him, a shadow dwarfed by his imposing presence.

I stay. Watching.

Maybe he finally notices. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t stop. But for a split second, his icy blue eyes flicker in my direction—brief, fleeting—before snapping back to the bag.

He hasn’t kicked me out.

So I stay.

The sound of his punches echoes in the empty gym, each strike against the bag muffled by aged leather. There’s a rhythm to his hits, a precise cadence betraying years of practice. Not the wild swings of a novice venting frustration, but the calculated strikes of someone who’s trained until movement became instinct.

But his expression isn’t calm.

His eyes are focused, but the slight furrow of his brows, the tension in his jaw, suggest his mind isn’t truly here. It’s as if every punch is aimed at an invisible enemy—one he can’t reach or knock down.

Maybe he knows. Maybe he senses this isn’t just exercise. Not just a way to stay fit.

It’s punishment.

For his body. For his mind.

For the mistakes he can’t undo.

For the decisions that haunt him three decades later.

Sweat trails down his skin, dripping from his neck to his collarbones and down the grooves of his muscles. His back tenses with every motion, skin stretching over scars and knots of accumulated strain.

Then, finally, he stops.

He exhales slowly, dropping his bandaged fists to his sides. At first, he doesn’t look at me—just lowers his head, letting sweat drip onto the concrete floor.

But then, with the same deliberate slowness, he lifts his gaze.

His eyes meet mine.

There’s something in that blue stare—something unreadable. Not surprise, not annoyance. Not even acknowledgment. It’s like he’s trying to decipher *me*, to understand why I’m here, why I’m watching, why I haven’t spoken.

He drags a hand over his face, wiping away sweat, then speaks—his voice low, rough, edged with exhaustion.

- “Can’t sleep, or do you just like watching me hit things?” he said.

It’s a deflection. A wall he instinctively puts up.

Because he can’t sleep either.

But I know it’s more than that.

Estaba jugando con Adler como operador en Liberty Falls y al beber Machiatto dijo “¿quién quiere ser mi saco de boxeo?” A lo que pensé “Espera, eso significa que… ADLER PRÁCTICA BOXEO?!?!?!?” (En realidad debió ser algo obvio, no una sorpresa pero en fin…)

Asi que empecé a pensar en esto y se los quiero compartir:

Me imagino yo entrando a su gimnasio, o al gimnasio o dónde sea que practique mientras sea privado y solitario, todo vacío, seguramente de madrugada. Me imagino que por tantas guerras y especialmente Vietnam, tiene problemas de insomnio... así que se descarga en el boxeo hasta tarde... gastando energía y...en parte culpándose a si mismo... por algo de hace 30 años ya casi...

Él...lo piensa demasiado, pero claro, tampoco es como si pudiera "apagarlo" y ya...

Adler está tan concentrado que no me escucha, o si me ha notado, no le importa.

La imagen es hipnótica.

Entro despacio, estoy a espaldas así que me imagino que no me ve. Russell tiene 54 años y yo tan joven... Él es gigante, mide 1.85 y pesar 95 kilos...y yo mido 1.65 apenas y soy muy delgada....

El gimnasio está vacío a esa hora, con las luces apagadas excepto por la tenue iluminación de la lámpara industrial que cuelga del techo, proyectando sombras alargadas en las paredes. Huele a cuero, sudor y un leve rastro de tabaco mezclado con algo más, algo que es solo él.

Russell está ahí, en el centro, frente al saco de boxeo. Su torso pegado a una camiseta blanca y lisa, entallada a su cuerpo, está cubierto de un brillo tenue de sudor, marcando cada músculo trabajado con años de disciplina. La piel curtida por la edad, las cicatrices que hablan de una vida de violencia. Cada golpe que lanza es seco, preciso, controlado. No desperdicia movimiento. No resopla ni gruñe como otros. Solo golpea. Una y otra vez.

No parece haber notado que entré. O quizá sí, y simplemente no le importa.

Su mente está en otro lugar. Quizá en una jungla sofocante hace treinta años, cuando aún era joven y el peso del mundo no había endurecido su rostro del todo. Tal vez en la última misión, en los errores que no admite en voz alta. O en su propio reflejo en el espejo agrietado del gimnasio, preguntándose cuánto tiempo más podrá seguir haciendo esto.

Me acerco en silencio, sabiendo que cualquier ruido fuera de lugar podría hacer que su instinto lo lleve a reaccionar. Pequeña a su lado, una sombra mucho más ligera en comparación con su presencia imponente.

Y sin embargo, me quedo ahí. Observándolo.

Tal vez él finalmente me nota. No dice nada. No se detiene. Pero hay un instante en el que sus ojos azules se deslizan en mi dirección, fugaces, volviendo al saco de inmediato.

No me ha echado.

Así que me quedo.

El sonido de los golpes resuena en el gimnasio vacío, cada impacto contra el saco de boxeo amortiguado por el cuero envejecido. Hay un ritmo en su manera de golpear, una cadencia precisa que delata años de práctica. No es el descontrolado de un novato que solo busca descargar frustración, sino el golpe certero de alguien que ha entrenado hasta que el movimiento se volvió instintivo.

Pero su expresión no es la de un hombre en calma.

Sus ojos están enfocados, pero hay algo en la forma en que sus cejas se fruncen levemente, en la tensión en su mandíbula, que sugiere que su mente no está realmente aquí. Es como si cada golpe que lanza estuviera dirigido a un enemigo invisible, uno que no puede alcanzar ni derribar.

Tal vez lo sepa. Tal vez pueda intuir que este no es solo ejercicio para él. Que no es solo una manera de mantenerse en forma.

Es castigo.

Para su cuerpo. Para su mente.

Para los errores que no puede corregir.

Para las decisiones que lo siguen incluso tres décadas después.

El sudor recorre su piel, escurriendo desde su cuello hasta la línea de sus clavículas y bajando por los surcos de sus músculos. Su espalda se tensa con cada movimiento, la piel estirándose sobre la forma de su cuerpo como un mapa de cicatrices y tensiones acumuladas.

Y entonces, finalmente, se detiene.

Exhala lento, dejando caer los puños envueltos en vendas al costado de su cuerpo. No me mira al principio, solo baja la cabeza, dejando que las gotas de sudor caigan al suelo de concreto.

Pero luego, con la misma lentitud, alza la vista.

Su mirada se encuentra con la mía.

Y hay algo en esos ojos azules, algo indescifrable. No es sorpresa, ni molestia. Tampoco es simple reconocimiento. Es como si estuviera tratando de leer algo en mi, de entender por qué estoy aquí, por qué lo observo, por qué no he dicho nada.

Se pasa una mano por el rostro, limpiándose el sudor, y entonces habla, su voz baja, rasposa, marcada por el cansancio.

—No puedes dormir, ¿o solo te gusta verme golpear cosas?

Es un intento de desviar la conversación. Un muro que levanta por instinto.

Pero sé que no es solo eso.

Porque él tampoco puede dormir.

[pankowcrumbs]

Caught in the Act X Will Poulter

MasterList

Will Poulter Masterlist

I should’ve known the second I walked into that party that things were going to get out of hand.

It was one of those industry events glamorous, packed, a little too loud, and dripping with free-flowing cocktails. The kind of night that starts with promises of “just one drink” and ends in stories you can’t tell your nan.

I wasn’t expecting to see Will Poulter there, let alone talk to him. We’d crossed paths once, briefly, at a film screening, but it was nothing more than a polite hello. Tonight, though… he was glowing.

Well, alright, that might’ve been the champagne talking.

He was standing near the bar, wearing this perfectly rumpled black shirt that did very little to hide the way it clung to his arms, sipping from a lowball glass like he had no idea people were watching him. I wasn’t staring. Not exactly. Just… observing. Admiring, maybe.

He caught me.

Of course he did.

His lips curved into a grin that was equal parts mischievous and boyish charm, and before I could pretend to be interested in literally anything else, he was walking over to me.

“Y/N, right?” he asked, already half-smiling.

I blinked, trying not to look as flustered as I felt. “Yeah. We met at that screening. You remembered.”

“Course I did. Hard to forget someone who quoted Hot Fuzz during a Q&A.”

I laughed, cheeks warm. “Guilty.”

We fell into an easy rhythm after that. The kind that’s rare at parties like this, where most people are just trying to network or one-up each other. We weren’t talking careers or projects. We were debating who would survive longest in a zombie apocalypse and whether pineapple belongs on pizza.

At some point, we were both holding another drink, giggling a little too much, and standing a little too close. His arm brushed mine. My hand lingered on his chest when I laughed too hard. It was harmless. Mostly.

But the air felt heavy, charged.

“I need air,” I said suddenly, already slightly dizzy from the crowd, the music, and maybe him.

He nodded. “Come on. Let’s get out of the fish tank.”

We pushed through the crowd, slipped out the side door, and stepped into the cool London night. The air hit my cheeks like a splash of cold water, but it didn’t sober me up much.

Will was looking at me, eyes still sparkling. “Better?”

I nodded, though my pulse was doing very weird things. “Much.”

He stepped closer. “You’re not cold?”

“Not really,” I lied, arms folded mostly to keep myself from reaching for him.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because I didn’t really come out here for air.”

Before I could ask what he meant, his hands were on my waist, and his mouth was on mine.

Soft at first.

Testing.

Then hungry.

God, he was a good kisser. Like he’d been thinking about this too.

I gripped his shirt, tugged him closer, and somewhere between the laughter and the wine and the thrill of being pressed up against the brick wall of a Mayfair townhouse, it got a bit… touchy.

Hands roaming. Breath hitching. His fingers tangled in my hair, my nails grazing the back of his neck. It wasn’t obscene, but it definitely wasn’t the kind of snog you want on the cover of a tabloid.

Which is precisely what we got.

Because just as I pulled away, laughing into his mouth and saying something about how this was very public, I saw it.

The unmistakable flash of a camera. Bright. Obvious. Horrifying.

“Shit,” I muttered, eyes darting to the end of the alley where some smug little paparazzi was tucking his camera back into his jacket, already turning to leg it down the street.

Will turned to look, then groaned. “Oh, bloody hell.”

We stared at each other, wide-eyed, panting slightly, hair mussed, and lips definitely looking a bit…used.

“We are so screwed,” I said.

He just grinned. “Worth it.”

The next morning, I woke up tangled in a pair of very long limbs and very soft sheets.

Will’s arm was draped over my waist, his face half-buried in the pillow, one of his legs hooked around mine like he’d claimed me in his sleep.

We were still in his flat. I vaguely remembered stumbling into a cab, kissing him all the way there, and half-undressing as we fumbled our way through the door.

Now? Now I was dying.

Not from regret.

From embarrassment.

Because my phone wouldn’t. stop. buzzing.

Dozens of texts. Notifications. Mentions. And three voicemails from my PR agent.

I groaned, covering my face with a pillow.

“Morning,” Will mumbled against my shoulder. “You okay?”

I peeked over at him. His hair was a mess. His voice raspy. His expression far too amused.

“Have you checked your phone?” I asked.

He reached over lazily, grabbed it from the nightstand, and blinked at the screen.

Then he groaned.

Then he laughed.

“Bloody hell.”

“Oh, you think this is funny?”

He held up his phone. “Daily Mail. ‘Caught in the Act: Will Poulter and Rising Star Y/N Y/L/N Get Hot and Heavy Outside Soho Bash.’”

I yanked the duvet over my face and groaned again. “Nooooo.”

He was still chuckling. “There’s a whole gallery. One of you grabbing my shirt, one of me… yeah, alright, my hand was definitely on your arse. That one’s gonna haunt me.”

“Oh, my God.”

“Wait, wait,” he said, still grinning. “Your hand’s under my shirt in this one. I think we were setting a new record for inappropriate PDA.”

I peeked out at him, caught somewhere between mortified and hysterical.

“My PR agent is going to murder me.”

“Mine already left me a voicemail,” he said, pressing play. We both listened in silence as a very frazzled voice exploded from his speaker: “Will, what the hell were you thinking?! Call me back now. We need a statement out before noon. Jesus, I can’t babysit you through another ‘fling-gate’!”

I couldn’t help it I burst out laughing.

He followed suit, eyes crinkling. “At least yours didn’t say fling-gate.”

I played my own voicemail.

“Y/N, darling, love you, but WHAT were you thinking?! You’re grabbing his face like it’s the last chocolate biscuit on Earth. We have interviews this week! I need answers. Call me.”

We both laughed so hard I nearly fell off the bed.

“I mean,” I wheezed, “as far as first kisses go…”

He raised a brow. “Unforgettable?”

“Mortifying.”

“Exciting.”

“Traumatic.”

He laughed, reaching for me and pulling me closer until I was curled against him again.

“Do you regret it?” he asked, voice softer now.

I looked up at him. The way his messy hair stuck up, his sleep-heavy eyes still shining, the hint of mischief still on his lips.

“No,” I admitted. “I don’t.”

He smiled. “Good.”

We lay there in comfortable silence for a moment, phones still pinging somewhere in the sheets, the world continuing to implode without our help.

“You know,” he said, resting his chin on my head, “we probably have to go do some damage control. Get ahead of it.”

“Probably.”

He looked down at me. “Or… we could lean in. Make it a thing. Tell the truth.”

I smirked. “That we were slightly tipsy and very into each other?”

“Exactly. PR nightmare. But excellent story.”

“And what would we even call it?” I teased. “Hashtag PoulterY/N?”

He grimaced. “That’s terrible. We’ll let the internet decide.”

We stayed in bed for another hour, watching the internet do exactly that.

We read tweets, laughed at memes, groaned at headlines. One had circled my red lipstick smudged across his jaw like it was some kind of forensic clue. Another had dubbed us Britain’s steamiest new couple.

And somewhere between the chaos and the caffeine he ordered in, we both realised something:

We didn’t want to undo it.

Not the kiss.

Not the bed.

Not this.

Because maybe it wasn’t just the drinks. Or the music. Or the party haze.

Maybe it was something else entirely.

A spark that finally had a reason to burn.

He looked over at me, holding up his phone as a new article popped up: “Y/N and Will’s Wild Night Just a Fling or Something More?”

I smiled. “Well, at least they’re asking the right question now.”

He leaned over and kissed me again, slow and warm. “And what’s your answer?”

I shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out.”

He grinned. “Can’t wait.”

And just like that, what started as a blurry, bold, ridiculous night outside a party turned into the best story I’d never forget.

Our first kiss?

Absolute chaos.

But unforgettable?

Completely.

[edutainer2022]

Lovely @janetm74 and I had a fascinating discussion about a What If possibility of Jeff, ridden with guilt for having dropped the ball as a parent in grief, having sought to "give the boys a mother". There would certainly be no shortage of volunteers among ladies who lunch. But what if it didn't go well AT ALL. This little convo between John and Scott builds on that premise in the aftermath of Zero-X.

A KING'S RANSOM

"Do you think she can do that? Take Allie away?"

"Dad's ex? She will certainly try. You're single with "no ties to the community". She'd want access to his shares, and then, if she buys Phelps and Carlisle out - she might have the controlling package of Tracy Industries. "

"Oh god! What do I do! I can't give Allie up! I can't! Not to her! I'd rather give her TI!"

"Then we can't fund IR. Ever. We'll never make THAT much money soon enough."

"Oh god! It's all falling apart! The moment Dad's gone - I can't hold it together! I can't loose Allie! Should we buy Phelps and Carlisle out?"

"They won't sell to you. They barely tolerated Dad as an "uppity hick", they make no secret of despising your guts."

"What do I do, Johnny? Ugh! I feel so useless!"

"You can testify."

"Huh?"

"IF she files for custody, you can actually testify why Dad divorced her."

"Johnny, I can't..."

"Then I will!"

"NO!" You weren't there! It'll be perjury! I won't let you!"

"Scott, she married Dad for money, all the while playing our Mom. She eyed you like you were chocolate dipped toffu on a stick. What she did was assault. Dad's divorce came with a restraining order for a REASON."

"I still feel like it was my fault! It's all my fault!"

"Scooter, stop! Virgil, tell him!"

"I can't let Allie know! Or Gordie! I can't let Dad down like that. Again!"

"Hang on! I got an idea. You got a twenty?"

"Huh? I... you need cash, Johnny? Here, I got a hundred on me."

"Good! Then it's fifty for me and fifty for Virg. One second... and... done! We hereby sold you our shares in Tracy Industries for fifty dollars each. You have the control stock she can't contest now."

"JOHN!!! You can't do that! That's your inheritance! Your future!"

"Well, brother mine, a) Virgil and I here have a strong hunch you won't exactly have us work for a paycheck or go on welfare, don't we, Virg? See! Virgil agrees!b) We still have our trust funds that, let me remind you, get padded from the TI profits quarterly. We also got Dad's assets per the will and Mom's inheritance. I think we're good for a couple of lifetimes."

"What if I tank the company? What if I can't step in for Dad?"

"Well then, brother dearest, there's a d) we strongly suspect you won't and you can, and e) that's a good thing Dad made us all get those fancy degrees and loads of marketable skills. We'll be alright."

"We're right beside you, Scotty!"

"What Virgil said. Now let's think how we banish the Evil Stepmother for good!"

[fishfooddude]

The Joy of Cooking

You and Carmy are moving in together; nothing bad could happen, right?

The Bear MasterList

Directory

Low key inspired by the face, my Dad owns two copies of The Joy of Cooking, one of which was my grandma's.

“Hey Carmy, where’s my copy of The Joy of Cooking?” you called as you dug through one of the last few brown cardboard boxes labeled ‘Cook Books.’ Moving in together was a big step in the newish (10-month) relationship, but you’d been over the moon when Carmy asked you if you wanted to live with him when your leases had ended. 

Carmy appeared from the bedroom; his fluffy blonde curls were their signature level of mess, his white tank top was incredibly tight and leaving little to the imagination, and he had an unlit cigarette hanging between his lips- you could take him right there and right now. You ran the tip of your tongue along your top lip, almost forgetting the question you’d asked as you noticed the light dance across the gold chain that had adorned his neck for as long as you’d known him.

“It’s on the shelf, baby,” he said, voice slightly muffled from the cigarette. He gestured toward one of the industrial-style bookcases the two of you had scored at a local thrift store a few nights ago. You smiled and got up from the floor. You pecked his cheek before plucking the still unlit cigarette from between his lips. You pushed it into the pocket of his sweatpants, “If you smoke in this apartment, I will castrate you with my bare hands.” you calmly threatened - albeit playfully; Carmy shuttered. He shook his head and squeezed your ass as you made your way to the shelf. 

Panic settled as your eyes raked through the titles. There was a copy of The Joy of Cooking, but it was Carmy’s copy. It was well loved, but not yours. “Carmy. This is your copy. Where’s mine?” you asked, attempting to remain calm. You turned to face him, and he looked confused. “It was fallin’ apart, baby-” Carmy stopped midsentence when he noticed you breathing rapidly. “Baby?” 

“Carmy. Where is my book?” your voice cracked. 

“I guess-” he started to explain, but you cut him off this time. 

“Carmen. That book was the closest thing I have to a family heirloom. My grandmother gave it to my Dad before he left for college, and he gave it to me before he died. Where is my book?” you felt tears welling up in your eyes as the words left your mouth. There was no way Carmy would just get rid of a cookbook, right? 

Carmy was quiet as he pushed a hand through his hair. He didn’t have an answer you’d like. “Okay,” you said before taking a deep breath. You stepped away from the bookcase and began to walk past Carmy. He reached toward you, but you pushed them away. Touching him was the last thing you wanted right now.

“Baby, I’m-” Carmy began apologizing as he stepped forward, trying to close the distance between you.

“I don’t want to hear it, Carmy. I need some air.” you put your hands up defensively and quickly walked to the front door. You slipped your sandals on before grabbing your bag from the floor.

“Baby, I’m sorry.” he apologized as he watched you tilt your head back to stare at the ceiling. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to regulate yourself before finally saying, “I know. I just- I need space right now.”

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

never not mine | jjk | "... the whispers..."

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

We broke all the pieces but still want to play the game. This confrontation is long overdue and is either going to end in handcuffs or tangled limbs.

part i | this is part ii | part iii

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; alcohol consumption; things are thrown during a public altercation; second chance romance?; angst and fluff and feels; Jungkook's POV

non-idol!AU; fashion model!Jungkook — ft fellow model/actor!Kim Taehyung and model/businessman!Kim Seokjin; a few cameos you can speculate on and one named cameo hehe; reader is not part of the entertainment industry

--

whether I'm gonna be your wife or gonna smash up your bike, I haven't decided yet but I'm gonna get you back – imgonnagetyouback by taylor swift

It was a night just like any other night, which meant Jeon Jungkook was somewhere doing something because he was someone. On this night he was visiting a new upscale nightclub owned by one of his close friends, which was why he was at a table surrounded by his bros, expensive bottles of alcohol, and beautiful women. Not his scene, really. He was an introvert at heart. Despite that, he had obligations to be here. Obligations to laugh, to jest, to be merry, to be somebody.

But he knew he was just a somebody surrounded by much better bodies.

So, really, he was only a ghost.

“Hey, isn’t that…?”

It was luck and good friends that got him in the position he was in now. Jungkook knew that. He couldn’t complain too much when they invited him out. After all, they were only doing it because they cared about him. Yeah.

“She's really staring at you, man.”

Someone nudged his arm. For a moment, he didn’t comprehend that it was him that was being spoken to. Maybe it was the heavy black leather jacket. Underneath, he wore a tight white tank, and completed his outfit with studded charcoal-wash jeans and black leather boots. Nice, sure, but there were other men that much more sharply dressed with bigger designer labels. Of course, he cleaned up well with his slicked-back black hair and clean-shaven jawline. So did any other male model out there. He was not so egotistical to think he was the most interesting man there.

“Hmph, who?” he snickered, swinging around in his chair with the ice in his glass clinking. He would figure out who everyone was talking about from the reactions of the public. He snapped his head around, stray tendrils of black falling free onto his forehead, obscuring his vision for a split second, and then he faced the crowd beneath the VIP tables.

Time slowed.

The club was loud. Very loud, due to the deafening combination of music, chatter and laughter. It was lit with the imperfect balance of light and dark, oscillating spotlights exposing corners and weaving through moving bodies clad in fitted dresses, high heels, tailored blazers, suit pants. The alcohol was high-grade. The crowd was cherry-picked and pre-screened at the door. It was what it was. Individuals who had money blowing money, ignoring the sins around them to commit their own. It was hard to pick out someone.

But Jungkook saw her right away.

The club became quiet from his point of view. Sound became a mishmash of muffled, incoherent noises fading to the background as the faces blurred. The music dulled. All lights dimmed except in one area. Everything was still moving, still thriving, still breathing yet he was only aware of one single person.

His ex-girlfriend stared right at him from below.

Even from this distance he could feel the blades in her gaze.

Black patent leather jacket. Very short, cut just under the breasts. Black lace corset, see-through except for the cups. Skintight lilac miniskirt. Legs for days. Pointed-toe black pumps with a thin ankle strap, the kind he had trouble with due to the small delicate buckle.

He tried to breathe but the air was like concrete in his lungs.

She tilted her head, narrowing her smoked-out eyes. Her lips were glossy crimson, cool-toned to match the palette of her outfit. Her hair had been pinned up, exposing her graceful neck and glimmering collarbones.

She began to walk through the crowd.

Jungkook spun around and suddenly all the sound roared back, intense and thunderingly hostile. He winced, clutching his drink and holding the side of his head, trying to make sense of it all.

“Tch, why is she here?”

“Right? She doesn’t belong here.”

“She can be wherever she wants to be,” replied a calm, deep voice.

He could hear voices around him talking but it wasn’t making any sense. How? Why? Was he seeing things? And why did it matter? It didn’t. It didn’t. He took another sip of his glass and found it bitter and tasteless. Maybe that was in his head too. It didn’t matter if she was here. Someone was tugging on his arm. He pulled himself free, snapping his hand down onto the table.

The world crashed back into place as his drink sloshed and spat out from his force.

A startled feminine gasp.

The calm, deep voice returned. “You okay, man?”

Jungkook jerked his head up and saw Kim Taehyung carefully surveying him. He was a man with strong, masculine features and a comforting baritone voice that reminded one of cozy winters and romantic nights. Out of all his friends, they were the closest in age. However, Taehyung was more than a year older and a much more seasoned veteran of the modeling industry. He had been scouted at a very young age, quickly learning the ins-and-outs without losing who he was. He was grounded, easygoing, and never had a crack in his composure. At least, that was how Jungkook thought of him.

Taehyung raised a dark eyebrow, repeating his question without saying a word.

“I’m fine,” Jungkook scowled, then controlled his face a bit better. “What?”

Those dark, moody eyes served him a dose of silent judgement as one of the girls at the table spoke up again.

“Oooh, she’s sitting down at a table.”

He told himself not to look. It didn’t matter if she was here. And yet his head moved on its own, pivoting to the left so fast he almost had whiplash. At high-end clubs like this, there were tables available depending on to how much a patron spent. The larger tables had to be paid for in advance to be secured a space. Such reservations were violently expensive, signaling VIP status. A lot of the smaller tables on the lower level were occupied. The more exclusive tables were higher up, needing stairs to access the higher tiers. A waiter was holding her hand, carefully guiding his ex-girlfriend up the stairs to an empty round table that typically seated ten.

There was no one else at the table.

She sat down at the seat closest to overlooking the club.

“She can afford that?”

A crackling laugh. “Doubt it.”

“Who are you to say what she can’t afford?” Taehyung cut in sharply in a disapproving tone.

“O-Oh, well… It’s just not that common, you know.”

The chittering was from the women they had invited to the table earlier. Shit, their presence seemed so frivolous and annoying now. Jungkook had half a mind to turn around and glare at them. Instead, he was transfixed by the woman in patent leather and tight lilac. She crossed her legs, smoothed her skirt, and leaned back in her chair, scanning the crowd. A waiter came back and brought a bucket of ice with a champagne bottle and accompanying flutes. A waitress came by with another bottle. Porcelain, with painted flue floral design, and placed two crystal glasses onto the table. His former lover smiled at them, nodding. They bowed and took their leave after serving her.

Instead of touching the drinks, the woman turned her body and locked her icy stare right on him.

Jungkook stiffened and turned away quickly, feeling his body running hot. The table was still talking, but it was behind hands and feigned disinterest. Taehyung sighed, shaking his head. Of course, there had been other friends at the table too. Only now did Jungkook notice that they were missing. Must have wandered off. At the very least, their host Kim Seokjin would definitely be gone for a while. He was an affluent actor, model, and owner of several establishments, including this luxury nightclub. Eventually the tall, broad-shouldered man would return to see them off, but there was no telling when.

“Did you know she was gonna be here?” Jungkook hissed through gritted teeth, ignoring the odd looks he was getting from the women. They still lingered for the free drinks which Taehyung kept supplied. No sense in wasting Seokjin’s endless tab after all.

Taehyung frowned. “I don’t police people’s actions. Does it matter what she does?”

Jungkook scoffed. “Oh, so this wasn’t your idea?”

Those normally warm brown eyes turned cold. “It wasn’t. Besides, she’s no longer your girlfriend.”

“Yeah, she’s definitely not.”

A growl collected in Jungkook’s throat and he was about to let it loose. He swiveled his head again only for the sound to die before it began. A man was standing by her table. He was sharply dressed in a suit and tie, with tied-back bleached-blond hair that laid over his shoulders. He had a pleasant decorum and a smile like a predatory feline. She gestured him to sit down and poured him a drink as invitation. He watched in horror as his ex-girlfriend chatted up a beautiful stranger.

He didn’t know whether he wanted to cry or run over there to flip the table.

A low voice cut through his thoughts.

“Wasn’t the breakup amicable?”

He froze.

Slowly, Jungkook faced Taehyung, his long-time friend. He never really could bring himself to fully lie to those piercing dark orbs, now reflecting the same reserved gaze that Taehyung had given him when Jungkook provided the same flimsy excuse he was once again repeating.

“I… It wasn’t meant to be,” Jungkook mumbled once more. “The traveling… it was too much for us.”

The older male was too good at reading between the lines, especially when it came to romance, his forte. “Hm.” He knew when he wasn’t getting the full story. “It’s probably too late to ask now, but was it what you wanted?”

Jungkook couldn’t help it.

“It was…”

He looked over his shoulder again.

“… What I deserved.”

She was thanking the blond-haired man. He bowed ninety degrees and leaned in, whispering something in her ear before leaving the table. His glass was empty. Someone else was approaching the table. A pretty woman with long black hair in a white minidress and short, pearl-white nails sat down, bowing lightly and introducing herself. His ex-girlfriend offered between the two drinks and the pretty woman chose the champagne. A waiter came over to uncork it for them, pouring a healthy amount into the two flutes.

They two chatted, immediately absorbed with each other.

“For a guy naturally talented at a lot of things, you’re such a stupid idiot.”

He was.

Wait.

Jungkook scowled, turning back to a disapproving Taehyung cradling a small ceramic cup. It was hand-painted with the smallest of brushstrokes, depicting a flock of black birds disappearing into the white sky. He took a sip with a gruff sigh, making a tense face. He was a wine guy, but he couldn’t turn down traditional Korean alcohol. That would be uncouth.

“How long are you going to continue moping?” Taehyung scoffed.

“I’m not moping,” Jungkook countered, hunched over the table and gripping his whiskey glass a little too hard.

“You are convincing no one. Least of all me.”

His eyes flickered upward, glaring. Taehyung remained refined, unperturbed, nearly prince-like in his half-open floral-and-forest-green silk shirt and ruffled hair. A black-brown curl perfectly grazed one of his eyebrows, accenting his condescending look with a dash of softness.

“Did you ever realize how much she did for you?”

Jungkook pushed away his glass. He couldn’t reply. He stuck his tongue in his cheek, trying not to feel. It was only then that he noticed that the table was strangely silent despite the fervor of the environment – the women had made themselves scarce, understanding that this conversation was much too serious for their girlypop night.

Finally, he forced himself to speak. “For me? I take care of myself.”

Taehyung winced. Hard. “You cannot be serious right now.”

Another peek behind him. A different man at her table now. Silvery-blonde hair, tan skin, muscular like a godly titan. She caught him looking and stared directly back. Jungkook cursed under his breath. “What did she do then? Hm? Enlighten me.” His voice was becoming rougher, slipping out of his practiced Seoul dialect and into his Busan dialect. The broad-shouldered man at the table had no suit jacket. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up. He must have noticed her lack of attention, because he began to turn around as well.

Jungkook jerked away before they could lock eyes too.

“Look, I don’t know what happened between you two,” Taehyung exhaled, not quite annoyed but getting there. “But I know you were the one that was wrong.”

Yeah, right.

“Never once did she complain about you. Never once did she butt into your business and cause you trouble when she could have. Never once did she talk behind your back when we both know damn well that you’re no saint, Jeon Jungkook.”

His tattooed hand against the table balled up into a fist, the familiar ache in his chest splitting, threatening.

Unintimidated, Taehyung continued. “The travelling was rough? Of course, it is. And there are probably a thousand ways to make it up to someone you love, but instead now I’m looking at you sitting here and her sitting there, pretending to be strangers. Tells me a whole lot about how that worked out.” His natural Daegu satoori was becoming more evident during his tirade. Taehyung wasn’t trying to be polite, though.

“You don’t know anything,” Jungkook retorted.

“I don’t.” Those dark brown eyes burned hot, scrutinizing him and tearing him apart. “And I don’t need to. Your hostility is telling me everything.”

“It was you,” Jungkook snapped, slamming his fist onto the table. “You invited her here.”

Taehyung’s low voice became lower, more accusatory. “Go ahead. Keep deflecting. Run back home and hide. That’s what you want to do, right?” His gaze narrowed and Taehyung’s normally friendly warmth morphed into scalding heat. “You heard what they said. She doesn’t belong here. And yet, here she is. They all talked and gossiped and badmouthed her, right to your face even, and yet you said nothing. You still don’t have the fucking balls, man. You didn’t respect her for all she was. In spite of that, she stood beside you, head held high, until you tossed her away. You brought her into this world, you ripped her out of it, and guess what? She is here. She holds her own. You deluded yourself into thinking she needed you. But she doesn’t, and it’s the other way around.”

Jungkook shot up out of his seat, nearly knocking the chair over. He was breathing hard, his furious anger so violent that it clawed at his insides, and Taehyung tilted his head, mirroring the expression of an adult tiger observing a foolish cub.

“You’re wrong,” Jungkook gritted out between clenched teeth. “You’re fucking wrong.”

He… No. She did this. This was her fault. She was the one that always pushed him to go for what he wanted. She was the one who always helped him make it work. Last minute changes happened often early in his career and she always smiled at him and told him to go, to run, to chase those adventures. And she always waited for him to come home.

“I wasn’t like that.”

In the middle of dinners for two. In vacations cut short. In forgotten special dates. Go. She always waited for him to come home. He couldn’t be blamed for that. Those were all her own decisions. He just had to do what he had to do, didn’t he? He couldn’t be blamed for doing what he thought was best. He couldn’t be blamed for trying his best. This dull ache created from a thousand cuts was not made from his own hand.

Right?

“You’re hopeless.” Taehyung slumped back in his chair and sighed. “Do as you wish.”

He wasn’t the person Taehyung was saying he was.

If he was, then…

No.

Jungkook whipped around and locked his eyes to the table, walking determinedly up to it.

There was a different man sitting there now. A very tall one with very short hair, violate energy, and a striking profile, deeply engaged in conversation with his ex-girlfriend. Currently laughing bashfully at something she must have said. The stranger was wearing a crisp black dress shirt with the first few buttons undone and well-tailored black slacks. Jungkook wanted to punch him in his very handsome face. He didn’t care that the man’s shoulders and arms were so built that they were nearly bursting the seams of his dress shirt, nor did he care that starting a fight right now would do absolutely nothing except get him thrown out in handcuffs.

Jungkook wanted to kill him.

Her eyes took a moment to shift from the very handsome stranger to him.

It hurt.

It really fucking hurt.

He glared back. Her gaze was not as heated, nor did it hold the same ice she had during their last conversation way back then. There was a completely different mix of emotions conveyed now. Almost disconnected, lonely, and loathing all at once, the last not directed at him but at herself.

As if she didn’t want to care but did and hated herself for it.

It wasn’t who she was at all, and Jungkook hated himself for doing this to her.

“Dude, I’m going to need you to get lost.”

Startled, the seated man turned his head to see Jungkook giving him a death stare. He hated seeing the puppy-like expression on such a masculine-looking man, not because he looked down on that but because it was a genuine, adorable reaction that couldn’t be faked.

She probably liked that.

She probably deserved that.

Jungkook was determined to ruin this too. Why the fuck not?

The man looked confused, and then irritated. “Uh… Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but I don’t think you belong here.” He had a commanding, stern tone. He shifted in his seat, halfway to rising. “This conversation doesn’t include you.”

“No, this conversation doesn’t include you,” Jungkook snapped, glancing at her. His ex-girlfriend did nothing but raise an eyebrow at him, her arms crossed under her breasts. “Fuck off.”

The man in the black dress shirt began to stand, brows furrowing. “Hey, I’m going to have to ask you to leave–”

“Excuse me.”

She stood up.

From this distance, Jungkook could fully take in how the smoke-grey eyeshadow accentuated the shape of her eyes, making them more prominent and intense. The lights caught the glow of her skin and the vividness of the scarlet of her lips, giving her an ethereal, untouchable demeanor. Loose layers of her hair framed her face despite the majority of it being pinned up, casting cold, dark shadows around the hot radiance of her gaze.

“I’m sorry to cut our conversation short, but I think it’s best if you give us a moment,” she said politely to the tall stranger while bowing. “I was enchanted to meet you tonight, Kim Mingyu.”

A pink flush dusted over the man’s cheeks. This motherfucker had the audacity to be flustered. Jungkook still wanted to punch him in the face. Maybe more now than before.

“O… Oh… Um. Alright.” He glanced between Jungkook and her. “Will you be okay?”

She smiled, maintaining confident eye contact with the stranger. “Let’s not assume the worst of people. And… Your words have given me courage. I thank you.”

It took everything in Jungkook not to trip the guy on his very expensive designer shoes as he hastily bowed and took his leave, offering an awkward half-wave before backing away. She raised a hand back, not looking away even when he turned around.

And then.

Quiet.

At least as quiet as a loud nightclub could be. But it all became background noise in the face of loaded silence. The safety off now. The bass faded into heartbeats as she raised her eyes and, once again, they faced each other across the table. Jungkook stood with his hands balled up into fists in the pockets of his leather jacket. His former lover stood with her hands in front of her. She was still the most beautiful, graceful, and collected woman that he had ever had the pleasure to know.

“I’m…”

And he missed her so, so much.

“I’m sorry.”

So fucking much.

Her eyes flickered down in a pause, and then back up. “It really doesn’t matter anymore. The past is in the past.”

Her name on his lips felt foreign and familiar all at once. She didn’t react. It was as if he had said nothing at all. He said it again, almost with an edge of panic, and she closed her eyes, breathing in slowly. He wanted to run to the other side. He wanted to climb on top of the table and grab her hands and tell her it was going to be okay, that he was going to be better, that she was the love of his life and that he could be hers too, please, if only he had a chance. Instead, he stayed where he was, frozen in place, trying not to do the wrong thing even though everything about this scene and script was all wrong.

Her eyes opened in a resigned, resolute flutter.

“Do you think saying sorry takes back everything you’ve done?” she asked in a measured tone.

He pulled his hands out of his jacket, shaking his head. “No. No, of course not. I… You didn’t give me a chance to apologize, and I–”

“Apologize for what?” she coldly interrupted.

“W-Well… For… everything, really.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t know.”

Jungkook blinked hard, trying to banish his tears. “Know?” he echoed.

“You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for.” Her words were sharpened steel, cutting right through him.

“I do,” he insisted. “For all the times I left during dinner, for all the times I’ve left during our scheduled time together, for forgetting your birthday, anniversary–”

“For the blatant disrespect,” she interrupted, her hands separating, those intense eyes narrowing. “For always believing I could fend for myself when you got swept up during work events. For contacting me not to talk about my day, but to interrogate me on what I was doing. For not believing me and asking me to send photos every time I was out somewhere.”

He sputtered, taken aback. “That wasn’t… Those things–”

“For always knowing I understood your position and taking it for granted.” Her glare was like daggers, cutting through all the lies he told himself. “And yet never understanding mine. Never believing in the love I had for you.”

“I did believe!”

“And so you accused me of lying?” she shot back, scathing him. “I have never done anything to make you believe I was disloyal to you, but I was five minutes late to a date and suddenly I need to be lying? Suddenly that was a sign of my nefarious plans? Suddenly I’m the bad guy that needs to be backed into a corner? Suddenly I must beg on my knees to soothe your feelings?”

“I didn’t ask for that,” he retorted. “I just asked why you didn’t text that you were late.”

“I don’t need to repeat what I said then,” she growled, bristling. She had been five minutes late because of an elderly taxi driver taking his time. “Because it didn’t matter what the reason was for you. I know that now. You were scared. You were insecure. You were nervous that I was beginning to fall out of love with you. You latched onto the first thing I did wrong and blew it out of proportion to force me to grovel to you. You could have asked me directly how I felt. Instead, you decided to play fucking games.”

Jungkook couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

Her hands balled up into fists by her sides. “I was patient. I was understanding. I loved you.” She dug her nails into her palms, clenching her jaw. “But I was not going to let myself be manipulated by your insecurities. I was not about to lose myself to become an extension of you, Jeon Jungkook.”

Past tense.

“You… loved me?”

She might as well have stabbed him right through the heart.

A thundering pause.

Finally, she sighed. Her hands relaxed.

“When I came in here, I didn’t know if I wanted to run to you or slap you.”

She looked around, down at the crowd, up to the lights, to the bar, the tables, the people.

“Before you, all I had was a decent job. Not exciting, but good enough to enjoy the life I wanted. I had loose acquaintances and once-in-a-blue-moon friends. I had mediocre hobbies that I was okay at. Before you, that had been enough. This,” she breathed, indicating the people and the money being flaunted around like water during a rainstorm. “I didn’t know this. I didn’t know how lonely it was to be standing this high. I didn’t know… My acquaintances and few friends saw the life you gave me and faded away, no longer relating to the extravagance I was exposed to. My job became a forbidden topic for the mere crime that it was boring. My hobbies became childish to these refined eyes. Yet… I could live with all that. The life I wanted was the one I had with you. And… it turned out to be miserable.”

For the first time, Jungkook realized how much she lost loving him.

“I was miserable.”

She half-laughed, empty.

“But I loved you.”

Lowered her head.

“And I was so, so damn angry with you.”

She smacked the table with her palm, hard enough to make the people around them flash them a startled look. Her fingers tensed, cherry-red manicure flaring over the wood.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” This was the part Jungkook didn’t understand. His voice rose in both frustration and desperation. “Why didn’t you just blow up on me? Why didn’t you say something?”

“Say what?” she snarled, snapping her head up, each word a bullet tearing through him. “Huh? No, don’t go? How dare you leave me, again? Create the war wounds right before we part? What good does all that do? Make us both upset right before you run off? Because you would anyway. You know you would, because you are stubborn and selfish and always doing what you need to do, putting me at the bottom of the list since I am capable… right? I can handle myself, right?”

He was rounding the table, knocking chairs aside. “You could have been angry at me. You just didn’t want to be!”

“Who wants to be angry? Don’t be ridiculous!”

“What, you were worried that you would no longer be the perfect girlfriend if you weren’t understanding?” he accused.

She looked livid. “Don’t you dare flip my consideration onto me.”

He stopped right in front of her, tension all over his neck and jaw. “It’s your fault too. I can’t change if you act like everything is fine!”

Her eyes widened. “Are you serious? I have to be the one to teach you not to be a fucking selfish prick and think about someone else for a change?” she hissed.

“How am I supposed to know?”

“Of course, you know!”

They were beginning to draw whispers and stunned faces but neither of them was backing down or ashamed enough. Or, perhaps, they were simply completely unaware of the disruption they were causing.

“You knew – no, you still know,” she snarled, jabbing him in the chest with a impeccably manicured finger. “You have never felt like you fit in with these people. That was why you tried so hard. That was why you took every opportunity to be a lapdog. That was why you dated me, because I am not privileged and enabled, that’s why you dragged me into your world and got paranoid when I wasn’t showing the same apprehensions as you, putting me in impossible positions and playing games, when we could have been teamed up against the world, when we could have been yin and yang, but all we were was a pair of damn cowards!”

His eyes went wide.

Fury laced in her helpless expression.

“You could have protected me. All you did was make me throw myself to the wolves to protect you!”

Her hands slammed into his chest and she shoved him, hard. He stumbled back, throwing his right arm out, knocking over a champagne flute and shattering it. Glass exploded onto the floor, delicate shards shooting out and catching the light, scattering into dust beneath designer feet.

People gasped and someone screamed at the unexpected noise.

His left hand reached out and gripped the patent leather sleeve of her jacket. Their gazes locked in shock and comprehension. His lips parted. One of his knees was still bent to steady himself from falling. But before Jungkook could say anything, she squeezed her eyes shut, breaking their connection, and ripped her arm from his grasp.

Then she seized the porcelain bottle with painted blue flowers and threw it onto the floor, shattering that too.

One moment of awful, dazed silence.

The next moment, men in security uniforms swiftly and silently crossed the distance and surrounded them. He was being grabbed and pinned down to the table, metal handcuffs clicked onto his wrists behind his back despite his protests. His jaw dropped when one of the men touched her shoulder and she immediately turned around and slapped him. Instantly, she too was firmly pushed down and also restrained, both of them staring at each other over the surface of the wood, their previously well-styled hair in disarray all over their faces, their eyes wide with the realization of the severity of their public argument.

He couldn’t help but think she looked fucking hot.

Something flickered in her eyes. She recognized his exact thought from their shared look. And his ex-girlfriend burst out laughing at this absurd situation, even as security hoisted them up and dragged them down the stairs. So, fuck it. He couldn’t help it either.

Jungkook started laughing too.

-

“This is your fault, by the way.”

“Feel free to add it to the list of shit I’ve done wrong.”

They were still handcuffed. Both standing a respectful distance away  from each other in the middle of a storeroom crammed with boxes stacked like a cardboard maze. There were no windows. The door was closed and presumably locked. Neither of them had moved towards it. There would be no criminal undercover going on here. They were already in deep enough shit. Adding attempted escape would probably change their current storeroom location into separate jail cells for the night.

They did not look at each other.

Jungkook leaned against the boxes, his hands stuck behind his back. One of the sides of his leather jacket had slipped down, exposing his right shoulder. It was nice, actually, since the previous scuffle had left him rather hot-blooded. He snuck a glance beside him.

His ex-girlfriend’s body was facing the door. The backs of her hands rested on the prominent curve of her ass in that tight lilac skirt, her straight posture making her waist look even smaller. Must be nice to have a built-in shelf. His eye line travelled up to her hair, seeing it half-undone and falling down her neck. Half of the pins were still holding up by sheer luck. The patent leather of her jacket crackled as she adjusted, stretching out her ankle. She was still in her high heels.

“Uncomfortable?” he found himself quietly asking.

“Could be worse,” she answered back, still not turning around.

He waited for her to elaborate.

She didn’t.

The silence was palpable. Somehow not unbearable. He looked back down at his feet, wondering why they had been left here. He half-expected security to escort them off the premises and into a police car, but they had marched them behind the kitchen and told them to stay put and not cause trouble, similarly to how misbehaving kids were put in time-out. Then again, the owner of the club was his affluent friend Kim Seokjin. Perhaps this was a rich people thing. Or an under-the-table thing.

Her voice echoed in his head.

You have never felt like you fit in with these people.

“Hey, uh…” he started, trailing off.

A light sigh.

Then, she shook her head, somewhat vigorously. Some of the hairpins loosened up. “Ugh, my hair is more annoying than anything,” she muttered under her breath. “It’s all messed up.”

Hell yeah, it was, and it was a turn-on, reminding him of after-sex tousling. Jungkook kept his mouth shut. Not the right time for that. He chewed on his lower lip, wondering if he could do anything. Wondering if he should do anything. She still hadn’t turned around.

So, he did.

He turned around, bent down slightly, and tried to reach up. The angle was difficult. Not high enough either. His leather sleeves were also constricting his movement and making loud creaking sounds. He looked back, trying to reach up with a grunt, and she stiffened, swinging her head around. He froze in an awkward position. She stared at him.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

He blinked back. “Um… I… I was trying to help…?”

Her eyebrow raised. “By… doing yoga?”

He let out an impatient huff. “No, I’m trying to help you take the pins out of your hair,” Jungkook clarified, straightening with a frustrated shake of his body. “It’s bothering you, isn’t it? But I’m not flexible enough and you’re too tall in your heels.”

She paused. He looked away, feeling somewhat embarrassed for even trying. Who was he to think that he could do something like that? Hah. His hands tightened behind him. They weren’t close like that anymore. They weren’t even friends.

He felt a sting in his heart remembering that.

“Sorry… I should have asked if you wanted the help at all.”

He exhaled heavily.

Stillness.

Then he heard the crack of patent leather and raised his head to see her squat down, lowering one knee to the concrete floor, her back perfectly straight and her head at his waist height. She was facing the door again so he couldn’t see her expression.

“If… Well, it would be helpful if you could… If you could remove the hairpins,” she mumbled, keeping her head up. “Please.”

He gawked at her kneeled form, unmoving.

His heartbeat accelerated.

“Um… if you’re going to do it, faster would be better,” she added hesitantly with placed-in chuckle. “I don’t know how long I can keep my balance in these shoes.”

His cheeks burned. “Uh, yeah, s-sorry. I’m on it.”

The metal handcuffs clinked as he moved. He turned around and backed up a bit, reaching out to feel for her hair. Sucked in a quiet breath as his fingers grazed the soft strands, memories of stolen nights drifting back to him. He swallowed hard and bit his lip, using touch to search for the hairpins, and then loosening them as gently as he could. One by one. He tried to tuck them in his palm as he continued. Sometimes he would need to rest one hand on her head and use the other to pull them out slowly and carefully. She said nothing, tilting her head slightly as he made his way around. He felt his way along her scalp, running his fingers through her hair, remembering the familiar scent he could detect when he used to breathe it in, remembering his hands holding her head as he used to lean in and kiss her, remembering that he had lost all of that now.

Jungkook lowered his chin, letting out a soundless cry.

“You liked my hair down, I recall,” she commented behind him, her soothing voice mirroring the rolling tide late at night.

“Y… Yeah.”

He smiled despite himself. He pulled back his handcuffed hands.

“You have lovely hair. I don’t like seeing it all tucked away.”

For a moment, there was a quietness as those words sank in. She shifted, and he heard her stand up, the sharp click of her heels indicating as much, but he kept his back to her, unsure if this was the last time he would touch her hair. The last time he hadn’t known it would be the last, so he didn’t mourn the moment until way later, but this time…

“Thank you.”

He breathed in through his nose. Oddly stuffy in here.

“Y… You’re welcome.”

He wished he could take it all back, but he couldn’t. He wished he could prove he was a better man, but he didn’t know how or even if he could. She was right. He had gotten swept up in his ambitions and the superficial relationships. He had been afraid. He had let that fear control him because he had felt out of sorts with who he was, who he was becoming, and who he wanted to be.

“I really… I really am sorry.”

They were back-to-back. Not touching. Just close enough to feel each other’s presence without seeing them. Hands behind their backs, staring in opposite directions but finally seeing the path before them.

“I know.”

She let out a soft breath.

“I wished for the way I felt to change once I could accept your apologies, but,” she whispered. “Life isn’t that simple or clear cut.”

His chest ached. “Yeah.” It didn’t matter if his actions had unintentional consequences. The consequences still existed. “You’re right. About it all. About the person I became and how I treated you because of it. About how this was because of me feeling like I don’t fit in.”

She didn’t say anything, yet Jungkook could sense her acknowledgment. He couldn’t really explain why he knew. Maybe it had something to do with their current circumstances.

“I keep trying and I… I don’t know. Maybe I’m too simple-minded. Maybe I can’t understand the world these people live in. I mean, my friends seem like normal people but there are still moments where I catch myself thinking, I wouldn’t have thought to do or say that. I feel so… disconnected, sometimes. Meaningless. Maybe I’m not worth a damn to them.”

He was rambling, slipping between his refined dialect and his Busan satoori. He caught himself, about to correct his wording.

“You don’t have to be like the people around you to fit in,” she chided.

He stopped trying to form a sentence and listened.

“You don’t listen. That has always been your strength. Your charm is your natural character with the added spice of rebellion.” Her chuckle lightened, making his heart tighten and feel like exploding at the same time. “Your talent has always been bravely walking your own path, confusing as it may be. There is a pureness in that. You have friends because they want to protect that part of you. Haven’t you noticed? Your friends have never asked you to change or be like them. They just accept you for how you are and push away people who try to mold you into their vision.”

His friends? Well, true, they were the main reasons for him getting the jobs he got. He had always felt somewhat inadequate, realizing his success was from seniors in the industry helping him out. They all told him that this was how it worked. They all told him to do well so he could get more opportunities. It was part of the reason that he felt that he couldn’t let those connections down. He had always felt that he couldn’t refuse.

“Your friends have always been on your side. They don’t want you to be like them. They want you to stay as you are. You mean that much to those around you.”

But perhaps he had been wrong all along.

“Only you thought you needed to change.”

There was probably a lot of sound outside, but the distracting racket was inaudible from the distant storeroom. Her quiet voice amplified her words in this slice of stillness. There something stricken and bitter haunting the air between them as the revelation settled.

He clutched her hairpins in his fist.

“I didn’t… I didn’t date you just because you weren’t part of this vapid world I’m in.”

He wanted her to know.

“I wish…”

The tears stung the corners of his eyes. He refused to let them go. Jungkook looked up to the ceiling, taking in each breath as steadily as he could. He felt like he was drowning, except instead of water, it was all the things he never said.

“I wish I could have been strong enough for you to be angry at me sooner. Tonight, I realized… It was my own shortcomings that made you stay quiet.” He chuckled dryly in admiration. “You endured more than I ever could. More than anyone should.” He didn’t know if he was making any sense but he kept on going. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so mad. That was the most emotion I’ve ever seen from you. You must have spent a lot of nights… feeling so alone because of my selfishness.”

This was not a romantic setting at all. They were stuck in a storeroom with no windows, surrounded by boxes, handcuffed for being a public disruption, for being too dramatic and too emotional. Neither of them could look at the other. A disaster in every sense of the world.

But.

Maybe this was the most honest moment they had ever shared.

Her laugh simmered behind him.

“I’m sorry for losing my shit.”

He half-smiled in rueful relief.

“It wasn’t so bad. Low-key kinda hot. I almost lost the plot at times.”

She laughed under her breath. “You don’t mean that.”

A single heartbeat of silence.

“I kinda do,” he admitted, feeling the upturned corners of his lips falter.

It became quiet once more. An embarrassed quiet, but maybe only on his side. Jungkook still couldn’t bring himself to turn around and find out. He shifted awkwardly, realizing he was still holding her hairpins in his hand. Uh. Well, he couldn’t exactly ask her to put them in her pocket. Did she even have any pockets with that outfit? He furrowed his brows, thinking about that tight skirt and lace corset. Doubtful there would be any pockets in such fitted clothing. Maybe in her jacket, but it was so short that he would basically have to reach for her tits to…

His face heated slightly realizing that he was heavily focusing on her body right now.

Click.

He didn’t really register the sound behind him at first. It sounded like something falling onto the concrete. There was another sharp tapping sound, but before he could shift and twist his body to see, he felt her fingertips brush against the knuckles of his fist.

“I’m sorry too.”

He was too shocked to even move or react. Just stood there wide-eyed, struck by the lightning of her touch, realizing they were that close and that it was her who initiated that.

“I should have brought up the little things that bothered me. I shouldn’t have let it snowball simply because I thought it would make your life easier. I should have tried to remind you not to be intimidated by those around you,” she sighed heavily. “And I should have believed in your apology more than I did.”

The pads of her fingertips stilled.

One by one, they lost contact.

Jungkook dropped all the hairpins on the floor in a cascade of metal raindrops.

He reached back and grabbed her hand, gripping her fingers tightly, gasping as he felt her cool skin against his warmth. He felt her initial rise of reluctance, however, she did not pull away. Their handcuffs clinked against each other, the chains colliding. He scrambled to reach a little higher. Grasping her hand in his. Her right in his right. He tried to say something. Something romantic, something reassuring, something self-derogatory even.

But nothing come out.

He tried to breathe and was choked by inner tears. Tried again, shaking, trying to be silent. Her fingers curled around the back of his hand and laid there. She gave him a light squeeze.

“Don’t worry.”

Her calming voice a dream on this night.

“I’m here.”

They held hands.

It must have been only for a short while. It felt like forever packed in minutes. He inhaled deeply, catching fleeting traces of her sweet and sultry perfume. Closed his eyes with an exhale. Another inhale, slower this time. Maybe this was futile. Maybe this was objectively wildly inappropriate. Maybe he was the fucking worst, wishing, hoping they could reset to something new. All of this could crash and burn.

Or.

Or, maybe.

He swallowed tightly. Leaned back just a little. Their shoulder blades touched. A moment of suspended anticipation. She leaned back against him. The backs of their heads didn’t yet touch. He felt her hair on his neck. It was only the tops of their backs that touched, but now there was only centimeters of trembling air between them.

“Are you cold?” he asked, his voice rough and nervous.

“Only a little.” Her thumb brushed against the side of his palm. “I’ll be alright.”

Yeah, he knew that. “You’re the most capable person I know.”

She sighed. “It’s not all sunshine and roses.”

He scrunched up his face in search for the words. “Well… You suit moonlight and thorns more.”

She nearly snorted. He felt her shoulders shake in silent laughter. He winced, thinking he said something wrong.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“I like those better, anyway!” He blurted it out quickly. Maybe too quickly, curling a bit in on himself once he realized what he said, cringing, but she tugged on his hand ever so slightly. It was obvious she was shaking her head from her hair swishing over his neck.

“You always had a thirst for danger, Jungkook.”

Her tone was slight and playful. He felt his cheeks burn and his heart race so hard that he almost couldn’t breathe from the pressure. Nearly stuttered when he heard his name in her voice, clenching his jaw shut so he didn’t make a fool of himself. Again. His entire body tensed, on edge and vibrating from the rush of emotions.

“Are you trying to break my hand?”

He was gripping her hand way too tight. “S-Sorry!” He loosened his stiff fingers, twisting his wrist to keep his hand cupped around hers. “Sorry…”

“Heh, it’s not like you to apologize,” she teased.

Jungkook furrowed his brows. “Hey...”

Her head laid against his shoulder.

He stilled, heartbeat pounding. She looked up at the ceiling. At least, he presumed that from the angle. The back of her head touched his left shoulder, just barely. Her hair spilled against his collarbone and back, messy and free.

“I bet you have somebody. You’re too good-looking to have nobody lined up.”

Her murmur was soft and resigned. Guilty.

Her words hung in the air.

He tipped his head back, the nape of his neck against her shoulder. The patent leather of her jacket squeaked loudly under his presence. He wished. He hoped. He…

“I have someone,” he confessed.

He squeezed her hand. Their faces tilted upwards to the ceiling, and still Jungkook could recall every detail of her eyes – the way they glimmered when she smiled, the way they sparked when she was serious, the way they twinkled during all their special moments, the way they hollowed out when she turned away from him.

His fingers gently separated hers, interlocking.

The words were at the tip of his tongue.

His lips parted.

Suddenly there were loud footsteps on the other side of the heavy wood door. His ex-girlfriend jerked up in alarm. Jungkook stumbled. Both of them quickly sprang away from each other as the noisy jangle of keys was heard and then the heavy door swung open, revealing the two of them standing there, tense, now staring wide-eyed at a tall, broad-shouldered man flanked by two security guards. His black hair was perfectly parted, half brushing against his forehead and half combed back, giving a corporate feel in his tailored black suit. He was strikingly handsome by all accounts. Intense dark brown eyes, sculpted brows, full lips, stunning jawline.

Kim Seokjin wore an exasperated, annoyed expression.

He ticked his head to Jeon Jungkook’s ex-girlfriend.

“You. Come with me.”

She hesitated for a second and stepped forward, hanging her head a bit. “I sincerely apologize for the trouble I’ve caused.”

It would be expected for such a stern, posh-looking man to be harsh. Instead, Seokjin stuck his fists by his waist and sighed loudly, similarly to a disappointed grandmother scolding her favorite child.

“Haaah… come on. You’re not going to jail. I want to talk to you alone. Hey, uncuff her,” the owner of the nightclub tutted. One of the security guards went around her to unlock the handcuffs. “It took me a while to handle everything out there. At least the incident won’t be on the news or anything.” He reached out and held her elbow as she was released, steadying her balance and leading her out of the room. The guards followed, not taking a second glance back.

Jungkook frowned. “Hey, hyung–”

Seokjin whipped up and pointed a finger at him. “No. You stay here.”

Jungkook balked, offended. “What?! What about me?”

The older man glared at him like he was the naughty child. “I’ll have a conversation with you after. Stay.”

Anger boiled high. “I’m not a dog!”

Offensively, Seokjin barked back with, “You’re right. Dogs are loyal. And want to listen to people. You have the listening skills of a straw. In one end and out the other.”

The door slammed shut with finality.

Jungkook stood there, speechless, gawking at the sheer audacity.

Then he kicked the floor with a roar of impatience once Kim Seokjin’s insult finally registered. What the hell! Kim Seokjin was the one to invite him here in the first place! Seokjin was the oldest of Jungkook’s friends that took him under his wing, teaching him about various business aspects behind the scenes and making sure Jungkook knew the importance of having a good lawyer to look over his contracts. Now Seokjin had him locked up as if he was a five-year-old receiving a time out! Who did he think he was, his disciplinarian?

“What the fuck?!”

Then Jungkook ceased all movement, no longer stomping around in circles.

It was him.

Kim Seokjin had invited him here tonight.

It was him. Kim Seokjin had told him he better get his ass over here on this night in particular if he knew what was good for him. Not unusual, as his friends usually had to threaten him to go outside these days. It was you. You invited her here. It wasn’t Taehyung who invited her. He had been telling the truth all along.

“That bastard.”

Snarling, Jungkook whipped his head to the door and glared at it, fully intending to charge like a goddamn bull right into Kim Seokjin once it opened again.

I, I hear the whispers in your eyes I'll make you wanna think twice you'll find that you were never not mine you're mine

-

i hear... | ... the whispers... | ... in your eyes.

--

masterpost

[harshdakadam]

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[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Military Industrial Complex

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

Summary report of Terran Republic

Homeworld: Terra. Alias: Earth

Territory: 23 Planets 16 Star Systems 54 Orbital Stations 267 Asteroid Mining Operations

Population: 20.9 Billion

Military Threat Level: Red

Technological Level: Yellow

Personal Log from observer Nul Yand

“On the surface the Terran Republic should not even exist.

Their technological level is far below their neighbors such as the Olon Alliance or the Fenrar Empire.

They barely have the means to travel between their worlds and even then it requires months when the previously mentioned governing bodies can do it in days.

The one quality these humans have that has kept them alive for so long is the scope of their military; or more accurately their military industrial complex.

One could be forgiven for equating the two to be one in the same, but the distinction is made quite obvious when dealing with humans.

Their military operates under three branches known as the Fleet, the Army, and the Home Guard.

 The fleet maintains the various orbital and suborbital craft almost completely. This ranges from the kilometer long Kepper Warships to atmospheric attack craft and is the primary partner for the second branch as a means to travel between worlds.

The army is made up of ground forces ranging from standard infantry to heavy mobile assault tanks. During times of war they are the spear tip and conduct numerous covert operations against human aggressors. When these operations are not enough the ground forces are then deployed which conduct full scale planetary invasions or man the numerous defensive forts dotted throughout their territory.

The final branch is the least militaristic of the three but serves a crucial role nonetheless. Home Guard serves as the eyes and ears within the human domain as a sudo military surveillance force. They enforce the laws while also rooting out enemies to said laws such as common gang members to spy’s and collaborators.

All three of these organizations are supplied through what is known as the human Military Industrial Complex.

The MIC is not a single entity but a collection of private corporations, weapon manufacturers, scientific committees, political lobbyists, and countless other unnamed groups who have saw fit not to make themselves known. 

They provide the human military with a near endless supply of weaponry, ammunition, vehicles, ships, and more ensuring that at no time are their forces underequipped.

Research divisions conduct numerous lines of inquiry which include biological and advanced robotics. This has resulted in the military having a wide variety of advanced war machines such as the attack bot 5000, and the UAV dubbed “Seekers” which are capable of tracking down individual targets across an entire planet.

 The biological division has made several advances in medical technology which have equally contributed with the production of Healing Pods which can induce accelerated healing process for even the most injured soldier. On the more questionable front they have also created several strains of lethal viruses to be used against enemy combatants. Rumor is that the Red Vein Plague was one such concoction when the war against the Tumari began taking a turn for the worse against humanity.

With this vast network of resources, the Terran military has been able to adapt to nearly any situation it has faced allowing it to survive even against impossible odds.

When the vast fleet of organic Milnani ships invaded human borders it was expect the human fleets would be wiped out within the first week. The first few engagements resulted in losses, but by the third engagement the humans had deployed new boring missiles that chewed through the thick hide of Milnani ships and dispersed a lethal toxic into the ships bloodstream. Within minutes the ships were violently convulsing as entire portions were torn open from muscle spasms, exposing the passengers to the cold void of space.

When the Tucmal used their advanced weaponry advantage to conquer an outlying colony, the human military dispatched a covert strike team to capture one of the weapon platforms and return it to a research lab on Omega VI. A month later effective shields had been deployed to counteract Tucmal weaponry rendering it useless. A week later the first phase plasma canons were being deployed that could burn through Tucmal armor protecting weapon platforms

When a War Sphere was deployed to obliterate the human homeworld a relay station was deployed to follow it just outside of weapons range. A cryptology team intercepted all incoming transmissions and was able to decipher the communications from the war sphere back to whoever was controlling it thanks to a recently acquired quantum gen III computer and over two dozen alien speakers who had been “invited” to a private facility. The team was able to interject into the transmissions and send a new command to turn around, return to its point of origin, and destroy the planet it came from. They then ordered it to turn off its transmission center so the human command could not be countermanded. In short order the war sphere followed its new directive and returned to its point of origin somewhere in the Ocares Sector.

This shadowy collective has been a backbone of human survival and though many have sought to remove this bountiful source of progress none have been able to completely destroy the MIC. Research groups have been tracked down and their teams wiped out to the man only for another group to take up the notes half a sector away. Factories and facilities obliterated in orbital bombardments were relocated to space stations orbiting no stars in the space between systems off all charts and maps.

It was deemed that only an overwhelming force of unprecedented vastness striking all at once would be sufficient to deal a crippling blow to the MIC. This in of itself however has proved a problem as to gather such a force would almost immediately be noticed and countered before it could even be put into motion.

My recommendation would be to isolate humanity and avoid combat as much as possible.

If conflict is inevitable then it must be prevalent that all significant technology not fall into their hands lest it be deconstructed and used against us.

Only then do we have a slight chance of victory."

[whereserpentswalk]

There is a cave that contains a dragon. He is an old dragon, twice as ancient and twice as powerful as most dragons you'll ever meet, his fire hot enough to melt a faerie's exoskeleton, and his mouth large enough to swallow a kraken whole. But he is a restful dragon, he spends most of his time in his cave, sleeping, or reading, or looking after his eggs. But it is said in an ancient contact with humankind that whenever the land needs him most (it is unclear what counts as the land), he will finally exit his cave and lend his power to humanity.

There was a time when a great general came to the dragon and said, "great dragon! We are at war and we are losing, our country has many brave men and the best of guns and tanks and planes, but the enemy outnumbers us. We have set up conscription, so if you are truly as loyal to your country as you are said to be you shall join us, and set our enemies ablaze." Yet the dragon slept so soundly the general thought him nothing more then stone, and the general left, thinking himself a fool.

Some time later the country's bishop came to the dragon and told him, "great dragon, Saint of the cave, you have been a Saint in this country since conversion, now may you awaken by the power of God for the sake of this land. The younger generations of this nation have turned from the church, and have become atheists and idol worshippers. Awaken and turn them to the light." But the dragon slept so soundly that the bishop thought him a creature of stone, and cursed him as a false idol as he left. The dragon was decanonized after that.

A few months after that, the ceo of a major corporation came to the dragons cave and told him, "my dear freind the dragon! You defend our nation right? Well, our industry is going downhill, the companies overseas are manufacturing faster then we ever could. Pretty soon our mining companies, our car companies, even our banks will be making less then those across the ocean. Come out and do something and you'll show yourself to really be loyal." But the dragon slept, and the ceo thought him to be nothing but stone, and the ceo spat on him, not caring for ancient artifacts.

The one day a young woman came to the dragon, with no where else to go, and whispered to him, "Please, I'm sorry if this is strange, but I wish someone could help. My mother plans to kick me out of my only home. She caught me sleeping with a woman, and said I have two weeks to leave. I have nowhere to, and fear soon I'll be on the streets. She won't even talk to me now. I know I am an adult, and it is her right, but I don't want to be cold this winter." And though it seemed to be no more than a statue, the young woman swore she could hear the words "it will be done" echo from the cave, and a yellow eye open for just a momment.

The next night the young woman's mother died, they say while she was out driving alone a fireball shot out from the sky at her, burning her alive. Nobody knows where the fire came from. But the young woman inherited the house, and the land was well protected.

[whirligig-girl]

A mellanoid Advanced Steam tank engine, for use in shunting, industrial shortlines, and branch lines. This particular class has variants designed for burning coal, oil, or biofuels. Note the large covered fuel bunker atop the saddle tank. Like most Advanced Steam locos, it has compound cylinders to expand the steam twice for more efficient operation.

The above loco is pictured with the same livery used by the Slaibsgloth Coal Mine engines, so this might indeed be one of those. However, here are some alternate liveries for fun.

Slorpholk Northern

Railway Series variant.

[zazozaliad]

ramble I keep saying I'd make about sunday wrt adoptee trauma

so this is the promised screed where I talk a little (a lot) on the way society treats adoptees, which Sunday and Robin are & which I think is uhh a detail we're kind of easily prepped by Orphans As Media Trope to not really dwell upon on a deeper level. and I get it. but star rail is in fact writing these two on a level where this is an extremely important detail of who they are as people, it's intrinsically part of how they TICK. they don't just have a Complicated Flock of Dad Situation, they don't just have religious trauma, they have the adopted child version of these things which is every normal part of it but also backwards on roller skates while someone calls you ungrateful for wanting to stop and fix your skates' laces when they start coming untied.

from my own admittedly limited perspective — I am one, but it was a kinship adoption; I thus recognize the limits in my point of view and also want to try and elevate the voice of other adoptees whose experiences of displacement were different than mine. for instance: here's a great article by mirah riben, that also comes full of links for further reading.

anyway. they're adopted. this is an extremely critical decision in the halo sibs' design, and going further into the narrative foils territory the Aventurine and Sunday similarities don't stop at 'Aventurine and Sunday both lost their home and parents.' There is a next step, and it is 'Aventurine and Sunday were both once trafficked children.'

Soooo let's get to it! Ahem. Adoption, as it exists in modern society, is a multi-billion dollar industry. it is not, in fact, a noble act of salvation, undertaken by adopter on behalf of adoptee. It is, in blunt distillation, an intentional act of putting a human being under another's care — or, "mercy," how about we call it? That's a great word, isn't it.

With them at his mercy, Gopher Wood treats Sunday and Robin, these 'twins of Order,' as his golden opportunity. He used power and influence to secure the chance to raise them, after the senseless disaster that uprooted their lives. This last bit is a fact neutral statement, by the way; even if he turned out to be the coolest flock of birds dad ever, he still plucked them up like they were some choice shinies left laying around. They perfectly suited his personal needs, so that's the whole reason he's in their lives, and that they're in his.

I'm framing this merest act of adoption in a highly uncomplimentary way for a reason. By the way, peep the bits of canon showing Robin and Sunday as really young children, and how they aren't explicitly being called 'Robin' and 'Sunday' there. But moving on!

Adoption, and not just the circumstances leading toward adoption, is traumatic. It doesn't always result in unresolved trauma, because different people have different levels of resiliency to different things; a stressor is a stressor, whether you tanked it well or not. It is a disconnect with, or even a destruction of a portion of one's personal identity. The places we are from, the way those before us lived, these are intrinsic parts of our selves an adoptee loses partial or full access to.

Star Rail is pretty decent at showing this, actually; we've met adoptees in every major area (even arguably Amphoreus, if we stretch for the case of Pasithea) and each and every time you can see how the experience complicates. Bronya discovers the bittersweet answer to that hollow in herself in front of us in real time. Yanqing is maybe one of the Softest depictions of this, and he is still a relentless workaholic who itches to show himself as worthwhile. Because that's the thing.

Because society frames adoption as benevolent sacrifice, there's that weight, always there, in the mind.

In truth, adoption is acquisition, the factual motion of a supply (of people. of a person) meeting a demand. You don't, actually, pledge to take care of a child on accident. That's not a real thing. A child adopter is, when we ignore all pretentious sentiment, a person enacting a desire to acquire a child.

Sunday, I think, is my favorite depiction of a Star Rail adoptee thus far. He continues to commodify himself into adulthood to the point we see him literally turn himself into a big craftwork of unfeeling metal and porcelain. But they specifically chose to Not make him unrelentingly gracious toward his 'rescuer,' a move that has given me terminal brainrot about him, irrevocably, forever! ...And actually, by the time we meet him, he's gotten kinda fuckin' bitey at his "father," while still carrying out his Big Plan? It's a fascinating thing to see and a breath of fresh air, because it would have been pretty easy to write him a different way, and may have even made him more 'sympathetic' by showing him as just being some poor misled soul waiting for a wake-up call in the form of a train to the face.

but instead we have who Sunday actually is.

Sunday is, in fact, well aware of the wrongness of his own lived experience getting exploited for the Oak Family Order Conspiracy's ends, but ….

...he still chooses to do what he does because sure. You can know. You can know it's all fucked up, you can have that conversation until everyone involved is blue in the face, but there is a version of reality you would prefer to be true and then there's the version of reality that you personally live in, and Sunday, if anything, is quite used to feeling like he's the person starkly forced into facing the latter, so much so, he thinks, okay. What if I could make it so that I was the only one who ever had to live that, from now on?

…

there are no easy answers to tragedy. The 'answer' Sunday has dedicated the majority of his life to is that if he could simply personally suffer enough, conform enough even through the bitterest moments, everything will become easier and more harmonious for the world at large. this belief propels him on through acts of great endurance, into doing some real mean shit, and also, into crafting a fake fantasy version of reality ("I am okay with this state of affairs") to push other people to live in because things will be more convenient that way.

This is, in fact, "the vibe," of being an adoptee, In The RL. It doesn't matter if you win the fucking lottery and get adopted by the sweetest person to ever live, the messaging of society at large is still gonna blare ever in your ear: you're so lucky. you should be grateful. aren't you grateful? why aren't you grateful? what's wrong with you? if you won't appreciate what you have, you should imagine what it's like if it gets taken away.

an adoptee doesn't have to imagine what its like to lose what they have, by the way. even if their adoption happened when they were an infant. and even as sunday tries to seize the mantle of becoming 'the strong,' to reforge himself into a guiding star, he speaks from the perspective of one who has been 'the weak.'

I do not have my fandom PhD in Robin studies yet so I don't feel like I can get as in depth here as I like, but also, the trauma of being an adoptee is where I feel that a lot of Robin's more implicit characterization comes from, and also where a lot of potential misunderstanding of her comes from, because people I think.. don't very easily relate to the adoptee perspective, and instead think of it like a more 'normal' (bunny ears) (massive. massive bunny ears) family dynamic where there isn't that particular sword over the head. I am extremely understanding of this! if you haven't lived it, it can be hard to grasp how bone deep it goes into you. in everything. every moment. every day.

but. uh. TO ME, there are so many moments she is saying "blink twice" to Sunday while being very careful to not potentially have him pull away, because she sees him as way more 'in deep' and indoctrinated than she is. I think Robin sees her brother for most of the plot and fears she's looking at a Grateful Adoptee(TM), and it is a brick wall between their ability to communicate earnestly with one another. have you seen the letter Sunday almost-but-didn't-send her by the way? ho-ho-holy shit. I need someone to write that canon divergence yesterday, but that's also me huffing copium over the idea that that letter would have ever made it off planet when people were canonically reading sunday's mail.

...by the way, I think it's really interesting that robin's activist work seems to be aimed to try and stabilize areas in need, rather than rescue people from those places. this, too, is a mark of someone who understands The Problem With Adoption, To Me,

uhh. I don't really know how to end this. I just really need people to think more about this specific angle of his character other than it just being a source of sadness in his background he has moved past because it's actually extremely formative of his Everything and also I stare into the darkness between stars when we talk about Welt signing adoption papers. It's fine. I'm not gonna come for you for saying that even if I try to remove it from my own vocabulary. But oh my God. Oh my God. Please commit to EXPLORING THE CONNOTATIONS I would love to see people make fanworks of him reckoning with the extremely mixed and difficult emotions that "Welt attempts to dad at him explicitly" would inspire.

ok... peace..... I've spent way too much time writing this when I am sick and should be resting....

[abyssalmaidenlorgar]

I have been thinking about this. Trump is not fully a fascist, that minimalises the harm he will cause to the nation of America and the surrounding regions. I will talk about his fascist elements throughout it and what else I have seen from a dialectical standpoint.

Theocracy

This is the first element I like to talk about. The removal of lgbt rights and women's rights are prime example. You can argue it falls under the sphere of fascism. This is an example of religion and state being intertwined. We can see it with the logic of most Trump supporters. Churches have more influence on the state then secular logic which has lead to a new moral panic on unreasonable ground against marginalised people. It's a witch hunt. We aren't ruled by reason but by people who think they are being reasonable.

Minarchism

This isn't libertarianism. This is the strip mining of the state for its assets. We have seen the effects of doge and its dialectical effects of it. It's the complete removal and disarming of the state to safely fulfil its roles in people's lives. What we are seeing is the defending of the most basic and urgent things that the state needs to function.

Corporatism

This is the fascist elements. We have seen Trump empower corporations and their influence of society. What we have seen over time is that the republican party has empowered the corporations over the decades. We are finding that corporations extend its power more then states. I dare say dialetically; amazon, Facebook and a lot of companies have more soft powers then a lot of countries today due to their ability to influence markets.

Gunboat Diplomancy

What we have seen is a regression in diplomatic ideology by the American Regime to the time of early 20th and 19th century diplomacy with how the imperialist powers treat the other powers of the world. The tariffs and the treatment of other nations. I will provide a few examples:

Volodymyr Zelenskyy was humiliated by Donald Trump and his underling in an attempt to try to bully him. There was no traditional diplomacy, it was absolute brutality. Similarly, there has been efforts to undermine the Australian government. Donald Trump and the administration has expected all research funding to be proven and given to him so he can demand us to change our stance on lgbt rights. Another example is him trying to force Australia to lower its standard of biosecurity laws to enable American beef exports into the country, that as well as criticising our public health system is indicative of how they will try to influence other nations.

White supremacy

This is indicative of how they treat several groups from African Americans to Muslims of all ethnicities, Asians, Latinos. There's been a huge amount of misinformation and pseudo-science made by these think tanks. The pseudo-science is ripped from 19th century ideas of race that these people justify.

Cyberpunk dystopia

This strangely resembles the cyberpunk dystopias we read in some way or another. Of course, that's not a 100% replication that would be similar. I hate using the cultural industry as an example to quote things but in this time it's the most helpful way to describe it. The surveillance, the corporations, the discrimination, the lack of effective government, key important stages of cyberpunk.

Thank you for your time. I am primarily am anarchist who provides dialectical insights. Depending on feedback I might do a direct comparison between the Russian Empire(tsarist) and America.