#industrial mining tanks

[harshdakadam]

Mining Water Tanks in Australia

The mining industry requires robust and reliable water storage solutions to support its demanding operations. Mining water tanks from Prefab Tanks are specifically designed to meet these challenges, offering durability, efficiency, and customizability. Our water storage for mining in Australia ensures seamless operations across mining sites, catering to diverse needs with precision and quality.

Why Choose Mining Water Tanks from Prefab Tanks?

Our industrial mining tanks are engineered to deliver exceptional performance in the toughest conditions. They feature:

Durable Construction: Built to withstand the harsh environments of mining operations.

Customizable Designs: Tailored to meet the specific storage and operational requirements of your site.

Efficient Water Management: Optimized for reliable water storage and supply.

Applications of Mining Water Tanks

Prefab Tanks’ mining water solutions are suitable for a wide range of applications, including:

Dust Suppression: Storing water for controlling dust on mining sites, ensuring safety and compliance.

Process Water Storage: Supporting mining operations with a steady supply of process water.

Fire Safety: Providing on-site water storage for fire protection systems.

Environmental Compliance: Facilitating water recycling and storage to reduce environmental impact.

Benefits of Prefab Tanks’ Mining Water Solutions

When you choose our mining water tanks, you benefit from:

Longevity: Tanks designed for long-term use with minimal maintenance.

Easy Installation: Modular design allows for quick setup, saving time and costs.

Scalability: Options to expand storage capacity as your mining operations grow.

Customizable Mining Storage Tanks

Every mining operation is unique, and our customizable mining storage tanks are designed to adapt to your specific requirements. From capacity and design adjustments to site-specific solutions, we ensure that your water storage needs are met with precision.

Why Prefab Tanks?

Prefab Tanks is a trusted provider of Australia mining tanks, offering innovative and reliable solutions for the mining industry. With our expertise, you receive:

Top-Quality Products: Tanks made from high-grade materials for unmatched durability.

Expert Support: Guidance from our team to select and customize the perfect tank for your needs.

Sustainable Solutions: Promoting eco-friendly water storage practices for mining operations.

Contact Us Today

Discover how our mining water tanks can enhance your operations. Contact Prefab Tanks to learn more about our durable water tanks and customizable mining storage tanks designed for the Australian mining industry.

[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.

[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

[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."

[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.

[ronearoundblindly]

Day Eighty-Three (1)

CEO!Steve Rogers x CEO!Reader

10 A.M., an It Had To Be You tale (see previous or series)

Summary: A joint meeting between AmCaps and the heads of four other major companies goes about as horribly as possible...or is it exactly as you expected? Either way, Steve messes up big time.

Warnings for (hi, I'm Ro) arguments, the absolute shittiness of misogyny, degrading use of petnames, language, social idjit!Steve (he honest-to-god tried his best but whoops). MINORS DNI. If this is not to your taste, please feel free to search lighter stories here. WC 2571

Sadly, the whole thing would have gone better if Tony Stark showed up.

Stark doesn’t do meetings like this though, and you may never bother with one again. You may have no need.

Clammy hands grip the leather spine of your monogrammed portfolio, comfortingly thick with the employee files you’ve brought as ammunition. This is a battle, no doubt in your mind, but Steve acts as if it’s any other day. To him, it probably is.

This is Steve’s fourteenth quarterly get-together of entities using the stabilizing, hydrostatic, insulated, electro-neutral, lead-dense (aka S.H.I.E.L.D) modules which American Capsules supplies. You’ve worked here for twelve of those but never been in the room.

The room feels as big as a concert hall with you an ant in the back pew.

Since the meeting is on your turf, you and Steve wait till the others arrive, your boyfriend highly aware of your nerves but without a clue as to why.

You’ve been preparing for this far longer than the not-quite three months you’ve held the title of co-CEO. It’s important to understand what is really happening between these companies and who exactly is to blame. It was also important to tell Steve nothing until you knew all the facts, and you didn’t until the phone call you just got off three minutes ago.

That’s not enough time. He’ll have to enjoy the show like everyone else,

Steve loosens his skinny black tie and repeats that you shouldn’t worry. He can take the lead. All the stats are printed in the binders laid in front of six chairs around the oblong table. He touches you, reassuringly he believes, at exactly the wrong moment.

Justin Hammer saunters through the door, clocking the intimate hand on your arm when Steve leans forward to whisper, “what’s wrong?” The outrageously pompous pumpkin sucks his teeth, winking at you, and spins to moonwalk closer. Hammer even goes so far as to cup your other elbow with an over-tanned palm.

“Peach, you’re gorgeous. Don’t ever change,” he flirts, damn well knowing that you aren’t the assistant anymore but are dating the man right beside him. “Hey, pal, how’s it going? Lookin’ sharp.”

Justin wheels the nearest chair away from the conference table and plunks down, lounging against the high-backed seat, swinging his feet up onto the adjacent chair. He may as well be at the beach.

He snaps, hand landing in a finger gun pointed at you—or your backside, more accurately, where he’s also staring.

“I like mine sweet and dark. Thanks. ‘Preciate you.”

There’s no elaboration. You’re just the coffee bitch to him.

What’s wrong, you want to tell Steve, what’s wrong is that asshole is only twenty-five percent of the shit I have to deal with this morning!

Before you or Steve can respond, however, the other three arrive in quick succession.

Darren Cross of Pym Technologies might actually be the least offensive of the bunch. His smile is polite and jovial, he greets Steve simply and shakes your hand, and he smacks Hammer’s calf hard enough to make a sound as he passes by.

He, unlike Justin, brought a briefcase, keeping up the illusion that he participates in the company he’s here to represent. Cross probably does still participate, considering he was only promoted recently after Hank Pym retired.

Aldrich Killian is undoubtedly (one of) the brains behind his think tank, AIM, and Brock Rumlow is undoubtedly smug, being a lowly former associate at Stark Industries, now an executive for the Roxxon Energy Corporation.

Each of them has skin in each other’s game; throughout the history of American Capsules’ products, innovations have been shared between them to either create suitable shipping containers or to have their products shipped via those containers. They’ve quite literally shielded their collective work.

It’s a symbiotic relationship.

It’s a circle jerk.

Killian and Rumlow do not bother to walk around and say hello. They fake niceties and unbutton their suit jackets to sit on the other side of the table.

Noticeably, none of them chose either ‘head’ of the table. No one was willing to take a position of power equal to Steve in his own house. Your boyfriend seems to interpret this as acquiescence of some sort—proof that they’ll blindly respect what and who Steve himself respects,—and then Steve wrongly decides to gently run his hand the rest of the way down your arm, his fingers curling to lift your limb until the very last second.

He made it look like you were reaching out for him, like you were a scared child in need of support. You are, in a sense, but he didn’t have to fucking advertise it to these men.

Steve doesn’t make mistakes. He did that on purpose. Maybe he meant to establish some sort of claim to you? To stop them objectifying you? Whatever they do now is solely out of respect or fear of him though, not you.

You’re frozen in place—in anger, truth be told—until Justin drops his feet to the floor dramatically.

“Indulge me, sweetcheeks.” He winks again. “I’m thirsty.”

Doing your very best Vanna White impression, you step back and sweep an arm out toward the drinks on the side server. “Help yourself,” you say with a smile.

It’s only because Justin is an idiot that he misses the dig.

Open to the page he wants, Steve tosses his binder to the wood surface, the slap of lamination to varnish attracting the attention of all the men, and takes his seat at the end.

You waltz to the other side, a clear and distinct separation between you and Steve, equals in life and work but opposites today.

“Shall we wait for Stark,” Rumlow growls in his low voice.

“Not necessary,” Steve allows. “If he shows, he shows. Let’s get to it.”

Steve begins, pointing out a few key concerns. Since you already know all of this, he doesn’t look to you while speaking, but neither do the other men when they respond.

They talk over you as if you’re not there, being blowhards and patting each other on the back for ’surviving in this economy.’ You let them go on. Steve gets nowhere. He gets excuses. He gets parroted promises.

Justin dismisses insufficient specs by saying he’s just a pretty face. He leaves all the numbers to nerds. He laughs about how he’ll have to check with his people about the nitty-gritty details, but he’s sure it’ll work out.

He stands to get his own black coffee, plopping three cubes of sugar in the chrome mug.

Rumlow barks out that shoddy Hammer tech nearly sank a Roxxon oil rig.

Justin feigns ignorance of the incident.

Killian uselessly offers a fix for that, at a price.

Darren argues that Pym has followed their agreement with AmCaps to the letter.

Everybody is fucking lying to themselves.

The shouting continues, escalating until it looks like Killian and Rumlow are close to throwing punches, though you’ve missed why those two are at odds.

Finally, Steve rises, stretching his hands out in peace.

“Everyone, calm down! Take a breath. Have some water. Sit.”

He’s stressed, clearly, defaulting to conditioned behavior which means Steve then looks right at you with a pleading expression.

Wrong again.

Darren lets out a huff and nods at you. “Yes, I think that would be nice.”

“I’ll take a glass,” Rumlow adds with a tap of the table in your direction.

Killian sighs an unmistakable ‘loser’ to Rumlow, and suddenly, the fight is back on.

Time to lock and load.

You cough and stand, flipping open the portfolio in front of you, adjusting your hips in your pencil skirt with a tug but only for affect. You know exactly what draws the attention of these men.

The room goes mostly quiet.

“Water. For the table,” you deadpan command Steve.

Picking up your copy of the report set, you clear your throat.

“I’m afraid Rogers has given you all the impression this is a negotiation. It’s not.” You slide the binder to the center. “It’s a courtesy. A courtesy which none of you deserve.”

“What the hell is she talking about?” Rumlow gruffly asks Steve.

“I’m talking about unpaid balances and unfulfilled orders. I’m talking about product tampering and verified illegal activity that hereby voids your contracts, effective immediately.”

Darren shoots out of his seat. “You can’t do that!” He turns to Steve. “She can’t do that, right?”

Steve, however, is blanched with shock. “Wait, I—“

“Each of your agreements with us—“ you barrel over his protest “—contains a morality clause which was broken by Hammer Tech when they conspired to produce a subpar protective lining and pad Roxxon gas sales in the region, unwittingly causing unsafe storage at a Stark factory in Galmira because the entire operation no longer followed American Capsules specifications—your specifications for transporting your own products.

“Pym,” you continue with force, “failed to produce compact enough items for the containers they ordered and instead chose to resell the regulated lining materials for a premium.” You toss a packet of papers down to Darren. “In your infinite wisdom, this also means you violated multiple Customs laws by forging shipping weights and ignoring safety guidelines.”

Killian puts a bejeweled hand over his vested heart. “Cross, you didn’t?”

“Which brings me to fucking AIM,” you grit.

“Precious,” Steve breaths with a warning tone, but you can’t stop. You’ve waited too long for this moment.

“Because who the hell do you think created the new formula for a light-weight, lower-cost, shitty lining?” You take such pleasure in stabbing a finger in his direction then flinging stapled proof across the table. “Evidence. Evidence of all of this provided by multiple sources. And you were warned…”

Now comes the really fun part.

You spread out eight folders.

“…warned by Roxxon’s own Betty Ross, Wanda Maximoff, and Kamala Khan. By Hammer’s Monica Rambeau and Kate Bishop. AIM’s doctors, Christine Palmer and Helen Cho, and finally, Pym Tech’s Mary Jane Watson—none of whom, I’m excited to say, work for you anymore.”

There’s a stunned heft to the frigidly controlled air in the large room. The florescent lights overhead buzz harshly.

“Are you fucking serious?” Killian rasps.

“Put your bitch back on her leash,” Rumlow bites to Steve.

“Don’t speak to her like—“

“Wait a minute,” Justin snorts, “I’m confused.”

“Your nerds will explain it to you once you crawl back into your hole.”

“Prec—” Steve snips in alarm but catches himself. He looks panicked and blind-sided, which he would be. You kept their complicity from him until you had everything you needed to invoke the morality clause.

You turn to the junior CEO for Pym Tech. “Expect a call from Hope Van Dyne. She has a few thoughts on Cross Technologies.”

Called out for his as-yet-unannounced rebranding of the company, Darren breaks, and he breaks viciously, vaulting the three chairs between you.

“Fucking cunt,” he screams through bared teeth.

Steve launches past the skittering seats and makes it to Cross milliseconds before he can intercept you.

“I didn’t make you lie, cheat, and steal,” you screech. “You screwed yourselves!”

Killian straightens his lapels and smooths his shirt nervously. “Surely, we can come to some arrangement.”

“This is all a misunderstanding,” Hammer adds.

Rumlow simply walks out with a shout of “you’ll be hearing from our lawyers.”

Steve slams Cross into the window, an ominous rattle shaking the frame, the cheek of the struggling man whining as it smears along the glass. When Darren still tries to hiss something else at you, Steve pins him against the wall instead, a forearm choking off any other choice words the bald man might offer.

“This meeting is over,” Steve grunts, pushing at Cross until the man settles.

“Right,” you sigh, keeping your voice as level as you can. “Gentlemen, I’d say get your houses in order, but I’m afraid the furniture is about to be repoed.”

Killian runs his hand through his styled hair. “Think I’ll leave you to talk some sense into your precious partner. Good day.”

You’ll never forgive Steve for blurting your private nickname out in front of the worst possible people to know it, but this is how you chose to play the meeting. You knew there’d be…pushback.

The AIM founder takes a lazy sip. “Thanks for the water, Rogers.” He taps his pinky ring several times on the glass, a hollow, high ting lingering after each strike, and then Aldrich heads for the door.

Steve releases Darren despite the wild look in his eyes, but Cross would be a fool to make any move except to leave. He gathers his things and slips through the exit before it fully closes.

The only one remaining is Justin Hammer, and he tosses out his arms with a chuckle, shaking his head.

“Kitten, come on. This is crazy. Isn’t this crazy? We’re all friends here. Let’s just chill, relax, and work this out. How ‘bout a drink?” More snaps. More finger guns. “You want coffee? Alright, perfect. Love ya. We’ll have coffee.” The man fidgets, sweat visible on his lip and forehead when he turns in the window’s light and approaches the drink cart.

“Sure thing, Justin. I take my coffee like I take my women—“ you smile “—from you.”

Okay, that part just felt good.

“That—” Hammer’s brow raises and he wipes down his jaw with one hand “—now that was uncalled for.”

Steve cuts in, a solid dismissal in the form of “I said ‘the meeting’s over.’”

“Oh, boy. You—well, you better watch…This ain’t over.” Hammer makes a fuss of buttoning his jacket again, puffing out his chest, then walking off even more empty-handed than he arrived.

The enormous, heavy door shuts slowly on buzzing, bright silence.

After a pause, Steve heaves out a breath.

“That went well.”

Sarcasm is not one of his strengths.

You’re not sure what you expected. You stand as a block of granite decor in the corner you retreated to once shit hit the fan.

It was the right decision. This was the right thing to do, the moral thing. It’s in the goddamn contract.

Though physically he shows no signs of duress—Steve used very little of his actual muscle to subdue Darren,—he hangs his head, stepping to your spot at the table to look at what you brought in. After a pause, Steve rubs his temple like it aches.

“I…I have no words,” he mutters, tone inscrutable.

You don’t care if he has words or not. You only have to wait until they’re out of the building.

“I don’t understand. What just happened?”

The door opens to reveal a bored-looking Topaz.

“Boss, Stark sent a catered lunch over. Where should they set up? It’s shawarma.”

“I don’t care,” Steve bursts. “Just take it down to R&D or something!”

That’s your cue to leave.

You shut your mostly-empty portfolio and tuck it to your chest.

A hand wraps around your wrist, unyielding.

Steve’s stormy blue eyes are felt more than seen, his hold tightening, trying to inch you closer, but you rip away.

“I’ll send you a memo,” you tell Steve without looking directly at him. “Keep those. I have copies.”

Fast as you can in heels and a skirt, you hurry after Topaz and past the food, fleeing first to your office and then to your own home.

[Day 83: 6pm]

[tender first aid drabble; Big Girls Don't Cry]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

A/N: Ahhhhh! Next up is how Steve makes it up to you...or at least starts to...😱😵‍💫🥴

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

@brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @late-to-the-party-81

@bigtreefest @rogersbarber @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads

@fallinallinmendes @rach2602 @royalwritersoftheuniverses

[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.

[qsycomplainsalot]

Re: Pervertin or how German Supersoldiers High on Crack travelled through Space and Time Buy my Book

I came across a post on the bird site yesterday calling into attention the use of pervitin, more or less adderall, among German troops during WW2. For context pervitin tablets were indeed issued to a lot of military personnel back in those days, specifically to aircraft pilot and sometimes tank crews on long missions. The drug as some of you may have heard keeps you awake and alert, along with a slew of side effects and a non negligible chance of addiction. In a discussion that brought to view just how willing people are to buy into Nazi propaganda in the year of our f*cking lord 2023, I pointed out a few things, uphill and having to indulge a lot of sidetracking. The use of pervitin has always been a little overstated ever since it came to the internet's attention, and I certainly would never call it a key component of the Blitzkrieg when, in the theaters of war where actual Blitzkrieg was employed, its success was more due to a combination of innovative doctrines, intact fuel supplies and a big fat helping of dumb luck. It was a bold move highly relying on capturing enemy fuel depots with fast, surprise deep strikes supported by a lot of armored and air forces, and it was only sustainable in neighboring, industrialized countries. One can argue if the USSR was industrialized at the time, but it stopped mattering when the Russians removed their entire industry from the West to beyond the Ural mountains. The Blitz stalled there.

"But if it didn't work, then why did the Nazis do it so often ?" Well the answer to that is twofold. The first, longer answer is that Nazis were a bunch of f*cking morons. Maybe not one by one, but as a government in charge of military procurement, they were one bunch of goofy motherf*ckers. Gaggle of functional shit-for-brains really. The Nazis gave every one of their tanks in the middle of the war two coats of anti-magnetic paint, which took almost a full day to cure, despite being the only major nation to use magnetic antitank mines. The Nazis kept using slave labor drawn from their prisoners of war, including in the manufacturing of their overengineered armored vehicles, resulting in poor quality products or, you know, a few rivets in your magnificent Tiger tank being replaced by a cigarette butt. The Nazis spent more than half the cost of a strategic bomber on every V2 rocket, not including design costs, for less than half the payload. It ended up killing more Germans and slave workers than British people in London, for literally no strategic or tactical result with 0.4 person killed per every rocket. The second, shorter answer is that pervitin was not used that much. A lot of the arguments trying to boost its importance come from a single book, "Blitzed" by Norman Ohler, now available in twenty languages apparently, where grand claims are made by a historian who was probably more than a little tired of seeing Buzzfeed rack in the big bucks instead of him.

End note; I was called out by a bird siter after the conversation that inspired this post for even beginning to fact-check this, which they considered, and I quote, "fangirling over nazi stats". I cannot stress this enough, learning the 'bad' parts of history does not make you bad person, it is how you interact with the resulting knowledge. Unlike what they implied, I had to look for those supporting evidence. I had a hunch that such a grabbing headline about super-drugs would be fake, I knew offhand that V2 rockets killed more blues than reds, but when I had to research all that jazz about Nazis and their superweapons it was to dunk on them, not make another History Channel documentary about a time-travelling bell. Stay critical, fascists can eat shit.

[sirrentxt]

something to clear up and solidify a later bit of the timeline i've weaved luis into in the pet project. a little monologue, implied serennedy.

He starts it over breakfast one day, dizzying grey light pouring through a dirty apartment window.

“They'd sent an american gentleman who didn't speak a word of Spanish and understood very little.” He leans against the kitchen counter, wipes his hands on a rag, his lips but a thin line. “I was young, I had just graduated, and he told me that they've had eyes on me for some time. That they could use a mind like mine. Said he was with Umbrella and, Leon—back then, that was no small deal.”

Luis keeps his eyes down. Leon looks at him with caution, puzzled, but doesn't say anything. He doesn't feel like it's his place to interrupt.

“I was overjoyed, really. An opportunity like this, coming right to my door—I took it, of course I did. They've set me up in one of their labs in Barcelona, so there I went.”

He wipes the counter, absent-minded.

“And a few months in, before I even settled in properly, the man came again. Said they have a project they could use my eyes on. I almost refused before he told me the pay.”

He goes quiet for a moment. Leon pushes his plate away, laces his fingers together and looks at Luis' hands fidgeting with the kitchen rag. Anxiety seems to be rolling off of him with every move. He doesn't know what to expect, even though he knows, now, what the story is about.

“They've shipped me off to a lab somewhere far out; I couldn't tell you where even if I wanted to. Top secret facility. And the moment I walked in, the money became irrelevant.” His eyes catch Leon's own and hold his gaze. “They were working on developing what was effectively mind control. And they were using the Plaga to do it.”

Under every microscope, in every seethrough cabinet, in the specimen tanks and industrial fridges, hanged up on hooks, enclosed in terrariums—locked away, monitored, forms of the Plaga that he didn't know existed, mutations, imitations, abominations. And Wegener, a young man who was overjoyed to introduce himself, and immediately launched into a talk about their latest development.

“All those years of dedication, all those years of study, and now I was staring down a microscope and looking at the very thing that killed my grandfather. And, Leon, what a sight it was.”

He huffs, almost chuckles, brushes back his hair. His smile is dimmed, though. His eyes indifferent. He doesn't notice that Leon has frozen in place and is now looking at him, concerned.

“It's the single most interesting creature I've ever seen, and the most incredible thing I had the pleasure to study for myself. And study I did. I lost myself in it, so completely devoted to cracking the works of this little parasite that even if I thought about what this research would be used for, I didn't care.”

Leon shifts in his chair. He wants to say something, but he can sense Luis isn't done. Now they're both tense.

“They didn't push for human testing until the mid-nineties.”

Something changes in Luis' face along with his voice. It's grim. Disappointed. Regretful. Pained.

“I wasn't interested in implementing the parasite we'd engineered by that point. Studying the intricacies of the Plaga was enough for me. But... Umbrella pushed, and we complied.”

He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Leon stops himself from telling him to not smoke inside. Not this time. Not the right time.

“We kept hitting walls on every turn, all our ideas amounting to nothing. Eventually, I grew so frustrated with the work that one of my colleagues suggested I take two weeks off for a conference, back in Madrid. And I thought it a good idea.”

A click of the lighter, a flick of the flame. A sizzle so quiet only Luis could hear it as he took a drag.

“It gave me just enough time to think about things. A human body couldn't hold this thing we'd made, back in the lab. It was pointless for me to watch the subjects disfigure and die, time and time again.”

He falls silent for a moment.

“So I never went back. The last day of the conference, I got on a different plane than I was supposed to. I made my way back home. Found it entirely different than it was when I left it. Made a place for myself there, to study the Plaga like I wanted.”

He puts the cigarette out on the kitchen sink.

“I hadn't heard about Raccoon City until I started working for Saddler. I hadn't known it was us that made it possible until the man reached out to me again, offering data from the accident. I was just a pawn, and it took me too long to realize—Umbrella was never about world peace. Saddler was never about world peace. It was always just. People trying to play God.” His gaze locks on the window, aimless, glassy. “I opened my eyes and I fell out of love with the subject of my research of so many years so fast, Leon. But I don't miss it.”

He smiles, and it's mellow, a sorrowful sort of happiness creased into his lips.

“That's when you found me.”

pet project offshoot: a luis lives AU // recounting

[sudaca-swag]

https://www.tumblr.com/sudaca-swag/767116058622590976/seeing-small-countries-that-have-never-done-damage?source=share

i don't necessarily disagree but...north korea are helping funding russia's invasion and war on ukraine, where they are killing civilians and taking their land? And how do these europeans countrys you mention main income come from weapon...i'm swedish and i did not realize that was our main income nor that we are colonizing any country.

If you think for one second that north Korea is at the scale of economical and political power to be able to single handedly supply Russia like say the US does with Israel you're wrong, in any case at most they would be an outsourced factory to jump around international regulations for the Russian government, and if you think that Europe and the US arent benefitting immensely from the weapon economy regarding the Ukraine-Russia conflict you're very wrong, they're in no hurry to close that gold mine. So let's better talk about what actually moves the wheel which are the billions and billions of US dollars and European riches going into funding wars and genocides across the world directly from the hand of western politicians.

And as for the Sweden comment, here's an article from last may from Le Monde, Sweden is the 13th largest arm export country and is unfortunately looking to climb up the ladder faster no matter how green they pretend to go amongst their citizens for votes, I suggest you read it because it says some very interesting things about those in power in your country and their ties to said war industries, and how war around the globe is the joint group effort of rich countries coming together for even more profit. I'll put some of the article down here since it's locked past the first paragraphs, but if you Google "Sweden arm industry" you will be surprised at the huge amount of articles like this written about this, you should check them out they're quite short: "Certain Nordic nations have emerged as significant suppliers of security technologies and weapon systems internationally. Simultaneously, these countries are widely perceived and labelled as the ‘do-gooders’ in global affairs. This perception is supported by many characterisations of the Nordics as ‘agents of a world common good’ and ‘moral superpowers’ ".

And here's some more data from 2022: In 2014, it was the third largest weapons exporter per capita at $53.1 per capita, behind only Israel at $97.7 and Russia at $57.7. From 2009 to 2019, it was the world’s ninth largest arms exporter in U.S. dollars with a cumulative value of $14.3 billion. In the same time period, it ranked eighth in arms as a percentage of total exports. Swedish factories produce not just small arms, but advanced systems like fighter aircraft, missiles, tanks, submarines, corvettes, and air-defense platforms.

"While Western countries nominally define themselves by individualism and meritocracy, Sweden highlights the viability of dynastic, family-oriented elites in creating and maintaining powerful industrial societies. Sweden is in fact an exemplar of a unique European model of governance and political economy, but one that cleverly and counterintuitively wraps elite-led industrial strength intended to support military capacity in an egalitarian and pacifist packaging"

"Saab's share price has soared, more than tripling since February 2022. Orders have exploded. The Swedish manufacturer invested €150 million in its production capacity. Nothing like this had happened since the group began manufacturing Carl Gustafs in 1948, according to Michael Höglund, head of the Land Combat division. Several factories will be built in Sweden and abroad, notably in India. The aim is to quadruple deliveries of anti-tank weapons and ammunition by 2025, from 100,000 to 400,000 units a year.

Johansson said the war in Ukraine was a formidable "showcase" for Saab. In 2023, the group's orders, already up in 2022, climbed by 23%, as did its sales, which reached 51.6 billion Swedish krona (€4.5 billion), while its profit grew by 51%, ending at 3.4 billion krona.

Over the past year, the manufacturer, which employs over 21,000 people worldwide, including 16,000 in Sweden, has increased its workforce by almost 2,500 and is continuing to recruit. And it's not the only one. The entire Swedish arms industry is abuzz – a sector that brings together around 200 companies, some 60 of which are foreign-owned. In 2022, these companies, with sales of 48.5 billion krona, employed over 28,000 people. "We don't yet have the result for 2023, but it should be much higher," said Robert Limmergard, director of the Swedish Security and Defense Industry Association.

Demand is largely fuelled by Sweden, whose military spending is set to reach 2% of gross domestic product (GDP) by 2024. Finally integrated into NATO on March 7, the kingdom is pulling out all the stops to replenish its armaments stocks, after decades of disengagement. "We have placed orders for equipment, both in Sweden and abroad, for 19 billion krona in 2021, 36 billion in 2022 and 52 billion in 2023," said Göran Martensson, director of the Swedish Defense Materiel Administration (FMV). Exports have also risen by 18% in 2023, placing Sweden 13th in the world.

Saab was founded in 1937. "The company was formed on a handshake between the chairman of our board of directors at the time, Marcus Wallenberg [grandfather of the current president, whose family is still the group's majority shareholder], and the prime minister," said CEO Johansson.

SOFF director Limmergard: "Companies don't like me to say it, but in the late 1980s we had an Ikea-style arms industry. We had to produce high volumes, easy-to-understand and easy-to-use weapons that had to be functional and cheap. It was this tradition that enabled us to gain international market share and maintain a large industry, with companies that have since succeeded in specializing in niche markets, sometimes with the help of foreign investment."

The main bottleneck is the production line. It's impossible to increase deliveries of weapons and ammunition if suppliers don't keep up. For the Carl Gustafs, there are around 200 suppliers, some of whom have several customers, all of whom have increased their orders. This is the case, for example, with Norway's Nammo, one of Europe's largest ammunition manufacturers, with whom Saab has just signed an agreement. "We have jointly decided to develop our own warhead molding capacity. Meanwhile, they will be refocusing on artillery ammunition, which will give us greater production capacity together," said Höglund."

[duskstargazer]

[2015]

During the winter months, work at the quarries would grind to a standstill. Between the ground freezing solid and becoming considerably more difficult to excavate and the frost further hindering their progress, some such industries temporarily ceased operation.

The Suddery Clay Co. was no exception. Bill and Ben were glad that they didn't spend the winter cooped up in their shed, but being contracted out to other companies meant they were often split up.

Ben had been sent up to the yard near the big station to help keep things moving. But Bill and Ben are small tank engines. The trucks, vans, and coaches seemed to tower over the low-slung saddle tank. Without Bill, the yard began to feel very claustrophobic.

“Helloo!!” A booming voice echoed across the yard. “Flatbeds full of crates, where are you?”

Ben shrank back behind a van. Without his twin - the engine he'd worked alongside for just about his entire life - he didn't have half the confidence he normally would have.

“Hey there - wouldn't happen to have seen any flatbeds with crates on 'em, would'ja?”

Ben stared. Standing before him was easily the strangest looking engine he'd ever seen. And he'd met someone with an engine at each end.

“C'mon, you, lighten up!” The backwards-looking (according to Ben) cyan engine grinned. “It's Christmastime! The festive time of the year that friends and family come together, an-”

“The time of year where I'm split up from mine.” Ben said, quietly.

The bigger engine blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Bill - my twin brother - and I always work together. We have our whole lives. But…” Ben sighed. “Apparently there isn't enough work for all of us at the clay pits this time of year, so we get sent to work elsewhere… and usually apart. And this year is no different.”

“Bill is still here on the island, isn't he?”

“Well- yeah, but-”

“And he's still your brother?”

“…”

“Then hold onto that feeling. Remember how much he means to you. And you'll get to see him again when the clay pits reopen, so you have that to look forward to.”

“I guess…”

“Merlin taught me that.” The big cyan engine said proudly.

Ben had absolutely no idea who Merlin was, but he smiled anyway.

“For the time being, you shouldn't have to spend Christmastime alone. I'm Lexi. The engines at Knapford Sheds probably won't have an issue with letting one more engine in, and out of the cold.”

The small saddle tank engine smiled. “I'd… like that. I'm Ben.”

[asktheguardponies]

The Maverick is an 8x8 wheeled Infantry Fighting Vehicle built by Hammerspace Heavy Industries for use by mechanized elements of the Equestrian Ground Forces.

It is armed with a 30mm autocannon capable of defeating enemy infantry, assault blimps and light-skinned vehicles. It operates in tandem with Caballus main battle tanks supported by infantry.

The Maverick IFV has a wedge-shaped mine-resistant hull that protects a squad of rifleponies from shell fragments. A ramp at the rear allows dismounts to quickly exit the vehicle or load the wounded for casevac.

The Maverick features several innovations pioneered by Manehattan Technical Institute's Magimaterials Research Center, notably the lightweight armor used in the frontal hull that gives the vehicle much increased performance on rough terrain compared to other vehicles in its class.