#like this site is fucked change your info its only a matter of time before a big security breach happens and everyones data gets leaked

[froggyrights]

Reminder that since twitter has already been having serious security issues that could only have gotten worse since musk fired 75% of his staff you should change your password if you use the same one for other sites, and definitely remove your credit card details, important email adresses and phone number as well.

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

What is your opinion on straight passing privilege? I (bi) don’t think it exists, but a close (lesbian) friend of mine insists that it does bc “You can hold hands with your SO (nb cis passing man) in public without risking being the victim of a hate crime.” I have been researching but keep seeing this same argument coming up, and I’m unsure and don’t want to be making anyone upset if I’m being ignorant here.

I think that there's a lot of fucked up internet politics around who is and isn't allowed in the community. Which is ridiculous.

Gay, Lesbian, Bi, Pan, Poly, Ace, Aro, Trans, Intersex, etc.

The only people who shouldn't be in the community are cishets, and pedos, none of that 'it's a sexuality' nonsense, it's predation.

The concept of straight-passing is ridiculous, primarily because it's all based on assumptions. If you're in an m/f relationship, and you are both cis and heterosexual, it's straight.

But here's the catch, if you identify as any LGBPT+ then it's not straight.

Two trans people in an m/f relationship is not straight passing.

Two bi people in an m/f is not straight passing, it's queer babes, it's in the name. If you're bi and your partner is like, straight, it's still queer from your side of the fence.

It's the 'pick a side' argument from another direction, this straight passing nonsense. Where you are villified by the straights if you have a same-sex relationship (or fetishised, let's be real, every part of the acronymn has it's own p*rn category aimed at straight people with a kink), and if you have a relationship with the opposite gendered person, the queer community gets cranky.

Two things:

1) Is this friend between 13 and 25? Bc they could still be working this out or being mentored by t*rfs, or had some bad info. IT could be jealousy or fear of being open where you live. Perhaps you could question what makes her say that; has she had a bad experience, or did someone say this to her. where are you Are you in america? are there snake wielding jesus warriors near you? Blink SOS if you need an escape route, child

2) Who wins when everyone in the queer community is divided and policing one another? Telling everyone off for dating this person or that person or not at all

I didn't get an invite to the big queer conference to make these decisions, so like, they're not valid. It's some pocket of internet active idiots who think they can speak for everyone.

What we need to do is stop pulling this bullshit on one another and get back to asking just why the fuck it's not okay for people who are perceived as not-straight or cis etc to hold hands in public.

There's a problem for every facet of the acronym, babes and dudes and theys. Lesbians are heavily sexualised by straight cis dudes. Gays are heavly fetisihed by straight cis women. to the point where even saying 'I'm gay' is considered to be an obscene, sexual act that you should not let children be exposed to.

And there's always someone from the opposite gender who thinks they 'are confused' or 'haven't met the right (gender) person yet', or 'they could fix them with their magic genitals' or mumbled religious nonsense. There's such intense stereotypes that people can't stand women who look butch, but also you can't 'really' be a lesbian unless you are' or gay men can't just be, like, a normal dude, instead of some flamboyant in-your-face charicature.

Of course people who match the stereotype exist, too. And they get no respect for fitting into the stereptypes either, it's just another reason for disrespect. There's no winning.

Bi's can't talk to anyone without hearing a question of a threesome come up or being attacked from either side for coice of partner.

Pans, same, but also kitchenware jokes. Both Bi and Pan are considered sluts and whores and can't decide or are going to cheat, etc. Or the 'you're being special snowflakes', 'choose a side', 'you're secretly gay and won't admit / you're secretly straight and want attention' etc.

Ace/Aro - everyone under this banner gets the whole 'you just haen't found the right person' or 'when you're older/you're a late bloomer' or 'how do you know?' or 'maybe you're straight/gay and haven't worked it out yet?' invalidating them completely and trying to push sex onto them. The queer community has always let Ace and Aro in under the Bi banner, and they are welcome. But the internet community, usually young people, are tearing each other to shreds over it lmao.

Chill.

Non-binary, trans, intersex. They have been here for ages, but people from one community try to destroy their credibility, despite them existing since humanity has. It's big on p*rn and fetish sites too, lot of straight dudes think these things are hot and sexy, but would spit on trans people in the street. Hypocrites (I mean, every second low-brow comedy movie out there makes a thai-l*dyb*y joke, and how it 'doesn't count' like yikes).

Nb has only just been recognised, which is funny bc society literally made up gender and the rules and pretended that was how its encoded in DNA lmao.

Transpeople have it bad though. Between the cis straights, the cis queer community (primarily t*rfs and those who fall for misinformation) and the fetishists, and the medical community who treats them like an illness rather than people. Like, they are afforded respect if they 'pass', but even then it's still an EW factor.

Transwomen are seen as 'men in dresses who want to break into women's spaces' and treated horrifically; assaults are very high. Transmen are seen as butch women, and 'gender tr*itors' by the Crazy Motherfuckers we mentioned before; their assaults are high. They're not considered Real People unless they meet the ridiculously high standards for each gender; unless they perform Right.

I remember, but did not understand at the time bc I recall i was little, that there was a gameshpw bachelorette style and there was a big twist. You know what the twist was? That the bachelorette they'd been dating and trying to win over... was trans. I don't think that she knew it would be the big twist, either; of the two men remaining, bother were angry and one might have been sick. Might be on youtube.

But like, that's funny to the non-queer community. They put a huge fucking target on this woman's back, put her in danger of being hurt, abused, killed, by anyone who watched it. By the men who she had 'lied to' as they chose to frame it, of their weird white american families who could have sought revenge. Like yikes.

And intersex people (called h*rmaphrodites for a long time even by medical personnel) were also a p*rn category and/or medical curiosity for centuries. Not to mention all the cases of parents who just went with 'make them a (specific gender)' if there was mixed presentation, at birth, and got mad at the kids for being like "Hey so, you flipped the coin wrong and I'm ___" even thought the potential for this was always on the cards.

And the parents often make a big messa bout how their baby ___ is dead and gone, even if they DO accept the person/child as who they really are. It's like, I get it they have changed but you didn't mourn their first haircut or lost baby tooth like this and that was change too, chill.

-

Straight-passing is a projection and a weapon. Like, is it the people in the relationship's fault that society looks at the pair and decides they are m/f, straight and cis? Nah, it's what people are conditioned assume and that's on them.

We can't bring it into the queer spaces and keep perpetuating that shit, because it's nonsense. Queer people are dying in other countries and your friend wants to being smart-assed about the fact you hold hands with your nb datemate in public?

-

Nonsense. That's right up there with t*rfs and the gold-star bullshit that was going on for a few years there. Probs still is among the younger people lmaoooo.

'Passing priviledge' is a myth, and it is used to hurt people. Vulnerable people and those who need support / guidance and assistance from their queer communities more than ever. So try to talk to your friend or try The Whole Friend disposal services, either way, chill.

The real issue here is that any of us are at risk of a hate crime for daring to even show affection in public. That even in safe spaces, 'allies' and those wise enough not to be openly homo/trans/bi/pan/ace/aro/other phobic are still side-eyeing you and wanting to talk 'for you' without listening to the community itself.

We have bigger issues than this, and your friend (and some others on the internet) need to get a grip and prioritise.

[Insert strained analogy about being pro-child but childfree in a suburb where everyone got married out of high school and anticipates you and your partner will too, no matter how often you remind them No Thanks. But you babysat the other day and people thought you and your partner looked like 'naturals' when you took child to the park and played with them. And you remind them, hey, chill, we like kids too but it's not for us. And they get pissy and pushy.]

---------

I can only point it out from my perspective, I'm certain there other queer people from the above acronymn community who can present their thoughts on the matter to and what it means to them.

Thanks for the question, good-bi.

[blueberrypossum]

Seeing the Opposing Side 

Dastardly Danny x female cop!reader

Hey guys! @greaser-wolf and I are back at it again with trading ideas and our ocs and such. I wasn't going to post this but she wanted everyone to see the story (so heckin nice I swear). For the confusion, shiki is @greaser-wolf oc that is a yokai fire pig cop that has a complicated love story with dastardly Danny, please check out her blog for amazing drawings of her and Danny! Hope you guys guys enjoy!!

⚠️WARNING ⚠️: There will be inappropriate language and themes in this! Along with graphic scenes such as blood and wounds!

Word Bank:

Carrying a torch- Having a crush on someone/ being by someone’s side 

“I won’t let you down, chief.”

Your hands trembled as you took the criminal file your boss handed you, adrenaline rushed through you like a fever as he walked away and you sat back down at your desk. 

The police stations hummed with warm life as you got comfortable in your chair, the only loud sounds that advanced the quiet talk of the officers was the phone calls and the occasional scream from a prisoner.

This was your first case on your own without the other idiot cops that you were placed under, as your boss stated, “you need someone to guide you before you go out on your own,” and then the griffin and the gorilla that was teaching you let out the bloody Mud Dogz on your first day of training. 

Oh that day was awful and you hated reliving the memory inside your head.

Your hooves pulled the file open as you took a sip of coffee, the hot liquid almost spilling over your desk as you read who you were going after. 

“The bloody Mud Dogz?!”

The few yokai beside you looked over and you tried to shrink into your seat, your hooves clinching the mugshots of each Mud Dog. Of course, of fucking course it had to be them, it had to be him!

 Your hooves bent against the picture of Dastardly Danny, the wicked smile he held in the photo gave you shivers down your spine. You’ve had a run in with him a few times, along with watching them leave the prison due to every cop in here not having a single brain cell. Your hands still ached from the cleaning duty you had to do after that.

But not anymore, you were a real cop, and you were going to prove it.

Your eyes strolled through the basic info of him, his age, height, the crimes he has done along with his group. From all the ones you’ve read, Danny’s looked innocent against them. 

In all honesty, The Mud Dogz didn’t really do bad things. They never harmed anyone and they only stole from those who weren’t poor, it was mostly rich people who would call saying they were robbed by them. Of course they would rob places like this, and worked with other crime lords of the Hidden City.

You took another sip from your coffee as you read the last known sighting of him: The Mystic Train Station. You got your gear ready for the long road ahead, with the train station being half way across the city. You strapped your laser gun against your belt and a few portable traps, along with your phone and your badge and headed towards the exit, the other larger and stronger guards almost pushing past you as if you were still an errand runner.

For months you had been one, getting the coffee, getting the files, copying paperwork and not once going out on the field. 

Not a single cop in here believed in you, yokai’s that were as small as you were known to be weak, to be on the backburner without a choice, but that didn’t matter to you. What mattered to you was that the Mud Dogz were going down, no matter the cost.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You made it to the train station, the underground building poured with life as citizens dove in and out of the train at rapid speed. Security guards were posted around almost every entrance of the metal hole dug in the ground, the dark and damp station was only lit by a few hanging lights and the lights that were inside of the train. One of the many trains came to a screeching halt as you strolled past the other security guards as your eyes examined the area; The Mud Dogz usually wore their signature colors of blue, purple, and orange. You pulled your denim jacket closer to hide yourself from the chilly breeze that drifted into the area. You decided to change before you left your apartment since your cop outfit would attract too much attention, especially since you were on a manhunt. 

The sighting that was described in the file was that the ogre and the rat were spotted here taking the train, the destination they went to was unknown but it seemed they used this way of travel frequently. You took a sip of your second cup of coffee, the heat that steamed out of it warmed your lips in the chilly fall weather. With how many yokai stormed through the area, you didn’t know if you should make a scene or not when you found your target, there were innocent people here and you didn’t want any casualties. Maybe you could find them and sneak your way over to-

Your body slammed into someone else, your back firmly landing against someone’s lower shoulder. A small gasp broke through your mouth as you tried to make sure your drink didn’t spill on you or the yokai you apparently backed into. The stranger’s arms held you firm as they helped you regain your balance. 

“Ah! I’m so sorry! I guess I should be looking at where I am going!” You scrambled out, your face growing red with embarrassment.

“No problem at all, doll. It was nothing more than a scuffle.”

Wait a damn minute.

You swiftly turned around and felt the grip on your beverage tighten as you were face to face with Dastardly Danny, a smug smile curled on his face as his tall frame overshadowed you, his long tail swayed back and forth as if he saw the dots connect in your head. 

You felt your eyebrows raise with shock and then they buried down into your eyes in irritation, your right hand hovering over your laser pistol. 

“Dastardly Danny, you are under arrest! I order for you to come quietly and willingly, or else there will be trouble.”

“Daw, I don’t even get a please, toots?”

“Officers don’t ask.”

“And criminals don’t play dirty.”

He was in your face now, his whiskers close enough to tickle your snout, a smirk navigated his face as his tail wrapped around you and then spun you around, his body easily getting past you and onto one of the multiple paths that led deeper into the train station, his thin figure blending into the crowd as they followed. Once you regained your balance, you threw the drink away and chased after him, your body pushing past the other yokai as the hunt began. 

Your feet stomped against the cemented ground, your eyes caught on the only thing that was unique about Danny against the other yokai: his torn ear that peaked out of his hat. You didn’t pull out your gun though, you couldn’t or else it would freak out the civilians and cause a massive wave of chaos. You couldn’t lose him now, not when he was this close. 

Danny came to a stop as he was face to face with an escalator, his lean body easily going in the middle and slid down the metal slope, his feet landing perfectly as you reached the moving stairs. 

You let out a frustrated grunt and stormed down the stairs, pushing past the civilians as you lost Danny into the several batches of animals. 

Come on! Come on, think Shiki! Think! 

You then leapt up onto the edge of a fountain and scanned the open room, your head darting back and forth as you tried to find the coffee-colored rat.

Hey! Watch it!”

Your head turned to see the criminal rat run into a bigger yokai, the rat politely taking his hat off as he ran by and you hopped off the ledge of the fountain. 

“Dastardly Danny! Get back here!”

“Not a chance, sweetheart! I appreciate your persistence though!” 

His hairless tail was in your sight now, your trained body easily gaining momentum to catch up to him. But the rat knew he was being hunted and he soon started to switch up his walking pattern, his stride crossing in-between different animals and going behind a few pillars that held up the structure. 

While Danny was taller than most normal yokai and they moved when they saw him barreling towards them,  you would almost be run over by the horde of animals that walked past you, almost as if you were the obstacle instead of them.  

Maybe I should’ve worn my uniform. 

“Excuse me! Pardon me! Coming through!”

You shoved past a bear yokai as Danny got onboard the train, his rat tail flicking from side to side as the door closed behind him. You came to a tight halt at the glass door, your enclosed hand hitting against the window, your breaths coming out ragged and sweat was dripping down your brow, but Danny’s composer was calm and his chest barely rose as his arm bent and leaned against the door. 

His eyes lazily looked down at you through the glass, his breath creating a grey shadow over the clear frame and his claws wrote the words “Nice try” in the window as the train started to build up for take off. You desperately looked for a way in, but once the doors were closed there was no way to get in. The railroad blueprint printed itself into your mind and you calculated how far each stop and the different intersections of railroads. 

As the train easily started to make its way down the tunnel, you kept your eyes locked onto Danny’s. His murky eyes traveled up and down your body, as if he was trying to see what you would do next, his hands now going in his pockets and his shoulders shrugged, as if you had lost. But you sent your own sly grin to him as you ducked by the nearest yokai and headed straight for the construction site on the left, the yellow police tape tearing under your hands as you raced through the darkness. 

Your hooves worked against each other until a small flicker of fire grew in your hands, the only sound you could hear was the vibration of the trains grooving throughout the under tunnel system and your heart pulsing in your short ears. You jumped over a bridge that was barely built, your short yet strong legs carried you easily over it, your ears flicking back and forth as you tried to listen for the train. You continued your jog through the inky cave, leftover construction hats and equipment littered the ground as you came to a huge opening to a narrow path, below you was one of the railroad tracks. 

The wind that blasted through the hollowed tunnel blew out the flame that boiled in your hands. 

“Ugh! Come on!”

You kept snapping the edge of your hooves until another dash of life blossomed in your hand and you could take in your surroundings once more. The ground beneath you started to rumble and you bent down to watch as the headlights of the train started to enter the thin subway and then the metal car went flying by you, the roar of the train whistle blistered into your eardrums and you used your free hand to cover up one ear. Your jacket flew around you and you turned on your heel to get a running start. 

You let out a shaky breath as you extinguished the light from your hand and the only thing lightning up your path was the spotty fragments of the train cars.  And you sprinted across the dirt road and then leapt onto the top of the metal animal, your hooves clinging into the scrap as the wind sped into your exposed ears. Your hand felt around for the hatch and your fingers gripped around it and you rose up on the train to pull the hole open. The air from your lungs was being sucked out of you as you pushed every muscle in your body to open it and the metal hatch let out a low hiss as it was popped open. 

You dove in and pulled the hatch with you and everything was black. 

Through the darkness, you could make out the forms of boxes and supplies and you figured you were in one of the supplies carts. You took in a few breaths of air as the adrenaline and the caffeine rocked in your veins and your heart felt like it was dancing throughout your body. You grew another flare of fire in your hand as you made your way forward and to the door that would lead you to the next carriage. You hoped in-between the carts until you got to one that was full of yokai, your light instantly going out as you shoved past the different animals, your mind counting the carts until you got to the one that the rat was on. 

Your eyes narrowed into slits as you prowled the train car, the different species of animals barely even noticing you as you tried to find the plum colored outfit that shouldn’t blend this easily in the row of dull colors. And then you saw it, his tail barely peeking over behind someone. You hid within the shadows casted by the passengers and the purple-wearing rat was in your sight. Your hooves gripped around the pistol and pulled it out, the barrel of it digging into his back.

"Did you really think you could get away from me that easily?” You asked, the stiffness in his posture brought pleasure to your heart. 

Danny looked at you through the reflection of the glass, your red shirt and jacket were scruffed up and the once holeless jeans now had a horizontal tear across your knee. The few tufts of hair that was on your head were whipped lashed and the fur on your face was tangled within themselves. But you were steady on your feet and the gun that dug into his back was handled in a tamed manner. 

You were surely different than the police officers he usually had to deal with. 

“Me? Wanting to get away from you? Never,” he purred to your reflection and you squint your eyes at him. You push yourself in front of him, the gun now lowered to your thigh but still pointing towards him. 

“Now, you listen to me, darling,” you whispered to him, your voice joking around the word darling. “When we get off this train, I am putting your hands in cuffs and taking you to jail. Got it?”

Danny crossed his arms over his chest, “I don’t even get a five-second headstart?”

“You didn’t give me one.”

“Touche.”

You felt skin under your fur relax and you leaned against the pole across from him, the bronzed tunnel foggy behind you as the atmosphere between you two went heavy and silent. 

 “How did ya get on here, anyway?”

You looked at your reflection in the window and how much of a wreck you looked like and you used your free hand to untangle the clumps of fur. 

“Oh, I just intersected the railroad and then hop on,” you said nonclonently, your fingers combing through your short hair and then turned to see the rat yokai staring wide-eyed at you, one singular eyebrow raised. 

“What?”

“You jumped onto this train?”

“Yes?”

“Wow, what a woman you are.”

A pretty blush pranced against your face and you instantly turned away, hoping that your chocolate-colored fur would hide the redness. You were used to men joking to you, you knew the slang in their voice when they did it. But Danny didn’t have that, he never had that when you talked to you. 

Why was he always polite to you? Most criminals would be hollering curse words like there is no tomorrow.

You remembered one of the multiple lessons in your college class for becoming an officer. A lawbreaker will try to persuade you or flirt with you to find a way of getting out of being arrested. Still, it felt good for someone to compliment you on your hard work for once. 

Your father’s image splattered in your hand and for a split second you closed your eyes, pushing the brooding memory out of your head. You opened your eyes to find Danny watching you, his eyes studying you as you came back to your surroundings. 

He has no control over you anymore, Shiki, get over it. No one controls you.

“You remind me of my father.”

“Why thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment, Dastardly.”

“Is that why you’re trying so hard to get me?”

Maybe. Maybe I just want to be told I did something right for once.

You both arrived at the new station, the sigh overhead in the train cart you were in said that you were near the Battle Nexus and the Crying Titan. As the horde of animals shoved past you, you made sure to keep your gun up against Danny’s back as you led him out of the train and away from wandering eyes. Once behind of the pillars you cuffed him, the irritating ring of the metal cuffs caused both of your ears to twitch. 

“No running? No cursing?” You asked, your hands gripping the cuffs behind his back. The tall rat gave a shrug.

“I know when I’ve been bested, and how can I be mad if it's from you?” You pushed him forward and he let out a light chuckle as you presented him to the citizens of the Hidden City.

And the way the public stared and how some families scooted their children away was a confidence boost you needed as you shoved him along, his small grunts barely reached you as you took him up and through the train station until you both made it to the exit. 

It was nighttime when you both made it out of the train station, the already once dark city was now pitch-black, the hanging lights looking like fallen stars. The buzz of life was barely a whisper as stores started to close and the awakening of nightclubs replaced it.

You could see your breath dance in front of you as you continued to force Danny onward, the yokai’s who boarded with you were now heading back to your homes. You thought about calling backup and didn’t have to endure the long walk ahead, but you didn’t want to disturb the station, along with you didn’t anyone take this credit. 

It was silent between you two, and whenever you would almost trip on Danny's tail he would look back with a shit-eating grin. 

Why did you find criminals handsome? Of course the one trait you got from your mother was similar attraction.

“Down here, this alleyway will get us to the station faster,” you ordered, your grip on him forcing him to turn down one of the ghastly alleyways, the bricks covered in graffiti and grime.

“If you just wanted to be alone with me, all you had to do was ask, sweetheart,” Danny chuckled, the desire in his voice almost made you stop in your tracks, but then you stepped right on his tail as payback. 

“Whoops,” you snickered, a smile playing on your lips as you saw his painful expression.  

“Wowza! I’m guessin’ that cops play dirty as well?” He breathed out, his tail swishing back and forth to forget about the pain.

You then came to a full stop, your ears twitching as you finally took in your surroundings. You were used to the silence of the dead part of town, but this was too quiet, as if the animals of the city were in hiding. You looked around the enclosed space you were and then started to hurry the rat ahead. 

“Whoa what’s with the hussle, toots?”

“Something isn’t right, we need to get out of here. Now.”

And then you saw the pair of glowing eyes down the pathway, the blue orbs blinking and the pupils flipping into thin lines as the creature spotted you and Danny. 

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the famous Dastardly Danny,” the voice purred, and a large white tiger walked out of the overshadow, his thin tail curling against his back. 

“Been a long time old friend.”

Danny let out a groan and a small ‘tch’ under his breath. 

“Good to see ya again, Liam, how's the business doing?”

“It was doing brilliant until you and that ridiculous group of yours ruined it.”

You looked up at Danny and then back at the tiger yokai, your hand pulling out your laser gun and aiming it at the white tiger known as Liam. 

“You are interjecting with official business, walk away or I will shoot,” you stated, and then two more yokai joined Liam behind him. You felt your eyes grow wide with fear as a wildebeest yokai and a fox yokai fell into line with their boss, their claws and hooves shined in the dimly lit alleyway. 

Did bad luck just run in my family?

You slowly backed up, your hand clutched over the middle of the handcuffs and you tried to focus in on the scruff noise Danny’s shoes made instead of the peering eyes that looked at like you were a meal. 

“Officer, if you run now, we won’t bother you. We just want Danny,” Liam said, a large paw went over his chest where his heart was placed. 

A thousand thoughts charged through your head as you gazed up at Danny, who almost seemed to lean in front of you like a shield. You could give Danny to them, you could try to take all of them down, take Danny with you, let Danny go and both of you run. 

Anger singed through you. This isn’t how this was supposed to go! You were supposed to get the bad guy, bring them to jail, and be the police officer you wanted to be! The cop you needed to be!

You kept good yokai safe, you kept innocent animals alive and took down the villain in the story, but now, as the gun shook on your hands, you took aim and shot at the men as you pushed Danny out of the enclosed space. 

“Go!” You ordered and continued to shoot at the three criminals, the agile yokai’s quickly dodging the hot bullets. One of the bullets landed in the fox’s shoulder and you sprinted towards them to dodge Liam’s attack and then to knee the horned yokai, your foot then came into contact with his stomach as you spun, sending the male henchmen into the bricked wall. You turned to continue to shoot, but a large hand wrapped itself around your throat and gun and pinned you against the rigged wall, the points and curves digging into your back as Liam’s claws dug into your neck.

“Will any of your fellow officers miss you if you were gone? What about your family?” He questioned, his nails broke past your skin and you could feel the warm liquid stain his hand. A yelp escaped your lips and your legs lifted up to kick him, but the fox held you down. 

“Because with how stupid you act, I can’t believe that anyone out there would care about you.”

You didn’t even realize the tears that were falling down your face until your fur went completely damp on your face. 

Your vision started to get blurry and stars started to sparkle at the corner of your eye, and then a loud grunt came from white tiger strangling you and the claws released you. 

You wheezed for air as your body slid down the wall, your eyesight barely coming back as you listened to the violent grunts of fighting. Your hand was still wrapped around your gun, the strain in your hooves started to pinch your nerves.

“Come on, is dat your best hit?”

Danny?! Danny came back to help? He didn’t run? What kind of criminal is he?

As your vision started to clear, you could make out the figures in front of you. Danny was quick on his feet, his body easily dodging the punches and kicks the yokai’s threw to him. But he was losing, the blood that soaked his suit and his nose, along with his hands still being cuffed. Your throat burned but you took aim anyway, shooting the wildebeest in his chest, sending him flying back. 

The three men looked back at you as you rose up, coughs still escaping your mouth as you checked how many rounds you had left.

 The rat was at your side as you both were cornered against the wall, dry coughs still raging out of your mouth as he looked down at you. 

“Y’know, it would be easier to fight if I didn’t have these around me,” he stated, his hands raising up, the metal shackles showed signs of digging into his fur. 

“I already let you go, you’re the one who decided to come back.”

“You’re pop didn’t seem to teach ya manners.”

“Oh my- fine! Fine!”

Before the last two yokai could attack, you took the keys out and unlocked his cuffs, the metal material falling to the ground as Danny rubbed his wrists, a cat-like smile growing into his face.

“Now the fights even.”

Danny picked up the fallen cuffs and curled them into his hand, punching them in Liam’s face as you continued to shoot at the fox yokai, his fast and quick body dodging almost every shot. But his shoulder was weak from the last shot and when he pounced you lifted the butt end of the gun and slammed into his injured shoulder. The orange mammal let out a yelp and your elbow went into his stomach, and then a fist in the face made him flip backward and plant face first into the ground. 

One down, one more to go. 

Danny ducked as the white tiger swiped at him, his claws tearing into the bricks behind him and almost into the rat’s hat. A growl ran its way through your throat and you shot at the tiger, one laser point going into his back, his body rapidly moving away, his icy eyes landing on you. A low snarl rumbled in his neck and he punched Danny down the alleyway, the large crash echoed back towards you as his body and trash cans came in contact. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you continued to shoot at Liam, and then the clicking of an empty slot reflected throughout the area. 

Of course.

The white tiger charged then, knocking the gun out of your hands and you stumbled away, your arms raising up to dodge the hits he threw. But he was a tower compared to you, you had to face guys like him in the academy, but this was your first fight alone. You ducked as another hit came towards you, fear became power as you decided to strike. Your hooves swiped at him, the curve cutting into his cheekbone, and then another one into his stomach. 

Liam let out a roar and his claws went into your leg, the razer-like talons dug into your jeans, quickly breaking past the fabric and into your fur and flesh. A scream raged through you as the nails shredded into your leg muscle and then with a long and antagonizing slowness, he threw you to the side. You could taste the salty blood in your mouth and your leg was feverish and wet, with the loss of air and blood, your vision once agains went blurry. The night was cold against your damp fur, and before you blacked out, all you could think about was your father, and how he was right about you.

You were a failure.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You woke you with a start, sweat pouring through your fur as you blinked several times to take in your surroundings. You were on someone’s couch, the black leather under you was worn and old. You took in the apartment around you, the grey walls were dim against you and the area seemed to be clean, seemed.

A hiss of pain passed your teeth and you looked down, your jeans were completely cut off until it was to your wound, which was now bandaged and cleaned. Your neck still burned and it was wrapped as well, the calmly ointment stuck to your fur. A bottle of water and medicine laid next to you on a stool and a blanket was curled around you. 

Where am I? What happened to Liam and Danny?

You tried to lift yourself up, but the pain that blasted from your right thigh brought you right back down. Shouldn’t you be in a hospital, not in someone’s apartment?  Then you heard it, the small chatter of voices in the room next to you and you went for your gun, but it was gone. You checked your whole belt and everything you had packed for this hunt was gone. 

Alright, whoever touched me is done for. 

You looked around and saw the coffee table stuffed with medical gear, ranging from antibiotics and pills. You spotted the scissors that were used to cut your bandages. You lifted yourself up on your elbows and let out a shaky breath and leaned over to the wooden table, the tip of your hooves barely grasping the blade before you completely rolled off the couch. 

A violent grunt came out of your throat and your hand went to your side, the row of bruises under your fur ached against your body. 

The voices went still and the patter of footsteps rushed into the room with you, your free hand going for the scissors and hiding it under yourself. 

You watched with half-closed eyes as four pairs of legs came into view, your head felt hot with fever as someone helped you up and back on the couch. Through the lights of the ceiling you could barely make out the figure that felt against your forehead. 

“How ya doing, doll?”

“Danny?”

The significant details in his face came into view as he smiled down at you, his tall figure no longer in a suit but in a regular t-shirt and pants, a few wraps were around his arms as well. 

“Ohhhhhh, I would have rather been beaten to death,” you groaned as you placed your hands over your eyes, the urge to scream out weighed heavy in your lungs. 

“Well that’s a weird way to say thanks.”

More anger bubbled in your stomach as you recognized Loathsome Leonard’s voice, so that meant the whole Mud Dogz group was here, and that you were in their home. What will your boss think if he finds out? What would he do to you since not only did you let the Mud Dogz get away, but you were wounded and taken to their hideout. Maybe you wouldn’t get to leave, maybe they wanted to get rid of you so you no longer bothered them. 

You opened your eyes with a sigh. 

No, if they wanted you gone, if Danny wanted you gone he would have left you on that street, he wouldn’t have brought you back here, he wouldn’t have bandaged you up…

“Okay, who ripped my jeans?”

A female cat came up from behind the ogre, her thin tail swishing back and forth. 

“Sorry about that. But it was the only way to get to your wound without undressing you. Also I’m the one who stripped you of your weapons, Danny’s orders that no guy touched you,” she said, her eyes going over the medical table, her eyes narrowing. 

You felt a large pressure release from your shoulders that a girl looked at you, even if she was working with other criminals. The cat yokai looked over at Danny and then eyed the table, his eyes following hers. That pressure was replaced with panic as you pushed your back further into the couch, the cold blade digging into your shirt.

“Luckily for you, that leg didn't need stitches. They should heal on their own time with proper care daily. ”

“I know.”

The brown cat raised an eyebrow and walked past you and to the kitchen, her eyes flicking over you as if you prey. 

“Okay, little piglet, then you don’t need my assistance anymore.”

You puffed out a gust of air and placed your hand over your wounded leg and groaned as the long gashes moved under your touch. Leonard and Mickey looked over at Danny and he gave them a curt nod and they followed the feline into the kitchen, their bodies disappearing. The rat was about to follow, but your voice stopped him in his tracks. 

“Why?”

He turned back to look at you, to look at little and weak you. But you held yourself strong up on your elbows once again, the sweat dripping from your eyebrow showed the strength you were using to get yourself up. For a while, Danny just believed that you were just another cop, too dumb to notice and too native to care. But you were persistent, you chased him down with every last tooth and nail you had, you jumped onto a bloody train to catch up to him. 

You were unique. You were stubborn. You fought for what you wanted.

 So, when you left him go to save him from Liam and his gang, he knew he had to come back for you. When Liam sank his claws into you, Danny took him down and carried you back to the Mud Dogz apartment, instantly calling up Leonard’s feline friend to patch you up. 

He knew about the scissors under your back, but he sat on the end of the couch from you, his body relaxed against your paranoid one. 

“Why what?”

“I’ve been chasing after you for months. You know it, and yet, you’re nice to me, you make jokes when your life's on the line. And when you had the chance to run, when you had the chance to get rid of me once and for all; You didn’t. What kind of criminal are you?!”

The rat’s tail twitched and he gently leaned towards you, his eyes interested in the words you were spilling out. You went stiff under his gaze and you fully lifted yourself up, your back now leaning against the armrest of the couch. 

“You said I reminded you of your father, is he a criminal as well?”

You clenched your teeth in your mouth and you crossed your arms over your chest, the blade you sat on now was calling your name to pick up and attack. You were talking to a felon, someone who broke laws and ruined yokai’s lives, but his file came back to your mind. He never stole from the poor, he never hurt anyone, and he reminded you nothing of your father. 

“Yes, but I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

The luminosity of the ceiling lights appeared over you as Danny took in a full look of you. You were pretty, gorgeous even, your dark coffee fur shined brightly in the room, the outline of your fur dusted with gold. He wouldn’t admit that he found your snout and the few tufts of fur on your head cute, nor that he found you attractive, but he would admit that you were unlike anything he had ever known. 

“You seem real conflicted, doll. Something on yer mind?”

You let out a breathless chuckle as you looked up at the light.

“You are so different from what I was taught to go after. My father, other criminals, I’ve watched yokai’s kill for money, I’ve watched families be torn by murder. My father was the same, but you, the Mud Dogz, are not. They don’t teach you that there are different criminals.”

You balled your hands into fists and held the tears that were trying to build back. 

“But I can’t rise to the top without following orders. I can’t get the respect I deserve without taking out the criminals I was trained to hunt for! And since I failed at protecting my mother and siblings from my father, a bloody criminal, I guess I feel like I need to save the city from criminals! But who are even the criminals anymore?! Yokai like you or the ones who step over me like I’m nothing!!”

You were gasping for air now, the blade now in your hands, every muscle in your body pushed against the tip of your hooves as you held it with every fiber of your life.

“That tiger was right, no one sticks around me when things start to fail.”

 You wondered if the other members of the Mud Dogz had heard you, but for once you didn’t care. You were failing, just like he said you would, the years you trained to become better, stronger than most was worth nothing in this moment. 

Danny hadn’t moved a muscle as your panic sizzled over you like an electric wave. The conflict that seemed to control you was something he hadn’t seen from other officers. Most broken animals were because of a missing or abusive parent, and to hear that you had to become the hero for your mother and siblings made more sense with how unbreakable you were, but you were already broken so many times that there was nothing left to break.  

“Do you feel like yer doing that?” Was all he asked. 

“Doing what?”

“Saving people, helping the city?”

You were quiet for a second and you rested your head on your stable knee. 

“….No.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m being told to go after men like you, when real criminals are getting away.”

You then flipped the scissors over until the handle faced Danny, the tears gone and a newfound determination in your eyes. Danny gave you a smile and took the blade. Danny felt something in his heart twitch when your hand lightly touched him, the hard crack of your hooves and the softness of your fur. But he ignored it and threw the weapon onto the table

“ I will put you in a prison these days though, Dastardly Danny. I’m the type to not know when to quit.”

“If it’s you, then I’ll be honored.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You woke up the next morning sore and uncomfortable.

After you and Danny had your chat, you were given your weapons back and the feline cat led you out of the apartment blindfolded. You were skeptical at first, but the sheek cat stated that it was that so then the cop standing in front of her wouldn’t know where they lived. It was a few minutes of walking until she untied it from your eyes and gave a wave goodbye after handing your black jacket back. 

“I cleaned it and patched up a few holes in it.”

“Oh! Ah, thank you.”

You wondered if you would see that cat again, but if she hanged out with the Mud Dogz, then you beat every dollar in your bank account that you would. 

You went straight home and fell asleep, and then called off work once you were awoken by your alarm. 

Yet when you called, the pride in your boss’s voice was noticeable.

“Good job with the arrest last night, I’m guessing you’re taking the day off due to injuries?”

Arrest? 

“The arrest?”

“Liam Asad and his gang. They had been terrorizing store workers for weeks now.” 

You then got a notification on your phone and it was a message from one of your colleagues, you opened up the message while your boss mumbled on about it and saw that Liam and his two other goons were tied up out front of the police station, a note with your name on it stuck against the ropes. 

Shiki Chibana.

Your mind jumped back and forth with confusion and you went back to talking to your chief. 

“Anyway, good job again, Miss Cibana, enjoy your day off, you deserve it.” And then he hung up. 

You were still staring at the image of the yokais tied up when your room went silent. The mammals were beaten to hell, the blood stains from either fists or your laser pistol, and the penmanship on the paper wasn’t your handwriting. You recognized it instantly on every Mud Dogz calling card you studied.

You rushed as quickly as you could to get your jacket on, barely even seeing the piece of paper that flew out of it. You limped over to it once you spotted it and picked up the crumbled paper, coffee stains dotted against the sides.

“I’ll be carrying the torch for ya while you believe you’re failing.”

A little heart was curved into the word ya as you read Danny’s handwriting over and over, your hooved thumb brushing over the word torch. 

What did it mean? Danny used so many slanged words that you hardly knew what he was saying half the time. 

He turned Liam in, before you even had the heart-to-heart to him since you had this letter in your jacket pocket. You looked out your studio window and opened it, taking in the crips air and the busy sound of the city below. You continued to reread the letter over and over, your lips unknowingly curling into a shy smile. 

You weren’t afraid to admit when you were wrong, and maybe you were wrong about Danny. Or maybe you were just into bad boys with soft hearts. 

[peachyteabuck]

treason against kingly youth, pt i of ii

summary: somehow, you survived the 2020 election. now, all you have to do is get a know-nothing white man into the senate. should be easy enough. 

pairing: chris evans x reader

words: 3223

trigger warnings: rpf, white dudes doin White Dude Things

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

For a moment, just a moment, you allow yourself to breathe, really breathe. One, big breath in that clears the stress from your muscles, drops your shoulders, lets your whole body sag against the decade-old chair that you’re surprised hasn’t crumbled under the weight of your ever-tense body and its corresponding sins.

It’s a mere six feet away that everyone else you’ve worked with for the past three years with – the people you went through sleepless nights, long road trips, greasy food from mom and pop diners with the middle of assfuck nowhere, registering voters and writing up another plan for every fucking thing wrong with America (low teacher pay? Check. Electoral college ruining democracy? Check. Criminalization of homosexuality? Check. Private school sucking the life out of public schools? The monopoly artificially inflating prices on glasses up to 400%? The disparity between the number of men’s and women’s bathrooms in federal buildings? Check, check, check) – each and every person celebrates with wine and whiskey and any other alcoholic beverages they can get their underpaid hands on. It’s not even the cheap stuff, no, this is top shelf liquor. This is D-Day, “we’ve got an hour before the nuclear missile hits” liquor.

There are two times people go this all-out on their spirits – the end of the world, and the end of an election (though, to some, they’re the same thing).

But not you. Never pitiful little you. Pitiful little campaign manager you doesn’t rest, doesn’t get to stop pulling rabbits out of hats and money from single moms and votes out of college students.

There’s three TVs in front of your desk, each playing a different news station and each anchor drowning the others out. It’s a cacophony of white noise, and not because

The only voice, the only singular voice that has cemented itself into this far, previously blissfully unattended corner of your brain. You can hear her, feel her own on your shoulder – you can see her leaning against her old desk nestled in her home back in Massachusetts.

“I want you to be my chief of staff. You ran my campaign better than I could have asked for, and I would be incredibly lucky and blessed to have you run my White House.”

Your own voice rings next, always shakier than the time previous.

“I can’t do that,” your sigh gets deeper each time, too. “You know I can’t.”

Somehow, her voice always gets more confident. It’s one of those things about her, about the way she carries herself. If she’s faking that confidence you’d never know. “I know, but I’ll always tell you that there’s a place for you at the White House as long as I have something to say about it.”

In the sea of blue and red and white confetti and streamers and all the other shit people use to celebrate when their party wins an election, the thick, bleached white of your laptop screen stares back at you more menacingly than any Republican – winning or losing - you’ve ever met.

You’d like to think you are the kind professional that is never caught off guard, the kind of woman who can expect anything. But as the email that’s derailed your plan for the next four years stares back at you, the all-caps subject line feels more like the headlights of an 18-wheeler to a deer in the middle of a highway than an excellent career opportunity.

Still, with malt liquor in hand, you allow yourself a moment to breathe. Maybe, just maybe, it’ll make all of this just a little bit easier.

A little less than five hundred miles away, Christopher Robert Evans is the drunkest he’s ever been, surrounded by the same men he’s known since his freshman year of high school, yelling nonsensically as one of his current senators becomes the president-elect of the most power country on Earth.

The only coherent thing to leave the man’s mouth the entire night is oh so wonderfully caught on a friend’s iPhone and will – quite likely – be posted to some social media site by the next morning.

The video (which you will eventually be seeing at your first meeting with the Boston native) shows him in a Harvard sweatshirt (a university he did not attend), deep blue skinny jeans, and a Patriots hat balanced just enough to show his (possibly) thinning hairline. There, between his two best friends, he screams in his played-up Boston accent at the top of his lungs:

“I’M GOING TO BE A SENATOR, BITCHES!”

But you, back in D.C., are blissfully unaware of the long road ahead of you. So, you enjoy your malt liquor, and your small bit of quiet on election night – a sign of the muted calm before the political shitstorm ahead of you.

You end up not replying to said email the next morning (see: seven hours later after falling asleep in your chair for about five hours and then browsing angry GOP Twitter accounts while cackling into a cup of the blackest coffee you’ve ever tasted for the other two), confirming you’d be willing to work for Christopher Robert Evans’ campaign to run for the current president-elect’s soon-to-be open senate seat.

Or, at least confirming you’d speak to the Evans family to talk about running the campaign of the whitest man under the age of forty you’ve ever seen. Whether or not you ended up attempting to control what is likely another dumpster-fire campaign in a series of dumpster-fire campaigns. Harris is the one that comes to mind, but drawing any parallels between that woman and this man feels borderline offensive.

Plus, her senate run was successful. And she held elected office before that.

Why did you agree to do this again?

Right, you need money. So much money. All of the money. At least enough money that you can be bought from straight under the White House, which just so happens to be the amount the Evans estate offered you in exchange for your services.

Maybe that’s why you’ve found yourself in a conference room in an expensive office building, looking up at Chris Evans as his face turns red and your heart rate picks up.

“I’m Massachusetts’s best choice!” he screams, slamming his hands onto the table – a rich brown you sort of wish you could afford to have in your own home back at the capital. Your estate sale table, even with the coat of white paint you gave it after buying it, still can’t hold a candle to the beautiful grooves and smooth top.

But this isn’t time to yearn for better interior design prospects. Now is the time to put this moderate democrat man-child in his upper-middle-class place.

“Chris, you’re the best choice for an internship for the fucking EPA,” you nearly hiss. “You’re in the intern in Vice who watched Dick Cheney make deals with those fucking oil businessmen. You’re the shiny faced bastard who watched the world burn while listening to a Walkman. Do you understand me?”

His teeth are barred like he’s about to bite at your face; luckily that man comes with an electric collar and you’ve got the controller.

“Your biggest qualification is you got a five on the AP Gov exam. You have a single living family member who has held elected office in the last five years, and he was in the House of Representatives. The House! He wasn’t even in the chamber you’re gunning to be a part of. You were an econ major with a minor in, what? Poli sci? At a mid-tier university because your family doesn’t have Kushner money to bribe your acceptance letter out of a better one. Your main job after college was working as an accountant for old fraternity because they get audited so often the IRS had to release a public statement saying they were changing their processes for such matter on college campuses. You’re so moderate you’re in the aisle playing legislative mad-libs while everyone fawns over your B+ facial hair and C- chest tattoo. You’re a cute puppy at a for-profit rescue, you’re eye candy on a political television show.

“You’re the type of person who didn’t think that Gillibrand was done for before the second debate. That’s the problem with you. I mean there are lots of problems with you, but that’s the one I’m most annoyed with right now. It’s not that you can’t understand patterns or see what’s going on around you. It’s that you were never forced to. When you walk outside in the dark, I bet you don’t look behind you, you don’t clutch your keys like claws to protect yourself. You know how much pepper spray costs? Do you know what a noisemaker does? No, you’ve never had to. You’ve never had to shield yourself from danger because the rest of the world did that for you.”

It’s then that you realize you’re both standing, your finger jabbed into the Windsor knot of his tie. Still, you don’t stop.

“You are the shell of an actual politician; you represent a safe option for right-adjacent Democrats and moderate Republicans who hate the president’s coalition and women. Especially women of color. You’re the perfect option because you stand for nothing of substance, you do nothing on your own. You’re a cover for old racist white men and moderate white women who need something to attatch their lack of political knowledge to during dinner conversations. Either you shape up, or I’m leaving this campaign and watching your inevitable fall from my office in the White House. I will drink a martini in the West Wing the day you lose, I will release a glowing endorsement of the first liberal who so much as whispers about taking your ass down. Do you understand me?”

The longest few seconds of your life pass with bated breath as you two stand there, chests rising and falling in a synced rhythm with your jaws set. It’s a stand off, neither of you willing to look away from the other’s eyes.

“Do you understand me, Evans?” you bite, getting angrier at each passing Chris says nothing. It’s not the self-reflective kind of silence, it’s the generic peanut butter when you’re too broke to afford the real stuff. It’s pasta before a marathon. It’s ads the radio station plays when they’re out of loops of the latest rape-adjacent pop hit.

It’s a filler. And it’s a bad one.

“¿Te comprende?” You’re almost yelling now, screaming in his face louder than you’ve ever screamed before. “¿Me necesitas para decirlo de nuevo?”

Another heavy pause. Chris’ voice is rough as he speaks, like ten grit sandpaper. “Yeah, I get it. I fucking get it.”

And with that, he grabs his side bag and stomps out of the conference room, grumbling something about high school Spanish and Despacito. You ignore his tantrum – unlike his father, who moves to run after him. You shoot daggers into the silver-haired ca, and he sits back down.

You push the too-sweet aftertaste of canned fruit to the back of your mouth. The thick resume paper slides out of your laptop-case-slash-important papers-folder with ease, the heavy five-hundred word essay on why you hate your job detailed in 12-font Times New Roman, pristine black letters nearly shining in the low light.

“That’s my letter of resignation,” you say, looking your boss dead in the eyes. With his jaw set the way it is, you expect to hear his teeth cracking before you could leave the boardroom.

“You know we can’t accept this,” his father says with a tone that’s much too close to a laugh. A nervous laugh, but one that makes you feel like he’s treating you as if you were a joke nonetheless. “You’re our only hope for this race.”

The second sheet of paper - or, rather, the small stack with a staple in the top right corner perfectly perpendicular to the nearest corner - hits the table next. “Then, these are my demands. Let me know by midnight tonight if you can meet them or not so I know whether or not to accept a job somewhere else.”

With that, you pick up your coat and leave.

The driver, a single mom in her mid-forties who is helping put her only son through college, laughs when you enter the backseat of her vehicle. It’s not condescending, not something you feel offended by. Rather, shame paints your face.

“Did Mr. Evans-Junior snap?” She asks as she pulls away. Her tone is knowing, too knowing. How long has she worked for the Evans anyway?

You sigh, then scream into your hands. The woman in front of you doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move a muscle as she waits for your reply. “He’s an idiot.”

The woman laughs. “That’s not what I asked, and I know you know that.”

You’re tempted to scream again, only a little louder. You don’t. “He snapped. I snapped,” you sigh again as you watch out the window. It’s late, too late for traffic to be like this. Fuck Boston. “Now I want to go home and take off my bra and wash off my make up and ger super drunk and shave all my hair off and quit my job and become a sheep herder in Iceland.”

The woman doesn’t disagree, doesn’t negate. She gives you the wonderful gift of silence until she drops you off, waving you goodbye.

“You have a good night,” she calls.

“I’ll do my best,” you shout back.

You’re alone in your apartment, dressed in the most comfortable (and expensive) pair of pajamas you own with red wine and some playlist titled an artsy version of “my life is very sad and my world is falling apart so I bought a $200 bottle of alcohol and hope I cry off my name-brand make up before I have to reemerge into the eyes of polite society,” when you get the text you’ve been dreading. It’s Chris, with his perfect capitalization and punctation and lack of emoji use. You’ve seen the way he texts the rest of the team, his family, his friends. He only pulls that shit with you.

Fuck, you think as you open the message. That kid’s really gotta loosen up. Isn’t weed legal in Massachusetts? He’s a Democrat, there’s no excuse.

He’s asking if he can come over, because of course he is. You’re just lucky the message is something closer to “I feel bad and wish to speak about it with you in person” instead of the crass “u up” you expected. Still, when the three dots at the bottom of the screen appear once again, you assume it’s going to be a picture of his junk that loads.

“Please,” is all the text says.

You acquiesce, sending him something akin to a “Fine but if you step out of line again your ass is going to be explaining why you fucked up to the cold-as-fuck pavement outside.”

You hear the knock at your door thirty minutes later (you often forget how shitty Boston traffic is), opening it to reveal the saddest white boy you’ve ever seen in your short life.

His chestnut hair is disheveled enough to indicate he’d had half of a sleepless night. This is the most casual you’ve seen him – basketball shorts with another Godforsaken Harvard hoodie with Nike sneakers – bags under his eyes completing the “sad frat boy who probably just flunked a chem exam” kind of look.

“Can I come inside?” he asks.

You sigh, trying to figure out how your life came to this. A jerk of your chin allows him entry into your small apartment, every surface littered with physical copies of presentations and a map of Massachusetts covered in stickers and sticky notes and scribbles of poll numbers from past campaigns. To Chris’ untrained eye it all looks like the homestead of a serial killer, but to anyone else on his campaign it’s his ticket to the senate. Politics is a game, a game with very public winners and losers and those who fall between; anyone who doesn’t study all of those outcomes is destined to find themselves either a) in a vacation home in the hills of Vermont drunk as hell, or b) running for president.

(You’ve considered how likely both of those possibilities are, and part of you fears he’ll do both).

There’s a heavy, awkward silence that falls over the room as you both sit down, facing each other.

“So,” you ask awkwardly. “Do you want, uh, a beer…or something?”

Chris shakes his head. “No, I’m, uh, I’m alright. Thanks.”

You sigh a little, relieved. “Good, because all I have is very expensive red wine and judging by our past interactions it is not worth having it spilled all over my white carpet.”

For a moment it’s obvious he doesn’t realize that you’re kidding, but after a few seconds of a facial expression that’s a perfect blend of concerned, rejected, and confused – he lets a little smile get past his façade.

“Yeah, uh,” he laughs. “That sounds like a bitch to clean up.”

What follows is a few minutes of incredibly awkward silence as he looks around your house once more and you take the opportunity to look at him.

It’s weird to see him in this state – it’s weird to see him as something human.

Still, you want to snap at him when he breaks the quiet.

“I want to do better,” he says, voice small. He avoids meeting your eyes, wrings his hands while he looks at the floor. “I thought about what you said and I,” he sighs. “I’m sorry. I want to do better…for you.”

You sigh, placing your red wine on the side table next to you before clasping your hands together. “Look, if you’re winning this election for me-“

“I’m not,” Chris says way too defensively. You let it slide for your own sanity.

“If you’re doing this for me, you’re going to be disappointed. Mostly because what your father wants and what I want are two very different things,” Chris opens his mouth to speak again but you hold you hand up to silence him. “Listen, I have a few rules with my clients. The first one is don’t lie to me. We can talk around this all day outside the boundaries of this home, but if you can look me in the eye on my couch while I drink my wine and tell me you’re doing this for a love of the people or whatever, I’m going to need you to leave.”

Chris gives you a single silent nod.

“But, if you want to win this shitshow…” you drink the rest of the glass in a single gulp. “Then, yeah. Let’s fucking do this.”

Chris lights up.

“But, I have some rules.”

He nods silently, allowing you to continue.

You count off on your fingers. “Don’t lie to me. When I ask a question, answer it. If I don’t ask a question, answer it anyway. I want to know everything, got it?”

Chris nods.

“The only time I don’t want you to speak is when I tell you to shut the fuck up. You got that, too?”

Chris nods again.

“Good, then I have a sneaking suspicion this will work out just fine.”

[hippriestess]

Part 3 - “ I thought we had some kind of agreement but with you it was just prurience”

So, where were we. Ah yes....Record Store Day 2019.

It was, perhaps inevitably, a heavy day for Fall fans. Lead-in times both for the manufacture of vinyl records and for participation in RSD are such that Smith's death came too late for the impact to be evident in the 2018 event but for 2019, we were absolutely flooded in a way that caused some, quite rightly, to question the judgement of the organisers in allowing so many obvious vultures to swoop in for an easy bite. 

The “monitor mixes” from the 2CD edition of “The Unutterable” were pressed to vinyl for the first time. “Whoo-fucking-pee” quoth the faithful and you will have absolutely no difficulty acquiring it today should you be down to few enough marbles for it to seem like a good investment. BMG hold the rights to the group's Rough Trade recordings and went with a box set of five 7” singles under the awful title “Medicine For The Masses”. This was the exact same format as “The Rough Trade Singles Box” from 2002 although with the bonus of containing the correct Peel Session versions of “Container Drivers” and “New Puritan” (Castle/Sanctuary had updated the 5 disc CD edition once they had acquired the rights to the BBC tracks but the vinyl edition of Italy's Earmark Records retained the Grotesque and Totale's Turns versions used in the initial pressings). Given not only that none of this material is any way scarce but that an excellent single LP release had been given to all 10 tracks in the box (Peel takes included) by US imprint Superior Viaduct in 2018, it was perhaps inevitable that “Medicine For The Masses” pretty much flopped on the day and can now be acquired brand new for a good £10 less than the asking price on the day itself.

Ah yes, Superior Viaduct, let's not forget them. A well-regarded reissue label with a smattering of current artists, they had already issued some Fall vinyl in 2016/2017, putting all the studio albums up to “Perverted By Language” back onto vinyl as well as the first 2 singles and the eternally category-defying “Slates” 10”. Following Smith's passing, they have (almost) completed the task with the aforementioned “Rough Trade Singles” LP and a new pressing of “Totale's Turns”. These editions have been very well received and have been praised for the quality both of the mastering and of the pressings but they remain largely inaccessible to UK fans due to licensing restrictions preventing the editions from being imported. As such, you'll hafta pick these up on a one-to-one basis off your own bat.

Right, back to Record Store Day 2019. We also had the “opportunity” to buy a number of live albums. 5 of them, in fact. All of these had previously been released on CD towards the end of 2018...so this was going to be called Crap Rap Part 14 but it's now called “Stop Releasing Every Gig You Can Find On Some Mouldy Third Generation Maxell C90 on a double LP”

Live albums have always been canon with The Fall. “Totale's Turns” was their 3rd LP release, “Live In London 1980” was issued by Chaos Tapes with the group's permission in 1982, “Fall In A Hole” was allowed until copies were exported. We had “Seminal Live” and “The 27 Points” mixing live with studio, as did “I Am Kurious Oranj” with several tracks recorded during the original Edinburgh run of the ballet. Even the “Perverted By Language Bis” video was largely live material. Even once the shark was jumped in the late 90s/early 00s with the endless recycling of those outtake/live compilations, there were official live missives, such as the excellent “Last Night At The Palais” in 2009, the wonderfully titled but patchy “Uurop VIII-XII Places in Sun & Winter, Son” in 2014 though to the terrible “Live In Clitheroe” in 2017. So, all in, it comes as no surprise at all that over 20 more live albums have been added to The Fall's discography since Smith's sad departure from this realm.

There were no less than 5 live albums dumped merrily onto the shelves for RSD 2019, 3 of them doubles. On their own, this would have been an outlay of over £100...in fact, if you wanted the full RSD Fall, you'd have had little or no change on the day from £250. For exactly no unreleased music. No unreleased music? What were these live albums then? Let's wind back to late in 2018... (I told you this was tough to do in any kind of linear fashion).

Arriving via the PledgeMusic site, “Set Of Ten” released by “Cog Sinister”, worked like this: 10 previously unreleased live recordings were contained in a sturdy square box with spiffy new artwork from Pascal LeGras. The tariff? £100. Ouch. Now, a handful of them were announced as separate releases, however, if you bought the box you would receive an exclusive disc – a recording from Derby, 1994. Cometh the hour, the Derby CD was one of the first to be released on its own. Huh.

A small amount of digging revealed that this set was the work of Rob Ayling. With the dates running from 1980 to 1999, the general opinion re: Set Of Ten was that these tapes were very likely to be in Ayling's possession due to the “Live From The Vaults” series on Voiceprint, Ayling's previous imprint, from 2005. When that series was announced, the five releases were said to be simply the first batch.  It could therefore be deduced that these tapes had been destined for future batches. At the time, there was a minor dust-up over them and no further volumes were issued. Whatever the motivations, presenting an 11 CD set of old bootlegs with so little quality control being put into the audio and asking £100 for it felt like cold ash in the mouth. Worse still, PledgeMusic went bust before many customers could receive their sets, leaving them to either claim chargebacks on their credit cards or simply out of pocket as ordinary creditors to the failed business. It must have been galling for those who lost money to see the CDs arriving on their own and several cut onto expensive vinyl.

I've picked up a couple of the CDs separately and these have been largely fine. Recording quality is listenable but obviously audience derived. The best one by far of those I've heard is “Live 23rd June 1981 @ Jimmy's Music Club New Orleans”, a great recording of a full-tilt Fall performance from a critical time in their existence (pictured) . There's a palpable tension, possibly due to the return of Burns, brought back not just out of practicalities but also to even the group up a bit, now that Smith was beginning to reconsider the wisdom of having a team of childhood friends for a group. Rehiring Burns was designed to put some grit back into the machine and it worked. Having a full set from this line-up is a worthy addition to the canon and it should be snapped up before it vanishes – this is the only one of the “Set Of Ten” CDs that seems to be thin on the ground. The artwork and credits show the level of care taken over the release; that is – pretty much none. The CD artwork has the 6 piece “Hex” line-up – Karl Burns is the only drummer here as Paul Hanley was at home doing his O Levels. However, the sleeve credits Paul Hanley and not Burns, adding a credit for Duncan Burndred, who was the group's driver at the time. The info had been sourced from the “Slates & Dates” press release which credited Burndred with “the rest” (ie anything other than music and management). Likely pilfered from thefall.org, this missive was retooled for the artwork without any real consideration.

However, it seems there was sufficient demand out there and, cometh the tail end of 2019, cometh another Set of Ten, given the snappy title...”Another Set Of Ten”. They must have been up all fucking night thinking of that one. Again, it has 11 discs. It does get interesting here insofar as most of the tapes come from between 2009 and 2013 suggesting not only that there wasn't much left from the original “Vaults”- destined batch but also making it unclear from whom these tapes were being licenced. They are, of course, under no obligation to discuss such matters publicly and, indeed the current incarnation of Cog Sinister would likely feel aggrieved at having the question asked. They are, after all, a legitimate enterprise. 

A quick skwizz at the Discogs page tells you that “Another Set Of Ten” is not a triumph; all the tapes are listed as being audience tapes, one disc has just six songs from the gig and several others are also incomplete and/or mislabelled. The main contributor to the Discogs entry (to whom, hello!) notes that the tracklistings appear to be taken from photographs of setlists uploaded to thefall.org's justly revered and thoroughly sublime gigography but, where the setlist didn't match what was played, no attempt has been made to correct this. They haven't even matched up the content with the tracklistings!!! At time of writing, these ones are just starting to slip into the shops on their own, possibly Covid delayed as you could get them via online retailers for a while. The cover for a Manchester gig from 2009 looked like a sick joke and it was hard not to think similar (albeit at lower pitch) about the inclusion of an infamous Motherwell gig at which MES was completely plastered and Brix had quit the band an hour or so before the show. What's next? Worthing? Brownies?

Yet it is very hard not to be continually tempted. There's some juicy setlists in these discs and the artwork at least has some effort – Pascal LeGras has done a very fine job here and his art certainly gives the right feel to the releases. I'm guessing that was the plan. I’ve got my eye on a few. It’s a disease this, I tell you...

Anyway, one way of the other, 5 of the “Set Of Ten” discs found their way onto vinyl on RSD, courtesy of reissue imprint Let Them Eat Vinyl and all of these are still easy to score, should you wish. The whole Gonzo/Let Them Eat Vinyl hookup is interesting for scholars of who-owns-what in terms of The Fall's catalogue. As above, we know that BMG have the Rough Trade recordings but LTEV's “Grotesque”, issued in 2017, states it is licensed by Sanctuary.

LTEV have also been putting some of the other lesser releases from the catalogue onto vinyl, including 2 mid 90's live albums (Phoenix 1995 and “The Idiot Joy Show” - nothing that was wasn't available for buttons on CD in the early 00s) as well as “Interim”, the demos and live cobble-together that attempted to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory in 2004. The latter had never been pressed to vinyl before and with bloody good reason.  Yr mileage, as always, may vary.

Whilst not The Fall, acolytes will doubtless want to know that Ed Blaney issued a 2CD edition of “The Train”, containing the full 40-minute “(Part Three)” CD, a similarly lengthed alternate version and a clutch of remixes. Blaney also uploaded a properly touching tribute to Smith on YouTube, including reminiscences with other friends of Smith.

One more part to come, in which we burn the spotlight of shame onto a couple of the worst products ever to have had the name The Fall unwillingly emblazoned upon their sleeves and take a quick look over some of what we know is in the pipeline.

[legendsgates]

Underrated SCP List

I’ve decided to create an updated list of my favorite relatively-unknown skips, as well as other articles I think more people should know about. I’m leaving out the more popular ones like 682 or 049, since it’s easy to find and get info about those. These are SCPs that, tragically, tend to get overlooked.

Normal SCPs

SCP-001 (Dr Mann’s Proposal) The real juicy stuff here isn’t in the file itself, it’s in the attached O5-clearance document. And good lord, the implications give me chills.

SCP-001 (S Andrew Swann’s Proposal) It’s us.

SCP-370 (A Key) Don’t look. Don’t look. DON’T LOOK.

SCP-408 (Illusory Butterflies) The booooterflies! Kondraki’s best friends :3

SCP-413 (Endless Garage) SCPs can play pranks too.

SCP-447 (Ball of Green Slime) Could also be named ‘Too Bad We Can’t Market This’. I would recommend reading the experiment log.

SCP-504 (Critical Tomatoes) You know the trope where bad actors and comedians get tomatoes thrown at them? Well...

SCP-507 (Reluctant Dimension Hopper) Poor 507! He hasn’t been the same since he came back from 99P-UT1-24J. Or 952-7YD-ABBA, for that matter. Read the log!

SCP-597 (The Mother of Them All) This one is either incredibly unsettling, weirdly soothing to think about, or a godawful mixture of both.

SCP-632 (Intrusive Arachnid Thoughts) Arachnophobe’s Worst Nightmare. Don’t read if you’re scared of spiders.

SCP-743 (A Chocolate Fountain) …At least they get a good meal first?

SCP-939 (With Many Voices) Thorough and creepy. Especially 939-101! I can’t tell whether I should be scared or pitying. Do not read if people getting eaten freaks you out, and don’t read the ‘scp-939 reproduction’ page if decapitation (or internal parasites, possibly) is a squick.

SCP-1155 (Predatory Street Art) I would like to see who would win between this and 173.

SCP-1171 (Humans Go Home) To borrow the words of tumblr user @arctic-chameleonus​... my thembro Beauremont got fucking catfished.

SCP-1459 (The Puppy Machine) Once you get past the inherent horror of the scenario, the test log is actually pretty damn funny. Or maybe I’m just nuts.

SCP-1545 (Larry the Loving Llama) Guys, stop calling him by all those different names - his name’s Larry.

SCP-1730 (What Happened to Site-13?) This one is a long, horrifying read - and it’s absolutely breathtaking. If you have time to kill and a taste for human corruption at its worst, come take a look!

SCP-2316 (Field Trip) You do not recognize the bodies in the water.

SCP-2357 (The Perfect SCP) The resignation letter of a Foundation employee... who specialized in memes and infohazards. If you’re not familiar with the Foundation-standard usage of those words, this is an easy and fun article to get a taste.

●●|●●●●●|●●|●

SCP-2662 (cthulhu f'UCK OFF!) I feel so bad for them, they just want to be left a l o n e

SCP-2703 (For a Good Time Call) She’s so friendly and helpful, stop screaming when she appears! You were the one who called her and she just wants to help you have a good time!

SCP-3008 (A Perfectly Normal, Regular Old IKEA) It’s an IKEA - a totally normal, nonanomalous one. Not sure why it’s on the site.

SCP-3636 (World's Greatest Jukebox) Please screen the title and lyrics very closely before you try to play anything. And don’t even touch anything on the blacklist.

Joke SCPs

SCP-006-J / SCP-006-CU-EX (WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT THING / Cuddly Cwawies) BUGS! Read that in whatever inflection you desire.

SCP-048-J (Negative Probability Phrase) I swear, if you jinx us-

SCP-076-J (IN OWN WORDS) Totally not Able, fellow meat-slaves!

SCP-666-J (Dr. Gerald's Driving Skills) OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH FUCK OH GOD OH GO

SCP-900-J (Modern Major Keter-Class) i’m sorry I can’t do this one justice

SCP-1543-J (The Sun Launcher) When in doubt, toss it into the sun.

Group-of-Interest Format

The Serpent’s Hand

A Love Letter to a Lady Mantis - and its sequel, A Wedding Gift for a Lady Mantis! An adorable romance. Don’t read if you’re scared of bugs.

Hello, I am an Eldritch Horror - You'll want to familiarize yourself with SCP-426 (I am a Toaster) first, but this adds a whole new depth to the SCP’s lore.

KoI Format - God is a fish.

Shark-Punching Center

SPC-001, Uncle Nicolini's Proposal... Maybe. (It's Lonely At The Top, says the article third from the top.) Once something becomes too easy it’s not even worth doing anymore, right?

SPC-172-J (”Sword Sharks?!”, Never Bring a Fist to a Spear Fight) Y’all need to update your shark-identification guide, stat. And maybe don’t punch it right where the horn is. However, I must say I like your style of protocol naming.

Story

A Lesson in Power - Broken Masquerade canon. A gun is only so intimidating when you work with SCPs.

Ethical? - Broken Masquerade canon. There’s going to be a change in the Foundation’s hierarchy, now that they’re forced into the light.

Ethics Committee Orientation - Isn’t the Ethics Committee, like, a myth?

Tales of the Ethics Committee: The Foundation Eats Babies - How do you choose who lives and who dies? To quote Agent Strauss, “We’re a bit beyond trolley problems here.”

Termination_Order - How to execute someone who can turn you into spaghetti with a thought. This one gets dark - warning for rape mentions.

Transcript of Dr. Clef's seminar, "Reality Benders and You: How to Survive When Existence Doesn't." - Fucking Clef. That asshole.

Exceptional Cases Which Do Not Quite Fit Into Any Of The Aforementioned Categories

Abundance - this story is actually on the Wanderer’s Library site and doesn’t mention the foundation, but the slowly-growing unease turning to gradual horrified and/or disgusted understanding would make some scp articles proud.

The Ship In A Bottle Hub - Please. Please read it. At least the intro - it will show exactly what to expect.

[Edit: most recent addition to this post can be found here]

[yungfrieda]

10.26.19

also known as - things i’ve learned about myself and the world around me as this year comes to a close. 

first before i get into the #content i just want to say RIP to communities centered around long-form written content!! i really miss tumblr and the community around it, i suppose i could easily go to Reddit or something if i wanted to write long posts about my life but i really liked how everyone’s blog was their own platform to curate and didn’t have to be hyper glossy & filtered imgs of a curated idealistic life. (can you tell i’m not a big fan of instagram?)

ok moving on. this year threw me for a loop. in this one year of 2019 i’ve had 3 different jobs. spent a month just straight up unemployed with nothing to do. tried to break into concert production and kinda fell on my face for circumstances out of my control. this year taught me that if you don’t have a backup plan.... you gotta be quick enough on your feet to come up w one because things can get bad very quickly. 

but i learned so many other things that don’t have to do with survival and disaster planning mode and i’d like to share at least 5 of them.

1. i learned how to really sit down and take an audit of my emotions. this is really all thanks to working with my therapist Emily who i am quite certain i would not still be here without. days are really, really tough sometimes and in moments where i have a lot going on, i tend to shove my emotions and needs into a dark corner of my brain so i can stay productive. 

this is only sustainable for a verrrry short amount of time and the consequences are usually a breakdown. i’ve been telling people that my emotions are like toddlers. toddlers cannot and should not be abandoned for long periods of time and do deserve to have their needs met by the person who is supposed to care for them. and we all know caring for a toddler is a lot of fuckin work. but the results are that the toddler grows up healthy and ends up thanking their parents in the long run. i want to be able to thank myself for taking care of me, so i’ve gotta put in the work. 

2. i’ve learned that a lot of my relationships are not reciprocal. this was a hard one. i find myself soooo frustrated with a lot of my most favorite people because the boundaries that i’ve set in our relationship are either extremely flimsy or non-existent. i’m happy i’m realizing this now because its a sign of growth. I’m beginning to question the structures in my life and the roles people play, wondering what sparks joy like an emotional Marie Kondo. it’s badass, but the hard part comes in when i’ve got to put some action behind these new observations and change things. i’m not super good at this just yet but working with my therapist has really helped me turn my relationship with my boyfriend around so i’m confident i’ll figure it out. 

3. i’ve learned just how shitty lifestyle creep can be. in a way that isn’t really my fault! the one big purchase i’ve made since getting this new job is purchasing a nintendo switch for myself. other than that, i’ve been booked for a month straight for some intensive dental work, booked doctor’s appointments, and have been spending a lot more on transportation due to work. my money has been fucked up since i started making a higher salary, one that i consider “liveable”. i really hope that certain changes will make it easier to adjust and safe, make budgets for the shit i actually want to be spending on, and all around just being smarter with my money.

4. i’ve learned that my career just ain’t gonna get easier. this is another tough one to accept. i’m a person who really likes to be challenged, and unfortunately i’ve found that a bit of those “go-getter” and scrappy characteristics i’ve loved about myself have been damaged because of some uncomfortable work environments. i’m learning how to restore those entrepreneurial values that i had where i’d make a way if i couldn’t easily find one and would be so happy to roll up my sleeves and make shit happen without a second thought. 

BUT what i’m trying to say is, the more i pursue roles that take me out of my comfort zone, challenge me to grow, and give me more responsibility, the harder it’s going to get to find shit like “work/life balance” and days where i can just coast under the radar. those days are long gone, unfortunately (and fortunately!) because there’s a way to mediate the bullshit while i’m making my way to the top. i just have to actively enforce boundaries for balance. i’m saying it like it’s so easy, but i know that’s the key to keeping my sanity while also keeping a challenging job. i’m sure there are days where i’ll have to work extra long hours or put my brain’s petal to the metal, but it can’t be the norm or else i’m going to ultimately set myself up for burnout. 

no matter who is uncomfortable with it, i’ve got to make the space and time to take care of myself - no questions asked. because no one is gonna do it for me. 

5. i’ve been reminded that love is not glossy and glamorous. not that i’ve ever been that type of person anyway. it’s been a long time since Ian and I have been in “sweep you off your feet” mode and that’s ok. i’m more of a “steady-state” type of partner anyway where i can really be supportive on a day-to-day level instead of blowing someone away with grand gestures that can only be done once in a blue moon. but what i want to say with this is that i think a lot of people hope to find their soulmate who will make their life complete, rid them of all of their problems, and then they can ride off into the sunset together.

that’s not how it happens. ian and i will never be that to each other and it’s ok. we make a good couple by way of being super understanding with each other and truly being invested in one-another’s happiness and needs which is something i’m grateful for. he’s really the most reliable person i’ve got in my life and i hope to be the same way for him. but we’ve gotten into some fights every now and again, or have both been cranky on the same day at the same time and been kind of venomous to each other. i learned in those times that it’s easier to unpack someone’s behavior and why his perceptions of priorities like communication are different than mine, instead of just throwing in the towel because we’re just too different. 

in another instance, we just had a weekend where neither of us even touched each other after a few months of not even being face-to-face for awhile and just sat next to eachother all day and night and played video games in our pajamas. i’ll admit, i sometimes fall victim to wanting us to make every moment count and when we’re together just sitting and doing nothing can kind of drive me nuts, but i knew we both needed to rest and it was nice to just pretend to be roommates for a few days. 

while i do like getting cute and spending days together with Ian when we hit the city and do some fun stuff, we just can’t do it all the time. he’s still a college student and i’m a walking dental construction site. we’ve got a lot going on that makes it hard to make every moment we see each other “stellar” but i love that and i love him and i wouldn’t want it any other way.

this post ended up a little longer than i wanted it to so i’ll leave you by saying i’m still sad. i hate the upcoming season so much and the lack of sunlight in the winter makes my brain very sad. but this year was a fruitful one. it’s been a lot of confusion, honestly. lots of things that i’m still a little fuzzy on but just like mentioned above, it’s all about having that plan b and not always about sticking around to pick up the pieces. when ya gotta move on, it’s time to move on.

i’m ready to move into 2020 hoping that all of the things i’ve learned in the past few years will start to pay off. i’ve got to remember and retain this info because it’s valuable and i KNOW i’m gonna need it again. it’s so much easier when you don’t have to re-learn shit because you kept the notes. 

i want to finish off this year strong and go into the next feeling confident.

[laughing-with-god]

My Kpop Unpopular Opinons

The ‘K’ in Kpop is there for a reason....

It stands for Korean. Not American. I might be the only one who gets annoyed by how much Kpop groups are outsourcing to America. Mainly BTS since they got the farthest. But it honestly has become such a poisonous thing to me. I am half Korean and my family is very patriotic of their beautiful country. And it’s almost a colonization mindset or cultural appropriation to take a countries’ gem (such as Kpop) and demand it be taken over to YOUR country, to demand that idols learn YOUR language, to say that because Bts got praise in America they MUST be the best Kpop group. Is America the only country that matters? Should new Kpop groups try hard to appeal to Americans while their fellow Koreans take a back burner? Why can’t you let Korea have its own thing and enjoy it without trying to make it into something that’s easier for you to digest?

Stop Supporting Youtube Channels who are Using Kpop for Clout

The Talko, Watch mojo, Reaction channels and even fucking TRISHA PAYTAS. Youtubers be using Kpop for clout bc they know it’s gotten popular lately. But you hoes are the demand to the supply. STOP GIVING THESE HOES CLICKS. on a regular day, you’d hate a fake fan but are all ready to watch some YouTuber who ran out of ideas use BTS to get some views. And the info that The Talko And Watch mojo use isn’t even groundbreaking! They’d be like “did you know that Suga’s real name is Yoongi?” sis....no. Support Kpop news sites that actually are about the Korean industry as a whole and not just getting your view by using BTS.

We need to talk about the Kpop industry being ‘problematic’ and ‘slave contracts’

Idols signed up for this lifestyle. They signed up for restricted freedom, dieting, practicing a lot and working almost 24/7. Am I saying it’s right? Not necessarily...I think if an idol is fainting, very underweight and not getting their 8 hours every night then obvi the company/management needs to be handled. But we need to calm the witch hunt for some companies bc your oppa/unnie is fully aware what their career entails. And instead of coming for SM or any particular company, strive for reformation of the whole industry.

Idols are sometimes problematic....and we need to call it out

This is mainly aimed towards the problematic comments some idols have made about skin tone. I’ve seen a lot of people become upset by Wendy’s blackcent or the blackface history of Mamamoo’s past and they have every right to be. A lot of fans come to their defense and say things like “in Korea, pale skin is valued more than dark skin. (Idol name) just didn’t know better.” Well...if they didn’t know better then we should teach them better! And don’t attack other fans who are genuinely hurt about the comments/actions. I watched an unpopular opinion video and they said “people who are quick to call an idol problematic are annoying.” I’m sorry but who are you to tell someone what they can and cannot be offended by? Esp when there are TONS of black/dark skinned Kpop fans whose very skin was just insulted....

Anaylsis videos/posts about your fav otp is problematic.

Calm down. It could be real and it could not be. I already talked about this on my blog before so I’m not gonna beat a dead horse. But you’re forcing a narrative to satisfy your little fantasy.

BTS SHOULD GET MILLITARY TIME LIKE EVERYONE ELSE

In Korea, every man has to serve millitary time. It’s downright disrespectful to cherry pick a guy bc he’s famous and exempt him from his duties. Really? How the fuck should the rest of the Korean male population in boot camps feel that Jungkook got to skip his time bc he just so happens to have tons of fangirls who want to hop on his dick? Does fame get you everywhere? Is that the message you want to spread? Disgusting. If I see that in my feed, I’m blocking you hoes.

2NE1 and Big Bang ran so BlackPink and Bts could walk.

New Kpop fans want to act like Black Pink and BTS invented the fucking wheel. Wrong. Big Bang was a big inspiration to Bts and they were part of the first bridge between the western world and Kpop. Without Big Bang, Kpop wouldn’t be as big in America/other western countries as it is now. And if that didn’t happen, then Bts would loose the majority of its fan base now. And black pink is literally a copy of 2ne1, it’s not the girls fault but YG itself who knew they lost a big girl group. 2NE1 literally invented the girl crush concept and also made big leaps in the western world. Give credit where it’s due. Thank you, next.

Seungri shouldn’t have quit being an idol, he should’ve quit his businesses.

His businesses were the reason his whole scandal began. I’m not saying I was going to support him if he continued making music but like to come out and say “everyone, as punishment I’m quitting being an idol instead of the businesses that actually caused all this drama!” is the most un self-aware response.

If you stan one group, you aren’t a Kpop stan.

Korean Pop. Not BTS pop. Not BlackPink pop. Not EXO pop. Sis.....it’s like saying you know Spanish bc you can say ‘hola’. That’s a MOLESCULE to what the genre actually holds.

Big Hit not Allowing girl trainees is highkey sexist.

Yes, I’m aware of what happened to the one girl group that came from Big Hit. But honestly that’s a funny excuse. One bad thing happened and now he’s gonna ban all females? I remember this tweet that resided with me about the Empire actor faking a hate crime. It said “If one faked hate crime is enough to make you question and judge all the others....it’s almost as if you were looking for an excuse all along.” (Paraphrased.) all I’m saying is all women aren’t evil so why are the rest of inspiring girls wanting to be an idols getting punished?

Ladies, we need to treat our fellow women better.

I want to see more support for girl idols. I want us to raise them so they can be at the same level as some of these boy groups. I know we find Bts, Got7, NCT, Exo ect to be very handsome and charming but we shouldn’t abandon other women for the sake of pretty boys. Let’s hype them up. Girl groups can be talented too and we would want support if we were them. Feminists where are you when we need you??

NCT’s concept is a flop.

People don’t wanna stan a group whose members are endless and always changing. We want a group that we can relax with, grow with and truly form a bond with. This is unable to do when we constantly are seeing new faces and trying to remember names.

(This is not at all forced on anyone but I want to see some ppl’s unpopular opinions. @goldngguk @chimchimsauce @yn-dere @yeollie-yeollie if you guys wanna share any pls do, I’m all ears and tag me in it.)

[joohoneyhoe]

Raindrops.

As if the rain wants its existence to be known,

Am I someone who engraved, like the rain,

My existence to you?

info: jeon jungkook x oc x kim seokjin genre: fluff, humor, angst, smut, exes!au  word count: 7.4k a/n: my welcome back from hiatus gift to you guys! Enjoy! Jungkook has been waiting to be finished for three months.

“Please, Seokjin. I would really like to go on this camping trip with you.” you begged your boyfriend as you sat in the kitchen eating your morning breakfast together, sipping your coffee slowly as he scowled up at you in annoyance. 

You had been with Kim Seokjin for over three years now and it had its ups and downs, but you had always been open to work on things, even if he wasn’t always so keen. To say the least, it wasn’t like any relationship you’d had previously. You had made a lot of exceptions for his “uptight” antics to say the least, exceptions you wouldn’t have made for anyone else.

But, to be fair, this had only been your second very serious relationship and at this age, you didn’t think the chances of having another if this one ended, would be that plausible.

“I don’t want to go, Tempest. For one, Yoongi will be there and I don’t like him. Plus, Jungkook is also going and I definitely don’t like him.” Seokjin pointed out, shoveling his scrambled eggs into his mouth and chewing as swiftly as his jaw would allow. He was trying to eat as quickly as possible to leave now, that much was noticeable.

“What’s wrong with Yoongi and Jungkook?” you questioned, your heart jumping slightly at the mentions of Jungkook. “Yoongi is just a dick. He’s literally never said a nice thing to me.” he almost whined, making you roll your eyes at his dramatics. He never had anything nice to say about your six best friends and frankly, it was getting old.

“He’s never said a nice thing to me and he’s one of my best friends. I’ve told you not to take it personally. He hates everyone. And what’s wrong with Jungkook?” you demanded of him, taking your coffee and dumping the rest out into the sink, it now lukewarm and not as appealing to drink.

You could admit, you were a little defensive about why he got so upset when Jungkook was involved, but he didn’t need to know the reasoning behind that, it would just make things worse. You turned around to face him, leaning against the counter with your arms crossed over your chest. He continued to scowl at you, still irritated with the conversations being had, but you didn’t care at this point. This was something you wanted to do, and not just for yourself, but with him.

“I don’t know, Tempest. He just rubs me the wrong way, plus he’s always looking at you weird and whispering to you when he’s around. I don’t like it or the way he acts when he thinks I’m not looking.” he said, pointing his finger at you. “When has he ever whispered shit to me, Seokjin?” you questioned, your brow raised in confusion.

“That time at Namjoon’s place when he had a pool party. He pulled you aside and whispered something to you when he thought I wasn’t looking.” he recalled, pushing his stool away from the the breakfast bar and grabbing his work bag.

“That was three years ago, and he was telling me I had started my period and it was bleeding through my white swimsuit!” you exclaimed, tossing your hands up in frustration, remembering that humiliating incident. “Still, he didn’t need to touch your back like that when he did it.” he barked as he straightened his black tie after putting the strap to the bag over his broad shoulders.

“Oh my gosh, Jin. That’s ridiculous. Well, I’m going whether you want to or not. It’s for Jimin and Taehyung’s four year anniversary and I want to be there. I haven’t gotten to be with all six of them since that pool party three years ago. You can either go or not go. It’s up to you.” you laid out for him, not budging an inch. It was too important to you to give in, and you had missed so many things with your friends already because of his dislike for them. 

It wasn’t happening this time.

“Fine, but only because I don’t trust Jungkook.” he gave in, a scoff leaving your lips. “That means you don’t trust me either, Jin.” his tongue poked at the inside of his cheek, brow arching. “Maybe I don’t, Tempest.” you shook your head, your eyes welling with tears at his statement.

“I’ll see you after work, Seokjin.” you told him before storming off to begin packing, not even bothering to give him your usual goodbye kiss. “Whatever.” you heard him mumble, his dress shoes echoing across the kitchen tile before you heard the back door slam.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Tempest! Taehyung and I are glad you and Jin decided to come! It wouldn’t have been the same without you!” Jimin shouted at you as you came walking down the dirt path carrying your backpack and tent, Jin following slowly behind you as he sulked.

You immediately dropped all your things and ran towards the boy, his arms wide open as you jumped at him, him catching you in a hug as your legs wrapped around his slim waist. He hugged you tightly, spinning you both around in the process. It had been almost a year since you had seen him, and it had been a year too long.

“Me too! I can’t remember the last time I got to go camping with all of you! We used to do it all the time.” you pointed out after he had set you down, your hands resting on his shoulders. You could hear Jin grumble in irritation as he picked up your discarded things and walked off in the opposite directions to go set up the tent.

“I know. We should try and make it a yearly thing again.” Jimin suggested with a wide smile, his eyes disappearing as he did. You took his face into your hands and squished, making him let out a boyish giggle. “I agree.”

“I fucking hate the outside.” you heard your best friend since preschool complain behind Jimin, your eyes darting around to find him automatically.

“We know, Yoongi. There’s a reason why you’re so pale in comparison to the rest of us.” Hoseok retorted with a laugh, coming up and clamping a hand down onto Yoongi’s shoulder, him quickly jerking away from it with a look of disgust on his sharp features.

“I have sensitive skin, alright!” he shot back, stepping away from Hoseok who just cackled at him. I watched Namjoon slowly walk over to us from his tent, his long legs carrying him smoothly in our direction. “Keep telling yourself that.” he added to the discussion, shooting me a wink as his eyes found mine.

“I hate you guys.” Yoongi snarled, his nose scrunching. Taehyung came bouncing out of what I assumed was he and Jimin’s tent, his feet bare as usual and collecting dirt along his souls. He always said that going barefoot was the best and healthiest way to connect with the earth, and frankly, you agreed. There was nothing better than feeling the cool earth beneath your uncovered feet.

Taehyung was a free spirit and it was part of the reason you loved him so.

“You don’t. That’s why you continue to hang out with us after all these years.” he stated, bounding past his friends and up to you and Jimin, wrapping his tanned arm around Jimin’s narrow shoulders.

“It’s an obligation at this point.” Yoongi mumbled, giving you a hint of a smile that only you caught. “Oh, my dear sweet Yoongi.” you said endearingly.

“Oh, come on, Yoongi. Stop being a fucking killjoy. You enjoy our company and you know it.” Jungkook’s distinguished voice echoed through the open camp site, your eyes almost instantly landing on him, heart fluttering at the sight of his dark eyes boring into yours.

“There you are, Jungkook. We thought you got lost out there.” Jimin exclaimed as he turned away from you, your eyes diverting away from the tall, muscular man as he approached confidently with a large smile on his face. “No, I just went for a long hike. It’s too nice to sit around here listening to Yoongi gripe about how much he hates being outside.” Jimin laughed. “Fair enough.”

Jungkook’s attention then turned to you, making you very aware of Jin’s sudden presence beside you. “Tempest, it’s nice to see you were able to come.” he told you with a soft smile before he acknowledge your boyfriend, holding his hand out to shake in greeting. “Good to see you too, Jin.”

Seokjin refused it, shoving his free hand in his pocket as his other arm wound around your waist. “Seaokjin, and yeah, sure.” Jungkook simply smiled, unaffected by his obvious dislike for him.

“Well, who’s up for a dip before dinner?” Taehyung questioned, hastily diverting attention from the awkward situation that had just been created. Everyone but Jin and Yoongi agreed to it, the two of them eyeing each other darkly.

“Have fun with that, I’m gonna start dinner while you guys dick around.” Yoongi informed us, heading towards the fire pit, beginning to grab all the things he needed.

“I’ll be in my truck.” Jin said, spinning away from you, but you caught his wrist to stop him. “Jin, come on. Come swim with me, please?” you begged, your eyes softening as you tried to convince him. He simply jerked out of your grasp. “No thanks. I don’t really want to feel muck between my toes and seaweed wrapped around my ankles. I’ll be in the truck. Let me know when it’s dinner time.”

“Okay…” you mumbled as you watched your pissed off boyfriend walk away from you. At this point, you were regretting your decision to bring him along. He clearly wasn’t going to change his attitude about the trip, no matter what you did.

“Come on, Temp!” Jungkook’s voice jerks you from your distress, eyes finding him as he peeled the white t-shirt from his torso. He had matured greatly since the last time you had seen him, his abdomen defined, arms bulging and thighs massive in size. You quickly shook yourself out of your trance, getting pulled in by that bunny esque smile before he turned and ran towards the dock, launching himself off of it, all the boys directly behind him.

“I’m coming! Yoongi, come on! You know you want to!” You shouted, yanking the clothes from your body as you followed, revealing your simple black one piece.

“You know I don’t, Temp.” he replied, not even bothering to turn around and just waving his hand. “Party pooper!” you hollered.

“Damn right.”

“You know he’s a lost cause, so don’t even bother!” Hoseok pointed out from the water as he pushed the hair from his eyes before splashing Namjoon with a large wave of water.

“I know, I know.” you said with a laugh, stopping at the edge of the dock and looking down at all five of the tanned men in the water. They were all beautiful in their own unique ways, each a special part of you and each equally as important.

“Jump!” Jimin encouraged as he lept onto his boyfriend’s back, holding him tightly around the neck as they both smiled happily. As you stared at them adoringly, you didn’t realize that Jungkook had dipped under the dock, hoisting himself up silently and sneaking up behind you. Suddenly, you felt hands around your waist, launching you off the dock making you screech out.

“No!” you submerge completely, those strong arms still wrapped around your waist, pulling you to the surface. You inhale sharply, flinging your arms around your assailants neck. Once you opened your eyes, you come face to face with a cackling Jungkook, his red hair in his eyes as he tried to blink the lake water from them.

“Goddammit, Jeon Jungkook!!” you scolded him, smacking his chest, trying to wrench yourself away, but he clung tightly. “You never would have gotten in if I hadn’t done that!” he reasoned, squeezing your hips lightly.

“Yes, I would have!” you defended yourself, finally slipping from his grasp and wading over to Namjoon as quickly as possible to hide behind his tall frame. He darted away from you, leaving you wide open to all four of the other men.

“No, you wouldn't have! You would have just sat on the edge of the dock and yelled at us if we splashed you.” Hoseok said, sloshing through the water in your direction, quickly catching you and spinning you around.

“You guys suck dick.” you complained as they all began to hit you with wave after wave of water, your eyes shut tight as it cascaded over you, your long hair sticking to your face, neck and shoulders.

“Well, some of us do.” Taehyung teased, Jimin punching him in the back before dunking him under the lake water, but swiftly letting him back up.

“Oh my fucking god!” you exclaimed with a laugh, everyone joining in with you in return. Jungkook’s eyes locked on yours, his teeth pulling his bottom lip into his mouth, biting back a large smile. Your heart drummed in your chest as you looked at him, but was swiftly pulled out of it by Hoseok’s hold being loosened around you.

You were so happy you were able to be there, pissed off boyfriend or not.

Six of you sat around the fire after dinner, Jungkook and Taehyung having went out in search of firewood to keep it blazing for the remainder of the evening. Despite Jin’s obvious disinterest in being there, you continued to have to good time catching up with your childhood friends. You listened to Jimin tell tales of he and Taehyung’s adventures traveling the globe together, wishing you could have been there with them like they had asked you to be.

Hoseok regaled tales of his time spent in New York while his girlfriend had begun her rise to fame in the world of modeling. He told tales of fashion shows and wondrous styles of clothing he had been privileged to see and try on. He had been built for that sort of world and yet, here he was with us, roughing it.

Namjoon spoke of his days as a scholar in the world’s most prestigious colleges, his days spent pouring over books in the most exclusive libraries across the country. How you envied his drive for the history of the world around him, his passion and dedication. He truly had a beautiful mind and it clearly showed, even when he spoke.

As usual, Yoongi sat beside you silently, his eyes focused on the flames before him as it licked at the logs. Yoongi didn’t need to look at anyone for them to know he was listening, because he always was. It may not have looked that way to someone who didn’t know him, but he was always listening.

As Jimin and Hoseok began fighting about whether New York or Paris was better, Jin stood up without a word and began to walk away from the campfire. Your head spun in his direction, body turning in your chair to face his retreating figure.

“Seokjin, where are you going?” you questioned in concern. “I'm walking to the bathroom.” he called over his shoulder, still not bothering to look back.

“We’re outside, dude. Piss in a bush.” Yoongi called out, eyes still locked on the fire, like he couldn’t pull them away from it.

“No thanks, dude. I'll be back, Tempest.”

The conversation around the fire stopped, it becoming eerily quiet as Jin’s figure retreated from your sight. You turned back around in your seat, folding your hands in your lap as you refused to look at any of your friends. Yoongi’s hand rested gently on your thigh, giving it a reassuring pat before disappearing again. Jimin got up from his spot next to Taehyung on a fallen tree that had been converted to a seat, coming over to sit in Jin’s old chair.

“Jin doesn't seem to be having a good time and he's been shooting daggers at Kook all night. Did you finally tell him about you guys.” he asked you, his hand resting on your knee as he looked at you.

“Fuck no! How dumb do you think I am, Park Jimin?” you spat, spinning your head around to make sure Jin wasn’t within earshot anymore. “You seriously haven't told him?!” he gasped, eyes wide in shock. “No! I'd never be able to hang out with you guys ever again if I did!” you whispered harshly, smacking Jimin in the chest in frustration.

“Why the hell are you even with him then, Temp?” Namjoon’s voice broke up you and Jimin’s argument, everyone turning in his direction.

“Seriously. He doesn't like any of us, and we've tried including him for the past three years. He acts like we all have the plague or something.” Hoseok chimed in, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

“He’s not always like that you guys.” you said defensively, feeling all of their eyes on your face. “He is more than he isn't, Tempest.” Jimin stated plainly. He knew the most about your relationship, and unfortunately he was right, but you argued anyway. “You guys don't know that. You aren't around him like I am. He can be sweet and helpful.”

“Can be?” Namjoon inquired, his dark brow arched in skepticism. “You know what I mean, Joonie.” you scoffed at him. “I'm afraid I don't, Temp.” he shot back at you, his expression showing his disbelief in what you were telling him.

“He is literally the opposite of your type.” Yoongi commented.

“Oh look, the silent one finally speaks. Why don’t you go ahead and tell me what exactly my type is, since you seem to know better than I do.” you snapped, bringing your face in his direction.

“Jungkook.” Yoongi replied plainly with a shrug of his shoulders. “Why won’t you guys let that go? We broke up like six years ago.” you huffed out, becoming slightly irritated at the way the conversation was turning out. “Because neither of you seem to have let it go.” he continued.

“What are you even talking about? I've been dating someone else for three years!” you reminded him, turning your whole body to him and craning your head to meet his dark eyes. Those deep pools slowly drifted to yours, saying nothing, but eyes saying everything he wanted to.

“And yet both you and Jungkook still look at each other like you did in high school. We all see it. Why can't you guys?” Hoseok made clear, eyes locked on you, just like everyone else around the fire.

“He literally hasn't dated anyone seriously since you.” Jimin told you, beginning to rub your leg comfortingly. “What does that have to do with me?” you asked of him, confused why this conversation was still happening.

“Everything, Tempest. You're his white whale. Something he has never been able to catch and keep.” Namjoon’s soothing voice echoed through the open space, sending a calming feeling over you, like it always was able to do. “Why is that my fault?” you asked him, your voice quiet now. He gave you a gentle smile, one that could soothe even the darkest of moods.

“It isn't. It's both of your fault for not seeing how much you guys actually mean to each other.” he answered honestly, making your heart drop into your stomach.

“You guys really need to let this go.”

“Let what go?”

Everyone’s head spun in the direction of Jungkook’s voice, spotting him and Taehyung emerging from the trees. There was silence among the six of you, everyone glancing around at one another in panic.

“Temp thinks the earth is flat.” Yoongi broke the silence.

“Seriously, Temp?” Jungkook’s face didn’t hide his shock at Yoongi’s statement, you rolling your eyes in response.

“Goddammit, Yoongi. No I don't!” you exclaimed loudly, shoving his chair so hard it tipped over with him in it. He didn’t even say anything, just pushed his chair aside and lay back on his elbows on the ground.

“It's true. She does.” Hoseok agreed, smacking his own thigh as he laughed. Jimin jumped up from is seat, knocking it over as he pointed at you accusingly. “I heard it! She said the earth is flat!”

“I'm ashamed of you, Tempest.” Namjoon said as he hid a smile while shaking his head.

“I can’t believe I'm still friends with you guys after all the bullshit you put me through.” you groaned, hiding your face in your hands as you dropped your head between your knees. Yoongi chuckled from the ground beside you.

“You fucking love us.”

A distant rumble of thunder could be heard, everyone glancing up at the sky above. You could see clouds beginning to block out the stars. Raindrops began to fall, splashing along your exposed skin, sending a shiver through you.

“Fuck! The rain was supposed to hold off until tomorrow night!” Taehyung yelled loudly in complaint, throwing his hood over his head. Jungkook drops all the wood in his strong arms, them thudding loudly against the dirt.

“It's just a little rain. It'll probably stop soon.” he says cheerfully, patting Namjoon on the back before sitting down beside him.

And just like that, it begins to downpour.

“Way to jinx it, asshat.” Yoongi grumbles at him as he jumps up, the quickest he’s ever moved in all his life.

“Why do you have to be such a dick?” Jungkook shouts over the booming rain, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt up as well as he watched Yoongi dash for his unshared tent.

“Everyone get to your tents before you get too wet!” Namjoon calls out, behaving like the leader he always has been. You can hear Hoseok’s laugh in the distance, making you smile despite the rain soaking through your clothes.

“That's what she said!” he shouts.

“Shut up, Hoseok!” all the boys seemed to shout in unison, laughter ringing through the air anyway.

“Tempest, get in your tent!” Jungkook demanded, your eyes meeting his through the sleeting rain. You both just stood there, staring at one another, unmoving until you remembered that Jin was out there still.

“I have to find Seokjin!” you told him as you darted in the direction of the bathrooms. You could hear Jungkook’s footsteps trailing behind you, but stopping suddenly when Jin’s figure appeared.

“Seokjin! There you are, hurry and get back to the tent!” you called out to him, holding your hand out for him to take. “No, Tempest. I'm going home. I hate the rain and I'm certainly not sleeping in a tent while it does and waking up damp and gross in the morning.” he responded, his feet carrying him in the direction of his truck instead of you.

“But, Seokjin, you promised me you would try to enjoy yourself with me this weekend.” you reminded him, feeling your bottom lip begin to quiver. “There’s nothing enjoyable about this, Tempest. You can either come home with me or stay here. Either way, I'm going.” he snapped at you, head turning with a deep scowl twisting his handsome face.

“I'm not ditching my friends when I promised to be here to celebrate a special time for them.” you shouted at him in anger. “Have it your way. I'm going home. I don't know if I'll be around when you get back either.” he returned that anger, marching off without a second glance.

“Fine! Be that way, Seokjin! All any of us have ever done is try to make you feel welcome and you just refuse it. Go home and sulk for all I care! Actually, just pack your shit and leave!” you screamed, not caring that all of your friends were hearing the discourse, despite the heavy rainfall.

“I fucking will!” he responded back, though you could not see him anymore. You heard his truck door slam, the sound of dirt and stones flinging everywhere as his tires grabbed the mud and peeled out.

Tears fell down your cheeks as you turned to walk to the tent you had intended to share with him, your chest hurting immensely. Your clothes were soaked through and through, your hair stuck to your face and neck as you crawled inside the dry space. You grabbed a spare towel from your backpack, drying yourself as best you could while you continued to sob, realizing three years of your life had just gone down the drain.

“Tempest, are you alright?” you heard Jungkook’s voice call over the pelting rain against your tent. “No.” you answered, unsure whether or not he heard you over the noise. “Can I come in?” the zipper moved slightly, but stopped. “If you wanna see me crying like a bitch, then sure, why the fuck not.” you agreed, pulling the soping sweatshirt off your shaking frame.

He fully unzipped the flap, quickly stepping in and shutting it to keep out the rain. At that moment, you were thankful that Seokjin had been so adamant about getting the largest ten he possibly could, leaving enough space between your sleeping bags to sit without getting them all wet. Jungkook sat with his legs crossed directly across from you, looking almost like a wet golden retriever as he gazed at you. You handed over the towel to him, a small smile forming on his lips in gratitude.

“I'm sorry about Jin, Temp.” he whispered after he had removed his own sweatshirt and dried off as much as he could. You took the towel from his large hand, tossing it in the corner. The two of you sat in silence for a bit, you looking down at your hands as fresh tears fell from your eyes.

“Why are you sorry? It's not like it matters to you how he treats me, Jungkook.” you finally told him. His hand reached out, brushing the tears from your face with the pads of his fingers, taking you by surprise at the intimate gesture.

“Why would you say that? It definitely matters to me how he treats you. I care about you.” he stated, pulling himself closer to you until your knees were touching. “Well, you don't have to and I don't even know why you would after all these years. Especially after how I ended things with you after six years of dating.” he sighed, his tan face morphing in sympathy.

“Tempest, how we ended doesn't change how much you have always meant to me, and it never will.” your eyes finally met his for the first time since he entered. They were big, locked on your face and beginning to well with tears.

“Why? Why are you so forgiving? I bring the guys I've dated around you and you're always so polite and kind to them and me. I don't deserve that at all.” you confessed, your voice cracking slightly. He took your face into both of his hands, bringing your foreheads together.

“I could never be the one to cause your unhappiness, Tempest. You were unhappy when we ended, and I couldn't bear to continue making you that way. I would rather us not be together and you be happy, than with me and miserable.” he explained quietly, bumping his nose against yours.

“Have you really thought that it was you that made me unhappy for all these years, Jungkook?” you inquired, your fingers reaching to clutch onto his damp white shirt. “Well, yeah. I mean, that's the only logical reason. You don't stay with someone if you aren't happy with them or your relationship.” he revealed, pulling back slightly to look at you.

“I was never unhappy with you, Kookie. I was unhappy with me. I loved you more than anything and wanted you to be at your best, and that certainly wasn't with me.” a sob escaped your lips, your head dipping down to hide your face from his view. He quickly pulled you back up to look at him, shaking his head as a tear slid down his cheek.

“I was always happy with you! You were my best friend, the first person I ever held hands with, kissed, touched...made love to. You were and are still everything to me, Tempest! I've only ever wanted you to be where you are the happiest, even if it's without me.” your hand came up to hold his cheek after his dropped from your face, almost defeated. He eagerly leaned into your caress as you sat there silently, the rain still beating down on the tent.

“Why didn't we talk more, Jungkook?” you asked him softly, thumb brushing his cheekbone in comfort.

“Because we were twenty-one years old, Temp. We didn't really know how.”

The two of you sat quietly once again, your hand still resting along his face, his coming up to wrap around your wrist. His fingers felt as if they were burning your cold skin, his touch reminding you how much you had always missed him. Seokjin’s touch had never felt the same as Jungkook’s had, not inducing the same feelings that you were experiencing from something as simple as his hand holding your wrist.

“I miss you, Jungkook. I've missed you for so long.” you whispered, gazes locked. “I've missed you since the day you left, Tempest.” he replied, more tears falling from his dark eyes.

You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his softly. He immediately took your face into his hands, pulling you closer, almost desperately. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you up on your knees as your lips molded together nearly perfectly. You felt his legs uncross, carefully moving each onto either side of your legs so he could scoot himself closer to you, his groin pressed against your thighs. You felt his tongue dip out, touching your bottom lip briefly before he pulled away entirely and looked up at you.

“Tempest…I--I don’t want you to do this if you're going to regret it after. I wouldn't be able to live with myself.” he informed you, his body trembling from being soaked to the bone for so long.

“The only thing I regret is thinking that my life would work without you.” you expressed to him as your lips kissed him carefully. He removed your hand from his face, taking yours in his and looking up at you with a serious look on his face.

“I need you to be sure. I don't know how easy it will be to stop once I touch you. You're all I've thought about for six years.” he probed further, not taking his eyes off of you for a single moment.

“I'm beyond sure, Jungkook. Please, just touch me. I need you more than I've ever needed anyone else.”

Jungkook moved back, getting up on his knees with you and taking your face into his hands once again. His lips came down on yours roughly, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, tongue slipping past the seam of your lips. You grabbed at his back desperately, bringing his hard body flush to yours, feeling every dip and curve of every muscle against you. His hands left your face, moving down to grab at your ass, the denim feeling as if it was plastered against your flesh and he palmed you.

“Let’s get these wet clothes off and warm up before we get sick.” Jungkook suggested with a smirk, fingers toying with the hem of your black shirt. You let him remove it, the wet fabric peeling from your skin slowly. His cold shivering lips immediately came down to kiss along the swell of your breast.

“Fuck, I’ve missed your skin.” he said to you as he brought his mouth back to yours, his kiss hot and desperate. Your fingers carded through his wet hair, tugging on it as his mouth began sucking along the column of your neck.

You grabbed at his white shirt, removing him from you reluctantly to yank the shirt over his head. Once his tanned chest was revealed to you, your fingers instantly went to touch him. You traced along every curve of his well muscled chest, all the way down to the button of his tight black jeans.

“Get these off, Kook.” you demanded, popping open the button and unzipping the fly.

“You first.”

Without hesitation, you sat up and began tugging off your jeans, struggling due to how stuck to your skin they were. Jungkook let out a laugh, the thunderous sound of the rain still beating against the tent muffling any noise inside of it. You sat on the ground, your pants stuck at your thighs, trying to kick them off and failing. Jungkook crawled towards you, his large hands landing on your thighs as he continued to laugh, fingers quickly finding the edge of your waistband.

“Let me help you with that.” he teased, the muscles in his arms flexing as he ripped them from your legs in one go, tossing them away haphazardly before taking off his own.

You were both left in your underwear at this point, both shivering uncontrollably from being wet for so long. Jungkook grabbed your wrist and dragged you back to him, arms winding around your waist as he graced your skin with his lips.

“I’ve missed you so fucking much, Tempest.” he said as he took your face into his hands, his dark eyes searching your expression. Leaning down, you kissed him deeply, wrapping your arms around his thick neck.

“I just want you to love me, Jungkook.” you told him gently, legs winding around his waist as you clung to him.

“I already do.” he whispered, bumping his nose to yours endearingly with a smile.

“Show me.”

His lips met yours in a fiery kiss, hands dipping under the band of your lace boy short underwear to grip your ass while pulling you into him, his hard cock pressing into your core. You ground down into him, making a muffled moan pass through his lips into your mouth as he kissed you. Getting up off of his lap, you tugged on the band of his underwear, him hastily lifting his backside for you to pull his underwear off completely.

His thick cock sprang free, it a deep crimson and leaking already. Your hand immediately reached out to grab it, a gasp tumbling from his heaving chest as you flicked over the head with your thumb. His hands went to your underwear, yanking them down to your knees, stopping there because that’s what you were resting on. You released his length and shimmied out of them, him taking the opportunity to unhook your damp lace bra and pull it from your frame.

“God, you’re fucking beautiful.” he confessed, yanking you back to him and forcing you to sit on his lap, nestling his dick between your dripping folds. “I could say them say about you, Jeon Jungkook. Though, I have always thought that.” you told him, kissing along his jaw as he rotated his hips, dragging himself between your lips slowly.

He kissed you once again, his tongue pushing past the barrier of your lips as one hand intertwined into your hair and the other gripped his hardness, lining up with your pussy. You didn’t wait for him, just dropped yourself down, sheathing him inside of you completely, both letting out a sigh of relief. Your head landed on his shoulder, teeth sinking into the skin there as you both remained motionless.

“If I move now, I’ll lose it. I want to be inside of you as long as possible.” he confessed into your neck, his breathing heavy and hot along your cold flesh. Your fingers smoothed along his muscular back, nails digging into him as his hips began to move languidly.

“I don’t care what you do, I just want you.” you rasped out before he gave you a hard thrust, knocking the breath from you. “You have me, Temp. You always have.” your lips collided, undulating your core against him, clit rubbing against his pubic bone as he began to drill into you.

His hands gripped your ass roughly, squeezing and pulling you into him as he fucked you. You raked your hands through his dark red locks, jerking his head back to attach your mouth to his, tongues battling against one another as you ground into each other. He suddenly pulled his mouth away from yours, moving down to latch onto a perked nipple, lips wrapping around it and sucking.

Your head tilted back, pushing your chest towards his face as one hand came down to rest along his thick thigh. He wrapped his hands around your waist, fingers digging into your ribs as he held you in place while he flicked his tongue over your nipple rapidly. You grabbed at his hair again, holding tightly as he moved to the other breast, pulling it between his teeth. A loud whine escaped you, it sounding almost like you were begging for relief from the pleasure.

Jungkook suddenly lifted you off of his cock, making you gasp out when your back hit your cold sleeping bag. He let out a snicker at your surprise, his lips attacking your neck and sucking what would be dark mark into your skin tomorrow as he dove back into you without warning. You slid your arms under his, your hands grabbing his ass as he thrust fast and hard. Both of your moans filled the tent, the rain still beating against the fabric and drowning out the sounds.

“I love you, Jungkook.” you whispered against his lips after you had taken his face into your hands to look him in the eyes. He kissed you passionately, fingers curling around the back of your neck as the other held one of your thighs around his waist.

“I love you, so much, Tempest.”

You could feel your climax approaching rapidly, his cock dragging along your walls perfectly, as he always had done. As if he could feel it coming, his hand came down between the two of you, two fingers pressing to your aching pearl and rubbing. You let out a cry, back arching off the ground as he fucked into you even harder.

“Come on, cum for me.” he growled into your jaw before giving you an extra hard snap of his hips, the sound of skin echoing throughout the tent. “Fuck, Jungkook!” you cried, wrapping your legs around him tightly as the coil inside you began to tighten further. “That’s my girl, cum around my cock.” he ordered, his voice deep and out of breath next to your ear.

One last deep thrust and he sent you over the edge, your high hitting you hard, white spots erupting behind your eyes, making you see stars. He felt you constrict around him, his mouth falling open as his pace began to sputter, groans leaving his throat before you felt him release into you. He connected your lips as you both came, clinging to each other as if your lives depended on it. You helped each other through your orgasms, drawing it out as long as possible before stilling completely.

Jungkook collapsed on top of you, still lodged inside of you as he held you around the waist, his head on your chest as you caught your breath. Your fingers carded through his still wet hair, eyes closed as you listened to the sound of the rain, it soothing you as much as the weight of Jungkook on top of you was. He suddenly sat up, resting on his elbows as he looked down at you with a smile.

“I love you.” he said softly, kissing your lips with more love than Seokjin ever could have. “I love you too.” he planted one last kiss to your lips before removing himself from you, getting up and grabbing his wet underwear and pulling them on. You watched him in confusion, him quickly noticing.

“I’m going to go grab my bag. I’ll be right back.” he bent down and gave you one last reassuring kiss before exiting the tent, hearing a yelp as the cold rain hit him, making you laugh.

You crawled over and grabbed the towel from the corner early, cleaning yourself up before taking a fresh sweatshirt from your bag and slipping it on. You grabbed both sleeping bags, unzipping them and using the trick Jungkook had taught you years ago to make one big sleeping bag. Just as you finished up, the zipper of the tent sounded, a wet Jungkook stepping in and tossing his bag into the corner. He shook the water from his hair and tan skin, a shiver racking through him.

“Hey, you remembered the sleeping bag trick.” he pointed out proudly as he pulled fresh underwear from his bag and pulled them on, not even bothering to dry off first. 

“Of course I did. How could I forget? Here, dry off before you get into my expensive sleeping bags.” you told him as you tossed another fresh towel his way with a chuckle. He beamed at you, doing what you asked before launching himself at you.

You both crawled underneath the sleeping bags, him wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest, your legs intertwining. He was cold to the touch, but you didn’t care. Not as long as it was him beside you and no one else. You kissed his chest tenderly, hand resting along his abdomen as his fingers ran along your back underneath your giant sweatshirt.

“Wait a minute,” Jungkook said, pushing you away from him, making your heart seemingly stop in panic. “Is that my sweatshirt?!” he exclaimed, a sigh of relief leaving you and then a laugh. “Yes, it is.” he pouted his lower lip at you, then pulled you back to your place on his chest.

“You always were a thief. Stealing my heart and my sweatshirts.” you laughed so loud you snorted, covering your mouth with your hand. “Could you get any cheesier, Jeon Jungkook?” he craned his head to look down at you, smiling widely.

“As much and as long as you’ll let me, Tempest.” you tilted your chin, leaning upwards to kiss him lovingly.

“I can live with that.”

“Tempest! You made it!!” Jimin screeched, running towards you at full speed with his arms open wide. You laughed as he hugged you much more gently than you had anticipated him to. “Of course I did, I wouldn’t miss it.” you pointed out after he pulled away.

“I brought a little someone along with me too.” you informed him happily. “I know you did!” Jimin dropped to the dirt and began kissing your well rounded tummy, making you smack him on the head jokingly.

“That’s not what I meant, Jimin! I brought Kookie!” you exclaimed, dragging him to his feet, his eyes looking behind you to find Jungkook with his arms full of camping gear, but a wide smile on his face regardless.

Once he reached your side, he dropped your things and quickly wrapped an arm around your waist and brought you to him, his lips landing on yours, filling you with all the love he had to give to you in one simple kiss. He kissed your forehead before winding his arm around your shoulders, snuggling you into his side.

“If I didn’t love the two of you together, you would make me physically sick right now.” Yoongi complained, a smirk on those pouty lips. 

“I know, Yoongi. I know.” Jungkook replied, giving the top of your head one last kiss before picking up your things and taking it to your spot for the weekend.

“We’re glad you’re here, Temp. Together.” Jimin told you, kissing your hand before walking away. “Me too, Jimin.” you whispered as he walked away.

Your eyes wandered around the campsite, looking at the six men who had molded you into the woman you were today, appreciating each one of them individually. You had no idea how you had spent so many years without their company, because it was hard to imagine it at this point. Not after the year you had just spent with Jungkook and them. 

Your life had always been missing something without them.

“I told you.” Yoongi’s voice startled you, head turning in his direction as he stood beside you now. “Told me what?” you questioned as you slipped your hand into his, him eagerly intertwining your fingers.

“I told you Jungkook was your type.” you both chuckled, looking out over all of your friends. “Yeah, you did. You were right, Min Yoongi.” you admitted willingly.

“I always am.”

[ixiomdraws]

[CLOSED SPECIES]

I would like to officially introduce a creature species I've made. They arent really new since I've had them for years and posted them several times on a couple different blogs, but they were originally just one, not really a species, but I love them and i just wanted to expand on them and what they were, so here we go.

Please read under the cut for full info on budbugs.

BUDBUG is the species name, named after the original, Pillbug.

(this is Pillbug^)

Pillbug was the only of their kind, created in a lab for testing purposes, and not good ones. They were practically tortured, cut open countless times, experimented on, ect. They were made to be docile and obedient, no aggressiveness at all, to the point of almost being just a living stuffed animal.

Pillbug is quiet, and pretty much completely incapable of choosing to do anything. They will wait for someone to tell them to do something, sitting in the same spot till they starve to death. Think of the sims with free will option turned off. This is specifically Pillbug, the first and original, and does not apply to the whole species. All budbugs come from Pillbugs DNA, so, in a way, Pillbug is the mother/father to all of the others.

now onto the species:

BUDBUGS

Scientific name:Vitula mollisparva

CLOSED species

Lifespan: unknown. Oldest living budbug is 36 (human) years old.

Average height: on all fours:around 1 foot. Standing: 2 feet(bitty versions also available)

Average weight:15 pounds

Sex: Budbugs are a genderless species, and cannot reproduce. if you adopt one, you can choose any pronouns youd like to call them, they don’t care.

DIET: they can pretty much eat anything. Their diet is whatever is offered to them or available, including things like bark. They have no specific needs, but  there was a recorded overall preference of fruit and sweet things. Sweet milk is the number one way to attract them. It seems to be their absolute favorite, warm or cold. They have some semi-sharp molar like teeth in the back of their mouth that they use for crushing/chewing harder materials.

YOUNG: a hatchling(called pups) will not have vision, or be able to walk. they have feeling and scent to go on, much like a puppy. they have slight hearing that comes through to them as muffled sound. they are bottle fed milk like substance and sugar water(or a mix of both) for 3-4 months. 

since budbugs dont have the ability to reproduce, nor a gender, there is no mother to nurse them and is done by bottle. there is the possibility of an adult budbug attempting to nurse young, but it’s unlikely theyll produce milk in time before the young starves.(we of course have the ability to make ‘nursemaid’ parents, bottle feeding the hatchlings until their milk comes in from stimulation((e.g pups attempting to nurse on them for prolonged times))

 It's best to feed them mushy like food up to 6 or 7 months old. eyes open around 2-3 weeks old, along with better hearing. they start walking shortly after, 4-6 weeks. they will follow after people or animals in a fashion similar to ducklings, seeking a bigger ‘parental’ figure to protect them and make small chirp noises.

PLANT GROWTH:

Typically has any type of plant matter growing on their head, sometimes it can trail down their back and tail or even have random patches of plant matter elsewhere. the plants that grow on them are a part of them, for instance- cutting off a flower will cause a pinkish blood drop to emerge. They don’t seem to feel the pain of cut flowers/plant matter, nor does it need to be bandaged or treated, its fairly similar to regular plants in that aspect. [note:please do NOT use a mower or weedeater on your budbug]

The plants that grow on them are similar to regular plants, but often are more 'sturdy' and a little tougher to break/cut. This can vary somewhat by the individual, some will have more fragile type plant matter that easily comes off, others may have plant matter that is thicker, rooted and more connected to them. Usually youll know depending on plant type, thicker looking stems and such are most likely more rooted and a part of them and we highly recommended not trying to pull any plant matter out/off of them.

 its best to let the plant naturally die/fall off, and typically the plant doesnt overgrow to a point of causing difficulty to the budbug.

BEHAVIOR:

a common site is seeing the budbug grooming itself; licking like a cat and patting or somewhat 'pulling' on leaves or whatever plant matter they have, to shed the dead leaves, ect. If left with water, they might bathe themself, somewhat like a hamster or cat, except they dip their arms in the water instead of licking them.(if water is available)

They have horn-like nubs on their head covered in fur/felt, the horns stop growing at a certain point and then remain that way for life. Their horns have no use other than for hatching out of an egg at birth. Its extremely rare for them to be aggressive toward anything, including others of their species. They’re very sharing, and around their own kind, they will often groom each other, make soft calls, and sleep in piles. 

The few aggressive ones only did some mild growl like sounds and avoid the others, most of which stopped within an hour and joined in the regular activities.

There have been no cases of any attacks or biting, whether to their own species or other animals/people.

Meeting other species, they wont typically make the same call noises as they do to each other, but will still act friendly and try to sit next to or sleep with, and  even try to groom them.

They’re quiet, almost mute. They can make soft call noises and various other light toned sounds, they cant bark/moo, and even in distress or extreme pain, they typically only make soft whine noises or stay silent. they also make rumbling like sounds similar to a purr. They have a very high pain tolerance, some people might even claim they cant feel pain, but trust me, they do.

heres some similar noises they can make(budbugs sound a bit more soft though, kind of like cooing? if that makes sense) 

[1][2][3][4]

urgent call/trying to get attention(rare)

young/baby chirps

distress/pain call(rare)

Their arms are flipper like, though still usable as paws if needed, they prefer walking upright. their eyesight differs greatly, some excellent, some poor.  If you don’t like things staring at you, this isnt the pet for you. They are very observant, watching others is probably like tv to them. smell is their best sensory, along with hearing. their fur type can vary from otter-like(waterproof) to very fine silky soft fur and many others.

Personality:

trusting, obedient, friendly, happy, quiet, patient. They will spend the majority of their time observing their surroundings or others.(some are 'lazier' than others, falling asleep instead)

Intelligence:

varies. They can learn a lot, but they typically have low functioning free will and require commands or encouragement to act on things.

As an example, we set a waterer that works similar to a fountain, needing a button to be pressed to release water for drinking. The creature sees us operate it and with mild encouragement, will press the button and drink. We leave them alone for days,  and while they know how to operate the device, they do not, simply waiting.

It took several days of being completely alone before they finally activated the water by pressing the button. By their straightforward action, we could tell they knew how to operate it and it wasn't an accident. This test was ran on several others, all similar reactions. On average, only 3 out of 10 would react sooner, within 24 hours, 5 took about 3-5 days before reacting, and 2  passed out from dehydration and had to be taken to medical. (test was ran on 5 groups of 10)

Many other tests provide similar information: they typically wait for something to encourage or command them to act, even on simple survival such as food and water. If it isnt offered to them, they seem to get confused and wait for an offering, even if theyre next to a stream.

 In some tests conducted, when in groups, they will follow suit after others, even of different species. e.g, one walks to a stream to drink, they follow suit to drink as well. It’s possible this is a faulty instinct of survival, watching others to drink or eat something to make sure its safe for themself, the faulty part being that even once they know a source is safe, they’ll still often wait for encouragement to engage.

 thankfully, about 74% of them will get over this faulty instinct over time and regular encouragement towards a water/food spot. moving their dish or having a non-regular feeding area can cause this faulty instinct to return or worsen. it’s recommend to have a designated water and feeding spot set up for them to help them overcome that behavior.

other than that, they are extremely adept at learning commands and copying (to the best of their ability). they learn tricks incredibly easily. (e.g, roll over, sit, fetch, ect)

again, this is a CLOSED species. you do not have permission to make one of these without my consent. below are permissions if you get one- RETURNS: If you decide you do not want your budbug anymore, you can message me and I’ll take it back, either keeping it or putting it back up for adoption.  but i can not and will not refund you. Which should be obvious, but just in case, i’m stating it here. PERMISSIONS: -you have complete permission to draw/write/ect of them. harm/violence/gore is allowed. I dont mind gore or sad angst stories, so whatever you want to do with them once bought, you can. However, you do not have permission to include them in anything sexual. if they’re just being the pet that watches their owners do it, like how cats sometimes do, then that’s fine. But absolutely no fucking the budbugs or other sexual activities with them. -You do not have permission to resell them or sell merchandise with them on it.

This post will be updated as needed if anything changes to their species info. Last update: 10/18/2018 

[a-splash-of-stucky]

A Messed Up Place | Nine

Pairings: Bucky x Reader || Steve x Reader

Summary: A mission goes very, very, wrong.

Warnings: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. BLOOD AND GORE AND VIOLENCE (it’s a battle scene, y’all). Kind of graphic? Tread with caution, anyhow.

Notes: Uhhhh I don’t think ‘sorry’ cuts it this time. *mentally gearing myself up for the berating i’m about to endure*. Written for @hellomissmabel‘s challenge

Also — I have no clue how to write an action scene, no clue whatsoever. Hopefully, it’s not too shit. 

And as a final point: for those of you who were around when I did that AMUP spoiler thingie, this is the BIG EVENT™ I talk about in question 16.

“There’s two weeks left to the wedding and I still have to write a goddamn speech,” Nat grouses, plopping herself onto a kitchen stool and bringing her coffee mug to her lips.

“There’s two weeks left to the wedding and I still need to find a bridesmaid’s dress,” Wanda groans, gazing mournfully into her cereal.

Sam sighs, rubs the back of his hand over his eyes sleepily. “There’s two weeks left—,”

“Don’t you say anything, Wilson,” Bucky growls threateningly, sending Sam a vicious side-glare.

“I was gonna say two weeks left before all this fuss is over!” Sam protests, holding one hand up in defeat. “Go make your oatmeal, old man,”.

“Fuck you,” Bucky grumbles, turning his attention back to the stove and stirring his breakfast around with a wooden spoon.

It’s Saturday morning brunch time at the compound. This is one of those rare weekends in which everyone is on-site and not halfway across the world on some mission or other. Bucky’s fixing himself some oatmeal, and will probably do some eggs, or maybe pancakes after. He’s feeling hungry this morning and what the hell — it’s brunch.

“Two weeks and then Steve will stop being a low-key bridezilla,” Sam murmurs absentmindedly, as he pops a couple of pieces of bread into the toaster. “Or is it groomzilla? Does that even exist?”

Wanda chuckles.

There are indeed exactly 14 days left before your wedding and Bucky…is not exactly sure how he feels about that. He’s got his suit dry-cleaned, his dress shoes polished and a speech half-written, because he’s Steve’s best man, but something feels off. He’s not as joyful about the occasion as he probably should be — and understandably so, in his opinion.

“Bucky, could you hand me my coffee?” Wanda asks sweetly.

Bucky turns back to look at her over his shoulder. She gazes back at him with wide eyes and bats her lashes pitifully.

“Fine,” Bucky grumbles, leaning across the countertop to pick up Wanda’s pink mug before handing it to her. “But only ‘cause your ankle is injured. M’not going soft on you,”.

Wanda rolls her eyes. “You’re not going soft on me, you’re going soft on everyone,” she retorts.

“Hey!” Bucky protests.

Everyone looks up as heavy footfalls thud down the corridor. Steve strides briskly into the kitchen, tablet tucked under one arm and jaw set in a grim line. Bucky is immediately on edge; the expression on Steve’s face does not bode well. Bucky switches off the stove and turns around to face Steve, leaning his hip against the countertop.

“We’ve got a situation,” Steve says, his tone clipped.

The atmosphere in the room immediately changes. All traces of grogginess evaporate. The room snaps to attention.

“What is it, Cap?” asks Sam.

Steve purses his lips as he whips out his tablet, turning it on and tapping some buttons on the display.

“I’m sending you a briefing pack now,” he explains, “Biochemical facility in Kinshasa — government-funded, pretty buried in the books — was fully evacuated two hours ago. No confirmed reason as to why,”.

“Why’re we concerned about it?” Wanda asks, looking at Steve curiously.

“Intel suspects a chemical leak,” Steve answers.

“Do we know what kind?” asks Nat, crossing her arms over her chest.

“That’s the thing,” Steve sighs, raking his fingers through his hair, “They’re a biochemical research centre, but behind that front they’re rumoured to be developing bio-weapons for use in the military,”.

“Shit,” Sam mutters, “I don’t like where this is going,”.

“Me neither,” Steve admits, “Funded by the government — of the DRC, no less — so who knows what they’ve got going on in there. Intel says there’s a strong possibility of the leak being a gaseous neurotoxin,”.

“So gas masks, then,” Bucky murmurs, mostly to himself. He winces internally at the idea. He doesn’t like wearing gas masks — or masks of any kind, for that matter. They remind him of the restrictive muzzle that his handlers made him wear.

Steve’s eyes flick to his, grim understanding in those bright blue irises. “Yeah. We’re not taking any chances,”.

“What’s the call, Cap?” asks Sam.

“Our priority is to determine whether or not there is a leak and if so, contain it as much as possible,” Steve replies, setting his tablet on the kitchen island and resting his palms on the edge of the counter. “Intel states full evac, but it can’t hurt to give a cursory sweep. Sam, Nat, Bucky, you’re coming with me—,”

“Hey!” Wanda interrupts.

“Wanda, you’ve injured your ankle,” Steve says, voice unforgivingly commanding.

“It’s practically healed,” she whines, “I can—,”

“I’m sorry, but we can’t risk it,” says Steve, his tone inviting no further protests. “We could use your help, but I don’t want to risk aggravating your injury,”.

“Fine,” Wanda grumbles, pouting and crossing her arms over her chest. Bucky smirks, despite himself.

“Anyway, like I mentioned, they said this was a full evac,” Steve continues, “Which means no personnel guarding the facility itself. We bust in, sweep the site, get out as soon as possible. Leak is supposed to be coming from south wing, basement two, lab 4. Blueprints are included in the briefing pack,”.

“This pack seems very skimpy on the info, Steve,” Nat comments, as she thumbs through the documents on her phone. There’s a small crease between her perfectly manicured brows.

Steve sighs. “I know. S’not a lot to work with, but if it is a neurotoxin leak, then we need to jump on it as soon as possible,”.

“So what’re we waiting for?” asks Bucky, pushing away from the counter.

Sam clasps his hands together and rubs them excitedly. “Avengers, assem—,”

“No,” Nat interrupts sharply, glaring at Sam through narrowed eyes. “We do not say those words,”.

Steve chuckles. “Suit up, guys. Wheel up in 15,”.

———————————

Bucky downs his — somewhat cold — oatmeal in four and a half mouthfuls, then makes his way over to his weapons locker. Everyone living in the compound has one of their own. It’s something of a glorified storage room, filled with an assortment of guns, knives, grenades and whatever toys Stark decides to put together.

Of course, Bucky keeps some of his gear stashed in various hiding places in his room, and around the compound in general — a guy’s gotta be able to defend himself in the event of a surprise attack — but the majority of his things are kept in his locker room, under lock and key. It’s an unassuming door, marked with a simple grey plaque with ‘Barnes’ inscribed on it in black font. He punches in his key code, lets FRIDAY do the biometric scans, then twists open the handle.

He pulls on his uniform with a comforting familiarity, tightening straps and snapping buckles into place. His gear is nowhere near as tight and unforgiving as what HYDRA forced him to wear, but still protective in its own right. Bucky runs his fingers over his — disturbingly large — collection of knives and picks out the few he wants to bring with him, tucking them into various hiding places on his form. He tucks a couple of guns into their holsters, slides a couple of grenades into his utility belt and finally, secures his hair back into a neat bun.

Satisfied with his preparedness, he opens the door to his locker room, about to step out into the hallway.

He pauses.

Steve is on the other side of the door, his back to Bucky. He’s fully suited up, sans his harness and shield. Bucky notes with approval that he’s wearing the navy suit. Good. More stealthy. The red might be Cap, but it’s too flashy for Bucky’s liking. He’s speaking in hushed tones to someone. When Steve shifts to the side a little, Bucky gets a glimpse of your hair. Bucky hastily ducks back into his locker room, pulling the door closed after him. He doesn’t close it all the way, though, allowing him to listen in on the conversation.

“…coming with you!” you’re saying.

“No, sweetheart,” Steve sighs, “You can’t—,”.

“Like hell I can’t, Rogers,” you hiss. “If this is a neurotoxin leak, my immune system could resist it!”

“Yes, but you’ve not got enough experience, honey,” Steve says, tone calm and placating.

“But I could—,”

“I know, but you’ve not had enough training with us as a team,” Steve explains, “Bucky and Nat and Sam have come with me on hundreds of missions — we’re like a machine, at this point. And, for a mission like this, with limited intel and one hell of a time crunch, I—I just don’t have time to come up with a proper attack strategy, so you just can’t come. I’m sorry,”.

You sigh heavily, tipping your head forward to rest your forehead on Steve’s muscled bicep. “I know,” you sigh, “I just wish you didn’t have to,”.

Bucky takes that as a good enough opportunity for him to step out. “Bad guys really don’t have any consideration whatsoever for superhero weddings, huh?” he remarks.

You and Steve pull apart, a tight smile on both your faces. “Evil waits for no one,” Steve quips. He turns to you, gaze softening as he hooks his arm over your shoulders. “You can come with us next time, ‘kay?”

“Fine,” you grumble. The corner of your lips twitch into a smile when Steve presses a kiss to your temple.

Something inside Bucky’s chest tightens.

Bucky would say that it’s his heart, but his heart doesn’t really exist anymore.

“Just don’t do anything stupid, punk,” you mutter, petting Steve on the cheek affectionately. “Least not ’til you get back,”.

Bucky snorts. It seems that some of his overprotectiveness has rubbed off on you.

Steve chuckles, catching Bucky’s gaze and shooting him a mock glare, before turning his attention back to you. “How can I?” he replies, “M’ leaving all the stupid here with you,”.

You jaw falls open in feigned surprise as you give Steve a playful swat on the arm. Bucky laughs, amused by your antics. You catch Bucky’s eyes and give him a tender smile, a hint of wistfulness in your gaze.

“You keep safe too, okay, Buck?” you murmur, reaching your free hand out to touch Bucky’s shoulder. “I need my groom and my best man around for this wedding to happen,”.

Again, that weird tightening feelings comes over Bucky’s chest.

“Sure doll,” Bucky replies, placing his hand on top of yours and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll do our best,”.

———————————

It’s a bust mission.

It’s a fucking bust mission.

That’s all Bucky can think of as he ducks behind an overturned desk, in order to shield himself from the onslaught of bullets raining down on him.

To be fair, it hadn’t started off as a bust mission.

The facility had indeed been abandoned when the team arrived; not a human soul around for miles. The sun had long disappeared from the sky when the wheels of the quinjet touched the ground, approximately four kilometres south of the facility. The plant itself is located several miles northeast of Kinshasa, on the periphery of the Congo rainforest. After doing their final weapons checks, the team had trekked through the forest, entering the compound via the main gate, since they hadn’t needed to be particularly stealthy with their entry.

The layout of the facility is rather simple. Each wing is shaped like a hollowed-out square, with a grassed courtyard in the centre of each one. Offices, laboratories and storage rooms are arranged on the out-facing wall, whilst essential wiring and plumbing has been built into the wall that overlooks the courtyard. It’s a rather drab building, all hard edges and bland concrete. The compound is split into a north and south wing, each four floors high; two aboveground, two below ground.

Once inside, the team had split up. Sam and Nat had gone downstairs in search of the lab, so as to determine whether or not a leak had taken place. Bucky and Steve had covered the first and ground floors, with the two aims of firstly, ensuring that no civilians were still trapped in the building and secondly, determining whether or not there were places where a gas could have escaped the confines of the building.

Things had been going to plan, up until about five minutes ago, when the entire facility was plunged into darkness.

Never a good sign.

Before Steve could even call Sam and Nat to reconvene, ominous clanking noises had rattled through the building. Panels on the wall had retracted, revealing the mounted machine guns hiding behind them.

Aforementioned guns are currently raining hellfire on Bucky and Steve.

A trap. They’ve walked straight into a trap. And, if they’re not smart about it, it’s going to be a one-way trip.

“Sam? Nat?” Steve shouts, yelling into the comm piece on his wrist.

“Kinda busy here, Cap,” Sam huffs. In the background, Bucky catches the rhythmic rat-tat-tat of gunfire. Then again, that could just be the guns on his end.

“Is it safe to remove gas masks?” Steve yells, dodging left behind an office desk as a spray of bullets narrowly misses his ear.

“Yeah. There’s no leak, Cap,” Nat says crisply.

Thank fucking god.

Bucky rips off his constrictive gas mask and slides it across the floor, away from him. “I’m gonna fucking kill this intel person!” Bucky shouts to Steve, as he moves into a crouching position behind the desk.

“Not if I get there first!” Steve yells back.

“We were fucking played,” Sam grunts, “Fuckin’ played,”.

Bucky shakes his head in frustration. He can think about killing intelligence personnel when he’s gotten them out of this life-or-death situation. For now, he closes his eyes and listens to the rhythm of the bullets as they’re spewed from the guns. He didn’t manage to count how many there guns he’s dealing with before he was forced to take cover, but he estimates that there must be at least six on this corridor alone.

It’s a situation that fucking sucks. He and Steve are on the topmost floor of the north wing, which is comprised entirely of offices. Sam and Natasha are about as far away as they can be, in basement two of the south wing. The team has been split up and it’s going to be one hell of a challenge to make it back to each other without being ripped to shreds by these bullets.

Bucky takes a deep breath and forces himself to think logically. The guns currently firing at him and Steve are mounted on the wall facing the row of offices. Each gun is fully automated and must be mounted on some sort of pivot, in order to be able to swing from left to right. Bucky studies the wall behind him, which is steadily becoming riddled with bullet holes. The holes themselves seem to be in a fairly consistent band, thereby indicating that the guns have a limited range of movement; they’re only moving from side-to-side, and not up-and-down. There also seems to be something of a blind spot between each gun, because there’s a thin column of wall which has not been chewed up by bullets whatsoever.

Perfect. That makes his life easier.

That means that Bucky only needs to worry about the gun directly in front of him. He times how long it takes for the bullets to move from right to left, then back again. 12 seconds, tops.

Bucky pulls out a knife from the sheath on his thigh, feeling its weight in his palm. He twists his body, preparing himself to launch from behind the desk at full force when the window of opportunity presents itself. Bucky waits until the bullet spray has passed the leftmost extreme of its arch then jumps, vaulting over the desk like the graceful assassin he is. He sprints like a madman for the gun mounted on the opposite side of the corridor.

Bucky leaps onto the wall above it to save himself from being clipped by a bullet, then jams his knife into the turning the mechanism, so as to stop the gun from being able to rotate. Once he’s immobilised it, Bucky grips the barrel in his metal arm and physically wrenches it upwards, deforming the metal into a ninety degree angle. The machine lets out a few half-aborted clicks before sputtering out completely.

Bucky removes his knife from the pivot and is about to leg it to the next mounted gun when all of a sudden, the gunfire ceases. His ears ring with the ghostly echo of gunshots.

“What…the hell just happened?” asks Sam.

“Bucky disabled one of the guns,” Steve replies smoothly, appearing from behind the mangled desk he used as cover, one wrist held up to his mouth. “Whether or not that’s connected to the rest of them stopping I don’t know, but that’s what’s happened,”. As he speaks, Steve swings his shield around and clips it into the harness on his back.

His shield. His vibranium shield. The one that’s bulletproof.

“Hey, why couldn’t you have handled the gun dismantling?” Bucky asks, as he dusts himself off and re-sheathes his knife. “You got that shiny shield of yours to protect you for a reason, right?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Too tight a space and too many bullets flying ‘round. The ricochet could’ve hit you. ‘Sides, I didn’t have enough room to swing it properly,”.

“Excuses, excuses,” Bucky grumbles.

“Boys,” Nat interjects, “I don’t think Barnes crippling one gun would’ve shut down the entire system,”.

“And I take it you did nothing on your end, Romanoff?” Bucky asks, as he and Steve begin to cautiously make their way back to the stairwell at the end of the corridor.

“We did nothing,” she confirms.

“And it’s not ‘cause they ran out of ammo, either,” Sam adds. Bucky glances to his right as they pass one of the guns. Wilson’s right.

“So…what?” asks Bucky, “You saying someone shut it down?”

“The question is: who?” Steve murmurs softly, a tense note to his voice. A vein in his neck twitches and his jaw is tightly clenched. He bring his wrist comm to his mouth, “Sam, Nat, if you’re finished downstairs, meet us on the ground floor. Bucky and I will—,”.

He gets cut off by the sound of shattering glass.

Bucky curses and drops into a defensive crouch, a knife appearing in his flesh hand, his metal hand hovering above the holster on his thigh.

“Cap? Barnes? What’s going on?” Sam asks worriedly.

Though the hallway is in darkness save for the measly emergency lights signalling the fire escapes at either end of the corridor, Bucky can still tell that there are several big, burly, heavily-armed agents climbing in through the smashed window and stalking towards him and Steve.

“We’ve got company,” he grits out.

“Who are you?” Steve calls.

Nobody answers. What a surprise.

Because of the darkness, Bucky can’t tell exactly what kind of gear they’ve got on, but if they’re storming into a place like this to fight four of earth’s mightiest heroes, then it’s not unreasonable to expect full body protection. The standard stuff: ballistic vests, probably with a steel plate inserted. If this is a planned attack — which, judging by the coincidental timing of everything, seems to be quite likely — they’ve probably got night vision goggles too. He can’t tell how many agents there are exactly, but a conservative estimate would be about a dozen.

“Yeah, we’ve got company too,” Sam announces.

“Priority is to get out of here alive,” Steve replies calmly, “Don’t do anything stupid,”.

“Copy that, Cap,”.

As Steve hooks his shield onto his arm, he catches Bucky’s gaze.

“You ready for this, pal?” Bucky asks, as the shadowed figures steadily advance.

Steve rolls his shoulders back and holds his shield up in front of him. “I can do this all day,” he replies. He gives Bucky a curt nod, and then—

—they charge forward, as fast as a lightning strike, hoping to take the agents by surprise. Gunshots ring out in the cramped hallway.

Whilst these agents might have the upper-hand in terms of artillery power and night-vision goggles, Bucky’s got enhanced speed and agility, not to mention decades of combat experience. These agents, although clearly not untrained or lacking in experience, are simply no match for Bucky, let alone Bucky and Steve combined. He switches his mind to autopilot, letting his body run mostly on pure, adrenaline-fuelled instinct. It’s not the same blank, cold and ruthless headspace he fell into when he operated as the Soldier, but neither is it dissimilar — Bucky thinks of it as him fighting like the Soldier with a conscience. Bucky works efficiently, methodically darting between bodies, slamming his knives into muscled thighs and between pieces of body armour. He pushes off from the wall and uses the momentum to slash the throat of one of the agents. Bucky will always prefer using his knives in close-combat situations like these; they’re practically an extension of his arms, at this point.

Although Bucky’s focus is mostly on keeping himself out of harm’s way, he’s always got five percent of his mind listening out for Steve, making sure that the punk’s not gotten into too much trouble. They work like a well-oiled engine, the pair of them, having had so much experience charging into battle side-by-side. Inseparable, they are, and whatever bullshit the Smithsonian decided to come up with when describing the two of them together.

To be fair, the words aren’t entirely untrue.

Somewhere off to his right, Bucky catches the clang as Steve’s shield collides with someone’s helmet. He smirks inwardly as the agent on the receiving end of that blow yowls in agony.

Bucky grunts as an agent slams the butt of their rifle into his sternum. In those precious milliseconds where he is momentarily winded, the agent presses forward, backing Bucky into the wall, punch after punch colliding with his ribs. Bucky grits his teeth and clenches his metal hand into a fist, ready to knock the lights out of this bastard. Anticipating this, the agent twists them to the ground, kneeling on Bucky’s metal arm to pin it down. The metal plates whirr and click in protest. Blows continue to be rained down upon him.

The agent is an idiot for not knocking the knife out of Bucky’s other hand.

Though Bucky is busy trying to dodge the man’s punches, he somehow manages to embed his blade into the man’s shoulder, causing him to fall off Bucky, howling in anguish.

Bucky silences him with a deft flick of the wrist.

There are fewer footfalls now, in the corridor, indicating that most of the agents are either dead or incapacitated. Fallen bodies litter the ground, creating a human obstacle course, of sorts. Some parts of the floor are slippery with blood.

Heavy grunting noises waft down from the other end of the corridor. Bucky assumes that Steve is not, in fact, having sex with one of these agents and therefore, could be in need of help. He heads over there to check if he can be of any assistance. Judging by the heavy thuds and thumps coming from that side of the corridor, their grapple must be pretty intense. Bucky jogs a little bit faster to the source of the sounds.

Steve has gotten himself pinned into something of a sticky situation when Bucky gets there. He’s on his back with the agent’s legs around his neck in a chokehold. One of Steve’s hands is shoved between his neck and the agent’s thigh, trying to edge it away from him. The fingers of his other hand are scrabbling for the knife he’s strapped to his outer thigh.

Bucky sighs.

This seems to be the last agent standing and the sooner they dispose of him, the sooner they can go check on Nat and Sam. Bucky adjusts his grip on his knife, takes aim and, with a smooth flick of his wrist, embeds the blade into the side of the man’s throat. His legs go slack immediately.

Steve shoves the hulking brute off his body and takes in a deep gulp of air. He looks around wildly, catches sight of Bucky and breathes out a sigh of relief.

“Why do I always have to finish your fights for you, Rogers?” Bucky drawls, wiping his blades on the heel of his boot before tucking them back into their sheaths.

“I had him on the ropes,” Steve sighs, readjusting his helmet as he gets to his feet. He picks up his shield from where it has fallen on the floor, slinging back into its harness.

“Sure you did,” Bucky says dryly.

“Did we get all of ‘em?” Steve asks, glancing around the corridor. In the darkness, it’s hard to tell exactly, but Bucky’s fairly certain that every agent is permanently out of action. There’s no telltale moaning or groaning of someone in pain. Nonetheless, he strains his ears, listening for a hitched breath, or subdued footfalls, or perhaps even the click of a gun cocking.

He hears nothing of the sort.

“Think so,” Bucky replies quietly.

“C’mon. Let’s find Sam and Nat, then get the hell outta here,”.

“For once in your life, Rogers, you’re talking sense,”.

Bucky stalks ahead of Steve, rifle drawn and senses heightened. He picks his way through the corridor littered with bodies, taking care not to slip in any pools of blood. Behind him, Bucky hears Steve matching his every footstep, covering his six. They head towards the stairwell at the far end of this wing, so that they can cross into the adjacent one and find Nat and Sam.

Something whistles past Bucky’s ear.

He tenses. There’s a beeping noise that sounds distinctly like a—

“Bomb!” Steve yells, shoving Bucky forward just heartbeats before an ear-shattering explosion rips through the building. The force of the blast sends him sprawling backwards. He collides with the wall with a sickening crunch. It’s very possible that he fractures a rib.

He’s disoriented for several precious seconds as the dust settles around him. He coughs, wincing as the motion jars something in his chest. There’s an incessant ringing in both his ears. His hearing’s muffled, probably because his ear drums have been severely damaged. They’ll heal up in a few minutes; he knows this from experience. Bucky squints his eyes, trying to see through the debris and darkness, in order to locate Steve.

The blast was concentrated, making it all the more powerful. It seems to have not compromised the structural integrity of the building itself, but did manage to blast a gigantic hole in the wall. At least the hole has the added bonus of letting in some light from the outside world, so they’re no longer working in complete darkness.

Though it looks like nothing is going to come crashing down on him, Bucky is still tensed up. Somebody had to be around to toss that bomb in their direction and chances are, they’ve got to be lurking around somewhere. They’ll probably want to make sure that Bucky and Steve are permanently disposed of.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky catches a flicker of movement — a shadow, flickering on the wall of the stairwell.

He gives chase, rifle held up in front of him. Bucky leaps over the railing, jumps past five steps and lands in a crouch on the floor below. He hoists his rifle to his shoulder, sights, then opens fire, catching the agent in the back of the thigh as he runs down the hallway. His finger presses the trigger again, letting another bullet fly; this one catches the man in the back of the knee. He topples, collapsing to the floor.

Bucky draws his knife as he stalks to the man with brusque purposefulness. He disposes of the agent in a brutal but efficient manner, slitting his throat in one gracefully swift slash. The agent is dead before his head even hits the ground. After glancing up and down the corridor to ensure that no one else is going to spring up on him, Bucky races back up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Natasha’s voice crackles in his ear. “Barnes, come in, Barnes!” she yells.

“Romanoff,” he says gruffly as he stores his knife away.

“What the fuck happened?”

“Bomb,” he replies tersely, “Punched a hole right through the wall,”.

“Cap?”

Bucky hesitates. “Status unknown,”.

A pause, then, “Find Steve, we’ll get to the quinjet!” Sam calls.

“Already on it,” Bucky mutters.

Bucky clambers over bits of concrete and dead bodies towards the hole in the wall, because that is where the centre of the blast was. It’s where Steve must be. He cups his hand around his mouth and yells “Steve!”, ignoring the fact that his voice sounds a little bit hoarse and anguished.

He gets no response.

He’s just knocked out, Bucky reasons, as he steps over a particularly large block of concrete. No need to panic, Barnes.

Bucky yelps when a hand closes around his ankle.

“Steve!” he cries, sinking down to his knees beside the man in question.

Steve’s not doing too good. His eye’s swelling over, his lip’s been busted open and blood is trickling from his nose and various other cuts on his face. His body is wedged at an awkward angle between a concrete block and the door to one of the offices. His legs are askew in front of him, uniform covered in a thin coating of dust. He looks a little bit like a rag-doll.

That’s not even the worse part.

No. What’s worse is that there’s a huge ass steel pipe embedded in his thigh.

It’s at least three inches in diameter, jagged and pointy at both ends. It’s pierced Steve’s right leg, just above the knee. He’s sitting in a growing pool of blood, and the entire leg of his uniform is quickly getting soaked in it.

Bucky is agape.

“What’d I say about not doing anything stupid, punk?” Bucky says weakly. He can’t help it. It’s the first thought that pops into his head.

Steve chuckles.

“Shit, pal, hold on,” Bucky mutters, as he lifts his wrist to his mouth. “Natasha?”

“Yeah?” she responds, sounding a little bit breathless.

“I’ve found Steve. He’s not too good,”.

“What happened?”

“Got a steel pipe sticking out of his thigh,”.

Nat curses. “Alright, keep him stable. I’ll try to call in a medic,”.

When Bucky turns to look back at Steve, he finds that his head’s lolling to the side and his eyes are sliding shut. No, no, no, that’s not good, that’s not good, he needs to stay awake; the last thing Bucky wants is for Steve to go into shock because of the blood loss.

“Hey pal,” Bucky says, lightly slapping Steve on the cheek. Steve grunts, tries to twist his head away. “Steve, hey, hey, no, stay with me pal,”.

Sam’s voice crackles in his ear. “Medics en route,”.

“ETA?”

“5, maybe 10?”

“Tell them to hurry the fuck up,” Bucky snaps.

Steve attempts to shift himself and hisses in pain, clutching at Bucky’s arm frantically. “Yeah bud, hang tight, we got help on the way,”. Bucky looks around the barren corridor in search of something — anything — that he could use to staunch the bleeding.

“Gonna take more than this to get rid of me,” Steve mutters. He coughs wetly, forcing another trickle of blood out of his nose. Bucky grimaces.

“It’s okay, Stevie—bud, just stay with me,” Bucky soothes. He feels helpless. Bucky’s got some basic first-aid training, of course he does, but for goodness’ sake — in what universe is this situation considered basic? Who the fuck thinks that extracting a goddamn steel pipe out of someone’s leg is basic first aid training?

“Bucky?” Steve asks, squeezing Bucky’s forearm to get his attention.

“Yeah?”

“Tell Y/N I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the wedding,”.

The broken pieces of Bucky’s heart crumble to dust at the sorrow in Steve’s voice.

“Listen here, Rogers—,” he starts.

“Bucky—,”

“No, shuddup, you punk,” Bucky says fiercely, moving in a little closer so that his face is right in front of Steve’s — that way, there is no way that Steve can miss the fierce determination in his expression. “You listen here, punk,” Bucky growls, “You are gonna make it to your wedding, ya hear me? Even if I have to haul your ass there to—,”

Bucky cuts himself off when Steve coughs again, another spurt of blood dribbling out of his nose. Steve wipes his face with the back of his hand, smearing blood in streaks across his cheek.

“Bucky?” says Steve, quieter this time.

Bucky swallows. “Yeah?”

“Thanks,”.

“For what?”

“For sticking with me,” Steve replies, the corners of his lips curling up into a tired smile. “’Til the end of the line,”.

Hot tears prick at the back of Bucky’s eyelids.

“S’not the end, pal,” Bucky protests, fighting to keep his voice steady, “Stevie, you gotta—fuck,”. His voice cracks, mirroring the way in which his heart is shattering inside his chest. “No, no, no, this ain’t the end of the line, Stevie, we got this far, you ain’t dyin’ on me now,”.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Steve says weakly, letting his drooping eyelids slide shut.

“No!” Bucky shouts, his voice wavering unsteadily. He cups Steve’s face in both hands, trying to be as gentle as he can so as to not aggravate any potential neck trauma. “You keep your eyes open an’ you keep ‘em on me, yeah? Jus’ hold tight ’til the medics come, alright?”

“Barnes,” says Sam’s voice in his ear.

“What?” Bucky says curtly.  

“Barnes, I got a missile incoming,” Natasha informs him, a edge of panic to her voice.

Bucky’s blood turns cold. Beneath him, Steve’s eyes flash open.

“W-what?” Bucky croaks, “Romanoff I—I can’t leave Steve,”.

“Barnes you need to get outta there!” Natasha insists, “You got two minutes, tops,”.

“Two minutes?!” Bucky squawks.

“Two minutes,” she confirms, voice grim. “Barnes, get out of there,”

“We’ve powered up the quinjet,” Sam adds, “We’ll land it a little closer to the compound,”.

“Bucky, just go, get out of here,” Steve grits out, pressing a hand to Bucky’s chest to shove him away.

“No!” Bucky roars, slamming his fist into the crumbling concrete out of frustration. “Not without you!”.

“Buck—,”

“Fuck this shit, I’m carrying you outta here,” Bucky grumbles, shifting back so that he can scoop Steve into his arms.

“Buck you’ll be faster without me!” Steve protests.

“Like hell I’m leavin’ you behind, punk,” Bucky snaps.

“Please, Bucky,” Steve begs. There’s something in his voice that makes Bucky pause, look directly into Steve’s eyes. There’s clarity in his gaze, that trademark Steven Grant Rogers stubbornness shining through a cloud of sorrow and regret.

“Please, Bucky,” he repeats, softer this time, the remorse evident in his voice. “Don’t—don’t fight me on this one. For Y/N. You gotta—you gotta tell her,”.

The mention of your name brings up a whole host of emotions that Bucky most definitely does not have the time for. The truth between you and him balances precariously on the tip of his tongue. Bucky wants, oh, he so desperately wants to tell Steve the truth. The full truth and nothing but the truth, because…goddammit, he owes it to his best pal, but—but Steve’s about to die and Bucky can’t spring that on him in his last moments.

There’re so many things I never got to say to you.

“Barnes, now,” Natasha growls, her tone desperate.

“Barnes, you gotta find cover,” Sam insists.

“Take the shield,” says Steve, his left hand twitching in the direction in which it has fallen. “Take it, it’ll protect you,”.

Bucky looks in the direction Steve’s gesturing in. The red, white and blue disc glints at him from down the hallway. If Bucky can get to it in time, he can bring it back and use it to protect Steve from the blast but — fuck it’s too far away. Even if Bucky sprints to get it, he won’t make it back in time to save Steve.

“Go,” Steve urges, his expression broken and resigned in a way Bucky’s never seen before.

He swallows thickly. There are tears streaming down his cheeks, he realises. “Steve, I—,”

“You’re with me ’til the end of the line, right?” Steve murmurs.

Bucky nods mutely.

“Well, I’m telling you this now — my line doesn’t end here,” Steve says, “Y/N’s gonna keep it going for me,”.

“Steve—,”

“Hold on, lemme finish,” Steve breathes, “I know you love her. You can tell me no, but I know you, Barnes, known you all my life. So I…I give you…my permission to…to do what you think is right,”.

Bucky’s heart is doing all sorts of flips in his chest. He—he doesn’t need to hear this now, his brain’s too overwhelmed as it is. Bucky files this information away in a folder in the back of his brain for him to re-examine later.

“You wanna stick with me ’til the end of the line? I’m asking you to keep her safe,” Steve murmurs. The corner of his lip twitches up into a lop-sided, bloodied smirk. “You keep her safe, okay?” Steve pleads, “Tell her that I love her, and that I’m sorry. And—and, Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you too,”.

Bucky sobs hoarsely, clasping Steve’s blood-streaked hand in his own, squeezing their fingers together. He tries not to think about the fact that this is the last time he’ll ever get to do that. Bucky ducks down to press a soft, parting kiss to Steve’s forehead — a single gesture which is nowhere near enough to convey everything he needs to say to the one man that matters most to him, to the one one man who deserves so much more — before jumping up, giving Steve a parting half-wave, then sprinting for the shield.

“30 seconds,” says Nat.

Bucky runs and runs and runs, forcing himself to not think about Steve. To not think about the fact that he is abandoning his brother in every sense of the word, to not think about the fact that he’s a terrible friend. There’s nothing he can do besides run. Bucky pours every last scrap of energy into the sprint, pumping his arms to propel his body forward. He picks up the shield when he passes by it, then holds it out in front of him as he heads towards the window. Bucky leaps through the glass, curling his body into a ball and twisting the shield so that it hits the ground first, in order to absorb the force of the impact.

“10 seconds,” Nat murmurs.

“We’ll miss you, Steve,” Sam sniffles.

Bucky ignores the pain lancing through his chest and shoulder, ignores the ruthless ache in his heart, ignores the dull throbbing in his thigh. He pushes on, aiming to at least get clear of the facility’s grounds, into the trees behind it.

“3,”.

Bucky vaults over the low brick wall—

“2,”.

—tumbles into a ditch—

“1,”.

—and gets the shield above his head to protect himself from the hailstorm of debris.

The explosion rocks the ground beneath him. A wave of raw, uninhibited energy rips through his body; his entire being get pummelled by an unforgiving wall of force. Flickers of bright orange and burnt red dance at the corner of his eye, and his skin is seared by the white-hot lick of flames.

When the dust begins to settle, Bucky slowly pushes himself to his feet to survey the damage.

What he sees is utter devastation.

The facility has been levelled to the ground. Only a few crumbling support pillars remain standing; nearly everything else has been turned to dust or fine rubble.

He swallows.

There’s no way Steve could have survived that.

“Barnes? Status report?” Natasha prompts.

His hand trembles when he brings it up to his wrist. “Impact confirmed. Steve…he—he couldn’t have made it,”.

“May he rest in peace,” Sam whispers.

Bucky feels sickened, chilled to his core. He feels hollow, yet way too full, all at the same time — he is devoid of emotion, whilst simultaneously feeling far too many emotions. Bucky collapses to his hands and knees, fingers digging into the cracked dirt and dried grass in front of him. He retches violently, lungs contracting and heaving like bellows, but nothing comes out of him. He slams his fists into the ground, thrashes and sobs violently, even howls into the still of night like a wolf. Grief crashes through his system, pounding him again and again in forceful, unrelenting waves.

Steve is gone.

——————————

Natasha and Sam eventually have to come and haul him out of the ditch, because Bucky finds himself too shell-shocked to move.

“We have to go check,” Bucky says brokenly, shaking his head no when Natasha tries to coax him to come into the quinjet.

Sam opens up his pack and pulls out a small handheld device. It’s a thermal sensor. He hands it to Bucky, who aims it at the remnants of the building.

The screen reads nothing.

No heat signatures whatsoever.

Bucky swallows back the nausea rising in his throat. “We gotta go check,” he insists.

——————————

They end up spending at least an hour trawling through the rubble. It’s laborious and difficult work, and most of the concrete pieces are too large for the three of them to lift together — even with Bucky’s enhanced strength — but he stoutly perseveres, nonetheless. If Steve—if there’s even a fraction of a chance that he’s alive, they’ve got to find him.

But when Bucky catches the worried and somewhat doubtful look that Sam shoots in Nat’s direction, he knows that that chance is growing thinner by the second.

Eventually, Bucky has to admit defeat.

He hates that. He hates himself for failing the one person that always came through for him. He hates how he never got to tell Steve the truth, hates how he’ll never get to see Steve’s smile, or hear his laugh, hates how they’ll never be able to spar together, or laugh at stupid jokes together, or reminisce about two young, innocent boys from a time long gone together.

The Smithsonian was wrong, he thinks. Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield.

Turns out, they were inseparable in just the one.

The flight home is eerily quiet. Bucky’s glad of that. He doesn’t want to talk.

Natasha’s flying the jet, with Sam sitting in the co-pilot seat beside her. Bucky’s sitting in the back, slouched against the wall. Snippets of murmured conversation from the cockpit reach his ears, but Bucky pays them no attention. Steve’s shield leans on the wall opposite him, new scratches marring the white star. Bucky can’t tear his eyes away from it the entire flight home.

Maybe, if he stares at it hard enough, Steve will return.

——————————

Natasha lands the jet with practiced ease. She powers down the engines, then turns around to give Bucky a tight smile. He thinks it’s supposed to be a show of support. With a heavy sigh, Bucky gets up, picks up Steve’s shield, then leads the trio out of the quinjet.

In the distance, Bucky sees you and Wanda racing over. His heart starts to race a little faster; this is what he has been dreading. As soon as he steps off the ramp, you launch yourself at Bucky, eyes manic and expression concerned.

“God, guys, you look like shit!” Wanda exclaims, “What happened?”

“Where’s Steve?” you ask Bucky, craning your head around to look over his shoulder.

Bucky looks to Nat and Sam, helplessness written all over his features.

“Where’s Steve?” you repeat, your voice wavering slightly. It is then that your eyes flick downwards, and you notice that Steve’s shield is being held in Bucky’s loose grip. You snatch it out of his hand.

“Bucky, why do you have this?” you ask sharply, “Where’s Steve?”

Bucky bites his quivering bottom lip and keeps his eyes downcast, unwilling to meet the anguish in your gaze. Your fingers hook into the straps on the front of his uniform, yanking him forward so that your face is just an inch away from his own.

“Barnes, don’t fuck with me,” you growl, “Where. Is. Steve?”

Bucky swallows, trying to force his mouth to shape the words that he has been unwilling to say. Saying them aloud makes it final, makes it a fact — one which he doesn’t want to admit. Though Bucky may have lied to you a lot in recent months, this is not a situation which he can bluff his way out of.

“He’s dead,”.

End Note: Steve’s death (or the manner in which he died) was inspired by this post. 

---------------

Tags are open, but I’m only accepting them from PMs or asks. Requests from replies/comments to posts will be ignored. 

[itsmajel]

Majel Reads - April 2018

Captain America / Marvel CMU - Stucky

[What is this?]

With you, (I'm not broken anymore) by Squeaky

Just like his mother, Bucky used to be able to read soulstrings: The coloured threads the Universe puts on the left wrist to help soulmates find each other. Until the Sokovian Uprising happened and he lost his Talent along with his arm. He's been broken, both inside and out, ever since.

But those weren't the only things lost in Sokovia. His aunt, Magda, also died in The Uprising, leaving his twin cousins, Wanda and Pietro, orphans and him their guardian. They never talk about how Magda died, or that her death was Bucky's fault.

Bucky is just living day-to-day, running his family's bookstore and caring for the twins as best he can, trying to hide how broken he is from his cousins and the world. Until Steve Rogers comes into his life, beautiful and sad and asking for a soulstring reading Bucky can't give. Bucky agrees even though he shouldn't, and very quickly he and Steve develop feelings for each other. But Bucky knows their relationship is doomed before it starts, because it's only a matter of time before Steve learns the truth: he has no Talent, he's utterly broken, and worse of all -- what really happened that night in Sokovia...

Part 4 of The Soulmate Series (no one asked for)        

[Teen And Up Audiences] [21,333 Words] [Read on AO3 here]

I'm not where I'm supposed to be, (I hope that you're missing me) by Squeaky

Eleven-year-old Steve Rogers couldn't have been happier when his Timer buzzed when he met James 'Bucky' Barnes the night before his heart surgery. He knows he'll love Bucky forever. But he never gets the chance. Bucky never tries to find him and Steve doesn't know why.

Twelve-year-old Bucky is thrilled to meet Steve. He just knows that his soulmate will love him better than anyone else in his whole life. But he loses Steve before their lives together can even start. His Timer resets, which means that Steve has died, and even worse, the Universe has paired him with someone else. Someone he never wants to meet. He joins the army with his beloved cousin, Clint, to do something good with his life like Steve would've wanted. Its not perfect, but it's good. Until he finds himself bleeding out in the sand...

Years pass, and Steve is still waiting for Bucky to reappear. He doesn't know where Bucky is, but as long as his Timer is set to zero, he knows Bucky is alive and where there's life, there's hope. Things aren't perfect, but they're good. Until he finds himself staring at a Timer that's started counting down again and is no longer resting at zero...

Part 5 of The Soulmate Series (no one asked for)        

[Teen And Up Audiences] [ 17,801 Words] [Read on AO3 here]

Demonique by BetteNoire (WeAreWolves)

“Oh come on, Steve. You look at me like you want to put me on a pedestal and worship me. You look at Barnes like you want to tear his clothes off with your teeth. Tell me why you two aren’t...?” Peggy smirks at him, because of course this amuses her greatly.

Steve fidgets, trying not to blush. “Peggy, I can’t—“

Peggy steps closer. “Steve. Is this an American peculiarity? Because in the British army, as long as you’re discreet, that sort of thing between two men is fine. I mean, some of our greatest war heroes, and so on.”

“It’s not... that...” Steve cringes.

It’s Bucky’s tentacles.

And how badly he wants them inside him.

[Explicit] [ 39,030 Words] [Read on AO3 here]

to forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace by obsessivereader

The only thing he remembers from wipe to wipe is that he must wait next to the bodies. He must wait for the one who comes to collect their souls.

[Teen And Up Audiences] [ 1,497 Words] [Read on AO3 here]

say you'll bee mine by deceptivesoldier, obsessivereader, talkplaylove ( @deceptivesoldier​, @yetanotherobsessivereader, @talkplaylove​)

When Steve glances over at Hot Guy again, Hot Guy catches his eye and gives him a tentative smile. Steve’s brain shuts down and he looks away. But the serum gave him great vision, so out of the corner of his eye, he sees Hot Guy stand up, take two steps, get his foot caught in a backpack strap, trip, and fall down.

Steve’s out of his chair and next to Hot Guy before he even has time to think. "Oh my God, Hot Guy! Are you okay?"

His hearing is sensitive enough to pick out Sam’s whispered “Did you just call Hot Guy ‘Hot Guy’?” at the same time as he realizes what he just said.

Hot Guy blinks up at him from the floor, probably too confused to stand up. "Did you just call me ‘Hot Guy’?"

[Teen And Up Audiences] [ 8,026 Words] [Read on AO3 here]

Our Souls (they were made to last) by Mellaithwen ( @mellaithwen)

Dr. James Barnes is too busy saving lives to actually have one of his own. When he finally agrees to go on a blind date, he gets into an accident that will change his life forever.

Retired Army Captain Steve Rogers is depressed, and when he moves into his new apartment he finds it already occupied....with the ghost of its last tenant. To make matters worse, the ghost is adamant that he's not dead.

As they navigate their way through their new living arrangements, can they save each other, before it’s too late? Or have they missed their one shot at a happy ending?

Just Like Heaven Movie AU

[Mature] [ 53,825 Words] [Read on AO3 here]

M is for Murder by rohkeutta ( @rohkeutta​ )

I’m pretty low on funds and need to make ends meet this month, Barnes types slowly into a new post three days later. I’m taking commissions for hits in the New York City area.

 Will Not Kill: Captain America or other Avengers.    Will partially refund payment if target turns out to be HYDRA.    Will not go to Jersey. No dismemberment or killing children.    Message for negotiations and payment details.

[Mature] [ 4,196 Words] [Read on AO3 here]

Your Best American G-- by rohkeutta ( @rohkeutta​ )

Steve fucking loves American Gladiators.

It’s not really a surprise, because he’s got the show to thank for his whole career in competitive wrestling, inspired by the original series he saw when he was a kid. It was cheesy and overdramatic, but Steve was a frail kid for whom the fitness and health of both the gladiators and the contestants was like a dream.

And seriously, fit people in spandex did wonders for figuring out his sexual orientation.

[Mature] [ 2,174 Words] [Read on AO3 here]

Jimmy Choo Choo by rohkeutta ( @rohkeutta​ )

When they pull up in Newark, Buff Jeff wakes up with a jolt and Bucky is knee-deep in C++ and desperately in need of breakfast. Buff Jeff turns to look at him, a little bewildered, and Bucky looks back. It’s starting to get light outside, and Bucky is suddenly very aware of his crazy insomnia eyes and haphazard ponytail.

“Um,” Buff Jeff says. He’s almost adorable with his sleepy eyes and awkward expression. “Oh. You’re-- um. Real.”

[Teen And Up Audiences] [ 958 Words] [Read on AO3 here]

ready, able by rohkeutta ( @rohkeutta​ )

Steve snorts, helplessly charmed. ���Harold like your gang boss uncle Harold?”

“A gentleman does not name his goats and tell,” Bucky says solemnly, but he leans a little more firmly against Steve’s side, and there are crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes when he smiles.

He’s the best thing Steve has ever seen.    

[Teen And Up Audiences] [ 1,370 Words] [Read on AO3 here]

Captain America / Marvel CMU - Thomas "T. J." Hammond/Steve Rogers 

Anyone Ever Tell You That You Look Just Like... by Brenda ( @brendaonao3)

Steve gives those endless legs another quick, appreciative glance, then relaxes his shoulders and leans in.  "Unless you've got lasers for eyes," he murmurs, "I'm not sure scowling like that's gonna help you bust out of here."

The guy looks over, startled.  "Who says I don't?" he asks mildly, then slides the hoodie off his head, and huh.

It looks like Steve's evening just got a lot more interesting.

[General Audiences] [ 1,409 Words] [Read on AO3 here]

- - - - - - - - - -

( All summaries are the official summaries of the author. Stats and infos as according to hosting site or information given by the author. If any of the authors that have been tagged don’t want to be tagged, or if any of you know the tumblr names of the ones I haven’t tagged please let me know!)

Looking for more reading inspiration? Check out my fic rec tag here on tumblr, this month reading list masterpost for what I’ve read in other fandoms this month,  my all-time reading list masterpost for more of this fandom or just check out my AO3 bookmarks.

[heyhosam]

All of you, all of me

A/N: Story based on this request. Anon, if you are reading this I hope you aren’t mad at me for taking so long because yours was one of the first requests I got…. I wanted to make it good but it took me forever to come up with a plot, and then life was shit to me and I couldn’t find the motivation to write this…so I’m terribly sorry you have waited for so long. I would like to apologize as well because of the characterization, more than a bad boy jungkook is more…… an emotional mess?????? like me I’m…….sorry??????????????????? yeah…… Hope you still enjoy the story, thank you love me.

I’m gonna put interesting info here to save my ass for after you read the story (specifically the sex scene).  I found this article about safety when using coconut oil as lubricant (yeah I searched it up on the internet for the purpose of this fic so I wouldn’t get messages telling me it’s dangerous or whatever. BE SURE TO ALWAYS FIND RELIABLE SOURCES WHEN IT COMES TO MATTERS LIKE THESE, THOUGH.) I’m linking also an interesting article about preparing for anal sex here that I will have to ignore for the purpose of this fic as it’s common on other fics as well just to make it “slightly” unreal but more “fun” to read… (although in real life don’t skip this part, kids. SAFETY AND CLEANLINESS FIRST, FUN AND ORGASMS LATER ) Visual references (x)

Ok pups, after the longest author’s note ever, if you are still here with me, I hope you like and enjoy the story :D

Read it also on AFF

Jungkook should have listened to Taehyung and wait a bit to go home, but the younger was getting bored, the stuffy and too hot air of the club was too much for Jungkook to handle. Warm bodies pressing too close to him, grabby hands touching him everywhere, slick lips trying to kiss him. If there was a thing Jungkook hated, it would be crowded places; If there was a thing Jungkook hated even more, would be crowded places with rude people.

Those two were reason enough to leave the club despite his friend’s slurred and insistent words pleading to stay. But once again, Taehyung should know Jungkook wouldn’t fall for pleads. Jungkook didn’t listen to anyone except himself.

But maybe, now, as Jungkook walked under the rain at three am, soaked to the bones with only a thin tee covering his body, he was regretting not listening to his friend.

He was shivering, lips trembling and almost blue when he stepped into the only grocery shop opened this late at night -or this early in the morning. He stood by the automatic doors for a moment trying to compose himself, hugging his torso in a lame attempt to bring warmth into him.

“S-shit…” he mumbled after noticing he was failing at providing himself some warmth, his body jerking uncontrollably with force as his fingers dug into his arms.

“Hey, take this.” said a soft voice as a fluffy towel immediately appeared in front of him. Jungkook took it with shaky fingers and dried himself as best as he could considering his senses were numb and his hands trembling non stop.

Somehow, between getting dried and changing his thin tee into a dry one the worker offered, Jungkook found himself seated on a stool behind the counter with a warm mug of chamomile tea and feeling a bit more like a human being again.

“What were you doing out there with this rain and this late at night?” asked the worker, watching closely Jungkook’s every movement.

“It’s not of your business…” replied Jungkook roughly, not even sparing the other a glance. He heard the other snort, probably offended by Jungkook’s response, but it wouldn’t be new. Jungkook wasn’t really what one would call a friendly person.

“Ok, so I just helped you not die of hypothermia and this is what I get?” the worker asked, now obviously offended, with slight irritation adorning his words.

Jungkook clanked his tongue, annoyed, and lifted his head to give the other his most impassive look - the one he used to intimidate, well, everyone- but his cold eyes didn’t seem to phase the other at all, who lifted an eyebrow at him and crossed his arms across his chest.

“You look like a wet kitty, not intimidating at all…” deadpanned the worker, one corner of his mouth lifting up when he saw Jungkook’s eyebrows knit under his wet bangs. “if that was what you were trying to do, that is…”

Jungkook’s frown deepened and it took less than a second to feel rage boil within his veins. He hated it when people didn’t take him seriously, mocked him or laughed at his face. Jeon Jungkook was a creature full of pride, after all. He clenched his jaw and almost bared his teeth to the stupid worker that just smirked even more at his reaction, stood up and took two big steps to the other to easily corner him against the counter he had behind him. In moments like this, Jungkook thanked his genetics for giving him height, it was advantageous and helped him more times than he could count.

“I don’t think you should laugh at me, shortie… I’m not really in a good mood right now.” he practically growled. He watched satisfied as the other slightly gulped and his brown eyes  moved away from Jungkook’s fiery ones for a second before focusing on them again.

“I just… I helped you before-“

“So?” interrupted Jungkook, leaning forward a bit more into the worker’s personal space. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

“Maybe you didn’t ask for it but you sure needed help and I provided it.” retorted the other, now also frowning. “It’s not that difficult to say thank you, you know? It’s called manners.”

Jungkook snorted, an amused smirk making an appearance on his lips. Jeon Jungkook never, ever, needed help nor he would ask for it to anyone, hence no one would ever hear him say a ‘thank you’. It amused Jungkook the other boy was getting so riled up just for that.

“You are so stupid.” laughed Jungkook with a disbelieving shake of his head.

“Get out.” hissed the worker, now frowning and eyes full of rage.

“What?”

“Get out!” said the other loudly, his voice echoing on the empty store. Jungkook blinked surprised and jerked back. “I won’t tolerate a brat like you disrespect me, not after I’ve helped you. Now, get out.”

They stared at each other for two seconds too long. Jungkook was surprised by the other’s outburst, it caught him off guard, obviously not expecting this response from someone that looked like they could barely fight a fly. Jungkook was used at fear and submission when he found himself in situations like this, or in case the other would talk back, he would punch them and resolve things. But with this boy he couldn’t even force himself do that, his fiery eyes rooted Jungkook to the spot. He felt like a little kid being scolded and that made heat bloom on his cheeks, suddenly embarrassed he had acted this carelessly with someone.

That was a first, Jungkook never felt guilty.

“Fuck you.” he spat angrily, slammed the mug of tea on the counter -spilling its content on the surface- and stormed out the store with firm steps and making sure to direct a last furious glance at the worker, who just rolled his eyes.

Jungkook got home with a frown between his eyebrows and a blush on his cheeks, but most of all soaked again by the rain and in embarrassment.

Jungkook  knew he had quite the temper, always angry, always ready to fight, always getting offended by the minor things someone said about him, or by the way someone looked at him. Some labeled him as an asshole, his friend Taehyung the one who said it more than anyone, but Jungkook had learned to live with it. Live with the side glances, the insults, the mistrust of everyone because they never knew what would be his reaction. It was better like this, to not have anyone near him.

Jungkook was a lone wolf, he didn’t need anyone, didn’t want anyone. Why bother allowing someone into your life when they are going to leave you soon?

Jungkook had quite the experience with that. First his dad, not even staying around enough to see him come to this world; later on his mother, her slim fingers leaving marks on his tinny wrists when she dragged him to her dad’s house.

“I love you, but I need some time for myself. You will understand when you grow up.” she had said with a sweet smile that did poor job at calming down her crying son before turning her back at him and leave without a second glance.  And yes, he understood; Jungkook understood that she was kind of a free spirit and a son to take care of would hold her back, and she wasn’t ready for that. Jungkook stopped expecting to see his mother after two nights of hopeless crying on his granddad’s arms, the two of them siting on the cold concrete waiting for her to come back. He did understand, once he grew older, she would never come back to him. When his grandfather, the only source of love and comfort, died when he was fifteen, Jungkook felt truly alone and stopped allowing people into his life.

Jungkook liked to think he didn’t care about anything, that moment his mother walked away from him had broke something within him that couldn’t be repaired. He decided to not care anymore, if something was convenient for him he would go for it until it wouldn’t be anymore, or because he grew tired of it. When someone, or something, decided to leave him he would just accept it. When someone thought he was a bad guy, selfish or an asshole, he would accept it. He just did what he wanted to.

Jungkook didn’t care.

But if Jungkook didn’t care about anything nor anyone, why couldn’t he stop thinking about the worker from the previous night? His fierce eyes full of anger kept on appearing on Jungkook’s mind the whole night, like a nightmare, haunting him for everything bad he had done his entire life -the high doses of alcohol, the sleepless nights at clubs fucking around or getting into fights. The worst of it was that those eyes made him want to apology.

Unbelivable.

Jungkook took another puff of his cigarette -the third one he had lit in the half hour he had been hovering around the grocery store- and observed the worker from the previous night take his position behind the counter as he bid his companion goodbye with a gentle smile.

And Jungkook did just that for the next two hours; walk around the store, emptying his pack of cigarettes and trying to gain the courage to walk through the automatic doors and say something to the worker. If that something was something mean that would get him back for scolding Jungkook the other night, better than not.

Jungkook hovered in front of the store until he finished the lit cigarette, threw it on the concrete and made his way to the door. It was so ridiculous to feel so intimidated by someone like the other male; he was shorter, thinner and, judging by the kind smile he directed at everyone, not really a threat. Jungkook could win against him. The previous night had been just a little tumble.

But then, the doors opened and immediately attracted the worker’s attention, and consequently his eyes fell on Jungkook, who felt again the same burn of embarrassment on his cheeks.

“You again?” mumbled the worker while crossing his arms. The soft smile he was wearing on his mouth dropped that same instant and it was clear on his eyes he was not happy with Jungkook’s presence.

“Yeah, got a problem with that?” spat Jungkook,  squaring his shoulders and walking inside the establishment with decided steps. The other frowned but said nothing, his eyes followed Jungkook carefully as he approached the counter. “I need to get cigarettes.”

The worker sighed and simply pointed his finger to his right, where a bunch of smoking packs where stacked one above the other. Jungkook toke one, his favorite brand, and put it on the counter waiting for the other to charge.

“I need to see your ID.” said the worker with a serious face, the annoying lift of his eyebrow just made Jungkook hate him even more. “I can’t give this to you if you are a minor, sorry.”

“I’m not a minor.” growled Jungkook, his frown deepening. The worker just smirked, a sparkle of amusement crossed his eyes and then Jungkook knew he had given the other free reign again to make fun of him.

“By the childish way you behave I would think you are still in middle school, but I need to see your ID to confirm that.”

Jungkook’s nostrils flared, offended and clearly mad the other had come up with an unexpected retort. Jungkook was used to this, it was easy for him to reduce his opponents to a crying mess. And still, with this one, he was having a hard time.

“You are fucking rude.” he said finally, his face a bit red from embarrassment and by the lame response he had given to the latter.

“Me?” questioned the worker, eyes big in faux innocence. “You are the one who came here as if you owned the damn place, and still I’m the rude one.”

“I was being nice!” countered back Jungkook, his voice rising an octave, though he didn’t know if it was because of embarrassment or indignation. “It was you who insulted me.”

The other raised an eyebrow at him. Jungkook hated it, the gesture always felt like the other was judging him for all his bad decisions in life.

“You are right,” started the worker, uncrossing his arms. His eyes softened a bit and Jungkook caught himself thinking they were quite pretty when they weren’t judging him. “I will apologize for that if you do it first for the way you acted yesterday.”

Jungkook blinked, not expecting the other’s words; the fact that he was so eager to apology. Maybe it wasn’t that bad, to say sorry for something you clearly did wrong. But Jungkook didn’t know how to, or maybe didn’t want to, he wasn’t sure. He was tempted to say ’no, fuck off’ but then he looked up to the other that was staring expectantly at him, and probably sensing the inner struggle Jungkook was dealing with, and before he could think about it twice the words choked out of his throat hoarsely.

“I’m sorry about yesterday.”

Jungkook blinked surprised by his own words, bewildered that they didn’t make him feel any less; he felt more relieved than anything else, and that was even more strange than the soft smile that the other man was giving him.

“I’m sorry for what I said to you, then.” replied the other, snapping Jungkook’s attention back to him.

The soft look the other boy was staring at him with made Jungkook blush and decided to clear his throat to hide his embarrassment.

“It- it’s ok.” he mumbled and then tapped the pack of cigarettes waiting in the counter. “I want this.”

The worker smiled and nodded, charged Jungkook and then observed him fly to the automatic doors.

“Hope to see you again!” he said before the doors closed, and Jungkook looked back at him, at the gentle smile that seemed to be permanent on his lips, and thought that maybe he would like to see him again also.

“Don’t you have anything else to do?”

“I thought you liked my company, hyung.”

Jungkook grinned, fluttering his eyelashes charmingly and chuckled lowly when Jimin rolled his eyes and turned his back to him, jam jars in hand.

“Not when you scare off costumers.” mumbled Jimin stretching his arm out to put a jar of strawberry jam on the highest shelf. Jungkook smirked amused at the groan that Jimin released when he failed to reach, not even after lifting up to his tip toes.

“You should be thanking me-“ started Jungkook as he abandoned the bag of chips he had stolen previously from one of the aisles and stood up from where he was watching the other work to press his chest against Jimin’s back for later press with his fingers the jar into place, “-I’m guarding the place from thieves and violent criminals.”

Jimin turned back to him with a blank expression, and Jungkook smirked at him with a casual shrug of his shoulders.

“You are the thief here.” accused Jimin, using his small hands to push the younger away from him.

“What?” Jungkook put his hand on his heart, faking his hurt over Jimin’s accusation. “I always pay for my cigarettes.”

“Did you pay for those chips?” questioned Jimin, pointing with his finger the abandoned bag on the floor. Jungkook went to grab it from the floor and casually put a handful of chips on his mouth.

“I don’t worry myself with trifle things like those.” shrugged off Jungkook and sat on the floor again as Jimin went back to stacking the rest of jars.

“One of these days my boss is going to kick your ass out of here.” mumbled Jimin, turning back to him and pointing accusatory with a jar of peach jam. “I won’t be able to do anything.”

Jungkook snorted with his mouth full, consequently spiting some crumbs to the floor. “That is if he can catch me first. That old man would have to be really lucky to be able come near enough to touch me.”

“That old man gives me my salary,” countered Jimin swiftly, giving Jungkook another bored stare. “and he’s being really nice and hasn’t really complained about you basically living here.”

Jungkook opted to give another shrug as response and keep on munching on his chips, just watching Jimin do his work.

It was weird how things changed for the past three months, now that Jungkook stopped to think about it. Somehow, Jungkook had found himself frequenting the store more often than not and at some point he stopped acting defensive towards the other male. Maybe because Jimin received him with a smile every time and never seemed to be really offended by what Jungkook said, laughing most of the time at the younger’s stupidity or dorky manners instead of scolding him or call the police like others did often.

It was true he spent most of his time at the store here with Jimin, specially when the latter had the night shift, and hovered around it for hours doing nothing but bug and tease the worker until it was closing time. The reality was that he had nothing more entertaining to do, and Jimin had stopped questioning him eventually.

“Are you gonna stay until I close?” asked Jimin, folding the flaps of the cardboard box now empty of jars. Jungkook hummed his confirmation since he knew Jimin would be mad if he kept talking with his mouth full. “and walk me home?”

“Don’t I always do?”

Jimin chuckled and gave him a nod. “Yeah, my knight in shining armor.”

Jungkook snorted and stood once Jimin started to walk away cardboard boxes in hand, ignoring how those words made his heart flutter happily. The younger walked behind him, as Jimin’s shadow, munching loudly on the chips that were still left on the bag.

Jungkook had started to walk the other home a month ago. It wasn’t only because they had, incredibly, developed a firm friendship, or because Jungkook felt the weird need to be near Jimin as much as possible, but also because the streets at night were dangerous.

They didn’t live in a pretty neighborhood in which the grannies sat at the parks to knit, or the children played on the street with cheerful giggles. There were always sirens going off at the distance and criminals hovering around parks with shiny knives on their pockets waiting for a victim to scare. It was dangerous for Jimin to close the store at five in the morning and walk home. But Jungkook was known in the streets so, even if Jimin and his boss complained a lot about his presence, he knew they appreciated the company and safety.

Jimin had been at gun point before, giving the money of the register machine with shaky hands and mumbled pleas for his life and Jungkook felt horrible the next day when the worker explained it to him with fear still evident on all his body.

“I think I will close early tonight.” Jungkook stood silently near the counter, the bag of chips now empty and crumbled on his hand, and observed as Jimin went to lock the automatic doors.”It’s almost closing time and I don’t think anyone else will come this late.”

They kept quiet as the minutes ticked by, Jimin doing the daily count of the shop’s earnings and Jungkook silently observing him until a knock on the glass automatic doors made them jump in surprise.

There was three young boys at the door, signaling for them to open with wide gestures and mouthing something the two males inside couldn’t hear. Jungkook frowned as Jimin moved to the doors.

“Are you gonna open?” he asked, slightly concerned, but also standing upright in a guarded stance.

“Yeah,”answered Jimin, rotating the key so the doors could slide automatically open again. “officially, it’s not closing time yet.”

“Dude, why were you closed? skipping on working hours.” one of the boys said loudly, the other two stepping inside snickering at their friend’s joke.

“Sorry, thought no none would come this late.” replied Jimin and went to his place behind the counter.

Jungkook observed as the three boys wandered around the aisles, grabbing bags of snacks and candy, loudly chatting and laughing. He used to be as obnoxious as them when he was their age; Until not long ago, he stormed into stores at night with some of his buddies to do the same, but as he took a look at Jimin’s nervous stance Jungkook realized how wrong it was to scare off people like that, and suddenly felt apologetic for all the times he’d done it before.

He remained silent as the three boys dropped all their purchase on the counter so Jimin could start charging them, studying all their movements to prevent any unexpected event. And just when they were ready to give their money to Jimin, Jungkook noticed something poking out of one of the boys’ jacket’s pocket.

“I think you forgot something.” said Jungkook menacingly, sentencing the kids with a cold stare to show he wasn’t kidding around. The three of them looked at him, one of them seemed to panic slightly because of his words, but another one spoke before Jungkook could call him out for it.

“What the fuck are you saying?” he spat loudly before letting out a loud laugh, “Are you that old you starting to have hallucinations?”

The other two laughed along with the idiot that spoke, which just unnerved Jungkook more. Not only where they trying to steal -from Jimin- in front of his eyes, but they also had the guts to disrespect him, and Jungkook hated when kids like these didn’t take him seriously in a poor attempt at appearing more menacing.

“Do you think I’m stupid, kid?” he growled in his face, voice loud and menacing enough for the three of them to gulp in fear. Jungkook’s eyes glinted dangerously, fists curling ready to throw the first punch, but he refused to be that aggressive in front of Jimin. “Empty your pockets or I will make you do it.”

The boy took a step back, sharing a brief eye contact with his two other friends before looking back at Jungkook again. The older lifted his eyebrow, expectantly, daring him to do something else than what he ordered, but his stare was defiant and strong enough to scare off the boy.

“OK, shit- OK.” breathed out the boy before getting out two cans of beer from his pockets. The other two did the same and left the cans on the counter, giving Jimin slightly apologetic eyes.

“Now, get the fuck out of here.” spat Jungkook, giving the boy a soft push on his shoulder. The kid protested, babbling something about still wanting to pay for the snacks but Jungkook gave him another push that had the boy almost falling on his butt. “I said get out. Are you deaf?”

“OK, we are leaving, jezz” argued the boy, lifting his hands up in surrender. The other two were already out of the store, but the one that dared to talk back to Jungkook mumbled a “fucking asshole” before leaving.

Jungkook was tempted to follow them, punch their faces and teach them a lesson they would ever forget but Jimin’s soft voice erased that thought from his mind immediately.

“Thank you.” he said, voice barely audible in the empty store. Jungkook looked at him and frowned at the fear on the other’s face.

“It’s nothing.” he mumbled, walking back to Jimin, wishing to round the counter and embrace him. “Hyung, close up and let’s go home.”

“Yeah, OK.”

Luckily Jimin didn’t live that far from the store, but that night it took them more time than usual to reach his apartment. Jimin had kept quiet the whole time and Jungkook awkwardly walked at his side, hands buried deep in his pockets throwing worried glances at him.

He wasn’t good with words, specially those of comfort, but Jimin was a friend and Jungkook wanted to give him the reassurance that everything was okay. Because frowns didn’t suit Jimin’s face; he looked better with eyes bright like the sun and smiles full of sweetness.

“Thank you for accompanying me.” said Jimin once they reached his building, playing with his keys. He wasn’t even looking up at the younger, and that worried Jungkook even more. Jimin seemed to be really scared and Jungkook was at loss of words.

“You know It’s not a problem, hyung.”

“Yeah. Thank you, for real.” mumbled the older one, finally looking up at him. Jungkook showed a lopsided grin, poor attempt at being reassuring because of how unused he was at smiling, but it seemed to be enough to make Jimin smile back at him, and that eased Jungkook’s heart a little bit.

It was completely unexpected, and Jungkook almost fainted right there as Jimin enveloped his waist with his thin arms, pressed himself closer until their chest were touching and rested his forehead on Jungkook’s shoulder.

Jimin was hugging him.

Jungkook’s first thought was to push him away, afraid the other would hear his rapid beating heart because of their proximity, but then it dawned on him that Jimin was hugging him and it was a chance to touch the other he weirdly didn’t want to miss, so before Jimin would notice Jungkook was standing frozen on his embrace, the taller of the two circled Jimin’s small frame and brought him even closer to his body, burying his nose on Jimin’s hair.

“I’m really glad you were here with me tonight.” said Jimin softly, voice muffled by the fabric of Jungkook’s bomber jacket.

“I’m glad I was there too.” he said stiffly, still awkward because of the situation unfolding. Unexpectedly he didn’t want to pull away; he wished he could hold Jimin for longer and for it to not be weird.

“You are truly my knight in shinning armor.” laughed Jimin, finally pulling back to stare at Jungkook, who breathed out a laugh for lack of anything better to do. He mused that succumbing to his need to lean down to kiss Jimin would have been extremely weird.

“Are you my princess then?” teased Jungkook, lopsided smile perched on his lips. He felt Jimin’s fingers curl into his jacket and, unconsciously, he tightened his arms around his waist in response.

“Shut up,” laughed Jimin, still not letting go of the other, “You fucking idiot.”

Jungkook laughed and let Jimin press himself against him again. They stood like that for a while, hugging and enjoying each other until Jimin yawned so big his jaw almost popped out of its place.

They bid farewell to each other with shy smiles and happy hearts, Jungkook wishing for hours to run by fast so he could see Jimin again.

Jungkook had always prided in being strong, never losing his composure in unexpected situations; he was smart and observant, quick to catch on on what was going on around him so he could act the best according to the problem.

But this time it was so unexpected that he stood there, rooted to the floor with his heart beating almost painfully on his chest.

He reacted two seconds too slow, so when his brain finally told him to recoil and run she had already spotted him.

“Jungkook?” she questioned,  her eyes squinting slightly in confusion before her face contorted into one of happiness, even of relief. “Jungkook! It’s you, right?”

He shook his head, ready to fly but she was quick and before he could blink she had approached and grabbed his arm to prevent him from leaving; it was so unexpected he was still numb, not fast enough to think of an escape. The fact that he was tired from work influenced too; he had a rough morning at the repair shop when of the engines broke and covered his entire being with car oil.

“Don’t you recognize me?” she asked, hopeful eyes staring up at him. He gulped, eyes darting away from hers, wishing his body would finally react so he could get away from this situation.

Of course he recognized her; she had the same face, just with the bonus of some wrinkles at the corner of her eyes and instead of sporting a bright red her hair was black, just like his.

“Jungkook, I’m-“

“I know.” he cut her with a deep frown. He knew who she was, but it angered him she thought she could appear out of nowhere after so many years and expect him to smile like nothing. “I know who you are.”

“Ah, I’m glad.” she sighed, smile still on her lips. “I thought for a moment you had forgotten me.”

“I did.” he spat, finally musing the courage to free his arm from her grip. She frowned in confusion but before she could say anything he kept talking. “I did until you appeared-“

“Jungkook, dear-“

“Don’t.” he spat furiously through gritted teeth. “Don’t you dare call me sweet names.”

“I’m here to talk, Jungkook.” she tried to explain, her smile now gone to be replaced with a worried frown. He snorted, anger sprouting to live.

“How did you find me anyways.” he asked, eyes swelling up with unwanted tears. He sniffled loudly, furiously attempting to contain the urge to cry; they were tears of anger, he knew, of frustration, but he refused to show weakness in front of her, let her know she somehow was able to reduce him into a crying child because he missed his mom.

“I went to your grandpa’s house and asked the neighbors about you when they told me he died awhile ago.” she mumbled, eyes going down with a brief sparkle of sadness. “you should have told me he-“

“How?” he interrupted her again, voice loud enough to attract people’s attention. They were standing at the street, just outside Jungkook’s apartment building and the grannies that always fused over Jungkook with fondness and freshly-done cupcakes were now looking at the scene with worried eyes. “How was I supposed to tell you when you left with nothing much of a farewell to your only son twenty years ago.”

“Jungkook- I— I’m sorry-“

“I don’t fucking care how sorry you are.” he spat furiously, wiping away the angry tear that slipped from his eye. She took a step back, obviously taken aback by Jungkook’s display of anger, which Jungkook internally rejoiced in; she needed to know how badly she had hurt him. “I don’t need you now, I don’t want you here. You aren’t my mother.”

“Jungkook-“

“No - fuck off” he almost screamed in her face, and then, without giving her another glance, turned around, ignoring the repeated call of his name.

“I think you should tone it down boy.”

“Are you my dad?” slurred Jungkook, giving Taehyung a side glance that he hoped was charged with hatred -as much as his half closed eyes could be able to produce.

Taehyung snorted while looking at him, and Jungkook had to turn his head away because even in his drunken state he could see the worry on his friends eyes.

“You’ve been acting weird,” pouted Taehyung instead of prodding Jungkook more about his obvious inner struggle, “First you barely go out with us anymore at night and now you suddenly appear out of nowhere and drink your brains out. Is there something you wanna tell me?”

Jungkook grunted in response, gulping down another tequila shot before slamming the glass on the counter, the hot liquid burning down his throat in a rather pleasant way. He knew the hangover would be horrible the next day -tequila had terrible effects on him-, but at least it was numbing his thoughts enough to forget the pleading eyes of his mother.

“She said sorry.” mumbled Jungkook, spiting the words with disgust, “she thinks she can appear suddenly and everything will be fucking rainbows and unicorns because she says she’s sorry-“

“Who?” asked Taehyung, leaning closer to Jungkook to take away the shot glass the bartender had refilled.

“Mom.” replied Jungkook dryly as his shoulders sagged tiredly. He heard his friend suck in a breath, didn’t need to turn to look at him to see the surprise on his face. Taehyung was aware of Jungkook’s story and also knew parents’ topic wasn’t welcomed in a conversation. He had learned it the hard way when they were still teens.

“This is fucked up.” mumbled Taehyung for the lack of anything better to say. Jungkook nodded clumsily, his senses numbing even more as alcohol was consuming his whole body; but he was still able to talk and think, so he needed more.

He reached for the glass Taehyung had took from him but his friend took it away from his fingers, which made Jungkook stare at him furiously.

“What the fuck.”

“I think you’ve drank enough-“

“Aren’t you my friend?” slurred Jungkook, swaying back when he stood from the stool, fists clenched ready to punch Taehyung in the face.

“Because I’m your friend I’m not letting you drink more.”

“Fucking hate ya’.” mumbled Jungkook, feebly punching Taehyung’s shoulder. His friend tried to hold him still, but Jungkook snapped his arm away from him and turned to the door of the bar, “‘m leaving, I don’t need you acting like my dad tonight. Fuck you-“

“Dude, come on-“ tried Taehyung, standing behind, “- let’s find a pretty girl you can hook up with to destress a bit-“

“Fuck off!” he screamed, swatting away the hand Taehyung had put on his shoulder. Without another word he marched towards the door, troubled for a second when he couldn’t find the knob to open it.

The fresh air of the night helped him sober slightly. He still wobbled on his legs, though, not following a straight line and without a particular direction. He didn’t know where he was going but being honest, he didn’t care much.

He felt bad for what had happened early that afternoon. He acted on impulse and unconsciously spilled all his resentment on her; but then, even if she deserved it he had been feeling bad about it the whole afternoon. That was what had confused him even more— the guilt.

He wouldn’t have felt bad four months ago, his drunken brain reasoned, but spending so much time with Jimin had made him softer, more comfortable in feeling other things than hatred or simply not feeling anything at all. It was Jimin’s fault his mother’s visit had affected him so much.

With that in mind he decided to pay Jimin a visit, tell him it was his fault. Yeah, that sounded good.

Somehow he remembered Jimin wasn’t on the store that night, one of the few nights he had free during the week, so he automatically directed his steps towards the other’s apartment, climbing clumsily up the stairs of the building that on any other night he would have jumped two at a time.

He knocked on the door roughly with his fist, then slapped on it until Jimin opened the door, hair disheveled and eyes half closed.

“Jungkook?” he asked confused, rubbing with a fist the crumbs on his eyes. Cute, Jungkook thought, but he reminded himself he was there for a reason and Jimin needed to know how of an emotional mess he had made of Jungkook, he couldn’t allow any distractions- regardless of how cute Jimin was.

“It’s your fault.” said Jungkook, pointing an accusatory finger at Jimin’s chest, whose eyes opened wide in confusion, “She came back, and I felt bad and it’s your fault.”

“OK?” said Jimin carefully, even more confused after the other’s reasoning, “Do you wanna come in?”

“No-“ refused Jungkook loudly, jabbing another finger at Jimin’s chest, “-I’m angry at you.”

Jimin grabbed his wrist softly, tiny fingers barely enveloping fully Jungkook’s forearm. Jungkook marveled at it, watching with wide eyes how cute Jimin’s sturdy and slightly tanned fingers contrasted with the colors inked on his skin. Shit, he was getting distracted.

“That’s why you should come inside,” explained Jimin, eyebrows furrowed in slight concern and bottom lip jutted out in a pout, “I don’t want you to be angry at me.”

Jungkook wasn’t really sure how the other had managed to convince him, but five minutes later he found himself sat on Jimin’s couch with a glass of water on his hands, eyes wide observing everything around him. He reasoned it had a lot to do with Jimin’s doe and sparkly eyes and that giant pout that could melt even the coldest heart.

“Drink that up,” said Jimin coming from the kitchen with a glass of milk on his own hands, “your hangover will be horrible otherwise.”

Jungkook obeyed, some water dribbling down his chin onto his tee from how quickly he gulped the contents down, and ignoring Jimin’s giggle he whipped his face a second after.

“Now you gonna tell me why are you so angry at me?” asked Jimin, sitting cross-legged on the sofa facing Jungkook’s side, hands cupping his glass carefully as to not spill its content.

“Because you make me feel things.” confessed Jungkook blatantly, ignoring those words could have a double meaning.

“Feel… things?”

“Yeah,” he affirmed, adding a firm nod to support his statement. “I used to not care and because of you I do care a lot about things now.”

“That’s…. Is that a bad thing?” questioned Jimin then, sensing this was more serious than what he expected initially.

“It is!” exclaimed Jungkook, turning his body to the side so he was facing the other aswell. “I shouldn’t feel bad for her, you know?” he kept babbling with a sudden knot on his throat, “she abandoned me, she deserves what I said to her but now I - I now feel bad - and it’s your fault.”

There was a moment of silence, complete and deafening silence; not even a sound could be heard from the street, it seemed as if the world hit pause for a second. And the next one he had Jimin’s arms around his shoulders pressing him down until his head collided with Jimin’s chest, noticing then he had started crying.

“Jungkook, I’m sorry.” mumbled Jimin, his fingers cradling his hair softly. “I don’t know what to say—“

“It’s not really your fault,”choked out Jungkook, enveloping his arms around Jimin’s small frame. “it’s just- I didn’t expect it.”

“Wanna tell me what happened exactly?” asked Jimin, his fingers scratching softly Jungkook’s scalp. It was relaxing, but Jungkook found himself crying a bit more as memories came rushing to his mind; how hard he had cried when she left, how alone he felt the first few nights until his grandpa had helped him go through the pain and confusion, being his only source of comfort before he was forced to leave also.

“She- she left me -she simply abandoned me with grandpa when I was just a kid.” he explained clumsily, voice rough from the crying and fingers digging into Jimin’s over-sized tee. “and she came out of nowhere with an excuse of an apology thinking it will be as simple as that.”

Jimin seemed to grasp enough of the story through Jungkook’s drunken words, because he tightened his arms around the younger, pressing him more into his chest before burying his nose on Jungkook’s hair.

“When grandpa died I was alone, completely alone— I had no one and I just—” he babbled out, more tears coming out his eyes,”— she thinks she can say sorry and that I will forgive her as easily… I don’t want her in my life-“

“Then don’t accept her.” interrupted Jimin. Jungkook leaned away, surprised by his words; he knew Jimin was kind and caring, Jungkook reasoned he would be forgiving his mother were he in Jungkook’s case, so what he had just said caught Jungkook off guard.

“What?” he asked confused, sniffling harshly. Jimin gave him a fond smile before explaining himself.

“I mean, she left you behind and barely said goodbye nor why she was leaving,” he started with, his gentle fingers still on Jungkook’s hair, “That’s not how you treat your own kid, so you have the right to not forgive her.”

“I thought you would said I should— that is what you would do.”

“Not it you don’t want to.” he continued, smile still on his lips. Jungkook wasn’t sure what the other was smiling about, but the sight of it was enough to tamer down his crying. “she should have explained herself back then, you would have understood- maybe would get angry anyways, but you would have understood why she left and you wouldn’t have gotten angrier by the day for so many years. Maybe, by now, you would have forgiven her already ”

“I — Yeah….” mumbled Jungkook bewildered, blinking as Jimin’s words sunk in. He was still tipsy, so it took him a while to really comprehend that Jimin was right. He was a child when she left, but if she just have told him she wasn’t feeling capable of raising him, or whatever her reason was, he would have understood. He would have let it heal on its own instead of spending all his childhood wondering what he had done wrong and hating her to the point it forbid him of feeling anything else. Even if he had said he didn’t care anymore back then, deep inside him that wound had been still bleeding without him noticing and converted his pain into hatred to world.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, fixing his eyes on Jimin hoping it would convey how sincere he was. “I— I should have noticed I was still hurting and try to solve it instead of being so angry at everything and everyone.”

“You are a good kid, even if you don’t see it for yourself.” spoke Jimin softly, his smile never faltering. Jungkook noticed how Jimin’s smile was enough to ease his hurting heart. “On a side note, I think it would be good to talk to her, listen to her reasons but if you don’t want to forgive her for the pain she caused it’s understandable— but you don’t have to. Do it when you are ready.”

They stared at each other intently, Jimin used his thumb to wipe away Jungkook’s tears, touch tender and eyes soft. Jungkook felt overwhelmed for a second, letting himself drown on the other’s eyes that were so full of understanding and care. Jimin’s eyes were so pretty, sparkly, as if they held the whole world for only Jungkook to see, and they staring right back at him -only him; he felt rooted to the place, suddenly everything bad forgotten, there was no pain, no hate. There was nothing but peace, the tranquil beating of his own heart, his soothing breathing - maybe a bit of love.

Without thinking he leaned forward, closing the small space between his faces until their lips met. Jimin’s breath hitched against his lips, his fingers curling on Jungook’s nape.

It was a short kiss, but enough to leave Jungkook’s lips itching for more. He leaned in again to give Jimin’s lips an open-mouthed kiss this time, nipping softly the other’s bottom lip before separating again.

“Jungkook…” whispered Jimin, pushing him away slightly with a hand on his chest when Jungkook tried for another kiss, his other hand still curled around the back of his neck, “I don’t think we— you are drunk.”

“I want you, hyung,” he blurted out, fighting easily against Jimin’s weak push to press the tip of their noses together, dragging his body forward so he could be closer to him, “I want you so bad.”

Jimin breathed in shakily, half-lidded eyes fixed on Junkook’s lips into what Jungkook interpreted a silent plea for more, so he tilted his head and captured Jimin’s lips with his own again without a single bit of hesitation. Jimin seemed more eager this time aswell, opening his mouth to allow Jungkook lick into it with ease, both groaning in pleasure when their tongues met.

It was rushed, a bit sloppy, and maybe Jungkook was still too drunk to be completely aware of what he was doing, but as Jmin’s fingers fisted his hair with a rough pull and Jungkook’s hand fell on the other’s thigh there was nothing Jungkook would change about this moment.

It got heated up quickly, Jungkook leaning forward more and more until Jimin was laid down on the sofa with the younger between his legs and hovering over him, mouth devouring his complete being passionately. Jimin started releasing soft mewls of pleasure, as if he had difficulties keeping up with Jungkook’s path but not wanting to stop.

“Jungkook—“ moaned Jimin when the younger started rotating his hips down onto Jimin’s hardening bulge. Jungkook’s mouth moved down the other’s neck, nibbling softly and licking all the skin he could find, rejoicing in the little sounds of pleasure that kept falling from Jimin’s abused lips.

The younger kept the friction going for a bit despite it had started to hurt, his member too hard and sensitive, but Jimin kept clinging onto him, fingertips digging into the small of Jungkook’s back to press him closer, the other tugging at his hair; not to mention the sounds he kept releasing, awakening some groans of pleasure from Jungkook.

“Hyung— Jimin,” he groaned on the other’s neck, hot breath moisturizing Jimin’s skin as he panted against it, “tell me I can— please, let me fuck you.”

Jimin threw his head back, giving Jungkook unspoken permission to suck on his neck as his fingers dug more into Jungkook’s clothes.

“I don’t— I’ve never done it before.” confessed Jimin, voice rough and sounding undone. Jungkook groaned at the sound, pleased he had reduced Jimin into a mess so quickly.

“Shit,” moaned Jungkook, as his hips stuttered forward seeking for more, but his foggy brain reminded him of what Jimin had just said, so he slowed down and Jimin whined at the lost friction. “Then you don’t— we don’t have to-“

“I want to,” confessed Jimin, finally opening his eyes to stare back at him, eyes drowned in a mix of lust and fear. “I want to do this with you, I’ve wanted for long. I just— I don’t want this to mean nothing to you.”

Jungkook studied Jimin’s expression and the seriousness of his words, suddenly very aware of his own feelings. He didn’t want this to mean nothing either, Jimin was too precious in his life to fuck up that much. He wanted all of Jimin; his lips and their kissed, his tender smiles, his short fingers interlacing with his slender ones. He wanted everything Jimin had to offer.

“All of you—“ he slurred, pestering wet kisses all over the other’s face until he found his lips again, “I want all of you forever.”

Jimin embraced him by his shoulders, pressing him down impossibly closer. There wasn’t even a tiny bit of space between them, except for their clothes. Jungkook had never wished so hard for clothes to vanish into nothingness so quickly.

With shaky fingers and clumsy movements they got rid of their clothes and once they were utterly naked Jungkook stopped to marvel in the sight that was Park Jimin naked, sprawled under him with flushed cheeks and bitting on his bottom lip seductively, awaiting for Jungkook’s next move.

“You are— You are so hot.” mumbled Jimin shyly, his short fingers tracing delicately the ink on Jungkook’s chest, swirls and curls and vibrant colors that transformed into a beautiful rose. Jungkook let him, enjoying the feel of those sweet fingers on his skin. It was suddenly so intimate, the delicacy in which Jimin touched him made Jungkook feel safe and protected, not judged by his appearance; Jimin was showing him respect and love for how he was.

Jungkook leaned forward to capture the other’s lips in a rough kiss, his dick twitching when he prodded at Jimin’s entrance with a dry finger just to tease, making the other’s eyes flutter closed in pleasure, navel going down as he sucked in a deep breath. At this rate Jungkook wasn’t going to last long.

“Do you have lube?” asked Jungkook, running out of patience as his dick started to leak the more he played with Jimin’s ring of muscle.

“N—no but I have… coconut oil in the bathroom,” replied Jimin, flushing deeply red as the words spilled from his mouth.

“Coconut oil?” questioned Jungkook through slurry words, his mind still a bit foggy from the alcohol he had consumed previously and all the emotions swimming freely inside him, “Isn’t that for your skin or shit like that?”

“Well, yeah?” spluttered Jimin, blushing another shade darker the more he had to explain to a drunken Jungkook, “I looked it up on the internet….it can be used with care if it’s 100% natural coconut oil— shit, this is so embarrassing.” he added, covering his face with both his hands.

“You bought it with that purpose?” asked Jungkook mischievously, imagining a red-faced Jimin ordering coconut oil on the internet.

“No! It was meant for my face!” he exclaimed, uncovering his face to glare at Jungkook, who just smirked in response, “But, well, I— I kinda, yeah….” he admitted before covering his face again.

“You are so cute,” admitted Jungkook, prying Jimin’s hands away from his face so he could lean in for another kiss. Jimin groaned in a childish protest for his words, but melted against his mouth the second after as Jungkook nipped at his bottom lip to pull it open to deepen the kiss. “Wait here, gonna go for it.”

On his way to the bathroom he tripped with their discarded clothes, almost planting his face on the floor, but luckily for him the doorframe was at a reach of a hand, and that saved the little remains of ego he still had undamaged. Though he would have totally let himself fall if that meant Jimin would giggle as cutely as he did when he saw him trip.

The oil was fairly easy to find, the container was innocently resting atop the sink almost as if it was put there beforehand. He smiled to himself, arousal pooling on his lower half as he imagined Jimin trying to finger himself with this.

He found Jimin exactly how he had left him, sprawled on the coach, skin glistening with the faintest hint of sweat and flushed to the ears.

“You are so fucking beautiful.” groaned Jungkook, throwing himself forward in between Jimin’s legs for another kiss. Jimin welcomed him with an open mouth and eager hands that first just pressed him closer for later dug into his skin.

They kept kissing for awhile, panting into each other’s mouth hotly as they played with their tongues, their hips moving in synch with more delicious friction now that their leaking cocks lubricated them enough to make the slide delightful until the thud of something falling to the floor snapped Jungkook out of it.

He fished blindly for the coconut oil container as he sucked harshly on Jimin���s neck, leaving a trail of spit down to his collarbones, though Jimin didn’t seem to mind much by the way he arched himself more into the touch. He opened the lid, the sweet smell of the oil invading the room, and took a bit with two fingers. It was a bit a thick, and Jungkook doubted for a second it could really be used as lube, but then it started to melt on his fingers the more he played with it and that convinced him enough to try. He teased Jimin’s entrance with a slicked up finger, feeding off Jimin’s faint whimper that fell from his parted mouth the more he pressed the finger inside.

Jimin was nervous, Jungkook could tell, and consequently was putting restraint against Jungkook’s finger by clenching his ass at the feel of something on it.

“Relax,” mumbled Jungkook against Jimin’s collarbone, “otherwise it will hurt like hell.”

“I- I know,” said Jimin, voice restrained and rough. Jungkook had never heard such sound coming from the other’s throat; Jimin’s voice always sounded sweet despite the deepness of it, and Jungkook was enjoying the switch. “I’ve fingered myself before, it’s just— I’m nervous because it’s you.”

Jungkook looked up, taking in Jimin’s troubled face, hating the frown settled between his brows. He leaned forward, nipped at Jimin’s bottom lip and pressed his finger inside half-way, swallowing with his own lips Jimin’s little mewl.

“I will make you feel good.” promised Jungkook, pecking Jimin’s lips. The other responded with a high pitched whine as Jungkook prodded with his finger. He had to admit the oil was making the slide easy and its sweet smell made him salivate, giving him the urge to taste it. He discarded the idea, though Jimin would probably enjoy it a lot, but Jungkook was a bit too desperate to keep up with the teasing; there would be other chances for that.

It took all his willpower to be patient, his dick was hard between his legs and the little sounds Jimin kept releasing as Jungkook added more fingers and more pressure just fueled the fire. It was messy and sloppy, but he managed to loosen up Jimin’s muscles to the point the other could only gasp and cling onto him desperate for more, and Jungkook took pride in the fact he was managing to make Jimin’s first time so pleasurable.

“I think— I think I can handle it Jung—“ stuttered Jimin between little gasps of pleasure because of Jungkook’s quick pace. The younger looked up at him, studying his face, his fingers fucking into the other’s hole with fast moves that elicited loud squelching sounds.

“You think so?” he asked just to make sure because it was evident Jimin was ready for something bigger taking in consideration his ass kept clenching every time his fingers went in deeper.

“Yes, please—“

“Ok, shit.” mumbled Jungkook, finally pulling out his fingers. He admired the way Jimin’s ass clenched around nothing, the boy whimpering at the immediate emptiness so the younger quickly repositioned himself better between his parted legs, squeezing those pretty and tanned thighs to have support. “Ok, I’m going. Ready?”

“Yes, please— hurry—“ spat Jimin impatiently, grabby hands on Jungkook’s shoulders. Jungkook chuckled, amused by his evident impatience despite the nervousness that surrounded both of them.

He lubed himself quickly and pushed in slowly, delicately, just the enough pressure for the tip to get in to allow Jimin get used to the stretch. It was different from just three fingers and Jungkook didn’t want to hurt him.

Jimin threw his head back, eyes big like owl staring up at the ceiling as his fingers squeezed Jungkook’s bulging biceps to the point Jungkook felt his nails dig into the skin - surely leaving some marks that would be visible even on his inked skin and that, hopefully, wouldn’t disappear in a couple of days.

Jungkook pressed in a bit more, still slowly but with more confident as Jimin released a tiny sound that he hoped was of pleasure, and kept on going until he was balls deep inside him.

“You— are you ok hyung?” managed to ask Jungkook through gritted teeth; the pressure was too much, his dick surrounded by Jimin’s slick walls and warmth was too much. He wasn’t sure he would last for too long, he just hoped to make it good for Jimin.

“Yeah, just— just give me a second.” Jimin groaned, still clinging onto the other. Jungkook didn’t move, just stood there blinking down at the other waiting for the signal to go. He studied Jimin’s features, the delicate slope of his nose, those warm brown eyes swarmed with lust and with a little sparkle of something more as they stared right back at him. Jungkook’s heart fluttered in happiness and what he thought was love.

Yeah, it definitely it was love.

“Move.” whispered Jimin, hooking up his ankles at the small of Jungkook’s back, his thighs embracing his torso. Jungkook nodded, still in awe by that little moment they had, and rolled his hips languidly eliciting a beautiful gasp from Jimin’s mouth.

Jungkook kept it slow and fluid the first minutes, still scared he could hurt Jimin by moving too fast, but then Jimin pressed him closer with his legs and mumbled a breathy faster against his lips. And Jungkook lost it.

With deep and loud groans he moved his hips quick, kinda messily and losing his rhythm more times than not; it made him travel some years back to when he was still a teenager and tried to not come the moment he put his dick in someone, humping onto them with quick an short thrusts. Jimin managed to do that to him, reduce him to an hormonal and moaning mess. Unbelievable.

But Jimin seemed to be enjoying himself, with his head thrown back, his fingers digging painfully onto Jungkook’s arms and his legs limp at his side, making them bounce with the rhythm of Jungkook’s thrusts.  Jungkook took Jimin’s hard dick with a hand, pumping it fast and hard in tandem with his thrusts. Or so he thought, he was still drunk -not sure if from the alcohol or from Jimin- so his senses were dumb and his brain foggy, everything around him felt like a dream. Jimin on his arms, moaning of pleasure felt like a dream. Jungkook hoped we was really making it good for him.

He felt his muscles tense, his climax approaching too soon for his liking but he was also desperate for release at this point so he quickened his pace on both his hand and hips until he came with an embarrassing high pitched moan, hips stuttering forward and his body falling completely on the other.

He remained stoic for a couple of seconds, breathing hard on Jimin’s neck when the realization that Jimin hadn’t come yet hit him. He reached for the other’s lips with his own, giving Jimin a rough and open mouthed kiss as his hand clenched around his dick and started pumping again, bringing out beautiful groans from Jimin’s throat, thirstily swallowing them all with his mouth. Jimin bucked his hips up, thrusting onto his hand as his hole clenched around Jungkook’s dick, seeking for release that came quickly, splashing the younger’s chest with his come. It was beautiful, Jungkook thought, the way his swollen lips parted and his eyes clenched shut, breathy moan echoing through the silent room.

Jungkook decided this was a sight he wanted all for himself for the rest of his life.

They remained like that for a while, breathing onto each other, bodies pressed tightly and just feeling. Jungkook didn’t mind at all the stickiness between their chests, nor the dampness of their sweaty skin; everything was perfect.

He wasn’t sure how or when he stood up from the sofa to go fetch a towel to clean themselves, but he somehow managed to, taking away all the mess from Jimin’s perfect body with delicate fingers and feather-like kisses.

They tried to cuddle for a while on Jimin’s sofa bed, after the older one explained to him how to open it to get the mattress out, but Jungkook was so tired it didn’t last for long, his heavy eyelids closing on its own as his lips curled up in a satisfied smile.

Jungkook woke up with a painfully throbbing head. He immediately rested the palm of his hand against his forehead, weakly trying to convey the pain away by adding a bit of pressure. He failed, though, his sweaty palm just disgusted him more, adding discomfort to his heated body.

“Fucking shit,” he cursed childishly, eyes opening in surprise when a body pressed closer to his and hot breath hit his collarbones as response. A look to Jimin’s sleeping form served to make him remember the events of the previous night and a sudden rush of embarrassment made his chest and neck flush up to the tip of his ears.

He panicked, because not only had he cried in front of the older one, spilling his secrets and worries, but also managed to confess his feelings. And Jungkook had never cried in front of anyone except for his grandfather, and that had been ages ago.

But his fear dissipated as quickly as it came when, after pondering about the situation for another two seconds, felt less burdened; sure his head hurt like hell, but his heart felt at peace, his mind cleared. Something he didn’t recall feeling ever before, and everything thanks to the night spent with Jimin.

He took another glance to the sleeping boy beside him, curled up towards Jungkook seeking for warmth, his hands fisted, one of them on Jungkook’s tattooed chest next to his squished cheek. A fond smile creeped its way up on his lips as his heart swelled with contentment. This was really unexpected coming from him since never had he felt something like this for anyone; he felt secure and protected with Jimin, like he could let himself get loose and open up to him without being judged. It was refreshing and pleasant and sure something he wished would remain for a long time. That was the reason he had started hanging out with Jimin at first as well, because the older one gave Jungkook the sense of freedom instead of the urge to prove himself constantly.

He decided to let Jimin sleep a bit more, and despite being really comfortable in their current position, he scurried away carefully from under Jimin’s body, fishing his clothes to put on.

He was hungry, and assumed Jimin would too once he woke up, so he grabbed Jimin’s keys once he had freshened in the bathroom and pecked Jimin’s forehead, and tiptoed his way out to go seek for some baked goods.

It took him more time than expected, no bakeries were near where Jimin lived and the one most close to his apartment became not an option when the old man at the counter frowned at him when he stopped at the door to inspect the food, obviously taken aback by Jungkook’s tattooed arms and pierced ears.

On other days, he would have come inside and make an scene, call out the dude for his rude attitude and leave with hands full of free food, but he was in a good mood and Jimin wouldn’t be happy to know he had profusely scared someone just because he felt offended. So he recoiled and kept walking until he found another one that wouldn’t say anything, the lady behind the counter probably used at having people with his looks given the neighborhood they lived in.

He walked back to Jimin’s apartment with a slight bounce on his steps, whistling softly a tune he didn’t know where he had listened to before and no trace of a headache. He felt good, and the world seemed less dull than the previous day. He thought that if any of his buddies saw him they would laugh at him once they would recover from the sight of Jungkook smiling from ear to ear with a genuine smile. But then, he thought he couldn’t care less when the thought of a sleepy Jimin greeting him at his apartment came to his mind. Fuck his image.

He kept whistling happily while he searched for the right key to open the door with one hand, the other holding the bag of freshly-made sweet buns that had his mouth salivating, anticipating Jimin’s sleepy face breaking into one of his beautiful smiles at the sight of them; maybe Jungkook would be able to steal a couple of kisses from him.

He came face to face with a freshly-showered Jimin, damp hair pointing everywhere and clothes two sizes too big on him. Jungkook smiled to himself, taking in the adorable sight in front of him until he spared a look at Jimin’s face.

He seemed surprised, eyes wide fixed on Jungkook who still stood by the door, mouth slightly ajar.

“What?” asked Jungkook, suddenly feeling uneasy at the other’s face. “Is something wrong?”

“I thought— why are you here?” stuttered Jimin, blinking rapidly. Jungkook’s heart sunk to his stomach as sudden panic fell on him. Why was Jimin surprised? Was Jimin not happy to see him? Had jungkook misinterpreted everything? Maybe Jimin hadn’t expected Jungkook to stay; Despite he had said he had wanted this for long, Jimin never said he wanted to repeat.

“I can leave if you want.” answered Jungkook sounding really defensive and forcing himself to not cry. Maybe he had been too positive, too quick on thinking the world was starting to smile at him; maybe the past night with Jimin had just been a fling for him and nothing else; maybe Jungkook had imagined that spark of love and fondness on his eyes. If that was the case, he wouldn’t let Jimin see him cry again, see he had hurt him.

“Wha— no! I don’t—“ said Jimin, taking a step forward as he moved his hands quickly. He seemed troubled, not sure how to react if his awkward stance near the bathroom’s door was anything to go by. “I was just surprised, I thought you left.”

“Well, I did,” mumbled Jungkook, eyes going down to the bag on his hands when holding Jimin’s stare became too much, heart hammering quickly against his ribcage. “I was hungry and thought you would like some sweets for breakfast.”

“Break— breakfast—” stuttered Jimin, voice sounding a bit incredulous under the anxiety that graced the question, “shit— breakfast?”

“Uh…Yes?” answered unsure Jungkook, confusion leveling up at the other’s growing smile. He blinked surprised when Jimin’s laugh broke the silence, observing as Jimin lifted his hands to drag over his face and that muffled a loud groan before he dropped them at the side and stared back at him.

“Shit, Jungkook— I hate you so much,” he said still laughing. Jungkook didn’t have time to react to that because the next second his arms were full of Jimin lifting on his tiptoes to try to kiss him, the citrusy smell of his shampoo invading Jungkook’s senses. He complied, thought, he let Jimin kiss him and hug his neck with both his arms tightly as his brain still tried to process what the fuck had just happened.

“I thought you left and wouldn’t come back.” explained Jimin against his lips before releasing a shaking breath, his eyes swelling up with tears despite the smile on his lips.

“What? no, hyung I wouldn’t—“ Jungkook tried to explain clumsily. He had so much to say, he had practiced on his way back to Jimin’s apartment the words he wanted to use to confess to the other in a less drunk-like manner, but now he couldn’t find the  proper words to convey his feelings. “I would never do that to you.”

Jimin nodded, sniffling loudly before hugging the younger tighter and burying his face on Jungkook’s neck. Jungkook had to embrace him tightly as Jimin dropped all his weight on him, seemingly really relieved to have the younger on his arms again.

“I was cursing at you so bad five minutes ago,” said Jimin, mirth gracing his tone before leaving a soft peck under Jungkook’s ear, “I’ve never said such awful words in my entire life. You have changed me Jeon Jungkook.”

Jungkook laughed as well, amused at the other’s words; only if Jimin knew how much he had changed Jungkook as well.

“I’m sorry Jimin,” he apologized sincerely, breathing in Jimin’s sweet scent. “I truly am.”

“I know silly,” said Jimin, leaning away to stare at him. Jungkook smiled at Jimin’s face, lacking annoyance or hurt despite his reddened eyes; he looked happy and relieved, a look Jungkook wanted to see on his face everyday. “I’m sorry for doubting you, for thinking you would leave… I didn’t see you and I panicked. It hurt to think that what happened last night meant nothing to you after all.”

Jungkook had wanted to surprise the other with breakfast and sweet kisses but instead Jimin woke up to an empty bed and emptier apartment and nothing to warn him about the younger’s whereabouts; Jungkook couldn’t blame him for thinking the worst of the situation. Actually, were Jimin someone else, Jungkook would have left without any remorse.

“It’s ok,” reassured Jungkook leaning in for a quick kiss, not even fighting back the urge of it. Why would he? It felt too good to have Jimin at his reach whenever he desired, it would be stupid of him to refrain himself when kissing Jimin was way more pleasant. “I would have thought same to be honest. But I’m here now and I’m planing to stay for as long as you want me to.”

“That’s good to hear, because I’m not letting you go anywhere.” replied Jimin, bumping their noses together before tilting his head to the side to seal their lips with another kiss. This time it lasted longer as Jungkook pressed Jimin firmly against him when the other tried to lean away; he wanted to put into that kiss his feelings, hoping Jimin would understand how much he felt towards him. And by the way Jimin melted against him, Jungkook knew he had understood.

Junkook was planing to stay forever and Jimin was accepting him with open arms.

[princessnela-blog]

Level upper - rock&roll EASA workshop

31.10. 2018

Due to collision and coincidance of same name - LEVEL UP by two workshop proposals chosen for RE:EASA 2018 was one of them renamed to Level Upper to avoid the confusion. 

Confusion still remains till nowadays. I think forever. 

_Poster for our tutor proposal together with Michal Kovac

_This is the initial application for RE:EASA 2018 in Rijeka, Croatia. 

EASA TUTOR APPLICATION

Ok. So, for me being a tutor is much more complex role in participation on EASA than just to think of site-specific task to get done. Since I don’t care much how things run all around me and I always find my way to be happy,I d like to share that among the participants and that’s for me the most important thing I want to leave behind.  

Before I had an actual idea of workshop I imagined,how I want it to end. How I want people to leave from EASA. What is there for them to realize. How to connect with other people and develop trust. Not to be afraid to express their opinions, not to be afraid of failing, not to be afraid at all. It’s the only thing I can show them, the only thing I think I m good at and prove that u don’t need to be genius, if your friend is a genius. Showing that your weak side is also a good side and cooperate, listen to yourself and help each other.

I would like people to feel the life in the city, not city as a structure, to understand that it looks certain way because people living there are certain way. I don’t want to show off and built one of a kind spectacular attraction, but slowly get under the skin of identity. If the impact we leave behind is just within EASA, I will be super happy, but if we will be able to impact the Rijeka itself I m one more step closer to my happy death.

Your only real job was to motivate me and you were successful.

FORMING PROCESS

At first I will introduce you with my personal problems I find in myself, in EASA itself, in Rijeka city and in the world. Didn’t figure out universe, yet.

MY PROBLEM

- no special knowledge about history, theory nor construction in architecture. /haha/

EASA PROBLEM

-      enclosed workshops with almost no interaction with surrounding /city/, people /EASA or locals/

-      lack of cooperation with other workshops sometimes not even knowing that workshop like that exists

-      not often connected theory and practice within workshop and get done final product made by ultimate self

-      too much structure introduced to new participants /free their mind a bit to not be scared of f.e. changing the workshop/

-      tutor-participant deeper connection

RIJEKA PROBLEM

-      lots of them but for me its definitely accessibility and connection

-      access uphill, access to the sea, access to the river, shortcuts function, trespassing, distinguish private from public,

WORLD PROBLEM

-      waste production

-      people thinking as individuals

PROBLEM OF UNIVERSE

-      ??

SOLVING the PROBLEMS in theory:

ME AS A TUTOR

I will try to base my whole workshop on collaboration with lets call it “external tutors”. My idea is very simple and very open. First of all I talked about this event with a lots of friends of mine. They don’t really have time for full EASA dose, but they are interested in coming for few days and bring some fresh ideas, help us and most importantly get to know EASA more (my sneaky intentions are for them to experience EASA for a bit,so they will help us with EASA Slovakia, if there is going to be some kind of miracle happening). Lots of them showed huge interest in what we are doing and want to get to know it better. The best part is that even if they don’t come nothing really happens.

This “external tutors” concept could work also within EASA. As well as on theoretical basis: (hey Pablito come here, what do you think about this performance) and also lets say on the Babel level: (Klemens be a doll and hand me the hammer and show me what to do). And again very nice is that even if they will somehow not cooperate (very much doubt it) we will just have to figure it out or fail. Failure is always an option.

EASA SPIRIT

I don’t think this is necessary to describe. I would like them to feel free to express anything they want to. Make myself very clear in the most unclear mystic foggy chaotic ways. I want them to naturally evolve, not to tell them what they should do. I m woman I don’t know what to do. I can not tell you now, if there is going to be mostly individuals working alone or we will play couples or somebody will come up with perfect idea that we all going to agree with and work together. Also I don’t know, if the workshop will end up theoretical or more practical or if people will leave the workshop cause they will think its shit. But still even on the most theoretical levels I want to motivate them to leave some kind of product behind. People need physical stuff.

RIJEKA SPIRIT

City is brainstormingly beautiful. (unlike Fredericia) It drives your creativity mad. I wanna use it to the fullest. I want them to be aware of the city and its potential. I want them to understand it subconsciously. Everything takes time. We can even waste hours and ideas will come more naturally. I want them to focus on details and how things are connected. I want to give them opportunity to communicate with random people and finding perfect spot for their ideas and share that: /..WHYTHIS IS IT../ with rest of us. Nothing to analyze or research – I d be happy if they could live the city and experience it, have fun, relax, feel. Take the shortcuts. Get lost. RE:turn. Break in. Trespass.

RE:THEME

My intentions are to RE:think certain connections or disconnections around the city. There is this RE:petition that RE:cur all around Rijeka in the name of accessibility of the city. The most basic architectural element, maybe even the first built structure since cave times that didn’t change - Riječke stepenice. I need it to be this specific to have all the freedom around it. Since they are everywhere in all kinds of forms its perfect to focus on the whole city by this specific element and react on the right spot. They are necessary part of the city. Shortcuts, usually mono-functional, boring, exhausting and sometimes absent.. I wanna question the meaning of stairs connected with function, different forms, destinations and future. My RE is more in the way that I d like to grasp the workshop. I was thinking of too many possible structures of working with this element that it seems there is actually no structure at all.

(final report: this RE:THEME part never happened)

WORLD

First note I put into my book about doing workshop was that I don’t want to built anything.. unless its not already laying there looking for the purpose. Then I remembered lots of interesting waste all around us while walking randomly through the city and I thought that that’s the way. Get the resources from the waste of Rijeka /win win/: get to know the city, empower creativity based on (un)limited options of resources, ask people for help and share your ideas at the end of the day with rest of the group or workshops that are interested in listening.

BUDGET

I would like to keep it as low as 0 kunas. I don’t like money. They are never right instrument.

Back to NAME OF TUTOR(S): Well, Petronela is first name.. with the possibility of working with “external tutors” outside and inside of EASA… but there is this one person I would like to take with me. It’s this initiative easy-going kid that have the best taste in everything what he produces, he believes in what he does and he is master of improvisation. (something like my personal Marin<3) Doing stuff naturally, having this super funny and conceptual ideas right there, right then, seeing problem as an advantage and challenge. I really can’t name anything he cant do.. from filming stunning documentaries and taking brilliant pictures to writing poems. He already fucking constructed nomadic skate ramp that he can take with him wherever with bike. (meanwhile broke down) But most importantly!! HE GETS STUFF DONE no matter how stupid and dangerous it is. If there is an idea, he just finishes it. (I think I kind of need him.)(and he said yes)

RE:CAP

(note: fill up form)

PROJECT NAME: LEVEL UPPER

TUTOR NAMES: Petronela and Michal Kováč, +1…

ZONE: maybeee

(note: there were suggested zones by organizers)

TYPE OF WORKSHOP: Self-sufficient

(if u are happy with yourself, u can make EASA great and EASA can make Rijeka great and Rijeka can make people of Rijeka great)

DETAILED PROJECT DESCRIPTION: Hopefully the essence is written above.

DETAILED PROJECT DOCUMENTATION: Very structured scheduled and detailed plans of improvisation

PARTICIPANT NUMBER: Around 10ish - mostly cute boys and ugly girls

BUDGET: 3-5 bottles of borovicka = already covered

MATERIALS + TOOLS + EQUIPMENT: Get from somebody that has it.

EXECUTION PLAN: Yes, we will all die eventually.

TUTOR(S) INFO: Trust me

PRESENTATION DAY - Rijeka

Speech at Drvoexport:

You are not alone in this world. Cooperation and collaboration of humans will lead us to much faster evolution of EASA kind. This workshop is about how to learn that you don’t need the structure to accomplish anything. We want us all to decide together, what will be the result of our effort.

We would like you to feel free to join us and leave us whenever you wish. We want you to enjoy and feel happy because that’s the final stage of our development (pyramid).

FINAL REPORT - coming soon

[shinelikethunder]

PSA: Change your passwords

Which passwords, you ask? The paranoid answer is “ALL OF THEM.” The realistic answer depends on your paranoia level, because the Cloudbleed bug only affected a teeny-tiny percentage of users on the sites that were at risk... but "at risk” covered enormous swathes of the most popular sites on the internet.

(Note: if any of the entries on these masterlists say “no leaked data found in search caches,” change your password anyway. There were still six months where anyone who stumbled across a page that triggered this bug could sit there hitting ‘refresh’ like a monkey on meth and getting a steady stream of extremely sensitive traffic data from random sites on these lists.)

First category: Confirmed to have leaked data. Change your password ASAP if you’ve used them in the past six months or have them installed as an app. 

Master list here. Includes Discord chat, Uber, Fitbit, OkCupid, Meetup.com, Feedly.

1Password was confirmed affected, but the user data that leaked was protected by further layers of encryption. Change your master password if you’re paranoid.

Second category: Potentially affected. Change passwords on any accounts you care about that you’ve logged into in the past six months. This includes throwaway accounts that use the same password as an account you care about.

Anything on this (massive) list. Notable highlights: Authy, DigitalOcean, Patreon, Medium, 4chan, Yelp, Zendesk, 23andme, New York Times, Glassdoor, Pastebin, Change.org, Alternet, Fanpop, Freewebs, Hacker News, Humble Bundle, MoveOn.org, Penny Arcade, Putlocker, Redbubble, Ripoff Report, Something Awful, Statcounter, Tineye, Typepad, Wattpad.

A small sample of mobile apps that use Cloudflare also turned up Grindr(!!), Fiverr, Dropbox, RapGenius, and Outlook. Presumably there are many more.

Both lists also include a metric fuckton of news sites, torrent sites, bitcoin exchanges, money transfer/digital wallet and money-management apps, and porn. If you have accounts with anything in these categories, check for them on the full list.

Third category: General risk containment. If you’re paranoid, change the following passwords even if they’re not at risk for Cloudbleed, and enable two-factor authentication if possible:

Main email accounts. Social media identities. Cloud file managers that contain personal records. Password safes. Sites that manage throwaway email addresses. Any other single points of failure for a bunch of account and/or identity info. 

Okay, so what the fuck happened? What is Cloudbleed?

Basically, most traffic to popular websites these days runs through CDN companies like Cloudflare, which have a bunch of infrastructure in place to filter out malicious requests and bear the brunt of heavy traffic. Six months ago, a handful of webpages--let’s call them the “bleeders”--started tripping over a bug in Cloudflare’s filter, causing it to choke and spew out chunks of traffic data Cloudflare was processing for some completely different, random site. Anytime someone tried to load one of the bleeders, there would be a chunk of gibberish somewhere on the page, and it turned out that “gibberish” was from a page someone else had just loaded halfway across the internet. Or from the data being used to encrypt that person’s connection. Or from the GPS location their Uber app was beaming back to the mothership. Or from the login request that contained their password.

So, that’s... really bad. How does it get worse? A huge percentage of the page-loads on the internet don’t come from humans, they come from bots. (Ironically, or perhaps fittingly, this is the main reason Cloudflare’s filtering service exists.) Among those bots are search-engine crawlers... which usually save a full copy of whatever they get when they load the page. So every time the Google bot hit one of the bleeders, a tiny snippet of the private data that was bleeding out of the entire Cloudflare network would get preserved, and would turn up in public search results. And although Google started deleting the cached versions of the bleeders as soon as they realized what was up, not all bot operators are so considerate. (To understate the matter slightly.) Plenty of sketchy operations will now be retaining anything they unwittingly scooped up before Cloudflare fixed the bug, which will be different random chunks of data for each. A number of people are probably holding on to any cached versions they turned up in public Google searches. And there’s just no way to know how many (if any) people stumbled on the bleeders, realized what they’d found, and started refreshing the page like monkeys on meth to extract as much data as they could.

So, again: the “confirmed” sites are just the ones whose traffic happened to bleed out when the search crawler visited the page. Cloudflare says that during the worst period (the week before Google security researchers went “what the fuck is this stuff in our cache data?” and got Cloudflare to nuke the buggy features from orbit) about 0.00003% of the requests it handled were triggering the bug. But that’s one in three million of a good-sized chunk of all the requests on the internet. That’s... a lot of passwords and money transfers and dick pics to be leaking out onto public webpages.

No, I mean, how did this happen? Why the fuck did Cloudflare even have our passwords?

Unfortunately, getting a third party to filter out malicious bot traffic means the third party needs to be able to read the traffic it’s filtering. None of it is retained, though--Cloudbleed only leaked data that was in transit at the time.

I thought the whole point of HTTPS was that only the sender and the recipient can read it!

Yeah, uh, turns out squaring that with the need for third-party CDN services is... awkward. The resulting security gymnastics mean that technically, Cloudflare is the recipient of any requests you send to a site that uses it, and it passes the request along to the server after taking a peek.

Wait, so it’s a mail-forwarding service that has the entire internet’s communications sloshing around in its mailroom out of their envelopes?

That is an utter falsehood. It’s, like, half the internet, at most.

Does the NSA know about this?

Come on, the real question is probably whether they were the ones to suggest it in the first place.

I doubt anyone would put it past them, but the likelier explanation is that it’s a by-product of the centralization of internet infrastructure, which has many different causes and is happening at many different levels. It also has a lot of the people who originally built the web shitting themselves with worry. Remember the thing I wrote approximately twenty pages ago about changing your email password, and single points of failure? 

Cloudbleed is kind of terrifying, even if its impact ends up being minimal. It’s terrifying because it’s just a symptom. It’s terrifying that it wasn’t even an exploit, it wasn’t a malicious actor subverting safeguards and lining up all the dominoes just right to expose sensitive communications in transit. It was just human fallibility, a complex system, and a gigantic firehose of all sorts of input. Wham, that’s all it takes for the jacked-up HTML in some teenager’s blog theme to start spraying Discord passwords and OkCupid PMs all over public Google results.

That’s the world we live in right now, and it’s going to get worse before it gets better.

[heyomag]

NSFW: Twitter and Onlyfans are Match Made in Porn Heaven

Things change.

It’s just one of the sad realities of life that, sometimes, sh*t happens. Sometimes there is a cup and two girls anxiously awaiting it. Other times, unfortunately, shit is not so well received. For anyone who doesn’t get that reference somehow, here is a Family Guy reminder:

Regardless, it happens. I get it.  But for me, of all the bullshit I’ve endured in my life, none was more devastating than the day Tumblr took down the porn (although, a close second was when my social life took a dive due to Craigslist’s removal of Classifieds…).

And guess what folks? There must be a god after all as we were spared from the looming 2020 porn crackdown on Twitter. The internet’s collective freak-out has been quelled since Twitter spokesman said that they’re merely clarifying long-held policies regarding adult content. The worst that could happen for those posting legal porn will be a mere shadowban, making it more difficult to find the content unless you’re already following the account.

So take a breath and relax… at least for now.

Porn purge and rolling censorship

I get it. Even without Tumblr, the internet has no shortage of adult content. A simple Google search will deliver a treasure trove of NSFW content. But I used Tumblr…almost exclusively. No matter the perversion in which I chose to indulge, I could just type it in the Tumblr search bar and BOOM! I was presented with a full buffet of options to feast on.

When those jerks over at Tumblr decided to go PG-13 I was completely lost. The more traditional options (e.g., YouPorn, PornTube, RedTube,etc.) just didn’t cut it. Call me crazy, but the porn found on these platforms can be just a little too produced and the algorithms for the search results are, well, fucked.

Necessity is the mother of invention.

I got crafty and started searching for all the other social channels. Obviously, the prudes over at Facebook and Instagram had already removed the porn in favor of mere silhouettes and VPLs (visible penis lines – in fairness, I fucking love a VPL). I mean, nipples are still an issue on Instagram ffs (Is Free The Nipple still a thing?).

So, enter Twitter, the cute little bird struggling to keep its head above the porn waters because there is a shit ton of it on there. And the really good kind, too.

I don’t know when porn hit Twitter. Maybe it’s been there all along. But it was only in the absence of Tumblr that I created a Twitter account and, from what I’ve seen, the same is true for a lot of publishers who previously displayed their porn collections on Tumblr.

Similar to Tumblr, you just type in what you’re looking for in the Twitter search bar and very often you get lucky. A lot of these Twitter accounts let you know they’re the replacement feed for a former Tumblr account. The content is there, but it’s a little harder to navigate and videos max out at just over two minutes in length.

Skirting the rules

With  Twitter making its stance publicly known regarding shadowbanning porn accounts, we frantically started searching. Lucky for us, and you, we’ve stumbled upon a few accounts that skirt the rules. We found accounts doing The Lord’s work; aggregating, curating and promoting the best of the best from amateur porn app OnlyFans.  These saviors of smut have done all the hard work for us.

They’re not all just posting porn, they’re simply curating the best Onlyfans accounts to check out and provide all the info you need to find your fetish. Once found, simply go check out Onlyfans and pay the nominal fee which we imagine is going towards paying off their student loans or paying their way through college. Although paying for porn may seem antiquated with the vast number of free porn floating around the internet, this allows for premium content that can’t be found on the run of the mill sites. And you get the opportunity to connect with the actual creators. These are not porn stars under contract by a major studio. Nope – they’re your girl/guy next door.

So, if you’re like the rest of us and looking to find NSFW content on social media, make sure you visit these profiles and follow them before they’re shadowbanned by the man. There is something for everyone.

Best Lads

Best Girls

Best of XXL Men

Best of Black BDSM  More “best of” guys

Best of Black Trans Girls

And, of course, a sampling of everything below.

We Got Gay Orgy Content

Dutch Girls Take on Sex + Travel Content

Swinging Good Time with a Swinging Couple

Bi Dudes

Young & Fit Couples

Foot Jobs

Disclaimer: I’m sure you probably already have your favorites on Instagram (who have an OnlyFans link in their bio), but the good thing about these Twitter accounts is that they show the best of the best to follow. 

The post NSFW: Twitter and Onlyfans are Match Made in Porn Heaven appeared first on HEYO Mag.

from HEYO Mag https://heyomag.com/nsfw-twitter-and-onlyfans-are-match-made-in-porn-heaven/