#the absolute worst senior citizens

[atvu86]

Weirdo.

My bestie is giving me her nhl nursing home headcanons 😭😭 love u girl you’re so correct

[mrpenguinpants]

You are all I long for, all I worship, and adore.

— It's strange seeing your future selves being so close when you thought you both hated each other guts.

— Jing Yuan, Dan Feng (& Dan Heng) + Sunday

[Masterlist]

Suspend your disbelief for the timeline of lore, please.

Update: When I originally wrote this, I wanted to do an entire "Fly Me to the Moon," series of fics based on time travel. Hence the title. Shout-out to that one person who was waiting for me to write Sunday. I didn't, but I see you. It will happen soon.

Jing Yuan

This is the worst. The absolute worst thing ever. In the entirety of your living long life, this is the absolute worst moment so far. Were all the good times leading up to this moment? Did the Aeon's have some sick agenda, or were you randomly selected to be messed with today? If you had the option of eating literal trash bags for the rest of your life or continuing to live in this moment, you'd rather chew your own arms off. Maybe if you start now, you can save your future self the pain and humiliation of succumbing to...whatever this is.

"Aw, you were so cute when you were younger,” you - at least you think it’s you. This stranger wears the same face as you although a bit older. Perhaps alien would be a more fitting name? - this stranger coos as they cup Jing Yuan's face in their hands. Pinching cheeks with barely any fat on them with the sweetest smile you never knew you could even make. Jing Yuan, one of the seven Arbiter-Generals of the Xianzhou Alliance's Cloud Knights who stared down an actual Lord Ravager, looks two seconds away from bolting like a scared cat. He hasn’t moved an inch since this started and honestly, as mortifying as this is, it’s way worse for him than it is for you. So naturally, you’re turning a blind eye and holding Yangqing hostage from saving his precious general of sweet words and praises.

”I see we didn’t get along at this point in time,” a deep voice muses above you from a man you’re very blatantly pretending to ignore. An older Jing Yuan stands beside you, amused at his younger self having a barely contained stroke. If it wasn't bad enough that a future version of yourself suddenly appeared, Jing Yuan just had to follow. Always a nuisance no matter his age. Maybe if you hold your breath, you’ll pass out and everything will blow over. It sounds less painful than trying to eat yourself from the outside in any way. Before you can start, a hand, heavy yet somehow gentle, is placed on your shoulder. “I don’t recommend trying to self-induce a suffocation. Nor attempt any cannibalism on the self either.”

Okay. That’s creepy. Do senior citizens suddenly gain mind-reading powers? You’ve heard the story that if a man stays a virgin until he’s 30, he'll become a wizard. You let out a huff of amusement at that thought, maybe that’s what’s happening. That amusement gets cut short when you realize that somehow, you fell for this 30-year-old virgin. You refuse to accept that out of spite. That story was meant for short-life species anyway.

“For all intensive purposes, I’m choosing to believe this is a nightmare and the first step to waking up from one is to induce pain,” you answer blandly, your grip on Yanqing finally waning as the boy sprints in for the rescue. Only to get swept up in the storm as your other self switches her attention to the kid. Sticky fingers and starry eyes have Yanqing disarmed before he can even lift a finger to summon his ice sword, falling prey to the musing of a Xianzhou auntie. Nevertheless, Yanqing does his job correctly because it allows Jing Yuan to finally escape as he stumbles over to you and his other self.

"How far the mighty have fallen," you snicker behind your hand at how ruffled Jing Yuan looks. His hair is a bit fluffy from how many times your future self ran their hands through it, and his cheeks are a bit pink. Probably from all the pinching. There's even a deep chuckle next to you to accompany your words as Jing Yuan coughs into his fist before straightening up properly. You can see Yanqing being given sweets behind his back and that alone buys the kids complacency.

"My apologies for that," Jing Yuan says as the older Jing Yuan simply laughs in response. Unserious and unfretted in everything.

Huh, now that you look closer. He has laugh lines.

"It is I that should apologize. We have disturbed your schedule with our, ahem, compliments," Other Jing Yuan chuckles once again, as if the fact that he has time traveled into the past was a small "disturbance". Aeons, you hate this guy in every form.

They go back and forth, talking in that faux politeness that never truly goes anywhere before you finally had enough of this. You're not sticking around for this tea-time pleasantries any longer than you need to. It's the exact reason why you left your position as the "Divine Foresight Counselor" and passed it off to Qingzu as soon as you could. Unfortunately, you're going up against two Jing Yuan's, so the moment you shift your shoe to take a step back to remove yourself from the conversation, two pairs of golden eyes snap to you. One is smiling, the other is frowning.

"Heading off?"

"Where are you going?"

You look between the two, older and younger, and you can feel your head beginning to hurt. You let out a sigh, rubbing your forehead, before ultimately picking the lesser of two evils. If you have to look into those love-stricken soft eyes one more time, you might actually pass away.

"Out. You don't need me here anymore do you, General? Or do I require your dismissal now?" you ask bluntly, turning to the Jing Yuan you're used to. The one who's supposed to be in this timeline. "If you need anything, I'm sure Diviner Fu would love to be of assistance."

You don't bother to wait for Jing Yuan to say anything, pivoting on your heel and marching out of the Exalting Sanctum. You glance at your other self, a bitter feeling rising in your chest when they look at you disapprovingly. You can tell they want to say something but one brief look to the side, where the two Jing Yuans stand, and they close their mouth and turn around. Regardless, there's no reason for you to stick around longer. As long as the time travelers stay within the exalting sanctum, no one will know they ever appeared in the first place.

As you near the exiting doors, nodding to the guards on each side, you spare one last glance back. Your sudden departure hasn't halted anything and Jing Yuan is speaking to both his other self and you. Yanqing huddles close, one of his hands in your other self's hand, as he tries his best to participate in the discussion. Realistically, you should set aside your petty pride and march back to help. Do something other than running away and letting everyone else pick up the pieces for you. But the doors are already open and you need a sweet drink desperately.

There's been a growing sour taste on your tongue every time your Jing Yuan stares longingly at the other you.

Dan Feng

There isn't a single word to describe the situation you're in right now. Strange? Uncanny? Just super weird? You've seen and done a lot of weird things in your long life, but this is the absolute weirdest thing that has ever happened to you - and you've seen a star collapse before.

“If you keep making that expression, it’ll stick on your face,” Jing Yuan muffles his laugh under his hand, keeping up with your brisk pace as you not-so-subtly run away from the situation thrust into your hands. A tactical retreat you call it. You give Jing Yuan a pained grimace for a brief second before focusing straight ahead again.

“Jing Yuan, I will make sure your promotion to General is riddled with paperwork,” you say straight-faced. He knows you’re lying, you adore your pseudo-nephew too much to do that to him, but it does make him jolt and respectfully keep his mouth shut. However, in exchange, it makes the third pair of footsteps all the more louder. The source of your current predicament and Jing Yuan's amusement. You peer over your shoulder at the young man just to make absolutely sure that you're not hallucinating. A tall, slender young man with blue eyes, fair skin, and black hair stares right back at you before quickly averting his gaze back to the ground. Even with his unique coat and clothing, he has the splitting image of that old lizard. Even though this stranger is younger...and without a stick up his ass either.

He said his name was Dan Heng. A "traveling guard" for the renowned Astral Express. He had sworn on his life that he was telling the truth but that didn't change the fact of who he looked like. If Jing Yuan hadn't been there to vouch for him, then you would have attempted to throw him off the Luofu yourself. According to Jing Yuan, he found the young man "asleep" under one of the ginkgo trees, but otherwise wasn't doing any harm to anyone. He had just appeared with no way to return to where he came from.

At least you have one thing in common: you both don’t want to be here.

"So, are you a distant relative? Is this your first time visiting the Luofu? Oh! Are you here to visit him for vidyadhara business?" Jing Yuan spitballs one question after the other, his barely contained excitement shining through. He had slowed his pace to walk side-by-side with Dan Heng, illustrating the differences between them. Jing Yuan barely reaches Dan Heng's waist, the standard cloud knight uniform looking plain compared to the other's elaborate coat. Teal clashing with blue. Although, they match in their one red accessory flapping in the wind.

Dan Heng awkwardly coughs into his hand, before giving Jing Yuan a rather embarrassed look, "I don't think it'd be wise for me to say anything. If you have any questions, you should ask my teacher..."

Dan Heng shoots you a look as he says the word 'teacher', to which you raise an eyebrow right back. You've never seen this specific man in your life, let alone taken on any students. You don't even like kids that much unless their name is Jing Yuan and even, he isn't fully nestled in your heart. But that's another weird thing about this whole situation. This mysterious "teacher" apparently came along for the ride, yet the man won't spare a single detail about them. Vague descriptions that could be for anyone but wouldn't be a definite confirmation. All in all, it's been a headache and not something you wished to do on a bright and sunny morning. It's frankly out of your pay grade to be babysitting wandering travelers, even if they look like the High Elder.

“We’re here,” you call out, abruptly stopping your near sprint as you feel two bodies collide into your back. One has the decency to step back with an apology while the other clings to your arm as he peers around your waist.

"The forge?" Jing Yuan questions, tilting his head almost fully sideways as the three of you look up at the unassuming blacksmith shop.

"Yep, we're visiting the only adult of the group. Come on, Yingxing should still be inside," you say eyes forward but your arm reaches behind you to hold onto the retreating body of Dan Heng, who has been quietly trying to step away as soon as you confirmed just where you were. Jokes on him, you're the master of running away from your problems- retreating. You're the master at tactical retreating.

Although it’s muffled, you can hear some commotion going on inside. Maybe an unruly customer who didn’t read the fine print and is now venting their frustration? You share a look of confusion with Jing Yuan as you strong-arm Dan Heng into coming inside.

Entering the store, it looks relatively normal? There's nothing out of place or anything to show there was a scuffle, but the argument is getting louder sounding from the back of the store, into the forge. Which is strange for two reasons. Firstly, Yingxing may not be a dragon but he guards the forge with his life. Secondly, the only other people allowed in aren't even in the area. A mutual understanding passes through the three of you, Dan Heng finally giving up on trying to escape with the death grip you have on his arm, and you all tip-toe to the back door. Jing Yuan being the smallest reaches the door first, his head peeking out, your head above his as you squint into the room, and Dan Heng above yours with a look of defeat.

“You selfish old lizard! I’d outta cut your tail off right now for all the trouble you caused you senile son of a-“

"Please calm down, this is still the High Elder you're speaking to!"

What you see is something you'd never expect to see, and you need to reiterate that you've seen a literal star collapse. An older version of you is being held back by Yingxing as they throw threats and cusses at Dan Feng, who looks relatively unbothered by the promises to maim him.

“Teacher!”

Dan Heng, who has kept the most monotone voice imaginable since meeting him, suddenly pushes himself forward. A small "ah!" comes from Jing Yuan as he flops onto the floor from the sudden movement. A spear you've definitely seen before materializes in his hand as he goes to swing at Yingxing, only to be parried away by an identical spear. If you thought the tension between your first meeting with Dan Heng was rough, this feels like the Aeons themselves are fighting against each other. Yingxing and the other you have gone slack in surprise as two vidyadhara's who share the same face are kept at a standstill. Two cloud piercers pointed at each other, poised and ready to strike again, the air growing more humid with sticky beads of water vapor suspended in the air. Well, if you had any doubts about Dan Heng looking way too similar to Dan Feng, this pretty much confirms it. They're the same person.

Your eyes slide to the other you.

A falling star has nothing on this.

Sunday

There's something off about this entire situation, and there are enough oddities to begin with, but there's just something that doesn't sit right with you. Was there such a thing as a second puberty? Is that what a "mid-life" crisis was? Aren't you supposed to dye your hair and buy a sports car when that happens? Because the person walking next to you is certainly not you. They're too...peppy.

When you first saw the "future you", you had assumed they were a figment of someone's imagination. A dream perhaps? In Penacony, it would definitely be possible, but who would want to dream of you? The other you didn't seem that weird either, just a bit older and more well-mannered, but otherwise exactly the same. They had greeted you cheerfully, even coming up to shake your hand because "it was the polite thing to do when greeting friends.". You didn't know how to react to that wording so you brushed it aside. Maybe in the future, you're some big shot? That's kind of exciting to imagine.

"So...any idea how you got here?" you ask, turning to the other you. It's kind of funny that you're escorting yourself but you doubt the future you remember's the winding pathways the Bloodhounds take to the main base. Although your boss is quite nonchalant, Gallagher has always had a steady head on his shoulders. If you can't figure out a way to fix this time travel business, he can at least play damage control.

"I'm not entirely sure. I was about to set out to welcome some new friends on behalf of my husband, and then I was suddenly here. Oh, I hope he isn't upset with me for disappearing," your other self hums, a hand on their cheek, before quickly jolting up, "Ah, I guess I should say our husband now."

You let out an awkward laugh to match their giggle. Although your future self doesn't look that much older than you, it seems you managed to get hitched with someone great. They always seem to slip the word "husband" into every sentence, heck- you're making new friends because of him. Your mother would weep tears of joy learning that fact. Although it does make you curious just who your supposed husband is. The only man you see more than once in your life is Gallagher, and respectfully, he's not your type. But then who else? Perhaps one of the patrons? You've heard the news that the IPC sent a handsome gambler with beautiful eyes. Perhaps that's who you've fallen in love with? You don't want to ask because you don't want to mess up the timeline and frankly, you don't want to ruin the surprise. To be honest, even though you never thought about marriage, it kinda makes you giddy knowing that in the future, you seem to love your husband so much. A bit too much but it's probably the honeymoon phase train never stopping.

You still can't help but shake the feeling that something is horribly wrong.

There's just the slightest sinister curl in their smile. As if they're secretly laughing at the expense of everyone while keeping on an angelic facade. It's unsettling and makes chills down go your spine when it's your face that does it. The only time you've felt this sense of unease was when you accidentally stumbled into Gallagher's private meeting with the Head of the Oak Family. The Halovian had simply smiled, inquiring who you were and holding his hand out for you to shake. Your fingers had just brushed against his white glove when Gallagher stepped in, gripping your wrist hard enough for bruises, and forcibly pushed you out the door.

"Someone not important."

That's what your boss had said. You thought he spoke so harshly because he was pissed at you for possibly giving the Oak Family a bad first impression. He pretended it never happened and you never brought it up, afraid he might fire you from your job.

"I don't mean to pry, but are you alright?"

You blink, shaken out of your thoughts by your future self's question. They smile at you kindly, a slight tilt to their head as they wait for you to answer patiently.

"Oh! Sorry, I kinda spaced out there for a bit..." You let out an awkward laugh. Your voice sounds weak even to you, but the other you just nods in understanding. Perhaps it's because it's technically you that you're talking to, or that feeling of foreboding, that you feel like you need to explain yourself, "I guess I haven't been sleeping well. Gallagher has me running errands on the other side of Penacony in preparation for the Charmony Festival. Between you and me, I think he's dumping his errands on me so he can slack off."

Your lighthearted chuckle tapers off when the other you doesn't respond in kind to your joke. In fact, bringing up Gallagher's name has completely cleared their face from that prim and proper mask. Leaving behind a blank expression with disinterested eyes before a blink, and there's that same smile smeared on.

"You speak rather fondly of him. It seems I'm farther into the past than I originally thought," they mumble to themselves. Although you pick up on the words easily, you double-take just to make absolutely sure those words came from them. Sure, Gallagher isn't the most traditional-looking boss but he's not a bad person. Especially not to you. When you were looking for a job, he was the one to approach you out of the blue to work under him as a Bloodhound. If he never showed up, you would have most likely wasted away as a paper pusher for one of the families. He's always forgiven your mistakes and always offered to escort you home even though you can take care of yourself. So why is your future self so unfriendly to someone you currently hold in high regard?

"Oh uh...did something happen between us and Gallagher? I mean, I always suspected I'd get fired but I don't know, I always thought we got along. I mean, he has been acting a bit weird since that Oak Family Head came around but he's probably just stressed, right? Oh wait- I don't think we should be talking about this. I don't want to start a butterfly effect, especially so close to the festival-" you muse only to get interrupted.

"If I were you, I wouldn't trust that dog so easily," your other self spits with so much venom that you take a step away. Is it possible that you misjudged how close you were with Gallagher? Your other self talks about him as if he had betrayed them on a personal level. This shouldn't be possible because you and Gallagher have a strictly professional relationship. Unless you potentially knew him before you arrived in Penacony? To be fair, your memory gets a bit hazy looking back but you're sure you would remember someone like Gallagher.

"Wha- Hey, I don't know what happened but you shouldn't call him a dog-"

"We're here."

You stop in your tracks. What? We're here? You look up and realize that you've completely walked off the beaten path and happened upon a door. In fact, if you remember correctly, this was the door you stumbled into when you first met that Halovian. When did it become your other self escorting you rather than the other way around? You thought they wouldn't know these back alley pathways anymore.

"Why are we here?" you ask tentatively. Realistically, you know nothing bad will happen to you, at least not physically. You're their past. Whatever happens to you will affect them. A small scrape here will become a scar for them later.

"You haven't been sleeping well correct? I remember when I used to have headaches all the time. But you'll be okay now, he'll make things all better. While it's a bit early, I'm sure you'll understand. You are me after all," they smile sweetly, taking your hand in theirs as they pull you in front of the door.

"Come now, let's go meet our husband. He's been eagerly waiting for you for a long time."

---

Small author's note: I fell into a pit and wrote way too much. If I didn't cut it off, this fic would take another year to finish. That's why there's no real ending, lol.

[merakiui]

give in to the diasomnia brainworms!!!

I REFUSE. ( ｡ •̀ ᴖ •́ ｡) I've already given in.

It's actually a little amusing because when twst was first released in English I created a tier list to illustrate to my friend what my current thoughts were for each character. I put Malleus and Lilia in the category titled senior citizen LOL. But now I am here and I'm seeing the appeal that Diasomnia has.......... especially the appeal with Lilia being such an eccentric father figure... he takes you in and raises you alongside Silver, but what he fails to teach you and Silver is that there are different types of love and so Silver's "platonic, familial affections" for you aren't so platonic and familial the older he gets. And Lilia genuinely sees nothing wrong with it, so he enables it because it's just the sweetest thing to see how much Silver dotes on you. So when Silver proclaims he'll marry you and start a family with you and then his friends find out it's you he's talking about!!!!! T_T they're giving him the strangest looks, but Lilia's so happy and proud. Please give him lots of grandchildren. <3

AND GENERAL LILIA. OTL he does not care about you at all... so cold-hearted. >_< maybe you're a human prisoner from a fallen kingdom and since war brings out the absolute worst in people he throws you to his men and you're used as stress relief,,,, or maybe you're from the enemy's side and General Vanrouge takes you as his bride because he can. >:) and you'll do anything to stay alive, so if survival comes at the cost of playing wife to this monstrous war general you'll do it.

And then there's that very crucial piece of information from book seven regarding a certain something!!!!!!!!!! I won't mention it due to spoilers, but ever since I learned it I have thought of it often whenever the Malleus worms invade my brain. orz

[sapphire-weapon]

All I can say is that Biden by far one of the worst Presidents we've had. Socially, fiscally, and in every other way. What is there to cling on to and celebrate exactly? The erosion of free speech? People getting cancelled over an opinion that doesn't fall in line? Riots on the streets? Looting? Theft with impunity? I am 36--never has there been a time where all the basic necessities were locked up in supermarkets because of rampant theft. Kids in schools barely able to write and read? Teachers barely able to barely read and write! Kids throwing violent tantrums everywhere and god forbid anyone says something? Outrageous bureaucracy? Cities overrun by drug addicts who receive no social help or services and are just left to their own devices? Fires that are burning because reservoirs aren't filled with water? Collapsing infrastructure? A president who was wheeled around and whose raging diminished mental capacity was hidden by his handlers? Presidents of Ivy League Universities unable to say when it's not okay to call for the murder of Jews? The un-affordability of everything? 6-8% interest rates? Still no universal healthcare!

I can go on and on, but let's be rational. Trump is no walk in the park, but I think it's premature to spiral. Realistically, people are crying over TikTok ban and some imagined atrocities that haven't and aren't going to be committed.

Oh, women will lose rights! Women's rights? What rights? They were all lost under Biden, not Trump.

I am not a rich white woman. I am an immigrant. A refugee actually, who came to the US without any money or a citizenship (conditions imposed on anyone who left my country of origin). My parents started here with nothing, I started here with nothing. I didn't know any English. But there was acceptance and the ability to build a life in the US because things...worked. No one gave us anything other than opportunity.

I don't know what will happen. None of us do. But I choose to be optimistic. Because there is no other way to go.

Holy fuck.

I can tell that you're not a naturalized citizen -- because you don't seem to know how anything in the government or in politics works. Reading this, I'm not even sure that you know that a President's term is only 4 years long.

>What is there to cling onto and celebrate exactly?

Rejoined the Climate Accords, Infrastructure and Jobs Act, Chips and Science Act, Inflation Reduction Act, first US President to stand on a picket line with workers, commitment to and execution of Afghanistan withdrawal (Trump said he would've stayed in), bolstered NATO, staunch defense of Ukraine, aided in the eradication of Hamas and Hezbollah, stopped the pandemic and got people vaccinated, restored US's respect on the world stage, capped prescription drug costs for seniors, student debt relief, ended ban on transpeople serving in the military...

There's more. I could go on. Joe Biden is, in fact, the best President the US has had in my lifetime and has accomplished more in 4 years than most Presidents do in 8.

>The erosion of free speech?

What, exactly, did Joe Biden do to erode free speech? Can you name me a law that was passed? Can you name a single person who was arrested for speech?

>People getting canceled

How did Joe Biden get people canceled? How did he contribute to that culture?

>Riots

The riots happened in 2020, which is when Trump was in office, not Biden.

>Looting

There will always be looting after a disaster, natural or otherwise. This is not an American thing. This is a human thing. To pin this on Joe Biden is absolutely insane.

>Theft

Theft is a state crime, not a federal crime. The President has nothing to do with it. Call your governor.

>Schools

The gutting of education started under Ronald Reagan, and the complete destruction of public school learning was exacerbated under George W. Bush. Do you think that, like, Joe Biden waved a magic wand at some point in the last 4 years and retroactively made schools shittier all the way back in the 80s? LMAO

>Kids throwing tantrums

What does Joe Biden have to do with this????

>Bureaucracy

Do you think Joe Biden invented bureaucracy?????

>Cities with no social services

Nothing to do with the President. Call your mayor, governor, and state congress (which is different from the federal congressperson representing your state).

>Unfilled reservoirs

I don't have the fucking time or patience to debunk this conspiracy theory, but that's not what caused the fire, and they don't use that water for disasters like that. This is also not a Presidential issue. This is a state of California issue.

>Collapsing infrastructure

Biden passed the Infrastructure and Jobs Act. The problem with laws is that they don't magically heal things as soon as they're passed. It takes a series of years to fix infrastructure. You may not see the effects of what Joe Biden did right now this very second, but you will.

>Wheeled around

No he wasn't you fucking idiot.

>Ivy League Presidents

What does Joe Biden have to do with that????? Is he their handler? Their puppetmaster? Do you think that Joe Biden is actually a disembodied spirit that possesses people and forces them to speak certain ways?

>Unaffordability

The President does not set price points. We live in a capitalistic society. This is not under his power to fix.

>Inflation and interest rates

The US has the lowest inflation of all first-world countries and recovered from the pandemic the fastest. The current interest rate is 2.9% -- not 6-8%.

>Still no universal healthcare

The President can't write laws. It's actually kind of amazing that Biden got Congress on board to pass as much as he did -- but universal healthcare was never going to be on the table with the current GOP chokehold. Elect a Dem supermajority and see just how fast universal healthcare happens.

>Women's rights

Women's rights were lost because of the Supreme Court justices that Trump put on the bench. Not Biden.

>TikTok ban

Uh, the TikTok ban is actually a huge cause for alarm -- not because it was passed, but because Trump refuses to enforce it. Congress passed a law, and the Supreme Court upheld it; it's Trump's duty and obligation to enforce it. The Constitution of the United States does not grant the President the power of discretion when it comes to enforcing the law. In so doing, he has granted himself greater power than the other two branches of government -- which are supposed to be co-equal. This is a gigantic crisis for our entire system of governance. And, for as stupid as it is, the TikTok ban has turned out to be our first step towards autocracy.

Maybe refrain from having an opinion in the future until you know what the three branches of government do, even.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Kash Patel (he calls himself "K$sh") has a signature look... it involves lots of black leader, steel studs and a stuffed crotch. Perfect look for an FBI director, don't you think? This is an actual ad that Patel did for Lucchese boots.

[Robert Scott Horton]

* * * *

“FOR MY FRIENDS, EVERYTHING; FOR MY ENEMIES, THE LAW.”

TCinLA

Dec 01, 2024

If you want to assemble infrastructure for an authoritarian government, this is what you do.

"Enshittification" was a good word to describe Trump’s goals, though I personally go with "kakistocracy" (In case you’ve forgotten or didn’t know, the word is Greek, and refers to “government by the least-qualified or unprincipled citizens - government by the worst men”).

But even Kakistocracy doesn’t fully capture what Charlie Sykes called “the dazzling craptacularity of this moment.” What we are witness to is the utter preposterousness of what the most damaged psyche in history wants to do to “get revenge” on all those who ignored him as he pressed his nose against the glass door to social acceptance, forever excluded from “polite society.” He wants to blow it all up for their crime of not recognizing him as the glorious genius he alone knows he truly is.

As completely preposterous as the incompetent sex trafficker Matt Gaetz was as Attorney General, or the skeevy chode (called out as such by his own mother) Pete Hegseth is as Secretary of Defense, or the science-denying scumbag RFK Jr (called out as such by the rest of his relatives) is as Secretary of Health and Human Services, or the Russian asset (they say so themselves) Tulsi Gabbard is as Director of National Inelligence - that a dedicated fanatic like Kash Patel can be nominated to run the FBI is genuinely scary.

But “scary” is the point - a feature, not a bug. Trump’s predecessors in office all tried with mixed success to sell hope or unity; the return of happy days; called us to a higher purpose; even presented their hopes as a plea to the better angels of our nature.

Instilling fear is Trump’s goal. It’s the message Trump’s buddy Elon Musk now puts out in a steady stream on Xitter (that’s pronounced “Shitter”): “Be afraid.” “We are coming after you.” “We are now the law.” “Judge Dredd is coming.”

Over the past three weeks since the election, Trump has released the names of his nominees for the Cabinet and other senior posts in waves; beginning with some relatively “conventional” choices, he began the weekend after to unload bombshell after bombshell. The goal was to “flood the zone with shit,” as Steve Baanon puts it, with the goal of paralyzing Republican Sentorial opposition and to also overwhelm the limited political attention span the American public possesses.

But beyond all the others - from the absolutely unqualified to the ideological nightmares - his Saturday night post on (Un)Truth (Anti)Social, announcing the nomination of Kash Patel as Director of the FBI shoots from kakistrocracy through enshittification, craptacular and preposterous to score a bullseye at Truly Outrageous.

A Patel nomination to a position in law enforcement or intelligence has lurked as a possibility going back to the end of Trump 1.0. Most believed he could only be placed in position as a Number Two who would not face the senate approval he could not get. That Trump waited till now, and made the nomination at the level he did, shows his belief that he has created enough outrage and exhaustion with his other nominations, and is now free to scream Fuck You to all. This isn’t just a “Fuck You!” to law enforcement, a sharp stick in the eye to professionalism. This is a “Fuck You, You Can’t Do Shit About This!” to John Roberts and the other traitors on the Unsupreme Court who decided to put Trump above the law. It’s “What The Fuck Do You Think About That - Boy?”

Kash Patel is absolutely dangerous.

He is Reinhard Heydrich leading the Sicherheitsdienst.

For Trump, nominating Patel serves several goals. It demonstrates he is taking his razor-thin 1.6% election win as a mandate to rule as he pleases; Patel is proof he doesn’t care what anyone else thinks and that those who think Susie Wiles will bring any order to this chaos are deluded. Second, this lets him show that the objections of senior elected Republicans are of no consequence, that he can flatten them politically at will. Even knowing what his first term was like, enough Americans chose to return him to office; he has taken that narrow decision as a license to do whatever he wants.

Patel’s nomination is shocking in many ways. Like the other preposterous, outrageous senior Trump nominees, his only qualification is his willingness to do Trump’s bidding without hesitation. Patel has no ideological or religious beliefs like Vought, which provide a rough guide to what can be expected from him, thus allowing opposition to organize. Patel’s only goal is to please Donald Trump, and to achieve this he will literally do anything.

Trump has daily demonstrated his ability to be worse than any opponent can imagine. Now he will have a servant who is will never question any one of his master’s terrible whims or outrageous beliefs. A servant in control of federal law enforcement, willing to turn it loose on whatever target the sick mind of Donald Trump chooses. In an administration full of loyalists and sycophants, Patel will be exceptional in his devotion, his priorities always subject to his mercurial master’s insane wishes.

Patel was recognized as the danger he was by nearly everyone in the upper levels of the first Trump administrtion. During the final days of Trump 1.0, when he thought to name Patel deputy director of the FBI, Attorney General Bill Barr confronted chief of staff Mark Meadows and said, “Over my dead body.” When Trump planned to name Patel deputy director of the CIA, Director Gina Haspel threatened to resign; Trump relented only after Mike Pence led an intervention.

What wouldn’t a lackey like Patel do, if asked or ordered?

Patel later wrote in one of the three books he has written in the four years since Trump left office that he “wouldn’t sit quietly and accept their actions to stonewall direct orders from the president.”

Trump has promised to learn from his mistakes. When he returns to the White House in 50 days, there will be no Milleys, Haspels, or even Barrs to restrain him as he sets out t o gain his revenge against his political enemies. There will be Patel - whose true faith and allegiance belongs not to a nation, but to one man.

“Kash, I know you’re probably going to be head of the CIA,” Steve Bannon said on his War Room podcast a year ago, this December. “But do you believe that you can deliver the goods on this in pretty short order, the first couple of months, so we can get rolling on prosecutions?”

Patel responded, “We will go out and find the conspirators, not just in government but in the media. Yes, we’re going to come after the people in the media who lied about American citizens, who helped Joe Biden rig presidential elections—we’re going to come after you.”

Russians speak of the “power ministries,” those departments possessing significant legal and coercive capacity. In the United States, those “power ministries” are the Justice Department, the Defense Department, the FBI, and the intelligence community. Trump has now named sycophants to lead each of these institutions who will follow his orders, unbound by the law or the Constitution.

According to one longtime advisor, Trump once said of Patel,“A lot of people say he’s crazy. I think he’s kind of crazy. But sometimes you need a little crazy.”

Peruvian strongman Óscar R. Benavides once stated a simple operating principle for authoritarian crony government - kakistocracy: “For my friends, everything; for my enemies, the law.”

We have been warned. Trump has clearly told us, “Expect the worst.”

[TCinLA]

[frazzledsoul]

The thing about season 4 of Gilmore Girls is that I think it mostly rests on the plot arcs of the supporting characters.

Lorelai is dating yet another upper class love interest and is putting the inn together. Jason himself is fine (we all know Lorelai's in no danger of settling down with him) but because he's such a fixture on the show we're treated to those mind-numbingly boring insurance industry plotlines and it's not any more exciting to hear about Lorelai waiting for an oven to be delivered.

Rory is even worse. She has no love interests, no real friends at college except Paris, and her Yale plotlines are mostly Rory being listless and awkward. Yale isn't a compelling environment with its own social context and relationships, like Stars Hollow is and Chilton was. It's just Rory being socially maladjusted and it's boring to watch. It doesn't help that her biggest problem is she's bored and she might have to drop a class at one point. Big whoop.

Almost everyone else in her friend group has more exciting stuff going on and are dealing with actual adult issues.

Paris dumps her age-appropriate boyfriend for a senior citizen and vacillates between wondering if he'll get bored with her or just up and die on her. Lane recruits new band members, comes clean to her mother about her chosen lifestyle, becomes temporarily homeless, and then finds a new home for the band and makes up with her mom. Jess is also homeless and has been wandering the country after things appear to have gone sour with his dad: he fights with Luke, refuses to pacify his mother, drops unwelcome love bombs on Rory, makes peace with Luke, and tries to be vulnerable with Rory only to have her shut him down and force him to start over and orient his life around something else. Dean is stuck in a marriage he never should have initiated and is trying to make ends meet: he and Rory get mired in trying to relive an idyllic relationship they never had while both of them ignore his actual adult responsibilities (before they get to this point, Rory does spend quite a lot of time haranguing him and Lindsay for not living the comparatively privileged college life she is).

The season basically lives and dies on these B-plots until the end of the season, when Luke and Lorelai get together, Jess pops in again and causes drama, Richard and Emily separate, and Dean and Rory choose the absolute worst way to resolve their current sense of ennui. However, it does appear to me with Rory specifically she has no plot while her friends are trying (and sometimes failing) to be adults and have much more pressing concerns which she seems rather...unbothered by a lot of the time, especially Dean and Jess. Her primary concern when Jess comes back is not that he is broke, homeless, and not terribly mentally stable, but how his presence makes her feel. She cries on Dean's shoulder about dropping a class while nagging him about not living the same kind of life she is (all the while making their dynamic all the more problematic). But the thing is ... why should her feelings take precedence in all this, instead of the more compelling characters? They're the only interesting things about the show at this point.

[atlatsofstories]

closed starter for @missmvrder

       Forest-green duty jacket with a logo on the back, and thick pocket pants to match, Jodie stood out of the crowd like a sore thumb in her uniform. She'd stopped by Gilbert's diner to see just how many people were still left in their quaint small town before darkness would fall over like a frosty, thick blanket. Some people had already made their departure, but some were still buzzing around and making preparation before the last plane out. Most people came to Gilbert's at that time of the day, thus she'd get a good sense of who were still around; who were yet to leave, and who were to stay.  

       " Yeah Elise, I just absolutely wouldn't survive through the Dark Month without your lasagna. ", a laughter rang out, amusement tugging at the corners of her mouth as she smiled at the old woman at the other side of the bar. Elise was certainly one of her favorite people in town, a senior-ish citizen who had fed her since the day she'd been born whenever her own parents weren't able to attend to her needs in a timely fashion. A childhood not the worst, but not the best either; still, she had been looked after, even by her parents whenever they weren't too busy keeping their business in and out of town operating. Anyway, that was that, Elise had always been a blessing in her life and she would have missed her dearly if she ever chose to leave.  

       Frustration and irritation flickered to surface at the thought of people she missed; she didn't want to miss him, not since she had finally made the final decision about making their separation official. Had he been handed out the divorce papers? Suppose she'd find out sooner or later, suppose it was going to be later, because too little too late was just Elijah Hoffman type of thing to do. That later rather than sooner style had gotten them where they now were; him, off somewhere to fly towards his next destination. And her, waiting for him to come back just so she could tell him she wasn't going to wait for him to learn what she needed from him in order for their marriage to work.

       A bell sang, letting everybody know that somebody had just entered the lovely, little diner that was the heart of their little town. Though, it wasn't the bell that caused Jodie to look up toward the entranceway, it was the sound that Elise made when acknowledging the newcomer. Well now, suppose it was sooner rather than later after all.

[alex51324]

Yeah, on the subject of Israel, it's becoming increasingly clear that what it's going to take is Prime Minster that isn't Netanyahu.

And that is not something we get a say about in the 2024 US presidential election. (Shocker, I know!) The Israelis will get a say about that in the next Israeli election, which unfortunately isn't scheduled until October 2026 (although their system allows it to happen sooner).

Our choices as US citizens are either a guy who is trying to put some brakes on Netanyahu and not getting very far, or a guy who will urge Netanyahu to speed up the pace of war crimes while preventing the press from seeing/reporting on said war crimes. Neither of them will break with the US's 70-year history of pro-Israel foreign policy; the first guy taking some baby steps toward the notion that supporting Israel doesn't mean "unconditionally supporting absolutely anything they decide to do" is the best we're going to get.

I understand that these positions are not as far apart as many of us would like, but that's how it is. We are legally entitled to put someone else, but it's going to be one of those two guys, and if we put someone else, we don't get a say about which one it is.

But these two candidates are much further apart on issues such as:

Whether rich people should have to pay taxes

Whether corporations should be allowed to form monopolies and fix prices, to the detriment of consumers

Whether people can be forced to carry a pregnancy to term against their will

Whether trans people are allowed to, you know, exist in public

Whether people with diabetes should be left to die because they can't afford insulin

Whether we as a country should make some effort to reduce fossil fuel consumption, in order to both preserve that resource for applications where there is no renewable substitute, and to slow climate change

For that matter, whether we as a society accept that climate change is a thing and that there are steps we can undertake to mitigate it

And whether the official response to any new pandemic--avian flu, say--is based on science or the man-baby president's sense of personal grievance.

As citizens of the US, we are, unfortunately, pretty limited in what we can do to save lives in Gaza. (Or to solve the Israeli-Palestinian conflict--which, again, I emphasize, has been going on since our senior-citizen President was in kindergarten. If it was an easy problem to solve, it would have been solved.) That isn't to say that we shouldn't try, or we shouldn't care--we should do both!--but we, as Americans, don't get to vote on whether the Prime Minister of Israel continues to bomb Gaza.

We can, however, vote to save lives and build futures in our own country.

If it were a choice between stopping the atrocities in Gaza and all of those domestic issues I mentioned--between American lives and Palestinian lives--that would be a real moral dilemma. However, the choice that is good for all those domestic issues is also the least-worst option for Gaza.

So, you know, you can vote to help the people that you can help, like a goddamn adult, or you can stand there and put up your middle finger.

when i see people express sentiments like this, my thought is pretty much “who exactly are you trying to prove a point to?” the democrats? if trump gets elected, they’re going to be completely sidelined if not worse and will be entirely focused on trying to get back in power and i can tell you they will NOT be moving further left. netanyahu? it’s a BETTER outcome for him if trump wins since trump is SIGNIFICANTLY more pro-israel than biden has ever been. the people in gaza? they need a ceasefire which has been rejected by both the israel and the hamas sides multiple times and a trump win WILL NOT make that a stronger possibility.

[alyosiuscreightonward]

I’m absolutely flummoxed. I’ve had a thing for Tauren men, however the empath streak in me sees beyond the obvious.

Anyway, I’ve a Foster son who hates me and wants me dead and he truly wishes that I was never in his life.

The sidewalk talks. Rumor? Innuendo? Falsehoods? Urban legends? Conspiracy theories? From what I’ve heard, someone is saying shit.

ALLEGEDLY and I mean ALLEGEDLY ever since he moved out West, he’s been an absolute mess. Exxon Valdez, Event Horizon, Ukraine and The Gaza Strip are just tragic comic events that Mitzi Shore may have produced at the legendary Comedy Store.

I am of the belief that it started to go down the shitter was when I had abandoned him in 1994 when I thought I had someone who would love me forever and put me on a pedestal. Child please. I was delusional. I was thinking that I was going to be able to live like the pages of a Barbara Cartland or Rosemary Rogers novel. You feel the Harlequin Romance novels? I was delusional.

I’m going to leave out some things and bring you up to date with the things that MAY have happened to him and ALLEGEDLY have been perpetrated against him. Since he was just a Victim of Circumstance. Like this story: Standing there in the rain in the middle of the night waiting for the last bus to arrive and take him across town as he was in a tee shirt and underwear. The next thing he knew 5-0 was putting him in the back of The Waddy Pagon. I mean he was just trying to get across town and shit went down. Hashtag Facts.

One story I had heard was that he was going to be evicted from his apartment and the storage unit he had was going to be auctioned off ALLEGEDLY due to either Late Payments or Non-Payment. Anyway, the shit hit the fan. Inside the Storage Unit was his mother’s ashes and now they’re gone ALLEGEDLY. These are just things that were told to me and I’ve got to take them with a grain of salt. Now as of recent, he ALLEGEDLY called a mutual and ALLEGEDLY said that he was in a bad situation. The mutual went to say that he was crying and he had a snub nosed .38 up against his head and he truly hated his life. When the mutual reached out to me and told me this story (not even Stephen King could have written this) and how he felt some kind of way about his life but being short of the ready, he couldn’t help him because that’s what he wanted.

After hearing this, I had to process this information and go through my mental Rolodex and see if I could find a card that was going to provide me with the right words. It took me about four days to find the right words. I wrote and the rewrote and edited my soliloquy. I then tossed it aside and then I wrote the following:

~>>>Yo. (Insert name here). Brother Dave reached out to me. We both wish we could help you out however we can't. We are not able to help you because you don't want to help yourself.

We took your advice and we are working on ourselves with meds and therapy.

Any 12 Step Program says: accept, acknowledge, affirm your actions and take ownership and responsibility and then make amends to those who you told to fuck off, eat shit and die.

Sadly I had a birthday yesterday and at 63 years old, I realized that both Brother Dave and myself had done nothing for you ever.

Scream, yell and have a temper tantrum.

Neither one of us can help you out here because you know two senior citizens who are losers.

We do actually care about you but we don't care about you because we are working on ourselves to be better people and you will not.

Sorry budd.

As always, your worst enemy,

(Insert name here)

I then waited for a few days before he clapped back with this and this where I was sitting in my car and laughing and crying at the same time. The absurdity of it all. I’ve read that text multiple times and still I truly believe that I’m in a coma. I’m completely brain dead. Now look here, I’ll safely admit that I’ve been in therapy since I was eight years old and at 63 years old, I’ve had brain surgery and I must admit that I’m the most ignorant person in the entire universe.

Here’s his response:

~>>>Idk why tf you text me. I don't need your help I'm an adult and good. Once again go fuck yourself. Your. Piece of shit, don't ever hit me up I'm blocking your ass. You need fucking help frfr

Excuse me ☝️ I thought I had heard that he has several outstanding warrants in the area he currently resides in and he also has some here on the East Coast ALLEGEDLY. From the very start, from in utero until now at his age of 37, he has been so fucking angry at me for abandoning him yet I did spend thousands of dollars on him in an attempt to make his life easier. As an example, he was playing football and I went without in order for him to have the necessary tools to play football yet he washed out and I apparently talked to his coach about how he should not have him playing football. Again, Excuse me ☝️!!

I know I have made the most obvious mistake by saying that he was my Foster Son. I know I’m a douche bag. I think back to when I last saw him in person. He was in jail and there was several inches of glass between us. I was on the phone with him and I told him how his Aunt and Mother had destroyed me. They concocted their own story about me and as I was doing the ugly cry, I could see him clearly clench his jaw and through his teeth he commanded me to stop crying and to stop talking to him about what happened. I know I had made another huge mistake and told him that I loved him as my son and he just cannot stand it anymore. I’ve always wanted to be a good parent and not just a friend on the periphery. Because I’ve been told by several people that I did the best I could and yet failed miserably and I live with the guilt.

[a-parody-0f-tnt-news]

Bizarre Discovery Unveils a Secret Jungle Junkyard of Epic Proportions

In a slapstick-worthy scene straight out of an action-comedy film, police officers emerged from the depths of a dirt track in North Trace, battling their way through thick branches and wild vines. And what did they find? Hold on to your seats, folks, because they stumbled upon vehicle parts of all shapes and sizes, from measly headlights to complete car shells!

The recovery operation kicked off on Wednesday afternoon, led by the daring Inspector Roland Ramlogan and his Southern Division crew. They toiled tirelessly until midnight, extracting just a fraction of the scattered parts lurking within the bushes. Talk about a wild treasure hunt!

Not willing to leave their newfound comedy gold unfinished, Senior Superintendent Richard Smith, Sergeant Bacchus, and the CID officers gallantly returned the following morning to complete the outrageous rescue mission.

Picture this: harnesses swinging from tree branches, engines hidden under a pile of leaves, and doors peeking out from the midst of shrubbery. Smith, surrounded by the chaos, humorously briefed reporters at the scene, "We've found a wild assortment of vehicle parts—wiring systems, engines, doors, trunk lids, and even the whole interior of cars! It's like a car enthusiast's dream come true, or a mechanic's worst nightmare."

And the variety of vehicles they uncovered was truly a sight to behold. The New Grant hideout seemed to be the secret dumping ground for Nissan Tiidas, Toyota Aquas, Honda Citys, Nissan Fielder wagons, and Hyundai H100 pick-ups. Who would have thought that a random dirt road could turn into an automobile graveyard?

With a touch of melodrama, Smith gestured towards the six halves of vehicles standing proudly behind him, remarking, "These treasures behind me are the result of our relentless work. We've already nabbed six suspects in connection with these vehicles. In the past few weeks alone, we've recovered around 20 different types of vehicles, with eight of them right here."

The senior superintendent couldn't help but express his heartfelt sympathy for the victims of these car thefts. "A vehicle is a person's second most important investment, you know? Seeing their precious investments reduced to mere scrap metal is absolutely heart-wrenching," he exclaimed dramatically.

To the unscrupulous buyers lurking in the black market, Smith had a stern and comedic message, "Hey, you heartless buyers! Take a moment to reflect on the havoc you're wreaking with people's hard-earned money. You're the driving force behind this twisted trade. Stealing vehicles is no laughing matter, but I guess some folks only learn the hard way—when it happens to them or someone they know!"

In a final punchline, Smith urged everyone to ponder the vast scale of this operation. "Think about all the others who passed through this jungle junkyard before we stumbled upon it. And guess what? There are probably more secret spots like this waiting to be discovered. Don't worry, though, because we're on the move! We've got insider information on these car thieves, and we're hot on their trail."

As the curtain falls on this outrageous spectacle, the stolen vehicle parts are finding temporary refuge at police stations in Princes Town, San Fernando, and Ste Madeleine. Inspector Lazarus and his team from the Stolen Vehicles Unit in Port of Spain even joined in on the hilarity, providing technical support during this whimsical adventure.

So, fellow citizens, fear not! Once the parts are properly cataloged, victims of vehicle theft will have a chance to reunite with their lost treasures. And who knows what other comedic escapades await our brave law enforcement officers as they continue their quest to bring justice to the world of

car thefts? Stay tuned for the next episode of "The Absurd Chronicles of Southern Police Division"!

[shurisneakers]

if you're taking ideas for harmless drabbles, i'd love to see one of bucky on one of those dates he mentioned and reader's shenanigans. if you aren't, feel free to ignore this!

a/n: are we really going to let a word limit define what a drabble is? is the vibe and spirit not enough? i say this bc this is 5.7k words long im so sorry. also hey thank you to everyone who piped in with their knowledge of violent geese and how apartment security works in new york!! also thanks to my bby @spiderrpcrker for reading this and telling me to publish this bc i wasnt going to fkjghfkj

warning: swearing, bad luck, dates, frustrated bucky, anxiety, mentions of gore but like only a sentence

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Catch up with the rest of the series here: Harmless Masterlist

Bucky returns only two weeks later. His mission lasted longer than expected and all he wants is to lie down and sleep for forty eight hours straight.

“FRIDAY?” he mumbles, kicking off his shoes. His jacket had already been discarded by his bedroom door when he walked in.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

“How are ya?” He doesn’t miss a beat in asking, even though he’s exhausted.

“As good as ever. Did you have a successful mission?”

“If by successful you mean one sprained limb instead of two, then yeah.” He wasn’t really cribbing. His ankle was already starting to heal anyway and it was worth the roundhouse kick to a Nazi's face. “Do I have anything scheduled for this weekend?”

“You have a meeting on your calendar scheduled for this Saturday.”

“Could you send a text to Y/N and ask if we can push it to the next day?” His muscles feel sore and God, he could definitely use a hot shower but all of that becomes secondary the minute he feels the sheets under him.

“Would you like me to reschedule the other one as well?”

“What’s that?” He opens one eye in confusion. “There’s another one?”

“It’s on Sunday. You’ve labelled it ‘date’.”

Ah, fuck.

“Would you like me to change it?” FRIDAY never sounds like she’s judging him, which is nice. It also reminds him about how she, as an AI, can’t judge him, which is a rude wake-up call to how he doesn’t have friends.

“No,” his voice is muffled against the pillow, “no, let it be. Where is it again?”

“You’ve only specified diner, Sergeant Barnes.”

Public space, daytime, plenty of escape routes. Good on his less delirious self for selecting a diner.

“Thanks, FRIDAY.” Now that he’s a little more relaxed, he can feel himself slip in and out of consciousness.

“One last thing," her automated voice commands his attention again. "Y/N replied. She says sure and to take care.”

“Yay.” Not even a second later he’s out like a light.

____

“Did you bring me any souvenirs?” Is the first thing he hears as he marches into your lair.

“What could I possibly get you?”

“A postcard, a t-shirt.” You don’t look up from your tinkering.

“Decapitated finger, used bullets,” he continues, “cement blocks.”

“Ew.” You snap the lid shut on the thing you’re working on, spinning around on your chair. "That's not nearly romantic enough."

“That’s all you’re going to get from a Russian underground bunker.” He does a mini jog up the stairs of the platform to where you are.

“Does the finger have a ring at lea- oh hello?” You raise an eyebrow at the sight of him. “You look different.”

He peers down. The outfit was still all black. As always.

“Not your clothes, dummy,” you interrupt, making him look back at you. “Your face. What’d you do?”

He unconsciously raises a hand to his cheek.

“Did you wash your face? Is that it?” you squint at him. “Has it been a few months since the last time?”

“Wow, you’re so funny,” he drawls sarcastically.  “Top tier comedian right there.”

“No wait, it’s the beard.” You snap your fingers in realisation, completely ignoring his comment. “You trimmed it.”

“So what if I did?” He leans on your table.

“You going somewhere?” you ask, elastic snapping against your hands as you remove your gloves.

“It’s none of your busi-”

“Hold on a second.” A sly smile begins to make its way onto your face. “Are you going on a date, Bucky Barnes?”

His comeback dies down in his throat. That didn’t take you very long for you to figure out.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” You look smug, to say the least.

“Shut up.” A ray of light glistening distracts him. He traces it to the thing you were working on earlier.

“Where are you guys going?” You cross your arm across your chest, a small smirk on your face.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” It’s a silver box, engraved intricately with swirls that, when he observes carefully, looks like a skull. Wow, terrifying.

“I’m literally asking you.”

“What are those?” He shifts the conversation towards a more productive angle instead.

“Evil in a box and some other stuff.” You shrug offhandedly. “Is it a lunch date or just coffee?”

“Like Pandora’s Box?”

“A discount version, sure,” you confirmed impatiently. “Stop changing the topic, listen to me.”

He tilts his head, waiting for you to continue.

“Do you need a chaperone?” The sincerity in your voice for such a bullshit question has him scoffing.

“Good God- no, I do not need a chaperone. I’m 106 years old, I can go out unsupervised.” He reaches over and plucks the box off your table.

“Sir, you’re a geriatric."

“What are those?” He points to a few ray odd ray guns.

“Minor stuff you don’t have to worry about right now.”

He shakes the box in his hand. “What’s gonna happen if I open this?”

“Very bad things,” you whispered ominously before your volume returns to normal. “How’d you meet this person? Online?”

“She’s Natasha’s friend.” He turns the box over, seeing a small latch at the side. “What bad things?”

“Bad luck and misery. Don’t play with it, it’s dangerous.” You pull the box away from him. “Aw, is it a blind date?”

“Why do you care so much?” he shoots back, tugging the box back towards him.

“Just lookin’ out for you, Bucko,” you huff, adjusting your grip on your device. “Need to keep my favourite senior citizen safe.”

“I have a vibranium arm.” Whose force he could use to grab the box once and for all, but wasn’t. “I think I’ll be fine.”

“What if she has one too, huh? Then what?”

“She doesn’t.” As far as he knows, he’s the only one alive with a metal appendage made out of the strongest metal in the world. That could very well change by tomorrow but he's keeping the title for now.

“But what if she does? I swear to- stop trying to take the box!” You pull a little more forcefully, but he doesn’t relent.

“I want this to get over before this evening.”

“What time’s your date?”

“Why do you care?” He’s sure anyone who saw the dumb tug-of-war you both were playing would just automatically assume he was an absolute manchild, not an Avenger.

“Because.” You don’t explain further. “Tell me what time your date is, you weirdo.”

“Five o’clock, now let go.”

“Fine,” you say, suddenly loosening your grip. Clearly, it doesn't make much of a difference since he isn't struggling to keep his balance from the sudden loss of force.

“Fine.” He clears his throat, straightening up. 

You don’t say anything. He doesn’t either.

A putrid smell creeps into his nose, one all too similar to spoiled milk and decaying seaweed. He has to physically stop himself from gagging.

“Have a good day.” You smile and lean far back. Too far. It looks like you're almost going to fall out of the chair.

Through the tears that are threatening to line his eyelids, he looks down at the box whose latch you somehow managed to lift, leaving the box open.

“What the fuck is this?” He coughs, swatting at the air in front of him to clear it.

“I told you; bad luck in a box.”

“You can’t scientifically create bad luck, that’s bullshit.” He tosses the box back onto your table. You watch it slide past you, not making any effort to stop it. “What is it really?”

“I’m not lying.” You pull open a drawer, brandishing a small table fan that you set down beside you. “If you open it, you’re going to have terrible luck for the day.”

He glowers at you when you turn the fan on, forcing the fumes back towards him.

“Besides, that’s all I was doing today.” You kick your feet up. “So you can leave now.”

He doesn’t care if you’re lying about not having anything else to do today. You could burn down the world if you wanted to but he needs to take a stupid shower. Again.

“You’re the fuckin’ worst.” He tries airing out his shirt, hoping that the smell would dissipate as soon as possible.

“Have fun on your date, sarge!” you encourage him as he stalks out of the lair. “Remember to wrap it befo-”

He turns it into a sprint before you can finish.

____

Six hours later and he’s absolutely convinced he fucked up.

He isn’t used to having his weekends free.

He realises that this is the first time in months that he’s actually stepped out of the Tower for something that wasn’t directly mission-related. He should probably get some air. Touch some grass. See the sun.

His shirt thankfully manages to rid itself of the odour from the dumb box so he didn’t have to go take a shower. With nothing much planned and a few hours to spare, he heads to the coffee shop instead.

It’s a small place, bustling and alive with a crowd of people. They have a little bookshelf that usually is full of books donated by patrons, free for anyone to read.

The barista smiles at him. The coffee costs more than his high school education. He awkwardly smiles back.

He’s not a regular, but they’ve seen him enough times to know that he usually asks for black coffee in a to-go cup, later adding a sugar or two according to his own taste. They're nice to him, occasionally throwing in a cookie or something on the house. He can't tell if it's because of the Avenger status or the sizeable tip he leaves.

He picks up a random book from the shelf, fully intending not to read it but to just sit there and think. The book acted as a shield for his resting bitch face, resting murder face and his resting rage face. More often than not, a good combination of the three.

He sets the coffee down at the corner table he manages to nab in a quick second, along with the two sachets of sugar.

“Is this seat taken?” Someone asks from beside him. He earnestly shakes his head in a ‘no’, gesturing for them to take it.

They give him a quick thanks and drag the chair away from his table.

He does a quick overlook of the book he picked up.

The Princess Diaries by Meg Cabot.

Well, now he’s too anxious to put it back. YA fiction it is.

He reaches for the sugar while glossing over the summary. He reaches a little further when it doesn’t come to his hand immediately, blindly running his fingers across the table.

Bucky peeks over the book, eyebrows knitting together when he notices that they’re missing.

He was sure he picked it up.

He looks underneath the table. It wasn’t there, neither under his seat. Strange, but okay. He picks up the book and the cup, walking back to the station to grab two sugars.

This time he makes sure to tuck it into his pocket, double-checking before going back to his table.

Which was now occupied. He wanted to groan.

His mind automatically reverts back to the box from that morning.

“Come on,” he scoffs quietly to himself. It was a coincidence. “Get yourself together.”

“A seat at the counter just cleared up,” the barista from earlier offers when she sees him standing in the middle of the store.

See? Good luck.

He shoots her a grateful look, venturing over to the barstool to take his place. It’s not the most comfortable, but then again, he wasn’t planning to stay there for very long.

He empties the sugar into the coffee, stirring slowly before opening a random page in the book.

He takes a long sip, ignoring how hot the drink was.

He chokes immediately. Because either he was losing his mind or his order had somehow got switched from ‘no sugar’ to ‘diabetes in a cup’.

He takes another small sip and his face immediately twists in disgust. Definitely too sweet. The sweetener he added only made it worse.

He catches the eye of the barista. She looks on in concern.

“Is everything okay?”

Fuck.

He’s not one to make a scene. He just wants to live as imperceptibly as he could.

“Yep.” The sweetness sticks to the back of his throat. “All good.”

He just closes his eyes and downs the rest of it without thinking twice, trying to hide the grimace in his face. He gives her a weak thumbs up. She doesn't look convinced.

He leaves the shop soon after, hands shoved in his pocket. Maybe he could go sit by the lake at Central Park, watch the clouds. It reminded Bucky of the lake in front of his hut in Wakanda and the hours he'd sit in front of it, feet dipped into the water as his goats fed. He misses it.

He makes a sharp turn at a corner, still thinking about his options when his ankle abruptly twists under him.

He stumbles rather ungracefully, almost hitting the ground, but manages to save himself through the newly built up immunity he has towards falling thanks to all his encounters with you.

His gaze lands on his hardcore combat boots. Their laces had come undone.

Now he just knew that was horseshit. He always double knots them; they had never loosened in the past before.

The box.

He shoves the thought out of his head, crouching down to tie them again. He tugs on them to make sure they’re secure before standing up again.

Central Park is a few blocks away but he’s glad he didn’t bring his bike. The weather was rather nice and the wind in his hair felt good.

He wanders around the park for a while, looking for the lake. He pauses at a board with a map of the park on it, assessing how far it was.

Once he's ascertained which path to go towards, he turns on his heel to go.

He fucking trips again.

“Are you serious?” he says furiously under his breath. “Cut it out.”

He’s half-convinced that he should tie it around his ankle like a sexy lace-up set of heels. He ties a triple knot this time, glares at it until he’s sure it’s fine and checks to see if anyone saw him humiliate himself.

Only a person on a nearby bench who looked like they were passed out drunk, given that their hoodie and sunglasses clad self was slumped over.

No witnesses. No 'You won't BELIEVE what the Winter Soldier did! Critics say it's his biggest blunder yet!' articles the next day on social media.

He manages to make it to the lake in one piece and no more falls, partly because he keeps his eyes fixed on his shoes to ensure no fuckery occurs.

There are a few people rowing and plenty of others lining the bank at scattered locations. There’s a mom and her kid at the place he ends up. She sends him a small smile in greeting and he returns the favour.

There’s a secluded bench that he takes a place on, letting out a small sigh. If he ignores the traffic and the skateboarders and the people in general, it’s actually kind of peaceful.

There are geese and their little goslings swimming around the water close to the shore. Maybe he should have brought some birdseed. Or kale.

The kid beside him is busy fashioning something out of leaves, only occasionally erupting into giggles when it doesn't pan out. His mom watches him fondly, pointing at twigs he could use. Everything seems kind of picture-perfect and his body automatically relaxes, easing further into the seat and closing his eyes for a second.

Until there's a large splash and loud distressed honking. He whips his head around to find the same kid staring straight ahead at the goose with a wide grin. His mother curses quietly, picking herself up off the ground and grabbing his hand, half chastising him for throwing something at an animal and half urging him to walk faster.

The goose turns to Bucky. With no one else to blame for the sudden attack, it logically launches itself at him. His smile drops.

He gets up in a rush. The dumb bird nearly comes for his head, but he deflects with his metal arm.

“I didn’t even do anything.” He swats at it swiftly, trying not to cause any real damage. The goose, understandably, does not speak English.

He flinches when one of them bites at his knee. He can punt it to the sun but he doesn’t want to.

“Stop that.” He sticks his hand out to shove the stupid thing away, retreating back to the road. “Jesus, why are you so aggressive?”

Among the barrage of feathers showering on him, he prays his damn shoelace doesn’t unravel as he shields his head with one arm, the other fending himself while he moves hurriedly away.

The goose honks angrily at him. He scowls at it, not exactly pleased with the reminder that these fucking overgrown ducks were constantly bloodthirsty.

It doesn’t leave him alone till he’s significantly away from where he was sitting. He wants to call it profanity but that’d probably piss it off more.

The box and its effects were definitely starting to feel real.

Fuck it, no more day out for him. The best plan he can think of is to just go to the diner he’s supposed to meet his date at.

The waiter greets him with a courteous nod, which Bucky can only imagine was the best he could muster when a dishevelled 200-pound man walks in covered in goose feathers and irritation.

He won't admit that he’s too scared to eat lunch at this point because he can’t rule out food poisoning. He spends the next two hours on his phone playing Fruit Ninja and plucking feathers that accented his all-black outfit.

Several glasses of water later and a second before he’s about to beat his high score, someone taps on his shoulder, breaking him out of his concentration.

Motherfu-

He clenches his eye shut, inhaling deeply before turning around.

“James?”

“Hey, yeah, that’s me.” Bucky almost falls over the table with how fast he stands up, clearly underestimating his size. “Leah?”

“Hi.” She smiles and he finds himself smiling nervously along with her.

“Hi.” He steps out to pull out her chair for her and she laughs. "Nice to meet you."

“How long have you been waiting here?” she asks while setting down her bag.

“Around ten minutes.” He clears his throat to hopefully hide the fact that he was lying through his teeth.

“Just give me a second, I need to tell my friend I reached,” Leah pulls out her phone and he nods.

“Another glass of water for you?” The waiter seems less enthusiastic about Bucky’s 8th refill.

“Yes,” he answers, hoping he doesn’t call him out on it, “please.”

“You must be really dehydrated."

Bucky turns to look at him slowly. “I like the taste.”

He can’t really blame the guy. Bucky’s been there for hours without ordering anything solid, just leaching off their free water and complimentary bread basket.

“So, James.” She tosses her phone back into her bag, leaning forward on her palms easily. “Tell me about yourself.”

He had rehearsed this a million times. He could do this.

“I, uh,-”

“Menu?” Okay, so someone clearly had a vendetta against him.

“Thank you.” She takes it with a smile.

His morning debacle with the coffee flashes through his mind. Suddenly the idea of a diner didn’t seem so smart.

However, she’s already placed her order and George is standing beside him expectantly, daring him to ask for another glass of water, so he places his usual order and hopes that your stupid bad luck thing wore off.

He quickly learns that his date is laid back, and it isn’t hard to fall into a rhythm with her even though she’s the one asking most of the questions.

“How’d you meet Nat?” Is his attempt at one.

“She used to come in for lunch every week at the place I work.” Leah leans back in her chair. “She can really handle her alcohol.”

He’d be worried about Nat day drinking if he didn’t know about her complete inability to get drunk. She might as well have been downing glasses of lemonade.

“Yeah, she’s-” Intimidating, scary, cool “-really something.”

“She mentioned that you like movies.”  He definitely spends a lot of time watching them. “You got any recommendations?”

It’s easier to figure out how different things are or how much he missed out over the years through them. He’s glad he sat out the early 2000s, judging by their fashion sense and hairstyles.

He's watched several movies over the past few months, a few of them critically acclaimed and others who were just there for the cult following.

But now everything goes blank and the only thing that he can remember are the biopics made about Steve that were somehow hilarious for gifting him the mental image of Freddie Prinze Jr. dressed in the stars and stripes, and highly distressing for the number of historical inaccuracies. Contrary to popular belief, Stevie did not, in fact, consider running for president after he took up the shield, nor did he start his own bar chain.

He can’t name Oh Captain, My Captain starring Channing Tatum as his favourite movie on his first date and hope to make a good first impression.

“Despicable Me was kinda fun.” He wants to kill himself. “I mean, it’s the last one I saw.”

Her face twists in mild disgust, but he can tell it isn't ill-intentioned. “It's a good movie, but God, that just gave me some intense flashbacks to my aunt’s Facebook page. Don’t think I can look at a minion ever again.”

He sniggers with her. He doesn’t know what the context is.

He’s a little awkward, and he can definitely tell he isn’t the most open book but she laughs at some of his attempts at jokes. There’s a distinct discomfort he has lingering at the back of his mind prodding at him, telling him over and over again that he isn’t ready for something like this. A warning bell, asking him to leave as soon as possible because he was in a dangerous situation.

He remembers what his therapist told him about breathing and remembering that the resources he had available were greater than his anxiety and he tries to get out of his head. It takes a few minutes of acting like he's fine but he manages to do it.

Other than the one time he scalds his tongue on the coffee but played it off with a pained smile, shoving down thoughts of your stupid invention, things actually went okay.

It was nice, even though they decided by the end that it was better if they both gelled together better as friends. It lifts the strange fear he feels and he can hear Dr. Mendoza say she's proud of him for taking this step before spending three hours psychoanalysing why they decided to stay platonic.

Bucky promises to visit her sushi shop with Nat soon and she says a bottle of sake awaits him for a drinking game. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that Nat and he share the same tolerance for alcohol.

He makes sure to leave George a tip. A big one. It’s the first time he sees the guy smile the entire evening.

He’s waving goodbye to Leah outside and he thinks that maybe it was a good end to the day and that things actually turned out fine.

Until he turns around to leave, only to have someone walk straight into him with an iced tea.

The cold comes as a bit of a shock, making him jump slightly. He stares at his shirt, using his fingertips to pull it away from his body.

The person melts into a series of apologies immediately, offering to dry clean his shirt but Bucky just forces a shake of his head and says it’s okay even though he can feel the sugar making the shirt stick to his chest. Goose feathers and iced tea. Was there anything else that would like to attach itself to him?

His fists clench and his teeth grit and he has to physically control himself from sprinting to your lair because God knows what else is in store for him and he didn't want to add in any way.

The door to the lair is locked. Fuckin’ brilliant.

When no one answers after minutes worth of waiting, he fishes for his phone and realises that maybe two hours of Fruit Ninja was not the best idea, especially on a phone known for having shitty battery life.

There’s roughly 2 percent left. By the time he opens his app to give you a call, his phone screen goes black.

He groans. He’s desperate at this point and under any other normal circumstances, he would have never, ever considered doing this.

But ten minutes later he’s outside your apartment building. You’re aware that he has your address; no doubt that it was in the SHIELD file he had gotten, and he knows that you know but it was still weird.

The buzzer has your last name listed next to it. He’s sure that he’ll break it if he keeps pressing it at this rate but he really needs you to let him in.

“Who the fu-” your voice comes through the intercom.

“I’m sorry for showing up like this, my phone died and I couldn’t reach you,” He breathes out as soon as he hears you. “But I need you to fix this.”

When he doesn’t hear a reply, he wonders if the thing actually worked. He’s about to start pressing it again-

“Bucky?” You sound a little surprised to hear him. “You’re at my house. Why are you at my house?”

“I need you to fix whatever this is.”

“What are you- fine, I’m buzzing you in,” your voice, initially confused soon trails off into something more dismissive.

There’s a soft click from the door, allowing him to push it open. The elevator is already on the same floor as him so he just uses that.

The elevator goes up a floor or two. His feet tap restlessly against the carpeted floor.

The lights turn off and everything comes to a standstill. His foot stops tapping.

He should have known. He should have fucking known.

Thirty seconds pass. He’s still in pitch darkness with the elevator showing no signs of moving.

In fact, he’s resigned to his fate. He sits down on the ground, only one step away from completely laying down and hoping someone finds his body here someday.

It’s six minutes of plain silence. He might as well get comfortable if he’s going to get stuck here for the rest of his life. Did he change his will? Does he even have a will?

There’s finally a whir. He thinks that maybe he’s going to plummet to his doom as the perfect end to this day, but then the light switches on and it starts moving upward.

It stops at the floor with a ding. He doesn’t get off the ground, only eyes the door wearily. With his luck, it wouldn’t open.

But it does and within a second he’s on his feet, scrambling to get out before it changes its mind.

He remembers your door number, basically charging down the hall to get to it.

The door is white and the paint is starting to chip off it. The handle itself is dented in a few places and he wonders if it was your fault or someone else's.

His knocks are rapid, agitated even. He doesn’t stop until he hears your loud shouts telling him to cut it out.

“What the hell were you doing, trying to break down my door?” It swings open, revealing you in your pajamas. “Haven’t you done that already? And where were you, I’ve been waiting for like, ten minutes.”

He honestly feels bad for showing up uninvited and highly flustered. He can’t imagine it’s a pretty sight either. "This bad luck shit- fix it. My whole day’s been fucked up.”

“What are you-” Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, taking in his appearance.

It takes you a second to realise what he’s talking about but when you do, your face settles.

“How was your date?” You lean against the door frame, arms crossed over your chest.

“Really,” He glowered at you, “that’s what you care about?”

“Yes.” You nod. “Did you have fun?”

He hesitates. “I guess?”

“Was she nice?”

“Yeah.” Where was this going.

“Good, I’m happy for you.” The smile on your face is genuine. “Look at you go, Casanova.”

“We agreed to be just friends, but that’s not the point here. Y/N,” he whines. “I have a mission next week, I can’t afford to fuck up. My whole day was off and I don’t want it to carry over.”

“Your whole day?” you questioned, standing up instead of leaning against the wall. “Buck-”

“Just fix it.”

“Okay.” You lift your hand up, extending it towards his face.

He waits for you to do something.

You flick him on the forehead.

“There,” you declare, going back to your previous position. “you’re cured.”

What.

He says exactly what he’s thinking.

You laugh. “Dude. I was fucking with you.”

Huh?

“Well, actually maybe just like, three things and then I got bored.”

He’s confused.

“You know,” you begin when he doesn’t reply, “taking the sugar packets, switching your coffee order when you were looking under the table, took your place when you left, the shoelaces.”

“The shoelaces?”

“Yeah.” You nod. “That’s the other ray gun you saw this morning. Unties your shoelaces. I stopped after that because I thought you figured it out.”

His face scrunches in puzzlement.

“I mean, you looked right at me and told me to cut it out.”

He racks his brain about what you could possibly be talking about before it hits him. The hungover person on the goddamn bench in the park.

“You were the one in the hoodie and sunglasses.”

“I just followed the Avengers’ code of disguise.” You shrug. “Turns out it kinda works. Also teleportation. So helpful.”

He forgot about the teleportation. That's why you could do all of it so fast without him noticing you were even there.

“What about the fucking geese?”

You pause for a second. “The geese?”

“And the elevator.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” The confusion on your face is apparent. “What geese and elevator? I have no idea what you’re saying right now.”

“Everything’s been a mess today,” he grumbles. “I don’t know what’s real or not.”

“I swear I had nothing to do with it other than what I mentioned.” There’s indignation on your features that quickly gives way to delight. “Holy shit, did I just accidentally invent portable bad luck?”

“Okay-” his palm finds its way to his forehead in exasperation, “-then what the hell was the smell?”

“What smell- oh, the one from the box?”

He nods briskly.

“Secretions Magnifique.” You snorted. “It’s a perfume. The worst rated one I could find.”

“Perfume?”

“With notes of milk, seaweed and sandalwood.”

“It wasn’t an inator?”

“No, it wasn- did you get vibe checked by a goose at the park?” You stifle a laugh when you notice a stray feather on his thigh.

“What does that even mean?” he asks in despair.

“I can see why it attacked you. You got bad juju.” You raise an eyebrow. “Maybe if you stop staring so much-”

“So I just have shit luck.” Is that a fucking relief or even worse?

“Well,” you begin but decide not to continue.

Even with all the irritability masking it, you could see that he genuinely was just not having a good time.

“Wait here a second.”

You leave him at the door. He shifts his balance and sighs, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He still had to walk back to the Tower. Maybe he could grab a slice of pizza along the way since he skipped lunch.

“Okay, here.” You return with a large glass of water. He only looks at it. “It’s just water, I promise. You look like you ran a marathon."

He takes it from you sceptically, pushing away the urge to sniff at it. It’s gone within a few gulps.

You wait until he’s finished to point at his arm. He draws his eyebrows together, but you only curl your index finger and beckon for him to give you his hand.

He reluctantly extends it towards you.

“Don’t laugh,” you warn him, taking his metal arm. “This usually helps me.”

You tie a small bracelet around his wrist. It has a few beads, which he realises represent the colours of the solar system.

“Keep that for good luck.” You pat it gently after securing it. “I think you just had a bad day; those don’t last very long. Do you want to charge your phone before you leave?”

“Uh-” The bracelet’s pretty, the colours shine against the dark vibranium. “-no, I’m good. I’ll just leave.”

“Okay. Anything else I can help you with or will you be fine?”

He narrows his eyes. “You’re being suspiciously nice.”

“I’m not evil all the time.” You huff. “My hours are in the morning.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he says again. “I’m gonna go then.”

“See you next week.” You give him a little wave. “I’d say break a leg on your mission but knowing your situation...”

He scoffs. “Thanks.”

You make a move to close the door when starts walking down the hallway towards the exit.

He adjusts the beads slightly so he can see them better. The Earth one has glitter in it. He thinks it’s cute.

“Bucky.”

He turns around.

There’s a hint of a smile on your face.

“Take the stairs.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice.

Next part

[1kook]

wrong place, right time

— a someway, somehow jjk x reader drabble summary “Marry me,” Jungkook says one night warning smut is mentioned in passing (jk getting tied up, gagged, crying lol, also him fingering oc), da ex girlfriend Sojin is mentioned 😨, oc is a LIL scared..... she gets over it lol rating m (18+) wc 1k

note (!) alas.... our last swsh drabble to fulfill the arc I accidentally began for them <3 rip in peaces u will be missed mrs. ‘swish’

His timing is absolutely terrible.

At first, you had wanted to believe Jungkook was the normal one, that it was you who moved according to strict imaginary schedules. Wake up at exactly 6:14am every morning, grab your keys by 6:43. Precise, exact. Jungkook and everyone else moved according to more lax rules. The auto shop opens at 9am, sometimes 9:10 if traffic is bad; it closes at 11pm or whenever the last client leaves. Compared to Jungkook, you were just too picky about timing, too strict. 

For a long time, that seemed to be accurate. 

“Marry me,” Jungkook says one night, rolled beneath an old Dodge pick-up truck that has definitely seen better days. You’re sitting off to the side, fingers flying across your phone’s keyboard as you type up an angry email. It’s muffled, the sound of his voice absorbed by the junk of metal above him. You pretend you don’t hear it. A few minutes later, he rolls out from underneath, has got a dark streak of something painted across his perfect forehead. He taps the pointed toe of your heel with a wrench. “Marry me,” he repeats. 

You balk. “You’re asking me now?” you clarify just in case, phone slowly coming to rest against your thighs. He tilts his head to the side, shrugs like he sees nothing weird about the situation. There’s no other word to explain the emotion that blooms in your chest other than completely dumbfounded. “Like… right now?” 

Jungkook’s not even looking at you anymore, too busy shuffling through his toolbox for that one weird shaped tool you see him use often. “Do you want me to ask another time?” he suggests casually. When he looks back up, he’s got this slightly confused look on his face, as if you’re the odd one. And because the moment is just so… weird you find yourself nodding along. 

And that’s that. You move on, pretend like Jungkook’s weirdly placed proposal didn’t happen, let it settle in the very back of your mind. Not like it’s hard, anyway. Your schedule is packed, clouded with meetings and deadlines, all your new roles as the department manager, and you barely have time to think about it. 

He tries again about a month later. 

“Marry me,” he gasps after a wild night beneath the sheets. There’s tender marks lining his rib cage, over his arms, around his throat. His face is still flushed, and there’s drying cum against his tummy. He might’ve cried tonight from overstimulation, but you can’t quite remember. That’s how he asks you the second time. 

For some reason, you laugh the second time. “What?” you chuckle, and maybe it was one of those protective measures, laughing in a tense situation because you don’t know what else to say. Your mind is still stuck somewhere between the gags and the cuffs and the tears and the way his skin had bruised beneath your touch. 

Jungkook rolls out his wrist— it’s red, so fucking red —and then promptly reaches for your hand. The pad of his thumb is rough from years of working, swipes across your knuckles lovingly. “Marry me,” he says, but you can’t tell if the blush on his cheeks is from his bashfulness or from the fact you had choked him a few minutes prior. “I want to marry you.”

Your brain stalls, mouth opening and closing. Jungkook doesn’t seem too bothered. He kisses your knuckles, asks you to get the salve from his drawer instead. He doesn’t mention it again that night, just lets you rub his back and goes to sleep. 

The next time comes sooner, about a week later. 

His mom mentions it one night, the three of you squeezed into the tiny kitchen of his family home as his dad snores in the other room. “Sojin is getting married,” she says, and the air is sucked out of the room. At least, it is for you. 

You try to play it off, straining your eyes to catch a glimpse of him in your peripheral. “Really,” Jungkook says, half a turkey sandwich in his mouth. He’s still in his jumpsuit from work, has it knotted around his waist in that way that makes him look extra beefy, extra sexy. “That’s crazy.”

His mom hums, and their genuine lack of emotion towards the news makes you feel like you’re the crazy one once again. “She sent an invitation.” 

She leaves the kitchen soon after, leaves you quietly stirring the sugar into your coffee as Jungkook gobbles down his sandwich. A loud gulp, the loud smack of his lips. “We should get married,” he says, and you jolt, spoon clattering loudly against the inside of your mug. 

Your brain doesn’t struggle for a response this time. That being said, it doesn’t necessarily have you giving him a good response either. “Like Sojin,” you reply, and feel weird about it immediately. Icky. Gross. Bitter. 

Apparently, Jungkook gets it. “Or we can get married in ten years,” he suggests instead, skips over your little blunder like he never heard it at all. “Or fifty.”

You appreciate it. “When I’m saggy,” you mumble, eyes hyper-focused on the mini whirlpool inside your coffee mug. 

He hums, bumps his hip against yours. “My cute, senior citizen girlfriend. We can drive one of those retro cars around town.”

The worst one yet is on the side of the road, your car battery giving out on the highway that connects the city to your hometown. Jungkook picks you up, pulls up behind you and has the audacity to catcall you as he walks up. “Hey, beautiful,” he flirts after you punch his stupidly strong bicep, grins this cheesy thing at you as he gets to work. 

In the end, your car can’t be revived with the limited tools he brought along. You settle on waiting inside his truck, snuggled beneath his jacket as you wait for the tow truck. He gets the bright idea to fondle you beneath the coat, the dying sunset painting his charming face in a romantic glow that has you seeing stars and galaxies and nebulae when you come. “Marry me,” he husks out, mouth slotted against yours. 

It’s the last time he asks; it’s the first time you say yes.

[icedfae]

(—) ★ spotted!! EMILIA MORALES on the cover of this week’s most recent tabloid! many say that the age 24 year old looks like SOFIA CARSON, but i don’t really see it. while the FIGURE SKATER is known for being TENACIOUS my inside sources say that they have a tendency to be CAPRICIOUS i swear, every time i think of them, i hear the song EVERY LITTLE THING SHE DOES IS MAGIC by THE POLICE {she/her / cisfemale}

every little thing she does is magic

basics

Name: Emilia Raquel Morales Age:  Twenty-Four DOB: July 8, 1998 Gender: Cisfemale Sexuality: Bisexual Occupation: Olympic Class Figure Skater Parents: Javier Morales, Raquel Morales Siblings: Javi Morales (older brother) Hometown: Miami, Florida

every little thing she does just turns me on

biography

Youngest child of Javier and Raquel Morales, Emilia was born three years after the family moved to Miami, Florida, becoming the first natural born American citizen while her parents and brother eventually became citizens in their own right.

Her entire life Emilia wanted to be a princess, often twirling in dresses her mother handmade for her. When she was five years old, her mother had taken her to Disney on Ice and the rest was history. She wanted to be just like the princesses and that started the life long dedication to the sport of women’s single ice skating.

Her family didn’t have much growing up but the longer that Javi’s career in music rose the more Emilia fought to be as good as him, if not better. She wanted to be remembered as something other than Javi’s younger sister born 16 years later.

Blood, sweat and tears put into the sport and she only got two Olympic Games out of it -- 2018 and 2022, having missed the deadline of 15 for the 2014 games by 7 days.

After missing the qualification for the 2014 games by a week, Emilia had to check herself and really think about how she wanted things to go. She ended up moving up to Boston to skate full time, not really feeling the Miami vibes anymore. Just up and moved herself up the coast for funsies.

She was ranked internationally as one of the most decorated in women’s single skating often competing back and forth with Russian skaters. Always placed gold or silver in her events since her senior career began.

At the 2018 Olympics, Emilia walked away with a gold medal in woman’s short program and a silver in women’s free skate. In 2022, Emilia was awarded the gold medal in short program and the bronze in free skate, placing behind one of her teammates, who got gold. Every expected a behind the scenes tantrum but all you could see was giggling from the podium and then hugging after the medals were awarded.

Since her last games, Emilia is currently catching up on her studies while also skating for UCLA while she decides if she wants to make another run for the Olympics in four years or move onto coaching.

even though my life before her was tragic

things to note

To this day she still has all of her medals from different events hung in a trophy case in her home. She’s very proud of the accomplishments she’s had in her short life.

Her mother, Raquel, has made every single one of her

Really can be the sweetest human alive or your worst nightmare depending on the day of the week.

Absolutely looks for the best in everyone but the moment you cross her she’s going to burn your entire house down.

Very rarely wears pants. It’s always skirts or dresses, still stuck in her princess daydreams.

Has a husky named Harding, after her skating hero, and a cat named Fiyero.

Very close with her older brother and always loved when he was around with his huge schedule.

Doesn’t know when to quit, has often times had to be told to chill out by everyone around her.

Also doesn’t understand ‘no’ as a concept.

now i know my love for her goes on

connections

tba

[clownholemcfannywhistle]

CreepyPooPooPeePeePasta AU

My BFF and I often do Creepypasta roleplays, but we make the characters act like they’re on crack and 100% change their personalities for humor purposes.  Here are some of the headcannons we have (and/or may have in the future) in this AU.  This is very cursed; you have been warned.  (Content warning: mentions of urine/feces, really REALLY immature humor, NSFW post)

Jeff the Killer

Panty thief

Screams a lot

Sometimes has farts on people’s faces

Ben Drowned

Barely potty-trained

Sometimes takes laxatives so he can projectile shit into the mailbox

Pisses on Jeff

Screams the most out of everyone, like constant all-caps

Dick the size of a cashew, and that’s being generous

Worships the object of his affection to an unhealthy level

Steals clothing from his crush to make a panties quilt that he can cuddle in

Loves sucking titties

Eyeless Jack

Obviously into vore

Underneath his mask, there is no face--just one giant butthole

His face anus has six tongues and hella taste buds

Laughing Jack

Loves using his nose as his crush’s butt plug

If you steal his candy, he will go ballistic and shank you with his tongue, which can become erect at will

Instead of testicles, he has jawbreakers

Slenderman

Requires poop offerings from all mansion residents to stay sane

He bakes shit cakes with diarrhea icing, but he’s the only one who likes them

Not even Offendy is into that shit

Uses his tentacles to wipe people’s asses

“Mmm, I’ll save this for later~~~”

Must be locked in a cage anytime there’s a normal cake for any occasion, as he WILL try to poo on it

Also loves kittens

Trenderman

Just wants to make and wear clothes in peace

Has no genitals, like a Ken doll

Will absolutely hex anyone who even stretches out his shirt

His glasses help him smell bullshit even though he has no eyes and they’re glasses

Offenderman

Terrified of anyone who will stand up to him

Has no understanding of meme culture and will be very intimidated if anyone references a meme around him

Frequently eats spaghetti

Since he’s pale, spaghetti sauce stains his skin

Splendorman

Very annoying

So annoying, in fact, that he got an anonymous present of a baby elephant to keep him company so he doesn’t annoy everyone

The elephant’s name is Jim, and he sharts so furiously he flies around the room with his “shart rocket”

Ticci Toby

Watches so much hentai

Has anime sex dolls and body pillows

Will hiss at anyone who dares touch his anime paraphernalia

Masky

The definition of duality; both a proud cuckold and a possessive yandere for his crush

Says the worst possible things at the worst possible times

Has an altar dedicated to the object of his affection and masturbates to it daily

Hoodie

Joins dating websites looking for exclusively senior citizens

“Looking for a sexy silver Babushka to pull my pre-pubescent moustache”

Loves getting pegged by old ladies

Bloody Painter

Also a yandere but way less obvious than Masky

Makes sculptures of vulvas with teeth and gets off to those

Draws furry foot porn

[ceasarslegion]

actually i need to make a separate post to truly communicate the depths of my hatred for the “abusive parent apologized and actually Loved Them the Whole Time so its Okay Now” trope. It’s bad at best, and abusive apologism at worse. Because you can’t just apologize the trauma that parental abuse causes away!

Because it was a Bill and Ted post that brought this up, I’m gonna use Face the Music as an example. So in Excellent Adventure and Bogus Journey, and the BnT cartoon, it’s very obvious that Ted’s father is an antagonist. He’s kind of the best case you can make for a main antagonist in Excellent Adventure, and it’s through his controlling emotional abuse of his son that the main conflict plays out: they can’t separate the great ones or the future falls apart, Captain Logan wants his undisciplined son at Alaskan military school, so they need to pass history or Ted’s going to Alaska. Except, for a mostly goofy and consequence-light movie series, Captain Logan’s treatment of Ted really stands out to someone who had an emotionally abusive upbringing myself. Everything is assumed to be Ted’s fault, even when it has no reason to be (”YOU haven’t done anything with my keys, have you?!”), he uses the things that make Ted happy against him to make him feel worthless (”you lose my keys, you fail history, you spend all your time with your loser friend planning a band that’ll never happen!”), and he leaves absolutely no room for argument, because he always has to be right. He never lets Ted get a word in edgewise, and the way Ted and even Bill react really stood out to me, even if it wasn’t supposed to be that deep. Ted’s definitely the more smiley and puppy dog-esque gentle giant of the two, and he’s very talkative and expressive, always bouncing around and showing every emotion he has in full-body movements and exaggerated facial expressions. But with his dad, he just clams up, looks down, and takes it. That’s not the behavior of a kid who feels heard and understood by a simple strict parent, that’s the behavior of a kid who learned a long time ago that showing his feelings and saying anything in opposition to his father will only get him more pain, so it’s best to just put his head down, nod, and take it.

It’s not great in Bogus Journey, either. Captain Logan is still that looming figure who threatens him with Alaska for [checks notes] needing financial help in his early 20s, like a pretty normal young adult who’s still figuring out how finances work and will probably stumble a few times along the learning curve. Bogus Journey also gave us a pretty good glimpse of how Captain Logan acts about his son when Ted’s not even around in the “I totally possessed my dad!” scene. It’s with disdain at best and active distaste at worst. Not even a “I’m proud that my son is making inroads something he’s passionate about.” He’s just not a good dad. He’s not. He’s at least verbally, psychologically, and emotionally abusive, because that’s shown on screen. I don’t wanna get into fan interpretation territory, because the physical abuse most of us get vibes of from him is never actually shown if it was intended.

And like, you can see in Face the Music that Ted still carries a lot of animosity and trauma from his father, who is still infantilizing him and getting on his case about everything he does, as if a 50 year-old can’t take care of himself. He never even acknowledges that Ted was once world-famous, or how he might be struggling with this crushing sense of responsibility he at least believes he has, all he can focus on is his failures.

It just... feels almost insulting to me when Captain Logan had that “I’m sorry” moment and Ted immediately ran up for a hug. After 50 years of constant abuse, it’s just okay now because he apologized? That’s definitely the vibe the rest of the movie had, at least. And it’s so, so stupidly common especially in mainstream and cult media to pull that. Tony Stark’s character can not be separated from the parental abuse he suffered from Howard Stark, yet Endgame had a one-and-done not-even-apology from Howard’s past self and treated it like Tony was just okay after that. Fringe did it, the original 21 Jump Street tv show from the 80s did it, and apparently Bill and Ted did it, too.

It’s not fixed by an apology and an “I loved you all along” because that doesn’t change their past actions or how those actions affected their kids. Especially in the case of Captain Logan, because he clearly never separated from Ted’s life, especially if Billie called him “Gramps” in the opening scene, implying that she’s close enough to her grandfather to have some kind of relationship with him. So, yeah, Bill should have heard that apology and beaten the shit out of him, and Ted can have a few kicks too as a treat, because he bloody well deserves it, senior citizen or not. They’re all dead and in hell anyway, you can’t kill him again!

Anyway kill the godawful “abusive parent apologizes and it’s all okay” trope immediately, because it just makes parental abuse seem trivial and easily fixed when it’s not!!!

[obsessivelollipoplalala]

I see you’re a woman of culture 😌 I LOVE The Book of Mormon, POTO, Something Rotten; they’re definitely in my top 5. I’m also a Sondheim fan. I love LesMis, Chicago (the movie), Cabaret, Hairspray, Legally Blonde, Hedwig and the Angry Inch and dare I say it, Cats (NOT the movie, and before you ask, no I’m not a furry lmao). Falsettos, Dogfight and Rent make me cry like a baby. Avenue Q is good but I think it’s a bit dated.

Anyways on the topic of RPF or fanfiction in general, what’s like the worst fic you’ve encountered? That one I talked about definitely scarred me the most, but I also saw fics where the entire premise is a female Y/N “turning Freddie straight” and having heterosexual sex with him which is just ew. And tbh I personally don’t have anything against old man thirst/PD!Queen fics (not including fics that normalize ped0philia etc), it’s just… some things are harder to stomach than others lol. As long as they keep it in their corner of the Internet and do not present it to the people they write about, live and let live.

Actually now that I think about the old man thirst, it’s a bit concerning to see literal children in their preteen and early teen years openly thirsting for old men, like men in their 60-80s. This goes beyond the Queen fandom, and applies to the wider classic rock fandom. The things I’ve read… They’re not just cute innocent crushes, they’re literally talking about present day rock stars in a very explicit, sexual way. A LOT of kids are getting into classic rock now; I sent you that ask about Tiktok and I’m not exaggerating when I say I see a lot of 11-14 classic rock fans (who like bands like Motley Crue, The Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, Aerosmith, The Who…) And this opens up to all kinds of problems; I’ve seen a lot of them talk about how creepy old men would disguise themselves as their faves online and talk to them, ask for their number/address, etc.

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Oh yeah, Avenue Q is a product of its time. It was 2003 and it even has the line that George Bush is "only for now" in the last song lol. A lot has changed in our culture over the past 18 years. Sondheim is my favorite composer, hands-down. He's a genius and his music is so damn smart a lot of times. I haven't seen all of the other ones you've mentioned, but I'll be controversial and say that not only am I not a fan of Cats or POTO (with the latter, it has good songs but I think they're better out of context because the characters suck), but god, I really dislike RENT lol. I know a lot of people love it and that's fine. I'm glad you can get more enjoyment out of it than I can. I cried my eyes out when I watched it in 8th grade, but then I watched it when I got older and really did not enjoy it anymore.

Ooo boy, you're asking the real controversial questions lol. I'm definitely uncomfortable with the type of stories you mentioned. RPF is a complicated topic and I have mixed thoughts on it, but the short version is that I do think there are lines that shouldn't be crossed with it. I...really hate to name any specific fic....But. There's this person who has posted a ton of stories and they've gained quite a reputation. The stories tend to have these common themes: young Freddie being physically ill in some way (so some lowkey illness exploitation, for lack of a better term), the other members of the band being medical professionals who are either related to Freddie or his partners, some underage shit, random George Michael cameos, a dentistry fetish, and a tickling fetish. There are other things thrown in their work, but those are the things that pop up the most frequently.

I'm sorry, but it's the strangest collection of stories I've ever come across. I read just the descriptions of these stories to friends who've been reading fic for a long time, and they agree they've never seen such a weird collection. I think it would be weird if it were regular old fanfiction, but the fact that it's RPF is...Idk. I might get my head bitten off but I'm very uncomfortable with these stories which revolve around making Freddie medically suffer in some way when he really died of a terminal illness. This is where the stories go from strange to offensive for me. It's not like these stories deal with his real AIDS diagnosis, either, but stuff he didn't actually have irl. I saw one description where he'd need a lung transplant (?!) and closed the fuck out of AO3. Just, why? Where is the enjoyment out of imagining such a thing? Why not just write this story with a fictional character if it's going to have nothing to do with Queen? It honestly unnerves me. Oh, and the formatting of the stories themselves is absolutely unreadable. I clicked on one out of sheer curiosity but the lack of spaces and paragraph breaks hurt my eyes.

I do think the old man thirst is concerning when the people doing it are very young. Sorry but....kids aren't supposed to find senior citizens attractive lmfao. It definitely seems to be a thing in the wider classic rock fandom. I was going to say they'll just outgrow it, but if these kids on Tiktok are really talking about older men talking to them while posing as their idols, that's really concerning. Reason #7234 TikTok was a fucking mistake and I'm so glad I'm not on there.