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[flowersforbucky]

oil & water

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 5.8k

prompt - "If you wanted to take your pants off for me so badly, you could have just said so."

shout out to @ellemj for her encouragement with this ♡

warnings/tags: SMUT, vaginal penetration, oral sex (female receving), face sitting, mentions of violence, description of blood & wounds, no use of y/n, reader is afab, hurt/comfort trope, bickering & banter, friends to lovers, forced close proximity trope. 18 plus only!

“Roll your window up,” Bucky snaps at you as he turns down the music you had just put on moments ago. “The last thing we need is someone noticing the blood caked all over the entire right side of your body.” 

As if the lack of functioning AC in the twenty-something year old getaway car (an early 2000’s model Chevy Aveo is inconspicuous, according to Sam) wasn’t stifling enough in the south Georgia summer, the annoyance radiating from the brooding super soldier sitting next to you adds an extra ten degrees. 

Sure, Sam. Inconspicuous is the right word to describe a six foot, two hundred plus pound man with a metal arm cramped behind the driver’s seat of the equivalent to a clown car. Bright fucking cherry red and all. 

“It’s 103 degrees outside.” You glare at him from the passenger seat, where you’re using a tattered handkerchief found in the glove compartment to put pressure on the knife wound on your shoulder. “I’m going to have a heatstroke.” 

“You’re not going to have a heatstroke,” he rolls his eyes at you. “That happening would indicate that I have any amount of good luck.” 

“Ha-ha-ha,” you say under your breath, reluctantly rolling up the manual window with your still bleeding arm. “I got the fucking intel, did I not?” 

You remove the USB drive from its secure location in the cup of your bra and flash it at Bucky. “Though we’ll be lucky if this thing still works after being drowned in boob sweat, since you won’t let me keep the window rolled down.” 

“And nearly got yourself killed in the process.” He grabs the flashdrive from you and grimaces. “We’ll be at the safehouse in less than five minutes, if you can please just refrain from stroking out or bleeding out in the meantime.” 

You glance down at the once white handkerchief clutched in your hand. “I’m not making you any guarantees.” 

You're welcome for saving your ass, by the way, you resist adding. 

Jokes aside, the energy exerted in bringing down over a dozen HYDRA agents in combination with the July heat and the substantial blood loss from your shoulder wound has you feeling woozier by the minute. Factor in a few potentially fractured ribs and a dislocated knee and you're in pretty rough shape. 

As promised, just under five minutes later Bucky parks in front of a small trailer just outside the city limits of Valdosta. It's seen better days, but you don't mind as long as it has semi-functioning air conditioning. 

Bucky is opening your car door and offering you a hand up before you can take in your surroundings. You force yourself out of your seat, ignoring his outstretched hand and attempting to stand on your own, doing your best to ignore the borderline blinding pain radiating from your right knee. 

“Thanks, but I think I can–” 

Your vision goes fuzzy as you stumble forward, right into Bucky's chest. Your hand instinctively clutches the fabric of his shirt as you attempt to regain your balance.

“Let me guess. You're capable of stitching up your own shoulder, too?” 

He gently loops his arm around your waist, slowly walking the two of you to the front door of the trailer. You try to focus on keeping pressure on the gash on your shoulder and not the feeling of his toned body pressed against you. How does he smell so good after hand to hand combat and sitting in that sauna of a car? You're sure you probably smell like a wet diaper that's been left in the sun for–

Bucky opens the door and guides you inside. The interior of the safehouse is surprisingly homey and clean. It's still uncomfortably warm, but offers a nice reprieve from the violent mid-day sun. 

Bucky leads you into the small living space before maneuvering you out of his hold, where you all but collapse onto a suede sofa.

“I guess you do have some amount of good luck, after all,” you mumble, wiping sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. 

“What are you talking about?” Bucky glances at you from over his shoulder as he flicks on the AC. 

“That happening would indicate that I have any amount of good luck,” you quote his sarcastic comment from the car ride. 

“Ha-ha-ha,” he fake laughs just as you did. He rummages through a few cabinets and drawers of the small kitchen before finding everything he’s searching for, then makes his way back to where you are on the couch. 

“Drink this.” He hands you a bottle of water that you hadn't even noticed him grab. For once you don't object to his instructions, uncapping the bottle and gulping down the contents as quickly as you can. 

“You're not having a heatstroke,” he assures you. “But you are going to have to let me stitch up this crater on your shoulder and pop your knee back into place.” 

You sit forward, removing the now fully soaked cloth that you've been holding to your shoulder for the last half hour. 

Bucky winces at the sight of it, handing you a dishrag before opening a bottle of rubbing alcohol. “You might want to bite down on–” 

“I know the drill.” You sigh before putting the rag between your teeth. 

He hesitates for a moment before pouring the clear liquid over the wound. You groan against the rag, your eyes squint shut in pain. You've had your fair share of broken bones and black eyes working in this field, but you don't think you'll ever get used to the pain of getting stitches without the comforts of saline solution and anesthesia.

“I'm sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs, dabbing the cut dry with a paper towel. 

Your heart skips a beat at the nickname. “It's part of the job. I've come out of missions worse than this before,” you shrug, squeezing the dish rag he gave you until your knuckles go white as he makes the first incision. 

“Never because of me.” 

You glance at him, taken aback by the sudden shift in his tone. His gaze doesn't leave the thread and needle that he's using to close up the gash on your arm - his normally plump pout set into a hard line. 

“You know this isn't your fault, right?” You keep your eyes locked on him. “I saw that guy coming at you out of nowhere and I panicked. I wasn't watching my own back. That's my fault, not yours,” you say earnestly. 

“If you say so.” He glances up for a split second, giving you a tight-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes. 

“Is that why you've been such a grouch? You're blaming yourself for me not being careful enough?” 

“Maybe,” he admits quietly. “Or maybe I just hate seeing you covered in blood for any reason.” 

You freeze at the bluntness of his words. You and Bucky have been partners on more missions than you could count at this point - you know that he would have done the same for you if the situation had been reversed; in fact, there had been times where he had taken the brunt of the fight in order to protect you. 

All of those instances suddenly flash through your mind. 

The time he used himself as a human shield when there was a bomb set off during a recon mission at a warehouse in Tokyo. Or when he football tackled you out of the direct line of an incoming dagger during an operation in Portland. Not to mention the time he left a job all the way in Prague unfinished because he merely suspected you had a concussion. 

You had always chalked it up to “that’s what partners do,” but the pained expression on his face as he refuses to meet your eyes has you questioning if there could possibly be more to it. 

No. You’re his partner. He’d do the same for anyone else. He wouldn’t want to see anyone on his team covered in blood if he could prevent it. 

The two of you sit in a thick silence while he finishes stitching you up. 

“There,” he says at last, clipping the excess suture thread with scissors. “Not quite as good as your stitch work, but I think it’ll hold you together.” His voice isn’t as strained as it was moments ago, though you can't help but notice it sounds forced. 

“Thank you,” you tell him, ignoring the way your cheeks warmed the tiniest bit at his compliment. “Now for the really fun part,” you add, staring at your throbbing knee. 

“You’re in luck,” he says, perking up a bit. “I’ve popped my own knees back into place an embarrassing amount of times, so this should be a breeze.” He repositions himself to have better access to your leg, moving off the couch to perch on the edge of the coffee table in front of you. You attempt to pull the tight fabric of your tactical pants up enough to give him unhindered access to your knee, but it’s too restrictive, immediately causing you to wince in pain. 

“Fuck,” you huff. “I’m going to have to take these off.” You pop the button at the top of your pants and begin to push them down your thighs before insecurity can get the better of you. You try not to think about the fact that Bucky's never seen you in such little clothing - pants now pushed down to your calves, only your underwear and the bra and thin tank top you wore underneath the tactical vest that you took off as soon as you were in the safety of the getaway car left to cover you. 

Hesitation flashes across Bucky’s face for a brief moment before he scoots over slightly, moving directly in front of you so that he can position his hands on either side of your kneecap. You’re painfully aware of the polar opposite feeling of his right and left hand - his flesh hand is warm and so much softer than you’d expect, his metal one icy and smooth. You aren’t sure which causes the visible goosebumps that now litter your skin.

Maybe it’s not his touch at all. Maybe it’s the way his eyes haven’t left your thighs since you exposed them.

Maybe it’s the fact that if you parted your legs just a few inches, he’d be nestled between them. 

Chill out, you berate yourself. He's just relocating your knee for Christ's sake. 

“On the count of three,” he starts and you brace yourself. “One, two–” 

“MOTHERFUCKER.” You yell out at the same moment your knee creates a loud cracking noise that echoes off the walls of the small trailer. “You said count of three!” 

“Would that really have made it less painful?” He shrugs, but doesn't move from where his knees brush against yours. “I think what you mean to say is “thank you, Bucky, you're a lifesaver and I'm now in your debt.” 

“In your fuckin’ dreams,” you scoff. “I'm going to wash all of this blood and sweat off of me.” You move to push yourself off of the couch, tugging your pants back up as you stand. You can feel his eyes trail up your body as you do, making you feel woozy all over again. You turn away from him, heading towards the hallway that the bathroom is likely located down. 

“I could have done that through your pants, by the way.” 

You freeze mid-step, glancing back at him over your shoulder. “What do you mean?” You snap at him. 

“Your knee,” he clarifies, a hint of undeniable mischief in his expression. “I could have popped your knee back into place through your pants. If you wanted to take your pants off for me so badly, you could have just said so.” 

Just when you thought the safehouse was starting to cool down, your entire body heats up a thousand degrees. You're racking your brain trying to think of a retort when Bucky's ringtone starts blaring from the kitchen countertop. He ignores it, his eyes not leaving yours for what feels like an eternity. 

You finally break the silence. “That's most likely Sam wanting to make sure we're not dead. Should probably answer it.” 

“Probably should,” he smirks, and at last gets up from the coffee table to answer the phone.

You scurry the rest of the way to the bathroom before he can look back at you again, ignoring the sharp pains that radiate from your ribcage and the now dull ache that spreads from your knee. 

You turn the water to cold, and don't get out until you've started to shiver. 

— — — — — 

When you exit the bathroom and step back into the connected bedroom in only a towel, you see that Bucky has done you the kindness of bringing in the bags that had been stored in the backseat of the getaway car. 

You dig through your backpack, pulling out a fresh t-shirt and pair of leggings. From the next room, you can smell the aroma of whatever non-perishable food that Bucky has scrounged together. Despite your growing hunger pains, you take your sweet time combing through your freshly rinsed hair. The thought of looking Bucky in the eye after your last interaction nearly makes you lose your appetite. 

What was I thinking? Oh right, I wasn't thinking at all, otherwise I wouldn't have just pushed my fucking pants down right in front of–

“Your five course dinner is getting cold.” Bucky raps his fingers against the bedroom door, startling you from your thoughts. 

“Be right there,” you call back to him, swiping some deodorant under your arms. You take a glance at yourself in the bedroom’s small vanity mirror and immediately wish that you hadn't – you're cleaner than you were by miles, at least no longer covered in your own blood as well as the blood of HYDRA agents – but your cheekbone is lightly bruised, there's a slit on your bottom lip, and the bags under your eyes make it look like you haven't had a decent night's sleep in a month. 

You take a deep breath and then walk back to the one room that makes up the kitchen, dining area and living room. 

“Beef or shrimp ramen?” Bucky asks as you climb onto one of the barstools on the opposite side of the counter from where he's standing. 

“Hm,” you contemplate, not meeting his stare and instead occupying yourself with another bottle of water that he's placed where you now sit. 

Fucker probably wouldn't fluster me so bad if he wasn't being so damn thoughtful.

“I'll go with shrimp,” you answer, remembering that beef is his favorite.

He slides the bowl across the counter and then hands you a fork. You finally get the nerve to look up and meet his stare that feels as if it weighs two tons. 

“So, what did Sam say?” You try to go for light conversation, twisting the fork around your noodles. “Are we free to get out of here once it's dark out?” 

“Not…quite,” he hesitates, now seeming particularly interested in his own food. “The car battery kind of died.” 

“What do you mean the car battery kind of died?” 

“While you were in the shower, I tried to move the car behind the house so that anyone driving by wouldn't immediately know that someone's here. It started fine, but as I was driving it around back it just.. stopped. Had to push it the rest of the way.” 

You let out a dramatic groan as he continues. 

“I called Sam again and he said the earliest they can send someone to get us is in the morning.” 

“Well,” you exhale, blowing a raspberry with your lips. “We can flip a coin to see who gets the bed?” You ask lightheartedly. This isn’t the first time that you and Bucky have had an overnight mission together, but it is the first overnight mission where the two of you haven’t had your own motel rooms or at least a safehouse with two beds.

He looks at you quizzically, furrowing his eyebrows. “You really think there’s a chance of me making you sleep on the couch? In your condition?” 

“My condition?” you laugh. “I’ve got a few stitches, I’m not dying of cancer.” 

“You don’t think I’ve noticed the way it’s uncomfortable for you to inhale and exhale? You’ve probably got a couple fractured ribs with the way you landed on that cement. If not fractured, then at least heavily bruised. You’re not sleeping on the couch.” 

Between his tone and the look on his face, you know it isn’t up for debate. You throw your hands up in faux surrender. 

“Serving me instant ramen and letting me take the king sized bed?” you say teasingly. “Keep it up and I'm going to think that you're soft on me.” 

His gaze on you is heavy as he takes a long sip of water from his own bottle. “Wouldn't that be a shame?” 

— — — — — 

The rest of the afternoon is spent with you lounging in bed, resting your injuries and reading some cheesy western romance novel that you found in the drawer of the bedside table. 

Bucky keeps to the living room, where you hear a violent sounding movie playing from a TV that has to be as old as you are. 

You tell yourself that you're staying in the bedroom because you need to take it easy and relax, but truthfully you feel suffocated by the tension that has been escalating between you and Bucky since you arrived here. 

A certain level of tension had always been there, you knew deep down. From the first time the two of you met almost two years ago. 

Bucky had been formally introduced to the team just a few weeks prior, and it was his first official mission. An undercover mission - just the two of you. 

Posing as an engaged couple at a party thrown at the estate of a notorious crime boss in order to obtain intel. Pretty straight forward - it was far from your first undercover mission. And then it was sprung on you at the last minute that the man who you'd only met once, less than a month ago, was to be your fiancé for the evening. 

The bastard even went as far as to slip the fake engagement ring on your finger himself. 

“Natasha picked this out. She said it needed to be a princess cut, because that's what you like.” 

You chuckled as he went to slide the rock onto your ring finger. “What? You're not going to get down on one knee?” 

The mission went shockingly smooth, you and Bucky were in and out with the needed intel in just a few hours. But those few hours replayed in the back of your mind more often than you care to admit. 

The way his arm stayed wrapped securely around your shoulder or waist the entire hour that you mingled as guests. How he pulled you into a slow dance to discuss the plan for sneaking into the study on an off-limits floor. The musky smell of his aftershave and the spearmint on his breath. 

And especially the way he referred to you as his “bride” when introducing yourselves to people, on more than one occasion throughout the night. 

“And who is this absolutely beautiful young woman on your arm?” an elderly man with eye boogers and booze on his breath asks Bucky. 

“This is my bride,” Bucky introduces you, giving him your undercover name. “She is beautiful, isn’t she? Most beautiful woman here, if I do say so myself.” 

Saying that Bucky played his part well that night would have been an understatement. Saying that he played his part scarily well would be a more accurate assertion. 

After grabbing the intel and fleeing the scene, neither of you ever mentioned that mission again. Not the lingering touches, smoldering stares - not even the way he shoved you up against the wall of a corridor, cupped your face in his large hands, and kissed you senseless for half a minute when you came close to getting caught sneaking into the private office by security at the very end of the evening. 

“Do you think that was believable?” he asks nervously, his hands still clutching your face as he looks around the hallway for any lingering guards. 

“Ye-yeah,” you stutter breathily. “As believable as it possibly could be.” 

There’s a light knock on the partially open bedroom door that draws you back to the reality of the safehouse. You realize that you’ve been staring at the same paragraph in your book for the last half hour. 

"Yeah?” you answer, bringing yourself to a sitting position. 

Bucky peaks his head around the door, opening it further so that you can see what he is carrying. 

“I’m tired of watching old James Bond movies,” he sighs, glancing between you and the stack of board games in his arms. “I found these in the TV stand.” 

“I kicked your ass in Battleship last time we played,” you remind him. “Do you really want a rematch of that?” 

“How about we make a bet?”

— — — — — 

Half an hour later, you've eaten your own words, now owing Bucky a large meat lovers pizza from his favorite parlor in Brooklyn and two weeks worth of laundry duty when you return to the compound. 

“How'd you get so good?” you demand as he makes the winning attack. “You were so lame at this last time.” 

“Maybe I just let you win last time,” he shrugs with a shit-eating grin. 

You just shake your head in defeat, wincing as you stand up from where you had been playing on the shag area rug in the living room. 

“No,” you declare firmly. “No, I don't believe that. There's no way you'd willingly let me win anything. I've learned that the hard way during hand to hand combat training way too many times.”  

Bucky belly laughs from where he still sits on the floor, his gaze trailing after you. 

You walk over to where he has piled the board games on the coffee table, trying to find something you were confident you could win. 

Monopoly isn't fun with only two players, Risk takes too long — 

Your eyes lock onto a card game peeking out from underneath the Sorry! box. 

You pick it up, turning back to face him with a growing smile on your face.

“Absolutely not,” he says firmly. “I'm over a hundred years old–” 

“What does age have to do with truth or dare?!” You exclaim, sitting back down on the floor once more. 

“I haven't been roped into a game of truth or dare since the 1930's,” he groans. 

“Scared of what you might have to do?” You tease, unboxing the cards. “Or what you might have to admit?” 

He stares at you for a long moment, pursing his lips. The disapproval doesn't quite reach his eyes - you can tell by the way they gleam that he's going to cave. 

“Maybe a bit of both,” he admits. He tousles his fingers through his hair and moves to cross his legs at the ankles. “Fine,” he relents. “One game.” 

You squeal like a kid in a candy store as you shuffle the deck of cards and lay them in a stack between you. 

“Elders first,” you motion to the pile. 

He rolls his eyes, drawing one from the top – dare. 

“Smell another player's armpit,” he deadpans. You're instantly thankful that you remembered to cram a stick of deodorant into your backpack when packing for the mission. 

“Well?” You lift up your arm. “I'm the only other player here and it's not going to sniff itself.” 

Bucky sighs, leaning across the game to put his nose directly next to the opening of your t-shirt sleeve. “Lavender,” he observes after inhaling, giving you an approving nod. “As far as dares go, I got lucky.” 

“Lucky that I showered earlier,” you mumble as you draw your turn, your cheeks warming slightly. 

Truth. 

“Who was your last kiss with and what was it like?” 

Your heart plummets to your stomach as you read the words aloud. Bucky waits impatiently as you fiddle with the piece of paper in your hands. 

“Might I remind you, you are the one who wanted to play this game so desp–” 

You hold up a finger and make a shushing sound, silencing him as he grins menacingly. 

“My last kiss was almost two years ago,” you answer honestly, looking back down at the card to avoid his stare. He can always tell when you're lying, why even try? 

“With a man I barely knew,” you continue. “We had to pretend to be in love for the evening. It was a shockingly easy thing to do. When he pushed me up against a wall and kissed me as a distraction to security guards, I had to remind myself that it was an act. We never spoke about it again. But now two years later, I'm telling him that I think of that kiss often.” 

When you finally look up, you can't decipher the look on his face. Long gone is the mischievous grin from just moments ago, in its place is.. shock? Perplexity? 

“And why exactly have you not kissed anyone else since then?” He asks quietly. 

“Nope,” you say, popping your lips on the p. “That's not how the game works, you don't get to add sub-questions.” 

His eyes don't leave yours as he draws his next card.

His turn for truth. He glances down to read his question.

“Have you ever wanted to have sex with any of the players?” 

Forget your cheeks feeling warm - your entire body feels like it's on fire as you wait for him to answer. 

He chuckles, tossing the card on top of the other two that had already been picked. 

“Every goddamn day since I kissed her almost two years ago.” 

You aren't sure which one of you snaps first. You lunge forward at the same moment that he's leaning across the splay of cards to grasp your face in his hands just like he did in that corridor two years ago. The same hint of spearmint on his breath, a bit more stubble on his jaw, and a sense of desperation that wasn't there before. 

He moves his hands to your lower back, pulling you flush against him as you both sit on your knees. Your own hands find the hem of his shirt, your fingers dancing across the skin of his waistline. 

“I asked you why you haven't kissed anyone since we last kissed,” he murmurs against your lips when he pulls away, both of you breathless. “You don't have to answer, but that..” his mouth moves to the side of your throat where he trails open-mouth kisses across the sensitive flesh of your pulse point. 

“That's why I haven't kissed anyone else, either.” 

A pathetic, small moan escapes past your lips at his admission. In a split second decision, you take control. You place your hands across his chest, pushing him down onto the shag rug that you'd been playing games on just moments ago. He lets himself fall back, pulling you with him. 

You straddle him, positioning yourself directly on his already evident erection. You drag yourself forwards, and then backwards, desperate for friction - he groans beneath you, jutting upwards. 

The fabric of your pants between you feels like a prison. 

You scoot back a few inches - just far enough to give yourself enough room to unbutton his jeans. 

“Wait, wait,” he stops you as you're about to begin pulling down his pants and underwear. You freeze, petrified that you've crossed a line– 

“I haven't stopped thinking about having your thighs wrapped around my head since I saw them earlier,” he says as he hooks his hands around them and hauls you up to his chest. “Take these off and sit on my face.” He tugs on the waistline of your leggings. 

“If you wanted me to take my pants off for you so badly, you could have just said so,” you echo his earlier teasing. 

“I'm asking you now, sweetheart,” his voice has a strained edge to it. “Don't make me beg.” 

Though the notion of him begging has wetness pooling down your thighs, you're too eager to entertain it. 

You stand up, directly above him as he keeps his position on the floor. You shimmy your leggings down your thighs, this time completely removing them and tossing them somewhere behind you. He tugs his t-shirt over his head and throws it in the general direction of your discarded pants. 

With you still standing above him, he leans forward so that his face brushes against the inside of your thighs. He brings his hands to the band of your underwear, hooking his fingers and slowly pulling them down until they're at your ankles. 

You slip them off as he lays back down on the floor. A bit apprehensively, you sit so that your bare pussy is against his hard chest. 

“Just stop me if it's too uncomfortable or if you can't breathe or any–” 

He cuts you off by all but picking you up and hauling you up to his face.

“I wouldn't worry about that,” his voice vibrates against the flesh of your innermost thighs. He tugs you down just one more inch so that his mouth makes contact with your center. 

You gasp out in pleasure as his tongue begins exploring your folds. There's no restraint about it - he sets a brutal pace, alternating between fucking his tongue into your cunt and sucking on your clit. 

You're writhing above him, grinding your pussy against his mouth. You go to squeeze your breasts, pulling your t-shirt off when you realize it's the one clothing article you've yet to shed. 

When he realizes that you're now completely naked above him, he lets out an animalistic groan as he laps a thick lick up your center. 

The vibration, in addition to him now squeezing your ass with enough pressure that he's bound to leave behind fingertip shaped bruises, is enough to send you spiraling to your climax. 

You involuntarily squeeze your thighs around his cheeks, riding out your orgasm as he continues to wrap his lips around your throbbing clitoris. 

You go still for a moment, aside from your heaving chest, as you come back down to earth. 

You climb off of him, your jellified legs nearly causing you to collapse onto the floor next to him. 

He props himself up with one arm, looking down at you. His face is thoroughly glistening with your juices. 

You can't help but think he's never looked hotter. 

A proud grin begins to form across his features as you pull him down to you by the back of his neck. 

You kiss him with as much feverency as you can muster in your post orgasm haze, tasting the semi-sweet tang of your come on his lips and tongue. 

“It's your turn to get these off,” you demand, drawing back from the kiss to pull at the waistband of his pants. 

“Can I at least take you to the comfy bed before this goes any further?” he bargains. “You are still recovering from multiple injuries, you know.” 

“I can assure you that I've never felt better.” But you let him have his way. He stands before picking you up, lifting you so that you can wrap your legs securely around his midsection. His large hands planted firmly on your ass, he walks the short distance to the bedroom. Your nipples pebble as they press against his bare chest. 

He gently places you on top of the comforter before standing back, at last removing his jeans and boxers. His cock springs forward, slapping against his lower belly. 

Your mouth goes dry at the sight. If it had been a long time since you had been kissed, it had been even longer since you had been fucked. 

He crawls onto the bed, hovering above where you lay. You automatically open your legs to allow him between them. 

His eyes rake up and down your body, pausing on your breasts. 

"You're goddamn stunning.” 

Before you can respond, he's leaning down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth. Rolling it between his teeth, the sensation has you arching your back into his touch. You can feel the tip of his cock jutting against your core - teasing but not yet entering. 

He starts to line himself up at your hole, his eyes locking onto yours as he pumps himself in his hand. He brings his lips down to yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth at the same moment he nudges his tip past your entrance. 

There's a blissful burn as he cautiously buries himself inside you - you're simultaneously thankful that he's going slow and needing him balls deep. He pushes in, inch by inch, until you're filled to the hilt. When he can't get any deeper, he pulls back - and slams back into you all at once. 

You swear you can feel him in your stomach. You look down at where your bodies connect, the sight of him sliding in and out of you enough to have you on the edge of climaxing again already. 

He brings his metal hand to knead your breast. 

"Do you have any idea how many times I've pictured having you under me like this?” He coos. You gyrate your hips to meet his thrusts, causing his eyes to roll back into his head. 

“How many times I've thought about what your little moans would sound like?” 

Your only answer is a gutteral moan of his name as you wrap your arms around him and dig your nails into the flesh of his back. 

“Your pussy feels even more like heaven than I imagined it would.” 

His praises send you over the edge - you're coming for a second time, clenching around him as his thrusts grow messy. He fucks you through your orgasm before he loses control himself, burying his face in the curve of your neck as he spills into you. 

With you still panting and limp beneath him,  his movements gradually come to a stop but he doesn't pull out - instead he flips you to your side and maneuvers himself into a spooning position behind you. 

He peppers soft kisses along the skin of your shoulder, being careful to avoid your stitches, and relaxes beside you. 

“Remind me to dislocate my knee more often,” you joke, processing everything that just happened. 

He snorts, then tilts your head up to meet his gaze. “Remind me to play truth or dare with you more often.” He captures your lips in his, this kiss slower than any of the ones before. 

“I guess it would be weird to make you do my laundry for two weeks now, huh?” He teases, earning a laugh from you.

“You do still owe me a pizza, but I'll be happy to share it with you.” 

♡♡♡♡♡

my masterlist

[monsterqueers]

So ive been using linux for a good while now, and its now officially my daily driver. Windows is now permabenched in a removed hhd in a drawer unless something awful happens. (Good riddance, havent truly enjoyed windows since xp)

And from this I think that people urging others to move to linux are not doing so in the correct way.

Instead of trying to push a friendly distro and insisting it will work for everything and everyone, instead check if the hardware they are using specifically is good for linux and if so what families.

One computer will be a breeze with any distro, another could have a few quirks but be basically fine, however another of the same year and manufacturer could be an uphill battle thats straight up unusable even for someone who knows how to do the kernel edit workarounds for all but specific distros, if that.

My desktop took linux mint like a dream, 100% painless with no fucking about to make it work and even no need for an ethernet cable to get things started. My dinosaur laptop (may it rest in peace after other components died) had a few issues but also worked very well with little effort with mint. My current junk laptop is an uphill battle that will require arch AND edits to the kernel paremeters to work without being filled with screen flashing and full system freezes at random and im still gearing up the gumption to give it another few attempts to actually pull it off.

Each of these computers is a VERY different experience, and if your prospective switcher is using a computer that doesnt play well, its NOT going to work, they will get frustrated, and they will give up. They have to work with what they have.

Instead of going right to telling them to switch and that anything is good, Encourage people to search up their pc+linux compatibility if they are looking to switch to determine if its viable for a newbie who doesnt want to struggle, then offer a distro that has a live usb/dvd version if possible for them to test without install, and a big enough userbase that troubleshooting is as painless as possible.

If its a laptop, archwiki has lists of those by maker (linked in the page given) with notes on what has been tested in that family of linux.

This, I think, above all, is the most important thing when trying to get people to switch:

MAKE SURE THEIR HARDWARE IS GOOD FOR IT

Not just the pc, but the peripherals too; their mouse, their mic, their webcam, their keyboard- these things are not always supported well.

Linux can be fast, easy, and really comfortable and painless with little to no troubleshooting or tedious workarounds to get your stuff to work; but you have to be using the right hardware.

Yes, make sure you have alternative programs lined up that are actually good (stop reccing gimp when krita is a way better P$ alternative for people trying to draw digitally), and maybe consider talking about how to run wine in a newbie friendly way for things they might need for work reasons that dont work on linux normally(and accept that it might not work even with wine), but above all, make sure that its not just being phrased as 'a you problem' when it might be their system that is the issue there.

For prospective switchers that tried but gave up because of glitches or freezes or things otherwise not working: It wasnt you being bad at computers. Sometimes it just doesnt work with that hardware well and there is nothing you can do. People dont warn you about this, but its a very real issue.

If you still want to try linux, when you eventually get a new computer in the future, look for one that seems to be supported by linux well- some pcs even come with linux preinstalled for you even (dell does this with ubuntu and ubuntu has skins that looks windows esque). Asking specifically for linux compatible or linux preinstalled computers signals to developers to make more computers that work with linux, and makes it easier to get linux friendly stuff.

If not, there are windows 11 neutering tools out there in the wild that are very useful and are a plenty fine alternative to switching. You should only switch if you want to switch.

[transmutationisms]

The port ur plugging the hard drive into might be bad. U should test it with another thing that plugs in there. Like a flash drive. Could be drivers also

oh my god i was so annoyed Abt it yday and then i experimented on a friend's computer and it turns out it was just my usb c cord is busted. the actual drive is fine lol

[thebestworstidea]

I didn't expect to get a cab, not this late at night.

Everything had gone wrong today. My flight had been delayed then canceled after my ride had already left, leaving me in a town-sized airport in a city I didn't know, thousands of miles from home. The airline suggested I get a hotel, with no mention of reimbursement, which, rude, also wasn't really something I could do.

I supposed I could have called my friend who'd dropped me off, but there was a patch of highway where you just could not get a signal between the airport and their home, so it might not even work, and would just worry them. They had enough to deal with, they didn't need to deal with this crisis. I mean, technically it wasn't a big deal right? Flights get canceled all the time. I'm an adult, damn it, I can handle a little upset.

I may have cried at the service desk. I'm not proud, and it certainly wasn't on purpose. I got put on a flight about the time I was supposed to be arriving at my local airport, and went the wrong direction for almost as long as the flight would have taken. I bounced across another transfer flight before I was actually pointed home. The flight didn't even offer snacks, except water and peanuts, and hungry as I was, eating peanuts would not improve the day any.

Where was I? Right, when I finally got into my local airport, everything was dead. There were a few sleepy, grouchy looking employees stationed behind desks, but there were no lines for red-eye flights, no lounge, no open over-priced restaurants, not even a janitor scrubbing the floor. Everything was shuttered and silent.

The airport echoed. There had been other people on the flight- but I didn't see them. Maybe they'd gone to make another connection. The baggage carousel was empty and stationary, so who even knew where my checked bag was. My phone battery was flashing 'low, will automatically shut off' my spare battery was drained and the usb plug block had disappeared sometime during everything. It might still be plugged into the wall at my friend's place, come to think.

Anyway the rental car place certainly wasn't open, and that'd cost more than a hotel. I couldn't call for a ride with my phone like that, besides, fuck Uber anyway.

Outside the airport, it was almost as silent. I could hear cars in the distance, I could see cars parked in the lot, but no one was waiting to pick anyone up. One of those moments where you contemplate the possibility that you just died at some point and have walked into purgatory with a rolling carry-on. I sat on a cold concrete bench near the abandoned taxi stand and wondered if I could just walk to a place that was less dead. I closed my eyes and contemplated it, until I felt the air move.

A cab had just pulled up at the stand. A charmingly old fashioned one, honestly, that looked like a taxi. The passanger's window rolled down and the driver smiled kindly, an older black man.

"Looking for a ride?"

Part of me wanted to say 'no, I'm fine' and the other part of me wanted desperately to just get home. To spend whatever twilight hours were left in my own bed.

"It's a pretty long haul." I admitted. "Like an hour."

"That's fine."

"it's residential, there won't be a return fare." I was looking over the cab, clean and well maintained, with the little 'taxi' sign illuminated on top.

"Sometimes that's the job." He responded. "Still, I like doing it, especially late at night when nobody's got no one."

I huffed a laugh in response, and went to the back door.

"You realize that sounds a little creepy right?"

he laughed back.

"Hon, everything sounds creepy this time of night."

I had to agree, and settled and buckled up, my bag on the floor next to my feet. I gave him the address and basic directions. the cab pulled away slowly and I noticed that the fare reader was an older model. I didn't have that much cash on me, but there was a stash at home, so that should be fine. Unless things went super weird this guy would be getting the best tip I could afford.

The car was well maintained, engine nearly silent. It was a struggle not to fall asleep, after the day I'd had. It helped that the ac was up in the cab, and I assumed it was just a comfortable temperature for the driver, who was humming under his breath as we settled on the long road towards my home. Other than that, the ride was silent, other than the sudden unexpected beep of my phone finally giving up the ghost, which made us both jump. I apologized, and we laughed about it, but then it was quiet for a long time.

Finally I asked a question, just to break the silence.

"Have you been driving a cab long?"

"Oh years." he agreed. "Since I was a teenager. More steady than you'd think."

"I don't normally take taxis." I admitted. "Usually I organize rides from my friends or family."

"Lots of people take cabs for the first time because of emergencies." he agreed.

"I don't know if this counts as an emergency."

His eyes looked over at me in the rearveiw mirror. He didn't say anything, and I decided that silence wasn't so bad.

The night stretched on, longer than I would have thought. I had no idea what time it was, I thought it might have been three when I reached the airport, but with my phone dead there was no place to check. It was still pitchy dark when he pulled up outside my house.

I dug out my wallet.

"I don't have all the fare in cash, but I can hand you what I have, and get the rest from inside. I'll leave my bag here so you know I'll be back, is that okay?"

"Don't you worry about that. It's good."

"Thanks." clambering out, I handed him the emergency bill from behind my license, and turned towards the front door. Behind me I felt the movement of air, and I whipped around. The guy had been so nice, and what did he think my carry on had?! my laptop is not worth an hour-and-a-half's fare.

The cab was gone. Just gone. Leaving me alone on a dark street. Well, halfway between the street and my house, but you know what I mean. I looked up the street, and down the street, and even straight up. I always look up, because people don't. I mean I didn't expect the cab to be there, but who knows. It took my eyes a minute to adjust, and my brain longer than that to contemplate what the fuck just happened.

Finally they adjusted enough that I saw my carry-on on the street. Right were I had left the cab, lying in the same way it had in the passengers foot well. I went and picked it up, looking left right and sideways again, staring down the empty streets.

So yeah, I didn't expect to get a cab. And I'm not sure that I did.

[nosleepforaiba]

Hey do any tech experts (who use windows 11) have any idea why my controller constantly disconnects and freezes my computer briefly when it does? It even makes my monitors flash sometimes. I know it’s not the controller or my cord because I’ve tried two different cords and two different controllers and both of them get tue same thing. Lily’s controller has now started doing the same thing.

I’m convinced it’s a driver issue but I cannot seem to find a way to fix it. Xbox support tells me nothing and I’ve tried removing ALL of my usb devices and readding them and it still does the same thing.

[averalia]

The Cold Case

Part 1// Part 2// Part 3// part 4 (Final)

| Pairing: (platonic)Athens Grant x Reader

| Warning: Warning/s: Attempted kidnapping, assault, guns, death

I Summary: Athena uncovers crucial evidence, your documents and a flash drive with audio recordings exposing a powerful, murderous conspiracy. With Hen's help, she verifies the evidence and anonymously leaks it to an investigative journalist, triggering a public exposé and FBI inquiry. However, the conspirators retaliate with a direct threat to Athena's family, forcing her to move them to a secure, remote cabin as the fight for justice escalates into a personal war.

| A/N: stuff is getting messy

Back in the relative safety of her car, miles from the judge’s old house, Athena finally allowed herself to breathe. Her hands, still gloved, trembled slightly as she placed the small metal box on her lap. The city lights cast long shadows across the dashboard, but her focus was entirely on the unassuming container.

With a deep breath, she unlatched the simple clasp. The lid creaked open, revealing its contents.

Inside, nestled amongst layers of what looked like old, yellowed tissue paper, were several thick manila envelopes. They were tightly bound with rubber bands, brittle with age. Her heart hammered against her ribs. These were the documents Thomas Thorne's father, Judge Thorne, had kept as leverage.

She carefully removed the first envelope. The handwriting on the front was precise, almost calligraphic. "Project Nightingale - Land Acquisitions." Athena pulled out the contents. They were photocopies, faded but still legible, of legal documents: property deeds, zoning permits, environmental impact assessments. But unlike the public records, these had handwritten annotations in the margins, notes, and figures scribbled in a tight, meticulous script she recognized from Y/N's old case file: Y/N's handwriting.

These weren't just copies; they were Y/N's copies, with their own damning observations. One document showed an abnormally low valuation for a prime piece of land, with a note from Y/N: "Appraisal fraudulent. Actual market value ~$10M higher. Discrepancy unexplained." Another detailed a hasty re-zoning request, with Y/N's comment: "Approved in 3 days. No public hearing. Bypass?"

The envelopes contained similar documentation: financial records, shell company registrations, and even a few internal memos from the development firms that contradicted their public statements. It was a paper trail, undeniable and meticulously compiled, exposing the layers of corruption that had propelled the downtown project.

But then, at the very bottom of the box, beneath the last envelope, Athena's fingers brushed against something else. It was small, no larger than her thumb, encased in a hard, clear plastic shell. A flash drive.

Her breath hitched. Thorne had said his father claimed to have destroyed the flash drive, to have melted it down. Yet, here it was. It wasn't a modern USB stick, but an early model, bulkier and more rectangular, likely from the late 1990s, when they were just beginning to become commercially available. The kind that would have required a specific driver to run on older operating systems, something a corrupt judge might have overlooked in his hurried attempt to destroy evidence, or perhaps dismissed as too antiquated to be of use.

This was the holy grail. If Thomas Thorne was right, this flash drive contained the audio recordings. The actual voices of the conspirators, caught in the act.

A shiver of triumph, mixed with profound dread, ran through Athena. This wasn't just proof; it was a hammer, poised to shatter the lives of powerful men. But wielding it would be incredibly dangerous. They had killed once. They would kill again to keep these secrets buried.

She looked down at the old photo of you, Y/N, still in the cold case file on her passenger seat. Your smile was bright, full of life, a life unjustly taken. "Y/N," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, "we got them. We finally got them."

The documents and the flash drive now presented a new, even more complex challenge. She couldn't take them back to the precinct and simply hand them over. The reach of this conspiracy, even after three decades, was unknown. She needed a secure, independent way to verify the flash drive's contents and to disseminate this information without exposing herself or her family to immediate retaliation.

She knew exactly who to call. Someone outside the department, someone she trusted implicitly with her life, and with secrets of this magnitude. Someone who had the technical expertise to access a vintage flash drive, and the moral compass to handle the truth, no matter how ugly. She pulled out her phone, her thumb hovering over Hen Wilson's contact. Hen was a paramedic, but she was also incredibly resourceful, loyal, and had a surprising network of tech-savvy friends. This was too big for anyone else.

The fight, Athena realized, had just truly begun. And it was going to be the fight of her life.

Hen picked up on the second ring, her voice a little sleepy. "Athena? Everything alright? It's pretty late."

"Hen, I need your help," Athena said, her voice low and urgent. "Something outside official channels. Something incredibly sensitive. And it involves a flash drive from the late nineties."

There was a beat of silence on Hen's end, then a rustle as she clearly sat up. "A flash drive from the nineties? You found a time capsule? You know I'm usually asleep by now, Athena. This better be good." But the teasing tone was gone, replaced by a note of concern as she picked up on Athena's seriousness. "Bring it over. And bring whatever else you found. My garage is clear, and Denny's with Karen this weekend."

An hour later, Athena was meticulously laying out the contents of the metal box on Hen's workbench, the old documents spread carefully under the harsh glare of an overhead lamp. Hen, in her usual no-nonsense fashion, had already produced a vintage laptop from a dusty box and was fiddling with an array of cables and adapters.

"Okay," Hen mumbled, a pair of reading glasses perched on her nose. "This looks like a SCSI drive. Finding a port for this might be tricky, but I think I have an old external reader. My uncle was a tech hoarder."

While Hen worked on the drive, Athena explained everything: Thomas Thorne’s testimony, his connection to Judge Thorne, the chilling implications of the decades-long cover-up. Hen listened intently, her brow furrowed, occasionally letting out a low whistle of disbelief.

"So, Y/N L/N, a whistleblower, murdered by a powerful conspiracy, and a judge helped cover it up," Hen summarized, shaking her head. "This is some deep-state stuff, Athena. Your family could be in serious danger if this gets out without a solid plan."

"I know," Athena said, her jaw tight. "That's why I need to know what's on this drive. If it's what Thorne says it is, it's irrefutable. Names, voices… that's leverage."

After several tense minutes of wrestling with connectors and drivers, Hen let out a triumphant grunt. "Got it! Old school, but it's reading. Let's see what Y/N L/N left for us."

The screen flickered, then a folder appeared labeled simply: "AUDIO LOGS." Beneath it were dozens of files, dated sequentially, starting from months before Y/N's death and continuing right up to the day before.

Hen clicked on the earliest file. A wave of static, then a faint click, and then, a voice. It was Y/N's. Clearer than any audio from the cold case files.

"Entry one, October 12th. Meeting with Mr. Harrison regarding the land swap. He's pushing for a significantly lower valuation than market. Says it's 'to expedite,' but it feels… off."

They listened, captivated, as Y/N's recordings laid bare the insidious process. Meetings, phone calls, hushed conversations. The voices of men, some of them still prominent figures in the city, discussing kickbacks, manipulating zoning laws, and silencing dissent. There was a chilling casualness to their corruption, a blatant disregard for the law and the public good.

Then came a recording from the day before Y/N’s death. The audio was slightly muffled, as if recorded secretly.

"…can't let this get out," a gruff voice snarled. "Y/N L/N knows too much. They're going to the DA. We need to handle it. Permanently."

Another voice, smooth and deceptively calm, replied, "Judge Thorne is sympathetic to our… concerns. He can make sure any complications are contained. But Y/N… they need to be taught a lesson. One that makes sure no one else ever tries this."

Athena's blood ran cold. The voices were clear, identifiable. The chilling nonchalance with which they discussed murder and cover-up was sickening. This wasn't just a conspiracy; it was a criminal enterprise spanning decades, shielded by power and privilege. The flash drive was a smoking gun, a time capsule of their guilt.

"Oh my God, Athena," Hen breathed, her face pale. "This is… this is bigger than anything. These people are monsters."

Athena didn't respond, her gaze fixed on the screen, on the list of audio files that represented your final, desperate fight for justice. The raw evidence, the undeniable proof, was finally here. But the battle was far from over. In fact, it had just escalated to an entirely new, terrifying level.

The weight of the flash drive in Athena's hand, now backed by the chilling reality of the audio logs, solidified her resolve. This wasn't just a cold case; it was an indictment of an entire system, and she couldn't afford to make a single misstep.

"We need to duplicate everything," Athena stated, her voice sharp with renewed purpose. "Every document, every audio file. And we need to do it with an unassailable chain of custody. No one can ever claim this evidence was tampered with."

Hen, already one step ahead, nodded. "Already on it. I have a forensic imaging tool. It'll create a bit-for-bit copy of that flash drive, and generate a hash value. That hash value is like a digital fingerprint – if even one pixel is changed on the copy, the hash won't match, proving tampering. We'll do the same with digital scans of all the documents."

They worked through the pre-dawn hours, the whir of the old laptop and the click of the scanner the only sounds in Hen's quiet garage. Athena meticulously photographed each document before scanning, ensuring a physical record even if the digital failed. Every step was documented, time-stamped, and witnessed by both of them.

"Once we have these verified copies," Athena continued, "we need to decide where to take it. My department… I can't trust anyone there fully with this yet. Not until the top layers of this conspiracy are exposed."

Hen wiped her brow. "So, no local DA, no LAPD Internal Affairs. This is federal, Athena. High-level public corruption. The FBI, maybe? Or the Public Integrity Section of the Department of Justice?"

Athena considered it. "The FBI's Public Corruption Unit is a strong possibility. They have the resources and the jurisdiction to go after this level of criminal enterprise. The DOJ's Public Integrity Section even more so. But we can't just walk in cold. We need a clear, undeniable presentation of the facts, anonymized at first, to get their full attention and protection for Thomas Thorne, and for us."

"Anonymized," Hen mused. "Like a secure leak. We'd need to use burner phones, encrypted messaging, maybe even a dead drop for a physical copy. And we need to make sure it gets to the right person, someone trustworthy within those agencies."

Athena's mind was already racing. "I have a contact, Special Agent Miller, in the FBI's Los Angeles field office. He's a straight shooter, known for his integrity. I've worked with him on inter-agency task forces. If anyone can handle this, it's him."

"But how do you get it to him without putting yourself on their radar immediately?" Hen pressed. "If these people are as powerful as Thorne says, they'll have eyes and ears everywhere."

Athena paced for a moment, her gaze falling on a worn globe in Hen's garage. "We don't go to him directly at first. We use a third party. Someone who can present this information as a 'concerned citizen' anonymously, but with enough credibility that Miller takes it seriously."

"Who?"

"An investigative journalist," Athena decided. "Not just any journalist, though. Someone with a reputation for breaking major corruption stories, someone who values source protection above all else, and who knows how to handle sensitive, potentially dangerous information. If we present it as a potential exposé, it'll force the FBI's hand and give us some public protection."

Hen frowned. "That's playing with fire, Athena. The press can be unpredictable."

"It's a calculated risk," Athena argued. "If we go direct to the FBI, they could bury it, or worse, the information could leak back to the conspirators through compromised channels. A journalist, especially one who's already demonstrated a willingness to go after powerful figures, will create a public mandate for investigation that even these criminals can't ignore."

She thought of the articles she'd found about Judge Thorne's sudden acquisition of properties. That small, independent paper, now defunct, had dared to ask questions. There had to be someone like that still out there, willing to stand up to power.

"I need to find the right journalist," Athena concluded, "and then we package this evidence in a way that screams 'undeniable truth' while keeping our identities completely separate. We'll provide just enough to pique their interest, the most damning audio logs, and lead them to the rest, step by secure step. And we do it from untraceable locations."

The dawn was breaking, casting a pale light through the garage windows. The digital copies hummed softly on Hen's laptop. The physical documents, once buried secrets, lay exposed. The initial fear was still there, a cold knot in her stomach, but it was now overshadowed by a fierce, protective determination. Justice for you, Y/N L/N, was within reach. And Athena Grant-Nash, with Hen's unwavering support, was going to make sure it happened, no matter the danger to herself or her family. The war was on.

Athena spent the next few days in a blur of focused intensity, her mind a steel trap. She researched investigative journalists with relentless dedication, cross-referencing their past work, their awards, and their reputation for protecting sources. She needed someone who wouldn't just break the story, but who had the tenacity and reach to see it through, even against powerful opposition. She settled on Eleanor Vance, a veteran reporter for a prominent national newspaper with a track record of exposing high-level corruption and a fierce, almost legendary, commitment to journalistic ethics.

Next, the logistics of the anonymous drop. Athena and Hen pooled their resources, acquiring untraceable burner phones and setting up encrypted communication channels. They chose a secure, public location for the drop: a locker at a busy, out-of-the-way bus terminal in a different city, one Eleanor Vance was known to frequent for her investigative work. They meticulously packaged the evidence: a heavily encrypted USB drive containing the forensic copy of the flash drive and scanned documents, along with a carefully crafted anonymous letter.

The letter, drafted by Athena and refined by Hen, was precise. It hinted at a decades-old cold case involving a whistleblower, connecting it to the downtown redevelopment project and high-level corruption, including judicial complicity. It stated that irrefutable evidence, including audio recordings, was enclosed and provided clear, but anonymous, instructions on how to access the encrypted files. It also subtly emphasized the potential dangers to anyone pursuing the story, a silent warning to Vance that this was no ordinary leak.

The drop was executed flawlessly. Athena, disguised in a wig and oversized sunglasses, blended into the bustling terminal, securing the package in the designated locker. Hen, meanwhile, sent an anonymous, encrypted message to Eleanor Vance, providing the locker number and code, along with a cryptic hint about "justice long denied."

Then came the agonizing wait. Every news cycle, every headline, was scrutinized by Athena. She knew that once Vance received the package and began her own verification, the clock would truly start ticking. The people implicated in the recordings, if they caught wind of the resurfacing evidence, would be ruthless.

She kept Thomas Thorne in a safe house, ensuring his anonymity and protection. She also tightened her own security, installing additional cameras at home, varying her routes to and from work, and making sure Bobby, though unaware of the full scope of the danger, was extra vigilant with the kids. The casual ease of their family life was now tinged with a constant undercurrent of alert.

Days crawled by. Then, a week after the drop, a small article appeared on page 10 of Eleanor Vance’s newspaper, a brief piece about a "renewed interest in a long-dormant cold case" by an anonymous source. It was a ripple, not yet a wave, but it told Athena two things: Vance had received the package, and she was beginning her due diligence.

Two days later, the ripple turned into a tremor. A small, local news outlet reported that "sources close to the FBI" indicated a "federal inquiry into historical public corruption allegations" was underway, specifically mentioning the downtown redevelopment project from decades ago. Athena allowed herself a small, grim smile. Vance had either reached out to Special Agent Miller, or the FBI had independently come across enough information to open a preliminary inquiry. The net was beginning to close.

The next morning, the dam broke. Eleanor Vance’s newspaper ran a front-page exposé: "Decades of Deceit: Whistleblower's Murder Linked to City's Power Elite." The article was a bombshell. It detailed Y/N L/N's murder, presenting excerpts from Y/N's meticulously annotated documents, and, most damningly, transcribed portions of the audio logs, chillingly identifying the voices of prominent figures. It didn't name Athena or Thomas Thorne, meticulously protecting their anonymity, but the evidence was undeniable.

The city erupted. Calls for investigations, arrests, and accountability flooded the airwaves. The FBI confirmed they had opened a full-scale public corruption investigation. The names mentioned in the article, individuals who had enjoyed decades of unassailable power and wealth, were now under intense public scrutiny.

Athena knew the true danger was only just beginning. The powerful individuals exposed by Vance's article were cornered animals. They wouldn't go down without a fight. The media storm provided some protection, but it also painted a giant target on anyone involved in bringing the truth to light.

She received an anonymous, untraceable text message that night: "You dug too deep, Detective. Some secrets are meant to stay buried. Your family will pay the price."

Athena’s blood ran cold. They knew. Or at least, they suspected. The vague threat was enough. This wasn't just about justice for Y/N anymore; it was about survival. She immediately called Bobby, her voice unwavering but firm.

"Bobby, I need you to listen to me carefully. Pack a bag for yourself and the kids. Only essentials. I'll explain later, but we need to leave the house, now. I'm taking you somewhere safe."

She could hear his concern, the fear in his voice, but he didn't argue. He knew that tone in her voice, the one that meant she was on the razor's edge of a dangerous situation. As she drove to pick them up, her mind raced. The investigation was finally moving, but the conspiracy was fighting back. She had brought justice closer for you, Y/N, but at what cost to her own family?

As Athena steered her car through the quiet streets, the city lights feeling less comforting and more like a stage for unseen eyes, her phone buzzed again. It was a call from an unknown number. Her gut screamed not to answer, but her professional instincts took over. She put it on speaker, keeping her eyes on the road.

A distorted, gravelly voice, clearly run through a voice modulator, spoke. "Detective Grant-Nash. A very brave move. And a very foolish one."

Athena remained silent, her grip tightening on the steering wheel.

"Did you really think we wouldn't notice the ripples?" the voice continued, a chilling chuckle following. "Thirty years. We've been very careful. And now you come along, stirring up ghosts."

"You killed Y/N L/N," Athena stated, her voice cold and steady, betraying none of the fear coiling in her stomach.

"Y/N made a choice," the voice purred. "A foolish choice. Just like you're making now. You have a family, Detective. A lovely husband. Two bright children. Wouldn't want anything to happen to them, would you?"

A cold dread seeped into Athena’s bones. This wasn't a vague threat anymore. This was specific, targeted. They knew about her family.

"Consider this a warning," the voice concluded. "Drop it, Detective. Bury it back where you found it. Or your loved ones will find out just how deep some secrets truly lie." The line went dead.

Athena slammed her hand against the steering wheel, a wave of rage washing over her. They had crossed a line. This wasn't just about her anymore. This was about Bobby, May, and Harry. Her entire world.

She pushed the rage down, forcing herself to think clearly. They had tracked her. That meant her burner phone was compromised, or her actions had left a trail. She immediately pulled over, removed the SIM card from the burner, and crushed it under her heel.

When she arrived at her house, Bobby was already waiting on the porch with two duffel bags, his face etched with worry. May and Harry, still groggy from being woken up, peered sleepily from behind him.

"Athena, what's going on?" Bobby's voice was low, urgent. "I heard that call. What did they mean, 'my family'?"

Athena didn't waste time explaining everything, not yet. "We're going to Hen's," she said, ushering them quickly into the car. "It's safe there. We'll figure everything out." As she drove, she sent a quick, encrypted message to Hen: Family compromised. En route. Need immediate secure location. Stay alert.

Hen's reply came back instantly: Copy that. Heading to the cabin. Remote. Secure. No one knows about it.

The "cabin" was a small, rustic place Hen and Karen owned, nestled deep in the mountains, deliberately off-grid and miles from civilization. It was a place for escape, for quiet weekends. Now, it was their sanctuary.

The drive was long, the night dark and silent save for the hum of the engine and the quiet breathing of her sleeping children in the back seat. Athena kept checking her rearview mirror, her senses on high alert for any tail. She knew this was a desperate race against time. The conspirators, now exposed, would be frantic, dangerous. They would do anything to protect their power, even if it meant eliminating anyone who stood in their way.

She gripped the steering wheel, a fierce protectiveness swelling in her chest. She had pulled Y/N's case from the cold, bringing justice closer, but at a terrible price. Now, she had to ensure her family survived the fallout. This wasn't just a police investigation anymore; it was a personal war. And Athena Grant-Nash was ready to fight.

What is Athena's strategy once they are safely at the cabin?

[charlie-7cj]

okay I very briefly talked about this on YouTube but I don't think you guys quite understand just how fucking painful these last few hours were ☠️☠️☠️

flashed Linux Mint onto a USB, installed it, works fine.

installed my NVIDIA graphics drivers,

secondary monitor stops working

ok, not ideal but I can probably fix i-

*EVERYTHING FUCKING BREAKS*

entering password gets me stuck on just the wallpaper screen. no dash, no panels, no icons, even the cursor won't display

try a few things to fix it

can't even enter the password anymore

....well shit ok

reflash USB, reinstall Linux

same problem

....

reflash again

this time with Ubuntu. get confused with the disc partitioning, but installation is a success. secondary monitor works, NVIDIA drivers work

time to download stuff for video making

download DaVinci Resolve

spend three hours trying to install it

"missing dependencies"

*installs dependencies*

"...missing dependencies"

*reinstalls dependencies*

*M I S S I N G D E P E N — *

the instructions provided by the developers don't work, ChatGPT is also at a loss

resort to converting the installer to a different format

success, finally

.....so yeah that's how my day has been ☠️

[piratesexmachine420]

Anyway the ultimate goal of this project is actually similar to that stupid backwards GPGPU/CPU OS idea that wouldn't actually work, except way, way stupider. Stoopid with two Os, to quote Knives Out.

Here's the gist: distributed operating system that runs on a bunch of interlinked TI calculators, using a PC as a sort of hub. (The TI-Link protocol is only bidirectional, but there's no limit to the number of SilverLink USB cables I can plug into the same computer, at least until I run out of USB ports.)

Because TI calculators are both more documented than GPUs (which is to say, there's any documentation), and there actually exist tools for writing low-level code on them, this is actually a doable project. Not easy, but doable. On the order of months to years instead of decades to centuries.

Additionally, I won't actually be writing any "real" ring 0 code (or 68k/z80 equivalent) for this project, basically just treating each machines' resident OS as an overwrought BIOS--which, on a calculator running machine code, it might as well be. As a distributed OS, the "machine" would already be highly virtual, and there are a lot of benefits to sticking to userspace.

For one, I don't want to brick any of my hardware; writing dodgy code to any of my calculators' flash memory would absolutely do that. For another, I don't want to write my own USB stack. Also, rebooting is annoying. Especially if it involves, like, four different machines. And debugging will be easier. And so on and so forth.

Here's a rough roadmap for how I want to get familiar with this toolchain:

Write an echo program that uses the TI PLT-KBD, a product you've never heard of. Maybe turn it into a full keyboard driver, if I feel like it.

Do the same, but with a TI-92+. Would involved remotely loading a simple program onto the calculator to tell it to send keycodes over the link port. Again, if I feel like it could be turned into a full input driver.

Write a simple, but non-trivial program that uses the TI-92+ as an "accelerator", maybe Conway's game of life. Would also involve remotely loading code.

Do the same as 3, but with two calculators--the TI-92+ and TI-89, maybe. At this point I'd have to buy more SilverLink cables, so this is the point of no return. (They go for like $20.)

Same as 4, but integrating a Z80 calculator too, probably the TI-83+.

Start working on the "OS" proper.

[maplesynth]

RIP bunny USB 😔

you had an extremely cheap flash storage that barely lasted a few years constantly corrupting my files and now you've write-protected yourself

forever locked with decaying remnants of some driver files i was passing between computers

(it looks messed up because one of the eyes fell off so i drew it an eyepatch but then the ink bled over time)

[not7wu]

Chapter Ten: Branded

Recap: You haven't had a chance to peruse the info on the USB yet, but you stumbled upon more sticky notes warning you that digging deeper may end up hurting you and everyone else. You find a photo of you and Jin that confirms you are his love even as Jimin and Tae confirm that you can find more answers at Areum's house. In the battle between you and Hobi, Jimin and Tae seemed to have picked your side and tell you a bedtime story about a girl at the end of the universe and her pink boy.

You feel your body being jostled and groan.  “Go back to sleep, Tae.”

“Why is she blaming me?  You’re the one holding her.”

“Be quiet, Tae,” Jimin scolds near you.  “Shh, just go back to sleep.”

Something…doesn’t seem right.  For one, you’re burritoed in your duvet with your face covered.  Two, you’re cradled in someone’s arms–Jimin’s you assume from Tae’s context.  And three, you don’t feel like Jimin is moving you so much as you’re being weightlessly propelled forward.  You yank the blanket off your body.

“Oh my god, you guys, what are you doing?!”  

You’re sitting on Jimin’s lap in the back of one of their SUVs, opposite Tae.  It’s still dark out and the sandman’s dust must still be in your eyes because Seoul’s city lights shine like twinkling bokeh.  The digital clock on the dash reads 0400.  You turn a searing glare upon the two gremlins who bequeath innocent smiles upon you.  

“Are you guys trying to Meredith Blake me like in Parent Trap?”

Tae scoffs.  “We’d only set you adrift on a lake if you were a homewrecker.”

“Technically, the mom was the homewrecker since they were divorced and Meredith was engaged to the dad,” Jimin corrects.  

“Oh my god, not relevant!  Where are we even going?”

Jimin flashes his pearly whites and smooths the duvet.  “Don’t worry, Y/N.  Close your eyes and I’ll sing you a lullaby.”

“As tempting as that is, I’m gonna have to pass.”

“Cool!  In that case,” Tae plops a hefty duffel bag onto your gut making you grunt.  “Change into these!”

“No!  There’s nowhere else to go!”

Tae claps his hands over Jimin’s eyes and whines, “We’ll close our eyes. Promise!” 

“The chauffeur still needs eyes to drive, Tae.”

“He can squint,” Jimin giggles, blindly.

“He can barely see as it is!  It's the dead of night and dark as hell.”

"It's technically morning," Jimin says, as if that makes a difference.

You only barely refrain from strangling him in frustration.  "'Technically', it's so early that it isn't even the ass crack of dawn yet!"

Jimin tilts his head in consideration, unbothered that Tae’s hands are still blinding him.  “But isn’t it the ass crack of dawn?  I don’t think ass cracks get to see much sunlight.”

“Jiminie, your ass crack deserves sunlight.”

“Thank you, Tae.  It does.  Tan lines are yuck.”

Don’t punch them.  Don’t punch them.  Don’t punch them.  You settle with kneeing Tae back so you’re not smushed between him and Jimin.  “None of this is helping.”

“Well, if you won’t sleep and you won’t change, then we can’t help you," Tae pouts.

“Driver-nim, where are we going?”

“He has been sworn to secrecy or must give me his first born child!”

The two gasp as if you asked the driver to run over a puppy.  Jimin shakes his head gravely.  “You can’t just ask him that.  Think of the children.”

"What children?"

You can see in the rearview mirror that the driver is trying to stifle a laugh.  “Don’t encourage them.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N-ssi.  I find it’s best to just go along.”  After a moment’s hesitation, he adds, “Plus, my first born is already in college overseas.”

“Betrayer!  Does your oath mean so little?”

You groan and look to the heavens for patience as the driver succumbs to his laughter.  “Tae, what would you even do with a child?”

“Shower them with all my love and care.  I think I’m going through empty nesting syndrome.”

Jimin coos in sympathy.  “But you still have Y/N and a whole ass baby Jungkookie.”

“Yeah, but they’re really resistant.  Terrible twos are a thing, you know.”

You roll your eyes, “Wow.  Gee.  Why ever would I resist your love and care when it means kidnapping people from their beds?”

Tae sniffs.  “I’m glad you see it my way.  Jiminie, I want a turn with the baby.  Hand her over.”

Jimin tips you over towards Tae, but you simply slide off his lap and shove Tae against the door.  “Hands off.  This baby is gonna sit right here.”

You drop the duffel in a disappointed Tae’s lap and bunch the duvet over a giggling Jimin.  They slide their burdens to the floor and hold your hands hostage in each of theirs.  You sigh like you’re being put upon, but you’re not really that mad.  Your head is still a bit fuzzy and irritable because it’s much too early for their antics, but otherwise, you’re okay.  Besides, spending time with these two is like watching a trainwreck, except they’re not the train or the wreck.  They’re the traffic controllers conducting from afar and you can’t look away, even if they put you on the train.  They’re so charming and cheerful, you can’t help but be mesmerized and impressed.

You must have dozed off at some point because you feel a breeze as a window whirs down.  You struggle with the duvet that you’re once again wrapped in and squint around you.  The sky is a little lighter, although the sun hasn’t appeared yet.  Outside, the ocean is serene with a low hanging mist curled along the silky water where all sizes of boats bob next to the docks.  

You have no idea how or when Jimin got an iced americano, but he's holding it reverently in both hands out of the window as if in offering to some higher deity.  Confused, you glance at Tae who is looking down at you, giddy.  

Jimin shouts, “Yoongi-hyung!  Look!  I brought you coffee!”

You see your surprise is mirrored by Yoongi who is standing under the awning of some maintenance shack a ways away.  He has a facemask on, black bucket hat sitting tightly on his head, dressed in a thick plaid button up and sweatpants.  His surprise morphs to confusion as he quickly gathers his wits and shuffles towards the vehicle, Jimin now waving his bait enticingly at him.  

“Uh, thanks, but what are you doing here?” he calls out to Jimin, pulling his facemask down.  His dumpling cheeks are bunched up, eyes glued to the caffeine nectar. You want to warn him not to fall for the duo’s trap because he obviously doesn't suspect a thing.  How could he not suspect a thing when he’s lived with these tricksy pixies for over a decade?  You open your mouth, but Tae slaps a hand over it, giggling.  You have the thought that the world is lucky Jimin and Tae are good people.  If they were truly evil, you shudder to think what horrors they’d get away with.  

When Yoongi nears the vehicle, Jimin pushes open the back passenger door and shoves Yoongi in.  Yoongi yelps, struggling to not drop the iced americano Jimin unceremoniously tosses towards him so he can climb in behind Yoongi.  It’s then he notices you.

“Y/N?”  He looks from you to Tae.  He glances at Jimin and realizes he’s caged in.  “What’s going on?”

You can only muffle against the hand still clapped over your mouth.  Before you can put up a struggle, Tae pulls you out of the car.  You barely catch the duffel bag he tosses at you when he shouts, “Go, driver-nim!  Go, go, go!”  The door shuts and the car peels away, leaving you coughing at the dust that the car kicks up.  

What the actual fuck.  

You’re out in the cold, god knows where, in only your pajamas.  You’re going to kill Tae and Jimin when you see them next.  You’re gonna murder them.  Stubbornly, you drop yourself to sit on the ground.  You have no shoes on and the gravel does not look forgiving.  Regardless, you will not move from this spot; you refuse to play into whatever the twins are scheming.  

You can hear the ocean lap and crash against the docks and if you close your eyes, it’s almost serene.  A salty breeze whisks through your hair and…a wave of disappointed irritation washes over you.  This could have been nice if Tae and Jimin had prepared you better and hadn’t abandoned you.  You move to brush your hair away from your eyes, when your hand snags on the duffel in your lap.  Oh yeah.  You dig inside and find your clothes.  There’s no phone, but there is a t-shirt, hoodie, comfy worn-in jeans, socks, sneakers, and baseball cap along with some basic toiletries, snacks, and water bottles.  Your mild relief is short-lived when you feel a presence behind you and someone clears their throat.  

Throwing your head back, you see Jin upside down, his smile fond, but brows concerned.  He does a brief scan of the surroundings before settling on your pathetic huddled form.  He emits a defeated sigh.  “I assume Yoongi is gone?”

“It’s not his fault.  The devil’s crotch goblins kidnapped him.”

“And you’re his replacement, huh?”  He comes around so you don’t have to keep staring at him upside down.  He crouches and peruses the duffel.  “Well, at least they had a tiny shred of decency.”

“Mercy.  Tiny shred of mercy.  There’s nothing decent about those malignant minxes.”

He chuckles and reaches out, rubbing your shoulder.  “Want me to drive you home?”

You take in your surroundings again.  The ocean.  Docked boats.  Jin is dressed warmly, his torso secured with a life jacket and tackle vest.  “You’re fishing today.”

“Yeah, but I can fish a different day.  How about we order some takeout for breakfast and pick it up on our way home?”  That does sound good, but…  He continues, “And Taehyung just ordered a package of gourmet strawberries.  We could eat them all and leave a few stems and the empty carton on Jimin’s night stand.  And we can hide Jungkook’s banana milk and put a half drunk one on Taehyung’s night stand.”

You stare at Jin in awe.  “That’s deliciously diabolical.  Have them destroy each other from the inside out, but also with a dose of muscle KangaKoo.  Way better than my plan.”    

“What’s your plan?”

“Cut off all the heels of Jimin’s boots and play the long game of bribing Yeontan with peanut butter so I become his favorite instead of Tae.”

“Por que no los todos?” he winks.  His reply has you both bursting into giggles, his shoulders shaking.  Looking at him like this, you don’t think it’s the giggles that have you breathless.  

Laughter dwindling down to soft smiles, you shrug the duvet off your shoulders and stand with Jin.  “Let’s punish them later.  I’ll keep you company while you fish.”

“Are you sure?  I know you’re not a fan of fishing.”  Jin shoulders the duffel and gathers the duvet up.  There’s something about this moment that feels domestic and familiar.  He’s barefaced, eyes radiant and lips slightly chapped.  You love seeing him like this, relaxed in a way you rarely see.  You know he doesn’t often get time like this to himself and you mentally curse at Tae and Jimin as you realize you’re playing into their hands.  

But you would be lying if you didn’t appreciate having uninterrupted time alone with Jin.  

“I’m not a fan of fishing, but I’m a fan of keeping you company.  Didn’t you know you’re my bias?”  You don’t know where your boldness comes from, but you’re satisfied when you see the tips of Jin’s ears go pink and his smile deepens.  

An hour later, the charter boat is trawling the dark waters off the coast of Incheon.  Your legs are tucked under you, perched on a welded bench next to the railing where Jin is casting his line a few feet upwind of you.  The wind is a little choppier out on the open water, occasionally spraying mist that tickles some nostalgia in you, but a nostalgia you’ve never actually experienced, or at least not one you can remember.

It’s still early morning, but the sun is now fully in the sky.  The waves sparkle and wink and you can barely see the coast.  Maybe you should be admiring the vastness of the azul landscape before you, where the ocean bleeds into the sky, but you instead find yourself enraptured with Jin.  

There hasn’t been much said between you and Jin since the boat left its berth.  There hasn’t been any need.  You revel in the peace that has settled in Jin, hair messily swept, cheeks bitten red, his hands firm and steady on rod and reel.  His broad shoulders that seemingly carry the weight of Korea are lax.  In fact, with his stance, he doesn’t seem to anticipate catching much of anything out here, and you wonder if his fishing trips aren’t so much for the sport, but for the escape.  

“Are you cold?”  Jin has his head cocked.  You hadn’t even realized you were shivering which means he was paying more attention to you than you thought.  You blush at the implication that he noticed you staring at him.  

“A little.”

“Come here.”  He reaches a hand towards you.  You approach him with a protest ready thinking he’ll offer you his own jacket, but instead he positions your back to the rails and wraps his arms around you so he can continue fishing.  You suck in a startled breath.  Even with the life jackets creating a little barrier between you two, you can feel the heat emanating off him.  With the bulk in the way, you have no choice but to wrap your arms around his neck.  

Your heart quickens at the sudden proximity.  It’s not the first time you’ve been this close to Jin.  You cuddled the first night…but he was consoling you.  He slept next to you the other night, but that was you consoling him.  The only other time you felt this intense pull, this magnetism to him was when you did the dishes with him after the first dinner.  You try to reason with yourself that the position you’re in now is for practical reasons.  Jin is just trying to keep you warm.  

But his face is right there.  His face is right in your face.  “You could have just given me your jacket, you know?” you say shakily.  

“You would have kicked up a stink about it.”  He’s not wrong.  “Plus, I figure I’d give you a close up view of what you’ve been staring at all morning.”

He chuckles as you hide your face against his collarbone.  “Stop laughing at me.”

“I’m sorry.  You’re just too cute.”

“And you’re mean.”  Of course, you don’t really mean that.  The way his body is shaking in mirth has you smiling.  You feel him press a kiss to your head and you feel the warmth of it spread through your body.   You look up at him.

You don’t know what expression is on your face, but he suddenly looks unsure of himself.  “Sorry.  About the kiss.  It’s hab–.  Um, sorry.  I shouldn’t have done that.”

Jin shifts as if to let you go, but you tighten your arms and he stills.  Your eyes zero in on his lips, pink and plush and so, so close…you bury your head in his chest again to stop yourself.

Jin loves you.  He is in love with you.  But for some reason they’ve been trying to keep it hidden from you.  Jin alluded that his reasons were so you wouldn’t feel pressured to do anything.  Hobi…well, you don’t know what Hobi’s problem is.  Do they just want to wait until you are sure of your own feelings?  

You think you love Jin.

But what do you know of love?  Everyone claims the life you knew was fake, but all you know is what you experienced in that fake life.  The love of friends and family.  You had a few boyfriends and you had loved them.  If that wasn’t real, then would you really know if you are in love now?  You want to be fair to Jin.  It’s clear he loves you dearly from his story and Jimin’s story.  

And you don’t want to cling to Jin just because he’s there.  To latch on to him.  Another part of you reasons that you aren’t this way with any of the other boys.  It’s not like you want to sink into them like you want to sink into Jin.  You don’t want to be the only person they see like the way you want Jin to look at you.  Only Jin.  

Jin has returned to fishing.  You can feel the way his arms hold strong against the resistance of the water as the line drags, his embrace tightening around you every now and then.  He seems to absentmindedly rub his cheek against your head.  Your ear is pressed to his chest and you can hear his heartbeat over the fluttering wind.  Despite how steadily he’s been holding you, not just in this moment, but from the first moment you woke up, you’re aware that this whole situation hasn’t been fair or kind to him either.  

You don’t know how long the both of you stand there like that, with you tucked into him, shifting occasionally so he can recast his line.  When you next look up, the sun is higher in the sky and the day has warmed.  Jin glances down at your emergence and smiles, gently rubbing your cheek with one hand.

“The vest left an imprint on your face.”

You pout.  “I wouldn’t have been self-conscious about it if you hadn’t pointed it out.”

“I was worried your face might feel sore.”

You resist leaning further into his touch.  “I’m okay.”

“Are you bored yet?”  He assesses you.  “We can start heading in.”

“But you haven’t caught anything yet.”

“There are definitely days Yoongi and I don’t catch anything.  The captain usually gives us whatever he catches if we don’t so we can at least still have sashimi after.”

You lean further back onto the railing because it’s hard to look at him directly with him so near.  “We can stay a little longer.”

He brushes your hair back, which is useless with the wind still blowing, but it feels nice.  “Wanna play a game?”

“I don’t know.  If it’s a fish naming game, I only know like five fish and I’m pretty sure one of them is a mammal, so really, I only know like four fish.”  You’re pleased that you make him laugh.  It’s not the windshield wiper laugh, but a deeper one from his chest.  The vibrations it sends through you is thrilling.  

“Well, there goes my idea.  What game do you wanna play?”

You’re not that good at games and you don’t know many games.  The ones that come to mind are Truth or Dare or Never Have I Ever.  The latter seems like a bad idea when your memory is so messed up, and as much as you want the truth, you don’t particularly want to participate in any dares.  The idea of truths sticks though.

“Um, how about Fact or Fiction?  I state something and you tell me if it’s fact or fiction.”

Jin bites his lip, unsure.  You pull on the ties of his vest and play with the buckles.  You know he’s worried about overstepping the Rules.  He has no idea that the Rules have already been mangled beyond recognition.

“Alright.  Hit me.”  

“Really?  You’ll play?”  You’re a little surprised he gave in, but you can tell he’s fond of how excited you are.  

“I’ll play.”  He laughs as you wiggle from a sudden burst of energy, your mind racing with things you want to ask.  There’s just too much and you’re worried that he won’t answer or you’ll push him too far, so you decide to start small.

“Your favorite color is pink.”

He scoffs.  “You already know that one.  Fact.”

“What?  I have to create a baseline.”

“Oh, am I taking a polygraph now?”

“Shush.  Your favorite food is sashimi.”

He rolls his eyes.  “Fact.”

“You have 20/20 vision.”

“Fiction.”  That gives you pause.  You know he sometimes wears glasses, but you thought it was more for aesthetics.  

“Really?  So are you wearing contacts?”

“No.  I got lasik.”

“Oh.”

“You got lasik too.”  Whoa, hold the phone.  

Actually, now that you think about it, dream you had glasses and wore contacts.  And since you woke up, you haven’t felt the need to wear any corrective eyewear.  With everything else going on, it wasn’t really something you thought about.  “I got lasik?”

Jin blushes.  “My vision was really bad and the company convinced me to get lasik, but I was…nervous about it.  So you went and got it first so you could coach me through the process.  I couldn’t not get it after you went and did that.”

“I should hope so,” you joke.  He huffs and squeezes you as you giggle.  You sputter a bit on a strand of hair that the wind blows in your face and catch him watching you.  “Were you scared?”

“Yes.  But you were with me every step of the way.”

“Good.”  You gather your hair and brush it all to the opposite side the wind is blowing.  “Fact or fiction?  You are a nightowl.”

“Fiction.  I usually sleep early, around 2100, and wake up earlier than the other guys.  I like to have some peace and quiet to center myself before the day starts.”  But he’s been staying up late with you.  Keeping you company, reassuring you.  Just another way you’ve rearranged his whole life.  No wonder Hobi wants you to stay away from Jin.  A finger boops your nose, breaking you from your mental spiral.  You scrunch your nose and look up at Jin.  “Say the next one.”

“Hobi-oppa has a problem with me,” spills from your mouth.

Jin’s grin dims and settles into something contemplative as he considers your statement.  “You heard the other night.”

You nod.  There’s no point in hiding it.  If you wanted to dispel any suspicions, you probably should have proceeded with the movie night, but you just couldn’t.  

“Hobi doesn’t have a problem with you.  He just—Sometimes I forget that you aren’t the only one affected by this…situation.  That I’m not the only one affected.  That each of us are affected.  We all deal with it in our own way and Hobi is dealing with it the best he can.  He blames himself for the situation—we all do—but he is especially hard on himself.”

“Why?”  You can see that Jin’s struggling to decide if it’s too much to tell you, his hands stilling from reeling.  “Please, Jin?”

He sighs and looks out at the water.  “Hobi was with you.  The both of you caught the sasaeng fishing out used tissues and water bottles from one of the dance studio trash cans.  Hobi was gonna talk to Bang PD-nim directly, but you said you’d handle it through proper channels because you work in HR, so he let it go.  He thinks he should have done more so you weren’t in the line of fire.  So that you hadn’t been targeted.”

Hobi feels guilty?  

He shouldn’t.  Sasaengs are notoriously unstable and you’re grateful that none of the boys were hurt.  If it happened all over again, you wouldn’t have changed anything.  It was your job and the boys are yours to protect.  

“So, Hobi might come off abrasive and controlling, but he’s simply…overprotective of you.  Of us.  He has a set choreography and gets worried when we step out of the careful lines he’s made to keep us safe.”  

Grudgingly, you understand.  Hobi’s always been more by the book.  And for all his projected sunshiney, carefree persona, he prefers to deal with tangible results.  Still.  

“I need him to cut me some slack or I’ll suffocate,” you quietly confess. 

Jin pulls your hands from his vest.  You don’t know what he’s done with the rod, but he warms your hands in his.  

“Jin.  I need answers.  I can’t keep living like this.”

His eyes search yours and you don’t know what he finds there, but finally, he nods.  “We’ll get through this.”

You’re not sure if he is trying to convince you or himself, but you silently think he shouldn’t make promises like that.

—

Soon after, Jin gives up for the day.  As he said, the captain has been successful and shares his bounty with Jin.  As you head back to land, Jin coaxes you into the Titanic pose and you both try to reenact the lines, giggling and improvising a few more.  He holds you from behind and at one point, he gathers your hair and grips it like a ponytail so that it stops whipping him in the face.  It takes everything in you not to let your mind wander into obscene scenarios with him tugging your hair like that.  

Jin takes you to a hole in the wall restaurant close to the docks.  His guards set up shop in one of the booths near the kitchen doors, but you’re led to a tiny table in the kitchen where the ajussi cook immediately prepares the sashimi from the fresh fish the captain caught.  Turns out the ajussi cook is the captain’s brother and he taught Jin how to filet fish and prepare sashimi, but Jin still likes it best when he prepares it.  With all the reminiscing and ribbing between the two, Jin simply says, “Food tastes better with good stories.”

The sashimi is accompanied with a myriad of other dishes, the table balancing a precarious number of plates.  And Jin is right.  The food tastes amazing.  Although that could also be because you haven’t eaten all day and you are starved.  When it’s time to go, the ajussi refuses payment, but Jin sticks a thick bundle of won into the tip jar as you exit.  

It’s only 1400 and you expect to head straight home, but instead, you find yourself at a noraebang.  You’re intimidated because who wants to sing next to a world renowned singer?  Jin is quick to quell your worries though, goofing off with trot and rap songs.  He even raps Jay-Z’s intro rap to Rihanna’s ‘Umbrella’ and you both come up with a zany interpretative dance.  He even gets his guards to leave their post and coerces them into doing a few Big Bang and TVXQ songs.  Jin kicks them out after they get a 100 score on their ‘Mirotic’ performance, jokingly complaining that they’re trying to upstage him.  You don’t remember ever having laughed so hard.

Jin convinces the driver to let him drive, so the driver joins his guards in a different vehicle.  Windows down, lazy tunes in the background, the day begins to catch up to you.  Somewhere in the middle of Jin telling you a childhood story about how Jungie-hyung forgot about him in the middle of hide and seek because he got distracted by a ppopgi cart, you fall asleep, lulled by his voice.

You’re woken with a gentle hand.  You sit up and smack your lips, mouth dry.  You hope you weren’t snoring or drooling.  You’re parked in front of a sprawling estate.  Jin helps you out of the car, which is for the best because you’re disoriented and distracted by your surroundings.  There’s a long, paved driveway lined with trees, the lawn crisply manicured.  Before you stands a two story house.  Most houses in Korea are historic or modern fortresses, but this house is similar to an English cottage.  It still has hanok influences in the trimming and modern influences around the big picture windows, but despite its size, it still looks cozy, teeming with flowers and plants and a smokey chimney.

“Wow,” you breathe, enchanted.  “This house is gorgeous.  I feel like we’re in a Studio Ghibli film.  Where are we?”  You turn to Jin who is carefully observing you.    

“I’ll tell you in a bit.  Walk with me?”  He takes your hand and you let him lead you down a side path into the garden.  The path leads around to the backyard where a natural pool channels off to feed the flowers and plants, a controlled chaos that is wildly elegant.  

The both of you sit on a small wooden bench, stretching out your legs as you both lean back and take in the garden.  The silence is comfortable.  It’s been a long day and being here feels like a well earned oasis.  The wind rustles the tops of the trees and birds call from the branches.  Dragonflies flit above the pool and butterflies glide among tiger lilies, hydrangeas, and delphinium.  

Jin has his eyes closed, head tilted back as a breeze runs through his hair, the last bits of sunlight painting his face in a golden light.  He seems untouchable like this.  An adonis carved of marble never to be sullied by mortal hands.  Yet here you sit, legs tangled, shoulder to shoulder, the heat belying the cold art of him.  He turns to look at you and something in his eyes looks fearful, nervous, resigned, and you think, being art must be lonely.  

The feeling that everything is about to change seeps into you.  Jin looks at you like he’s trying to memorize you, one hand holding yours and the other coming up to cup your cheek.  His palm follows the curve of your cheek to your jaw and his thumb brushes against your lips.  Your breath stutters and his eyes dip to where your chest heaves.  It feels like you’re standing at a precipice, and the only thing anchoring you is Jin’s hold on you.  He holds on to you so tightly trying to keep you there even as the void calls to you to step back and jump.   

“Jin,” you whisper.  He lowers his hand.  “Kiss me.”

Jin’s eyes drop to your lips before his eyes pierce yours with a determination that sets fire to you.  His lips meet yours and the sweet bliss of it cracks your insides like the first bite of creme brulee.  You share a shaky breath as his arms pull you into his lap, his tongue swiping your lip before delving into you, savoring you with every curl of his tongue against your own.  His hand leaves goosebumps as it brushes up your arms and cradles your head, your hands trapped against his chest.  

It feels like everything Jin can’t say is in this kiss.  His claim.  His love.  His declaration that he is yours.  His worship and delight.  His grief and anguish.  And just as it fills your heart and soul with home, home, home, there’s a whisper, a red hot knife’s edge of a farewell that cuts you even as it brands you, ruined for anyone else.  

With one last press of his lips to yours, Jin pulls back.  His eyes are naked like all his strength went into the kiss and now he’s left defenseless.  All you see is don’t go, don’t go, don’t go and you desperately want to tell him that you’re not going anywhere, but you can’t.  You need to jump.  

Jin carefully leads you to the front door of the house.  Your stomach swoops as you anticipate the jump.  He raises his hand and knocks on the door and it seems to echo heavily like a gavel at your sentencing.  There’s no turning back as the door opens.  

“Y/N!  I’m so glad you could make it,” Areum says, cheerfully.  She swings the door wider.  “Come in!  We’re only halfway done cooking, so I hope you don’t mind keeping Byeol company.”

“Of course not.”  Jin’s tight grip on you loosens as you enter, but you stop when you realize he’s not following you.  Areum continues on, but you turn back to him.  The sun has almost set, the twilight casting him in shadow, eyes unreadable again.  “You’re not coming.”

“Someone will come pick you up when you’re done,” he says evenly.  Someone.  Not Jin.  

You don’t know what you’ll find here that scares Jin so much. You think you’re in love with him, but you can’t quite trust yourself.  It’s hard to trust yourself when he’s looking at you like you’re about to leave him forever.  But there’s one thing you do know.  

You come up to him and press your lips to his.  When you step back, he looks a little dazed, surprised.  Pleased, you say, “Fact.  I’m yours.”

Previous Chapter <- - -> Next Chapter

Back to the Multiverse - Join the Taglist - Back to Series Masterlist

Taglist: @miksancheese @justamomnamedamie @the-daechwita-archive @alpacaparkaseok @whatamitoyou @nap-of-a-starr

A/N: So, Christmas and New Years both fall on Mondays this year.

-_- I'll be late in posting those chapters, but I WILL post those chapters. Join the Taglist if you don't want to keep checking back to see when I update. Thank you for your patience!

[fivealphabets]

Realme Pad 2 Lite RMP2402

On this page, you can find the official link to download Realme Pad 2 Lite RMP2402 Stock Firmware ROM (Flash File) on your computer. Firmware comes in a zip package containing Flash File, Flash Tool, USB Driver, and How-to Flash Manual. Realme Pad 2 Lite RMP2402 Stock Firmware (Flash File) The Flash File will help you Upgrade, Downgrade, or re-install the Stock Firmware (OS) on your Mobile…

[stevishabitat]

BE READY IN A FLASH

CREATE A SURVIVAL FLASH DRIVE

If there were a fire, flood, or other disaster that destroyed your home, where would your important documents such as birth certificate, passport, deed, licenses, permits, etc be? Protect yourself by scanning all your important documents and storing them on a Survival Flash Drive.

Purchase a USB Flash Drive (also called memory sticks or thumb drives due to their small size)

Use a permanent marker, sticker, or label to put the word "ICE" (In Case of Emergency) on it

Scan your important documents using a scanner, and store the files on the Survival Flash Drive

WHAT TO PUT ON YOUR FLASH DRIVE

All Government Issued IDs, Licenses, Permits, and Certifications for Each Family Member

Driver's License/ID

Passport

Veteran/Discharge Papers

Birth Certificate

Marriage Certificate

Work Permits / Licenses

Social Security Card

Gun Permit

Immigration Papers

Important Non-Government Documents

Medical Records

Bank Accounts

Contracts

Vaccination Records

Credit Card Accounts

Wills

Health Plan Information

Insurance (Home/Auto).

Power of Attorney

Advance Directives

Real Estate / Mortgage

Divorce/Custody Papers

Business Records

Rental Agreement

Restraining Orders

Other Important Information

Current Photos of Each Family Member and Pets

Important Family Pictures

Emergency Contact List with Addresses + Phone Numbers

KEEP IT UP TO DATE

Remember to keep the information on your Survival Flash Drive current by updating it regularly.

PASSWORD PROTECT/ENCRYPT THE INFORMATION

For an added level of security, you can password-protect the files or encrypt the drive using software like TrueCrypt. Keep in mind that emergency workers would have a hard time opening protected files.

STORE IT IN A SAFE LOCATION

Store your Survival Flash Drive in a small sealed plastic bag to prevent damage from the elements. Attach it to your key chain, put it in your purse, put it in a fireproof waterproof safe, put it in a drawer at work, or put it in the glove box of your vehicle. Keep a copy wherever you think it will be safe and available in an emergency away from your house (in case of fire or flood).

SPECIAL MEDICAL CONDITIONS

Create a document on your computer that includes all the details medical personnel may need to know in an emergency. Name the document ICE (which stands for In Case of Emergency. Save a copy of the ICE document on your Survival Flash Drive.

This document is in the public domain. It may be copied and distributed freely

[szhmidty]

Helped a friend install Windows last night and the experience was comical.

Making the install media was irritating; I wanted to download an ISO and flash a USB with it, as I've done with a half dozen linux distros dozens of times. That kept failing for whatever reason, once because there wasn't a boot partition?? on the drive yet, and like. That's what flashing the drive is for. It's to make bootable media. But ok fine we can just use the "create install media" tool windows provides.

Then, for some baffling reason, the install media didn't include audio? or wifi?? drivers??? Keep in mind that windows by default will not let you install without an internet connection. Their latest OS install tool will not give you the tools to connect to the internet, and won't let you install without the internet.

Luckily the OOBE\BYPASSNRO thing still works (unclear why, I've heard people saying it doesn't anymore; maybe they were just barely smart enough to realize that there should be a way to install without networking IF THERE'S NO FUCKING NETWORKING DRIVERS), so we were able to finish the install eventually, download the drivers on a network connected laptop and get things working.

Legitimately just faster and a better experience installing any user facing linux distro. Mint, Ubuntu, Pop!OS, whatever. At least, when I fucked up my arch install, it was because I forgot to include the wifi drivers, not because they were literally unavailable.

[ainow]

Arduino Nano Board R3 with CH340 chip

Based on the Arduino platform, the Nano R3 Board CH340 Chip without USB Cable does all the functions of the Uno, but has a smaller footprint.

Using Nano CH340 Soldered Board R3 Chip without USB cable is essential for your small project where you don’t need many pins, but the small size is very important to make it look nice.

In comparison to older versions of Arduino Nano with FTDI USB-Serial Chip, the Nano uses a low-cost USB-Serial Chip.

With the ATmega328 (Arduino Nano R3), the Nano is small, complete, and breadboard-friendly. It has more or less the same functionality as the Arduino Uno but in a different package. In addition to lacking a DC power jack, it uses a Mini-B USB cable instead of a standard one.

This device can be powered by a mini-USB cable, a 6-20V unregulated external power supply (pin 30), or a 5V regulated external power supply (pin 27).

Six PWM I/O are included from a total of 14 digital I/O, eight analog inputs, 16Mhz clock speed, and 32kB flash memory.

Please note:

The CH340 chip might not work directly with some PCs/laptops. You will need some drivers for the CH340 chip.

Arduino nano features :

TTL level serial transceiver ports (RX / TX)

Atmel Atmega328P-AU MCU used

It has a bootloader installed

Supports USB download and power supply

Provides support for external DC power supplies of 5V and 12V