#bat delete folder

[ilona2nerrie]

Justice reborn: chapter one, team building.

Tag list:

@itsmeairix

Chapters:

1 -

Chapter one – trying for a team.

Hey guys! This is my first Timkon fic actually, so let me know about characterisation and all of that in the comments. I’m trying my best, but if I post this on the 6th like I’m planning too, I’ll have it know I posted five parts of stories, each over a thousand words and some over two thousand in the past two days. So yes, I’m trying my best. Thanks for reading!

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He sat at the computer, the sounds of keys clicking being the only one to accompany the drip of the cave. No one has been down here since the incident.

‘Dick was too scared to do this. He loved his dad but had no desire to become him.’

‘Jason was vehemently against the idea. He had his own team, no time for another.’

‘Damian would’ve, but he was still a kid. No one would’ve let him.’

‘Cass had taken her spot as Gotham’s main vigilante, she deserved it. But that left no time for a team.’

‘Steph was there helping Cass behind the scenes. She wanted to be there for Cass right now.’

‘Duke was still Gotham’s only daytime vigilante. That took way too much effort to make a team.’

That was Timothy drakes reasoning for why he was ok being the only one self-tasked with taking on this burden. After the justice league had gone MIA on a space mission, now presumed dead by all, earth was left without its mightiest heroes. And that was good in no way.

Timothy had tried to convince his siblings to help, but they were all busy with their own things. But it’s not like Tim wasn’t either. But he reasoned to himself that he could run Drake Industries, Wayne Enterprises and a team all by himself. He was just better. He could do it, do it all.

He just needed members.

He went through the Bat-computer, scouring the millions of profiles Bruce had made on young and old heroes alike. They were coming in use now.

‘Thanks dad.’

He had already put a few in their own folder. Of the people he knew he was going to ask. One of them being Conner Kent.

He knew Conner from their young justice days, when the weight of the world wasn’t on their shoulders, but in their hands. With an option to distribute it equally. 

That wasn’t an option anymore. This wasn’t a game anymore. This was real.

<{ Name: Conner ‘Kon’ Kent.}>

<{Allies: Super-Boy. (pending his change).}>

<{Date of birth: March 16th.}>

<{Place of residence: Smallville, Kansas, USA}>

<{Known powers: TTK, super strength, speed, flight, invulnerability, fast healing factor, and heat vision.}>

That was the relevant information Tim had copied into a new file. He was sure conner would at least hear him out on the team idea, even if he rejected it completely. And if he didn’t reject it well, well Tim would have some support while he tried to recruit more.

Tim really needed support right now, now more than anytime actually.

He pulled up a new tab and opened his email, typing conners in and hovering over the subject line. What would he even say? They haven’t really talked since conner had come back to life. It would be weird to open the line of communication now…. Right?

His curser hovered for a few seconds longer before he closed the tab, deleting the email draft and pushing back from the desk. He blinked a few times, eyes burning as they wanted. It hit him that he had probably been sitting there, browsing options for hours. Probably at least a day, he had programmed a whole app for best mashing teams together, that would simulate compatibility. He ditched the premise when he realised, he hadn’t programmed temperaments and moods into the teams.

He rolled back on the chair, letting it drift into the middle of the cave, dust kicking up. Alfred hadn’t been down here since Bruce had passed.

He looked around the dark cave, the light of the computer being the only thing illuminating the room. Tim let his feet fall to the floor, disturbing the settled dust as he slowly walked around the cave. He ignored the chill that went through his body, pulling  his sweater closer around himself. He probably should’ve worn his suit down here, but he honestly couldn’t help it. Putting that thing on without a plan felt wrong. Felt like he was disrespecting the whole deal.

He ran a hand through his thoroughly tousled hair. He had been doing that all night, tugging at it at times when he needed to keep his hands occupied. He would’ve normally used blutack, but he had fiddled with his ball to the point it had felt raw against the skin of his fingers, so it wasn’t ideal.

Tugging on his hair also wasn’t really ideal, but he didn’t really have full control of that right now. Slipper’s shuffle across the dirty floor as he sat next to his dad’s old suit in the display case, pulling his knees to his chest and burying his head between them.

“Hey dad……” Tim mumbled, glancing out the corner of his eye to the suit as he pulled his knees to his chest.

“I’m trying to do what you would but-“

A chocked noise made its way up through his throat. “It’s so hard. It’s exhausting, I can’t ask the family. No one wants to accept it. I know what I have to do, but I  honestly don’t know if I have the strength to do it…”

.

.

.

“Dad? I understand why you were the way you were now.” Tim murmured, seemingly unbothered as the computer turned off plunging him into the total darkness he had found kinship with.

“And I don’t want to be like you. You wouldn’t have wanted that for me. I’m going to get help. I’m going to run this team the way you wished you could’ve ran yours… and I’m going to try being open. Just… just watch over me ok? I can’t do this alone.”

Tim ran his fingers over the glass case, before turning on his phone light and heading to the door of the manor. Things would be ok. Just not now. And Tim had to be content with that. Despite the fact he hated it right now.

same story but on Ao3:

(i got Ao3 now!!!)

[astralynx]

I figured out how to rip DOTDD Models and now I'm teaching you! (plus uploading mine)

^ download these things onto your computer devices anytime!

Last summer I spiraled into insanity trying to figure out and eventually gave up so now that I know I'm saving you the trouble! I've also put all of my rips into a drive folder here that contains most of the notable npcs + playable characters but I'm planning on submitting them to modeler's resource when I have the time.

Final disclaimer: i also don't know much about ripping / romhacking / blender / computers in general but I thought it would be nice to put up what I've figured out anyway. I've also never actually written a guide to anything before so uh. i hope this is clear enough. Now finally onto the tutorial itself!

You'll need: tinke / apicula / a dotdd rom (not important if its in english or not but if you want like some of the translated ui elements / fonts you might wanna use a ver w the fantranslation patch) / and (optionally) blender or whatever other 3d modeling software that can read .dae files so you can actually do stuff with these.

First is to launch Tinke and load in your dotdd rom, you'll then be met with this menu. the models are contained under the "mdl" tab

each of these have different things but you'll probably care about mb (major npcs) and pc (player characters) and also mn (familiars). also using this to say that tinke is a. very finnicky program so sometimes stuff will just Not Work. sorry about that. anyway.

Once you're in you can start looking for whatever model (.n3d file) you want, unfortunately the models aren't named clearly so you'll have to open them to see what they are. You can do this by selecting the .n3d file and clicking "unpack" which will open a .bmd0 file with a yellow box icon, you'll need to unpack that file one more time to actually be able to open the file it gives you after that in the viewer / export it

When you get the second unpacking (which should be a .bmd0 file with a mostly green drawing for the icon), you can open it in the viewer and it'll look like this!

sorry any file you open that has a skeleton will look like that. I have been informed that sometimes ds games just store their models like this and it has no affect on the model when its exported so. lets just move on. Also sometimes tinke will give you an error that will stop you from opening the viewer properly but it will (most of the time) let you see the textures fine so you can double check (and even if it doesn't we have a workaround coming up soon)

Next big step is to set up apicula! When you download it, the program can't run by itself. You will need to create two text files, one named "apicula view nsbxx_files" and "apicula convert nsbxx_files -o dae_files" (no quotation marks) to put in the same folder as the apicula exe. You will then rename these .txt files into .bat files and you'll use these to actually "run" the program. You'll also make a folder alongisde those called nsbxx_files. It should look like this at the end

Back to tinke, you'll take the viewable .bmd0 model you want to export and click "extract" and I usually put mine directly into the nsbxx folder in my apicula folder for convenience sake. double clicking the "view" .bat will put the models into a viewer that I like to use as a final double check (and also what you can use if tinke's preview is giving you trouble). Its WASD to move and Q and E to lower / raise the camera

to actually convert the file, double click the "convert" .bat file and it will create a new folder named "dae_files" and inside will be your model and its textures in a .dae folder that you can read in blender and contains its skeleton!

PLEASE NOTE!!!! that apicula can only read / convert one file at a time! this means that it will just use the topmost file in the nsbxx folder and if you'll have to delete the dae folder every time once your done with it so it can run properly again. so just make sure you move your converted files somewhere else before you do. but now you'll have a model to put into blender!

the tutorial is technically "done" now but I'm gonna share how to set up these models in blender (which for the sake of explaining i'm gonna assume you don't know much about). When you first load in the models you'll have to "turn on" their textures using the drop down arrow in the menu on the top right corner of the 3d viewport and turn on these settings (while still selecting the solid circle tab)

Secondly, Many of them use transparent elements in their textures that blender doesn't like to load without some help

you can fix this by expanding the menu on the bottom of the screen and clicking the clock icon to turn it into the "shader editor" tab

Then, you'll select your model and go to the "base color" node in the shader editor, go down to the "alpha" tab and set it to "pre-mutliply" and it should remove the white lines around the transparent elements!

That's all from me! if you have any questions you can reply to this post / send me an ask or dm or whatever and I'll try my best to help! happy ripping!

[solas-backpack-mug]

hellooooo may i ask where you get the voice lines from deadfire?

pillars of eternity voice lines tutorial!

in steam version voice lines can be found here: C:\Program Files (x86)\Steam\steamapps\common\Pillars of Eternity II\PillarsOfEternityII_Data\StreamingAssets\Audio\Windows\Voices

all of them are in .wem format so they can’t be listened to normally. to listen to them you have to convert them into a different format. i learned how to do it by watching this video on youtube (i’m linking it in case i missed something in my tutorial or you want to see how it’s done)

the video starts with converting .bnk files to .wem, which isn’t applicable to poe

how to prepare tools for converting .wem to .ogg

1. download ww2ogg024 (for conversion) and ReVorb (for cleanup).

2. create a folder wherever under whatever name you wish. put ww2ogg024 and ReVorb inside

2. create a Script.txt file in the same folder. this is what is supposed to be in it:

for %%f in (*.wem) do "./ww2ogg024/ww2ogg.exe" %%f --pcb "./ww2ogg024/packed_codebooks_aoTuV_603.bin"

pause

for %%f in (*.ogg) do revorb.exe %%f

pause

3. save Script.txt file as .bat. you’re free to delete the .txt if you want

now your folder should look like this:

how to convert .wem to .wav

1. copy the voicelines you want to convert into the same folder as ww2ogg024 and ReVorb (remember to copy them, not move them)

2. run Script and do what it instructs you to

3. success!

.ogg files can be listened to but if you want to post them on Tumblr you have to convert them to .mp3. i do it in VLC media player. i did have a problem with some of karū’s lines where they couldn’t be played after being converted to .mp3. i have no idea what the problem was or why only some lines were affected, but i managed to circumvent this by saving them in a different program as .mp4 and converting that to .mp3

some files can’t be accessed for some reason, not in any way i know. i found and copied the watcher’s and hazanui karū’s lines without a problem, but i couldn’t get to ooze noises

happy file converting!

[brb-on-a-quest]

I had a thought last night, and even though the only canon bat source I've had is WFA, and I've only *just* started getting into fanfic, so characterizations may not be accurate/have been done before, but IDK. I need this to exist out there.

Timothy Drake-Wayne writes fics sometimes.

It started off with the necessity of creating so many fake IDs. One thing led to another and Tim was coming up with backstories for all the Johns, Marys, and Joes that he invented while doing his Gotham digital surveillance. After all, he was trying to make these people's fake IDs look as real as possible, which meant more than just a name on a couple of sheets of paper.

It means creating a fake digital footprint. For each one.

So, on the rare occasions when things are calmer, and he's not immediately needed, he sits on his computer and types out head cannons for each of the OCs he has created. He spends a lot of time doing research on different cultures, neurodivergencies, physical abilities, and backgrounds to try and 1) paint accurate pictures and 2) learn. He hides the world building tidbits in a secret folder that he's taken so many measures to hide from Oracle (she already knows, but she doesn't actively look after finally figuring out what the folder of names, complete with physical descriptions, life stories, and preferences is out of respect for Timothy). (Also, all this writing knowledge actually comes in handy for crime-solving things, but he doesn't fully realize it at the time).

Tim even went as far as to make social media accounts for some of his favorites and posts bits and pieces of the head cannons to make them, again, seem like real people. Just in case. As a precaution. You never know.

Jason finds out somehow, in a freak accident and collision of siblings that so often happens. Tim is sweating bullets, trying to steel himself for the endless teasing. He is fully prepared to delete every single file that's in that folder and deny that it ever exists for all eternity.

Except Jason doesn't. Jason's too much of a literary nerd (granted, he prefers more classic literature than social media fics, but this is another thing he can connect with his little brother on- he's *excited*) to tease Tim about the writing. He kind of persuades Tim to take more time for his hobby because Tim has some markings of talent in his very specific creative niche. Tim may have also convinced Jason to try it exactly once, to create a fake Twitter profile for Mr. Darcy and create shitposts from his point of view. He has a great time with it once, and then he moves on (but sometimes he creates other accounts for other characters that Tim doesn't know about).

They make a pact between the two of them not to tell the others; they'd ask too many questions and make it less fun.

But every once in a while, Tim would walk into Jason's place to crash for a bit, steal all of his Red Bull, update Jason on his writing projects, and get writing advice.

[kingofbodyrolls]

Whalien52 (m) | pjm

*this is a re-upload since I deleted my old account 🫣

You’ve been working for the New World Order as an assassin for years, guarding secrets without batting an eye or asking questions. But when a striking pink haired man shows up at the headquarters stealing information, he makes you question everything. With all of humanity at stake, what will you do? 

→ Pairing: Jimin (kitty gang!jimin) x reader (female) → AUs: apocalyptic!au, survival!au, dystopian!au → Genres: angst, fluff, smut, fighting and action. → Tropes: strangers to lovers → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 10.6k → Warnings + triggers: changing povs (between reader and Jimin), action, weapons, guns and swords, blood (it’s not in extreme detail or anything, but blood is mentioned a few times), death (people are dying, but no important character dies!!!), wounds, shooting, self defense, m*rder in self defense, sickness (cancer due to radiation), mention of a cure and treatment for said cancer. Explicit smut in the form of unprotected sexy, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, degrading names, multiple orgasms, creampie, kissing. → Author’s note: okay, so I’ve been struggling a lot with this one too, lol. I miss writing sappy romance I think. This isn’t sappy, and I’ll hardly call it romance, well, it’s in there, but there’s honestly so much action in this one, compared to the Yoongi one. It’s also more fast paced, and shorter. I hope it’s alright! It was fun to write, even though I know nothing about writing action, I hope I did it well! And to everyone who’s scared or reluctant to read it because there’s angst and it’s kinda heavy/dark themed— IT HAS A HAPPY ENDING. There, I spoiled the ending for you 😇 + This story is a gift for my friend Remmy! Thank you so much for sharing your Kitty gang Jimin folder with me, and letting me use you for motivation and inspiration to get out of my writer’s block 💜 → Read on AO3? [link]

[navi]*: series masterlist *this story is technically a stand alone one-shot (and can be read just as is), but it is also a spin-off from another one-shot (that got a sequel, so a two-shot?). The characters and the story are the same, but the first two stories take place before this one, and it’s with Yoongi x reader (not the same reader though).

It’s raining again. Lately, it’s always raining. The rain is everlasting, it seems, drenching the city in a ceaseless, oppressive downpour. The Capital is perpetually shrouded in darkness and gloom, a place where the sun is a distant memory. You’ve grown accustomed to it, ever since you were recruited by The New World Order to guard their secrets. You’ve been trapped in this godforsaken city ever since. Do you like it? Not really, but it’s a job that pays well. They give you a roof over your head and enough to survive—luxuries in this ravaged world.

You came from nothing, clawing your way up since the war began, fighting for every scrap of existence until The New World Order caught you. They gave you a choice: die or work for them. You chose to live, naively hoping that working for them wouldn’t be so bad. But it turns out, it can be quite bad. You’ve done unspeakable things to keep their secrets safe. You’ve killed for them, just as you had killed for yourself before they found you. Now, you don’t even flinch when you have to eliminate someone who gets too close to the truth. Part of you wonders what these secrets are, but you’re not interested. It’s just a job, nothing more.

Tonight is another shift. You head to the New World Order building, ready to patrol the city under the cover of darkness. First, you gear up: leather pants, a basic white shirt, and a black leather biker jacket. A belt around your waist for support, with a strap around your thigh that holsters your gun. A small knife is sheathed at your back, just in case.

You glance out the window. The world outside is as bleak as ever; night has fallen, and the rain taps a morose melody against the glass. You sigh, watching the neon signs flicker, casting a purple and blue glow that dances across your room. Grabbing your keys, you lock the door behind you and sprint down the stairs. This apartment is nothing special, but it’s a step up from the streets where you once lived before the war. It’s a small comfort in a world gone mad.

The rain soaks your skin, but you don’t bother with an umbrella. It’s just rain. You run down the dimly lit main street, the few wandering souls avoiding eye contact as they scurry to obey The New World Order’s curfew. Your boots splash through rain puddles on the unpaved, muddy road. It doesn’t take long to reach the towering New World Order building—its looming presence still sends a shiver down your spine, but you step inside anyway. Scanning your security card, you brace yourself for another night of duty.

You start your shift monitoring security cameras and patrolling the eerie hallways for any sign of suspicious activity. As you return to the front desk, you catch sight of a man attempting to bypass the card reader.

“What are you doing here?” you growl, your hand instinctively hovering near your gun.

The man fumbles with the machine, clearly lacking a security card. Desperation edges his voice as he yells, “I want the data that The New World Order is keeping from us!”

“You’re not getting that,” you reply coldly, assessing the intruder. He seems harmless, more frustrated than dangerous, so you relax, slightly.

“Do you even know what it is that you’re protecting?” he spits, abandoning his futile attempt to climb the machines as the alarm blares. The piercing sound echoes through the corridor, and you quickly pull out the phone issued by the New World Order to silence it.

“I don’t care what I’m protecting. You’ve got no business here. Now leave,” you say through gritted teeth.

“You shouldn’t be so blind to the secrets you’re safekeeping for them,” he hisses, making another hopeless attempt to scale the security machines.

His efforts are laughable, a pathetic display of defiance. A dark chuckle escapes your lips. “Leave, or I’ll shoot you.” This is his final warning. If he doesn't heed it, he’ll meet the cold, indifferent justice of your gun. So be it.

He freezes, uncertainty flickering in his eyes as he gauges your resolve. Your unwavering stare breaks his spirit, and he quivers in fear before backing off. Without a word, he turns and bolts, likely retracing his steps. Fool, you think, watching him flee. 

The encounter leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. He’s not the first to suggest you should question your work and the secrets you guard. Maybe you should. But you know the moment you do, you’re dead. You’ll lose everything you’ve achieved and everything you hold dear. That fear keeps you in place, and you reckon that’s the point of it all—the New World Order instills fear in everyone, ensuring their control remains absolute.

“Are you sure you’re okay to go in there alone?” Bora asks, her voice tinged with unease. It’s understandable—years of meticulous planning and reconnaissance are culminating in this moment. Whalien52 is about to attempt the impossible: stealing the cure for cancer that The New World Order keeps hidden away.

Jimin isn’t scared. He’s accustomed to these kinds of missions, though this will be his most significant one yet. A good kind of nervousness tingles through him, a mix of excitement and determination. “Yeah, Hobi’s done plenty of research. I know exactly which room to hit,” he says, flashing Bora a reassuring smile.

He gets why she’s scared. Bora and Yoongi have been through hell, and with both of them sick, finding the cure is personal. Yoongi’s condition has worsened over the years, a stark reminder of the injustice that The New World Order perpetuates by hoarding the cure while people die from radiation-induced cancers. The thought makes Jimin’s blood boil.

It’s this anger that led him to join Whalien52 after meeting Jungkook in the wasteland, a desolate remnant of what the bombings and wars left behind. The new government organization threatens to transform the remnants of humanity into a dystopian nightmare—if it hasn’t already.

Jimin thrives as an assassin, driven by a relentless quest for truth. The thrill, the chase, the stealth—it’s all part of the adrenaline rush he lives for. But beneath the excitement lies a deep-seated hatred for the rich elites who hid in their bomb-proof bunkers, safeguarding their technology, only to reemerge and rebuild a civilization for themselves amidst the ruins. Their swift reconstruction of the Capital stands as a bitter reminder of their enduring power.

The injustice has turned him bitter. It’s why he’s vowed to do everything in his power to change the world, to help Whalien52 make knowledge free and accessible to everyone, not just the rich. The gap between rich and poor has become a chasm, with only the vetted elite allowed to live in the Capital. The rest of humanity is left to fend for themselves, struggling for survival in a world that hopes they’ll destroy each other.

Jimin won’t stand for it. This mission isn’t just about stealing a cure, or getting data on possible treatment—it’s about justice, about leveling the playing field, about giving hope to those left in the dark. And he’ll see it through, no matter the cost.

Yoongi comes up to him, interrupting his thoughts. “I’m serious. You don’t have to do this for me,” he coughs, his voice so raspy it sounds like he’s been smoking forever.

Jimin places a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder, his gaze shifting briefly to Bora before settling back on Yoongi. “We are doing this for you. But I’m also doing this for everyone else,” he begins, his voice thick with emotion and a glimmer of hope. “You’re not the only one suffering from cancer because of the radiation. We want to help everyone; we can’t just let people die.”

Yoongi flashes a soft smile and sits down to rest, the effort of standing too exhausting for him now. Jimin will do this for him, for Bora, and for the rest of humanity. He doesn’t mind risking his own life in the search for a cure—he might need one later himself.

“I’ll go get ready,” he says, turning away from Bora and Yoongi. He walks past Jungkook and Taehyung in the dimly lit hideout and heads into his room. He pulls on his leather pants, a white shirt, and then his favorite leather bomber jacket, adorned with pink, silver and purple sparkles. The jacket complements his pink fluffy hair perfectly. He retrieves his gun, tucking it into his back pocket—risky, he knows. Then he picks up his katana, swinging it over his back into its sheath. The sword, his preferred weapon, feels reassuringly familiar.

Now he’s ready. Ready to infiltrate the fortress of secrets and retrieve the cure. Ready to fight for a future where knowledge and healing aren’t hoarded by the few. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for the mission ahead, a mission that could change everything in this dystopian nightmare they call life.

He says goodbye to everyone, hugging each of them tightly, aware that any moment could be his last. This mission is perilous, and while he has infiltrated The New World Order before without getting caught, this time is different. He will be venturing deeper into their stronghold than ever before.

After bidding farewell to his friends, Jimin strides outside to his motorcycle. The powerful machine, stolen from the Capital, gleams with a sleek, futuristic design. Its pale metal body has an industrial look, and its size dwarfs Jimin as he mounts it. Neon lights flicker to life as he revs the engine, the bike purring beneath him. With a flick of his wrist, he speeds towards the Capital, sand flying from the back wheel.

He knows he must be cautious once he enters the city. Stealth is crucial to avoid detection and successfully infiltrate The New World Order’s building. Failure means everything will have been for nothing.

The rain is endless, a perpetual downpour that defines the Capital. He doesn’t know why it always rains here, only that it does. The empty streets are illuminated by the neon signs adorning the various buildings, casting a colorful glow in the darkness.

He parks his motorcycle near the New World Order building, at the secluded back entrance where security is minimal. This is his best chance. 

Taking a deep breath, he opens the door. 

It’s all or nothing.

It’s getting late, and the monotony of patrolling the building is wearing you down. The nights are usually quiet, save for the occasional curious stranger trying to access the information you guard. You sigh and head back to the surveillance room, your eyes scanning the screens for anything unusual. Suddenly, you spot a figure moving on one of the monitors. A shot of adrenaline surges through you, breaking the dullness of the night. 

The absence of triggered alarms tells you the intruder is a professional. No amateur could bypass the sophisticated security systems. The thought excites you, your heart rate spiking as you dash through the corridors, your hand hovering near your gun. You search each room hastily, growing more anxious with every empty space, until you reach the final room—the one that holds the most guarded secrets.

You pause outside the door, peeking in cautiously.

Inside, a well-defined man with pink, fluffy hair, leather pants, and a sparkly bomber jacket stands with his back to you, working at one of the computers. This is the information hub, where all vital data is stored. This is bad, but you have the element of surprise. Steadying your breath, you draw your gun and step into the doorway, your voice commanding, “Freeze!”

The man doesn’t freeze. Instead, you watch as he swiftly pulls a USB drive from the computer, moving with a grace that is almost dance-like. Before you can react, he glides across the floor and stands before you, a sword at your throat. A thrill of excitement runs through your body.

You stand still, a smile twisting on your lips, locked in a standoff with the pink-haired intruder. He’s chosen the wrong weapon to threaten you with. “You brought a sword to a gunfight?” you laugh, despite the blade pressing against your throat, your gun aimed at his chest. Who really has the upper hand here?

“Oh, I have a gun too,” he smirks, his voice sweet but laced with danger.

“What are you doing here?” you seethe, standing your ground.

“Getting information,” he replies matter-of-factly, not even breaking a sweat.

“You’re stealing. I can’t allow you to leave,” you spit, but he doesn’t flinch.

“Do you even know what kind of information you’re guarding?” he challenges, his words striking a chord. He’s not the first to ask you this today, and it makes you pause. “I know nothing, and I don’t care,” you respond after a moment’s thought.

“You really should,” he says, stepping closer until your gun is pressed against him. He doesn’t seem afraid, almost as if he’s an adrenaline junkie like you. But no, he’s not scared. He’s reckless. Your finger hovers near the trigger, but something makes you hesitate. You don’t know what it is, and you don’t like it.

His eyes, dark pools of obsidian, glint with amusement. He chuckles, and before you can react, his boot slams into your stomach, sending you sprawling to the cold, hard floor. Your gun slips from your grip, clattering away.

The man towers over you, his boot pressing down on your pussy, the katana poised at your throat, its cold blade grazing your skin. You raise your arms in a defensive pose, trapped and weaponless. He smirks, waving your gun tauntingly.

“You’re guarding information that can save humanity. What you’re doing is sick,” he spits, pressing his boot harder into you. Why does that feel hot? Why do tingles shoot through your body? Damn it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you growl back, genuinely confused. Your mind feels hazy with adrenaline and something else.

“The cure for cancer,” he snarls, his anger palpable.

Your eyes widen. The cure for cancer? You’ve heard whispers, but you didn’t know that’s what you were guarding. You know there’s treatment, but the New World Order has been hoarding those as well, making treatment inaccessible for the common people.

He presses his boot into you even more, a mix of pain and pleasure surging through your body.

“Oh my god. Are you getting turned on right now?” His voice drips with dark amusement, mocking you.

“Fuck no!” you yell, even as your body betrays you, responding to the pressure of his boot. You know you’re aroused, but you refuse to let him have the satisfaction of knowing that.

“I can smell you from here. There’s no point in lying,” he chuckles, lifting his boot from your crotch, though his sword remains at your throat.

You hate how observant he is, and you need to change the subject, to find a way out. You growl, “I’m not. And you’re not getting away. I don’t care if it’s the cure for cancer or whatever you’ve stolen.”

“I have my katana at your throat. I’m sure I’ll make it out just fine,” he replies, his dark chuckle sending shivers down your spine. “I’ve got what I came for,” he says, smirking down at you. “I’m flattered you’re turned on. Maybe if we met under different circumstances,” he adds, his eyes glinting with dark lust. “You should look into the secrets you’re guarding,” he says, withdrawing his katana and retreating, tossing your gun far out of reach.

You scramble to your feet as soon as he’s gone, snatching up your gun and bolting after him through the corridors. He’s silent, almost ghost-like, but you chase him nonetheless. He can’t leave with the vital information. The New World Order will have your head if they find out. You hear the click of a door—it’s the backdoor. You rush outside, the heavy rain stinging your face as the neon lights flicker on the deserted street. You catch sight of his motorcycle’s tail light disappearing into the rain. 

Fuck.

As soon as he crosses the threshold between the Capital and the dystopian suburb, the rain ceases abruptly. He twists the throttle of his motorcycle, speeding through the desolate landscape back to the hideout. His heart pounds, but he doesn’t look back. He doubts he’s being followed.

The journey back is swift. As the hideout comes into view, he decelerates, parking his bike with a sense of triumph. He’s relieved not to return empty-handed and, more importantly, to have survived the mission. Reflecting on the encounter, a smirk forms on his face. You were easier to deceive than he anticipated. A part of him hopes to see you again, intrigued by your reaction to seeing him. 

He wonders if he could sway you, make you see the truth about the secrets you’re guarding for The New World Order. Could he enlist you in his cause? The thought intrigues him, though he doubts it. You seemed too ignorant, too indifferent to the atrocities made by the regime.

The night is still young as he dismounts his bike and strides toward the door. It opens easily—unlocked, as usual. They really should lock it; you never know who might come by.

He’s greeted by a flurry of curious eyes as his friends jump up, their eagerness palpable. “Relax,” he gestures, “sit down.” Reaching into the pocket of his leather pants, he pulls out the USB drive. The tiny piece of tech holds the key to saving the world— the cure for cancer. Something they had all doubted, but had uncovered through relentless investigation, exposing the dark secrets of The New World Order.

He strides over to Namjoon, whose eyes glitter with excitement, his fingers itching to grasp the device and run an analysis. Jimin hands him the USB drive with a proud smile. “Here,” he says, “I hope everything’s on there. I was interrupted while pulling the data.”

“Thank you,” Namjoon responds, already heading into a back room, eager to delve into the contents.

Jimin collapses onto the spot Namjoon vacated, feeling the weight of their stares. 

Bora clears her throat. “You said you were interrupted?”

“Ah, yeah,” he chuckles, revealing his crooked teeth. “A security guard. But she was easy to handle.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Yoongi grunts, his voice strained and raspy.

“It was,” Jimin shrugs, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other. In truth, it had been almost too easy. He can’t shake the thought: had he overlooked something, or was fate simply on his side this time?

Jungkook’s questioning stare pierces through Jimin, but he doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t want to share how you made his blood boil with adrenaline and lust. He doesn’t even know your name, but you ignited something within him, a cocktail of emotions in mere moments. He’s both intrigued and captivated by you.

Time blurs as Jimin waits, lost in his thoughts until Namjoon reenters the living room. The look on Namjoon’s face is enough: it’s not the cure.

“This data isn’t complete,” Namjoon groans, frustration etched across his features as he waves the USB drive. He paces anxiously, “It has some information on cancer treatment, but the data on the cure is fragmented. Jin, can you take a look at it? All I see are molecules. I don’t know what to make of it,” he adds, his voice tinged with nervous laughter and defeat.

Jimin’s stomach sinks, a heavy weight of disappointment and anger settling in. He had hoped to secure all the needed information, but now they’re still unable to help Bora, Yoongi, and countless others suffering from the cancer that The New World Order likely caused. The thought sickens him. It wouldn’t surprise him if they were behind everything—the war, the slaughter of mankind. Sometimes it feels like The New World Order is playing a sick game of battle royale with the world’s population. People fight desperately, both for information and survival, in a world where information and treatment are hoarded like treasures. 

Jimin’s mind races, thoughts swirling with the grim reality: when people are dying and sick, they become desperate, willing to do anything to stay alive. He feels a bitter mix of anger and sadness, questioning if he was delusional to think it would be easy to obtain the cure or even secure vital treatment information. The hope that things could change for the better feels like a distant dream.

Jin takes the USB drive, slipping it into his pocket, and gives Jimin a reassuring pat on the shoulder before heading to his patient and study room. Jimin feels a gnawing sense of inadequacy, berating himself for getting caught and distracted by you. He wonders if he should attempt to sneak back into the New World Order building, determined to obtain the missing data they desperately need.

“I’ll go back and see if I can get the remaining data in a few days,” he declares, his voice tinged with deflation but underpinned by a strong current of willpower. He can’t afford to fail again. The mission is too important, the stakes too high.

It’s been a few days since the pink-haired guy infiltrated the New World Order building undetected, slipping through your fingers like sand. The incident has left you feeling weird and anxious. You expected The New World Order to contact you, reprimand you, or worse, eliminate you. But there’s been nothing—no messages, no ominous visits. Maybe they don’t know about your slip-up yet? Or perhaps they’re biding their time.

Your phone, a sleek piece of tech courtesy of The New World Order, vibrates in your hand. You unlock it, and a text message glares back at you.

New World Order: Come to the headquarters in 15 minutes.

That’s all it says, nothing more, nothing less. You gulp, feeling your palms grow sweaty. This is it. This is how you die. Thrown off the tall building. You’ve heard stories, and they’re not nice. The tales of disappearances and silent executions run through your mind, making you shiver with nerves.

You lace up your boots with trembling hands, each loop a countdown to your potential demise. Trudging down the stairs of your dark apartment, you step into the rainy street. The city around you is a dismal sprawl of neon lights and shadows, a perfect reflection of your inner turmoil. You try to calm your racing heart, but it’s a futile effort. Every step feels heavier, every breath more labored as you make your way to the New World Order headquarters, fearing that this is the end.

You reach the New World Order headquarters, a monolith of cold steel and glass looming above the city. For a moment, you let the rain caress your face, cleansing you of your sins. Maybe they won’t mention anything? Clenching your fists, you walk into your workplace, passing through the security scanners, the impassive front desk, the sterile halls, and finally to the elevators. You step into one, the doors closing with a cold finality. The elevator ascends, a silent reminder of the 30 floors that separate you from potential death should you be pushed out. You close your eyes, banishing the thought.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open, revealing an amble-lit hallway adorned in red and gold. The color scheme feels both luxurious and ominous, a blend of future opulence and ancient dread. The red rug underfoot seems out of place, a relic amidst the high-tech surroundings. It suddenly hits you—it might be there to hide a certain color of liquid. No, you shouldn’t think about it. Nothing’s going to happen to you.

Each step down the hallway feels like walking through a graveyard at midnight, the silence thick and oppressive. Your breath quickens, your hand hovering over the handle of the door at the end. This is it. Just get it over with.

With sweaty hands, you push open the door and step inside. A tall man in a black suit stands with his back to you, staring out of the tall windows. The view overlooks the bleak, rainy city, a desolate wasteland stretching to the horizon. The room is deathly silent, save for the patter of rain against the glass. You feel a shiver run down your spine.

He doesn’t turn to acknowledge you, his presence as cold and unyielding as the cityscape beyond. You gulp, your heart pounding in your chest, waiting for him to speak, waiting for your fate to be decided.

You clear your throat, the sound echoing in the tension-filled room. The man’s attention snaps to you, and he turns on his heels with a sinister smile. “Y/N!”

The way he says your name sends shivers down your spine, raising the hairs on your body. An urge to flee or jump out of the window floods your senses, but you force yourself to steady your resolve.

You recognize him as the head of the organization, though his name remains a mystery, like everyone else’s in this godforsaken place. Faces are familiar, but names are a dangerous luxury.

“Glad you could make it. Take a seat,” he gestures to the chair in front of his imposing wooden desk, an artifact of richness you could never dream of affording.

You gulp, a slight ringing in your ears accompanying your erratic heartbeat. Your palms are slick with sweat as you move to sit down.

“Nervous?” he asks, his voice calm and commanding as he paces the room.

“Yes,” you manage to say, gulping again as you track his movements.

“Good,” he replies, looking down at you with a predatory glint in his eye.

“I saw the surveillance footage from the break-in a few days ago,” he begins, his eyes boring into you with an unsettling intensity. Fear knots in your stomach, paralyzing your muscles as you brace yourself for whatever comes next. You remain silent, too scared to speak, knowing that he already knows everything that happened.

“You’ve gone soft. If this happens again, shoot the intruder, or you’ll be the one staring down the barrel of a gun,” he says, his voice sharp and precise, each word like a blade against your throat. A chill runs through you, and you wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole. You’ve messed up, but somehow he’s letting you off with a warning—something you didn’t expect. A small part of you dares to breathe a little easier.

“Now leave before I change my mind,” he hisses. You flinch, your body reacting instinctively as you rush to the door. Bowing quickly, you slip out without a word. Outside, you realize you’ve been holding your breath and you gasp for air, your hands trembling.

You know you have to do your job better if you want to survive. The threat lingers in your mind, and you can’t help but wonder about the secrets you’re guarding. What could be so important? Maybe it’s time to investigate—time to find out if this job is truly worth risking your life for.

Your boss won’t find out, right? You gulp, pushing the thought away. You need to know. You’ve done your job blindly for so long, but the time has come to uncover the truth. You know the higher-ups won’t give you any information, even if you asked, which is why you find yourself downstairs in the control room.

You locate the computer you usually use, turn it on, and log into the company drive. Your fingers tremble as you navigate through multiple folders, delving deeper into the rabbit hole. You uncover information you never imagined existed. Details about how and why the war started shock you—who knew a failed peace treaty could lead to such global devastation? The realization hits you hard: the war was actually orchestrated by a few countries aiming to seize power when the peace treaty collapsed. Those people now form The New World Order. A chill runs down your spine.

You stumble upon a folder detailing the side effects of radiation, studies on various cancer treatments, and ultimately, a cure for cancer. Disbelief floods your mind as you stare at the words on the screen. You blink, hoping the text will change, but it remains. The next document reveals their sinister plan: to keep this life-saving information hidden, ensuring only the rich survive while letting the rest of humanity rot and die.

This is what the pink-haired man wanted you to know. Regret and anger churn in your gut—you should have listened, should have questioned everything from the start. You feel sick, overwhelmed by the weight of the truth. You close the computer, resolve hardening within you. 

As you leave the control room and head home, your mind swirls with thoughts. You need to figure out what to do with this explosive information before your shift tonight. The rain continues to fall, each drop a reminder of the world’s decay. You realize now that your role in The New World Order’s scheme is far more sinister than you ever imagined.

Jimin has to obtain the missing piece of data his group needs for the cure for cancer, or at least information to develop new treatments. Ever since the war started, all research and treatment for cancer have been inaccessible. Late at night, at their hideout far from the Capital, Jimin prepares for his mission. He looks at Bora and Yoongi—Yoongi, in particular, has deteriorated, and Jimin fears he doesn’t have much time left. The urgency gnaws at him; failure is not an option.

He doesn’t know whether he hopes to meet you at the New World Order headquarters or not. The thought of you makes his heart race, but he knows that if you get in his way, his mission might fail. He sighs, waving goodbye to the group, then steps outside. The night is oppressive, the air thick with the scent of decay and rain. He puts on his helmet, the world narrowing to the visor’s view, and straddles his bike. The engine roars to life, vibrating through him, merging with the adrenaline surging in his veins.

It’s now or never.

He twists the accelerator, the bike surging forward into the darkness, toward the lifeless, desolate Capital. The neon lights flicker ominously as he speeds into enemy territory, a lone figure against the backdrop of a crumbling dystopia.

The room is dark—just the way you prefer it. Your eyes, adept at seeing through the gloom, catch every detail, including the pink-haired intruder hunched over a computer terminal, stealing vital information from your employer. Silently, you watch him, observing his methodical movements as he navigates the screen. The monitor casts a ghostly blue light, making his hair shimmer with a surreal purple hue. You can’t deny he looks striking.

Tonight, you decide not to intervene. After your own clandestine investigation into your employer, you understand why he’s after the data—why so many risk everything to steal it. The New World Order’s secrets are dark and twisted, and the pink-haired man’s quest suddenly seems justified.

Minutes tick by in silence, the intruder’s focus unbroken. His sparkly bomber jacket gleams faintly in the dim light. Finally, he seems satisfied, pulling a USB drive from the terminal. The moment he turns around, you flick on the lights.

Yellow fluorescent tubes flicker to life, bathing the room in a harsh, sickly glow. He freezes, one hand instinctively hovering over the katana strapped to his back, the other gripping the USB drive.

“Fancy meeting you here,” you smirk, leaning casually against the wall by the exit, blocking his escape.

He hisses, scanning you up and down before his features relax into a smirk. “Where’s your gun? Aren’t you gonna try to stop me again, pretty?”

Your eyes sparkle at the compliment, much like his jacket, and you chuckle softly. “Nah,” you shrug, but straighten your posture, exuding confidence.

He quirks an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “Why?”

You take in his appearance—black leather pants hugging his thick thighs, lace-up military boots, and that unmistakable sparkly bomber jacket. With a soft, yet sultry smile, you reply, “I finally opened my eyes to what’s really going on. What’s truly been happening, and I don’t like it one bit.”

His shoulders relax further, and his hands withdraw from the katana and the gun stashed behind his back. He eyes you with a mixture of caution and intrigue, seemingly pleased by your revelation.

“So, you’re just gonna let me go?” he asks, ensuring he hasn’t misheard.

“Yeah. But actually…” you begin, drawing out your words to capture his attention as you step closer, batting your eyes at him. “I have more information back at my apartment that you might want to see. I can take you there. Show you.”

You can’t help the way your body responds to him—you want him, and you want him bad. It’s true, you do have valuable information at your place, but your ulterior motives are undeniable. The risk is immense. The moment you make this move, you’ll become a wanted criminal, hunted by the New World Order. But the thought of remaining complicit in their schemes sickens you. You crave freedom, and he might just be the key to it.

For a flicker of a second, you catch him stuttering, but he quickly collects himself, smirking back at you. His pink tongue darts out to wet his lips in a teasing move, and you feel a tingle between your legs.

“Let’s go then,” he says, brushing past you and out the door. You follow closely, aware of the cameras tracking your every move, but you don't care. Time is short; the New World Order will come after you soon, so you need to be quick.

The pink-haired man leads the way through the dim, familiar halls to the back door. The green emergency light flickers ominously overhead. He pushes the door open, and the bleak night greets you with flickering neon lights. His sleek silver bike stands nearby. As you approach, he hands you his helmet and lets you straddle his bike, taking the place behind you. His body presses close against your back, and a surge of arousal courses through you.

You turn the bike on, and it roars to life. With a swift movement, you speed through the empty, rain-soaked streets back to your apartment. His arms wrap securely around your torso, and it feels nice. His head rests against your shoulder, and you catch a whiff of his scent—like fresh cotton on a summer's breeze, something you haven’t smelled in a long time. You long for it.

It doesn’t take long to reach your apartment. You turn off the bike, parking it out of sight from prying eyes. He gets off first, then you remove the helmet and jump down. Neither of you speaks as you walk up the stairs to your first-floor apartment. You quickly unlock the door and push into your dark space. The lights are off, and the place is messy with clothes strewn about, but you don't care. The apartment is a tiny one-bedroom, an open space where the kitchen, living room, and bedroom blend together. It’s small, but it’s home.

“Welcome,” you whisper, closing the door behind you, sealing both of you in a cocoon of secrecy and danger.

The tension between you feels thick as you make your way inside, heading straight to your desk and rummaging for the flash drive you’ve hidden. The man’s eyes follow your every move as you open a drawer and pull out the drive, smirking as you wave it in the air. “This has more information on it that I think you’ll need.”

He stalks closer, his smirk widening. In the minimal light, he seems even more predatory than before. The look in his eyes suggests he wants to devour you right then and there.

“What’s in it for you?” he asks, standing mere millimeters from you, your noses almost touching. His warm breath fans your ear and neck, sending shivers down your spine.

“Take me with you,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. His eyes roam your body, lingering on your eyes, cheeks, nose, lips, and collarbone.

“Hmm,” he hums, his hands landing on your hips. You feel the warmth of his fingers through your leather pants.

Your breath quickens, and you feel like you’re crumbling beneath his stare, utterly aroused for this man whose name you still don’t know. The mixture of arousal and adrenaline makes you feel almost high.

You close the gap between you and kiss him. It’s quick and needy, and he responds immediately, pressing his body hungrily into yours, his fingers digging into the bare skin of your waist above your pants. His lips are soft, but his moves are hard and hungry.

He moves his lips to your ear, kissing and licking it, then trailing down to your neck. He marks it with his teeth, eliciting a needy moan from you. The world outside your darkened apartment fades away, leaving only the desperate, electric connection between you.

“You’re really something,” he pants into your ear, his breath sending tingles down your spine and all the way to your core. “I want to taste you, and I don’t even know your name.”

You chuckle, the sound strained and laden with lust. “It’s Y/N,” you manage between pants. “What’s yours?”

“I’m Jimin,” he murmurs, his tongue tracing your neck before biting gently.

Fuck.

“I want you, Jimin,” you groan as he pulls back slightly, his pupils blown wide with desire.

“But we don’t have much time,” you say breathlessly, the urgency of your situation seeping into your voice. “The New World Order will be looking for me soon.” You fumble with your pants, dragging them and your panties down to expose yourself to the cool air of the apartment.

In one fluid motion, Jimin drops to his knees, looking up at you with a teasing lick of his lips. “No worries, I can be quick.” Without another word, he dives in, his mouth sealing around your wet heat.

You gasp his name, your legs turning to jelly as your hands find purchase in his pink locks. His tongue is relentless, strong and skilled as it laps over your clit and teases your entrance. The obscene noises he makes against you only heighten your arousal, your breathing growing shallow as you lose yourself in the sensation.

Your back meets the wall, and you do your best to hold yourself up as he devours you from the floor. His mouth works you expertly, sucking and licking, driving you closer to the edge. The coil in your stomach tightens, your body trembling with the impending climax.

Jimin grunts into your cunt, his teeth grazing your clit, and the world shatters around you. He sucks hard, creating a perfect seal around your sensitive nub, and the coil in your stomach snaps. You come undone on his tongue, panting furiously as waves of pleasure wash over you.

Even as you orgasm, he doesn’t stop, his tongue continuing its assault, his nose pressing against your clit. You grab his hair, trying to pull him away as your sensitivity peaks, but he holds you there, pushing you to the brink of overstimulation and back into the abyss of pleasure.

His face glistens with your slick, and you think he looks beautiful, so you grab his sharp jaw and pull him up for a kiss. You don’t care that you taste yourself on his plush lips.

You break away and say, “I really want to return the favor,” your hands toying with his pants as you brush against his already erect dick.

He pushes your hand away gently. “It’s okay. You said to be quick, so you can do that another time.” He kisses you again, trailing down to the other side of your neck, then up to the shell of your ear. “I really just want to fuck you now.”

You’re drenched, dripping with arousal. His words render you speechless; you bite your bottom lip and nod, anticipation coursing through you.

The sound of his zipper sends a thrill down your spine as he opens his pants. He drags his boxers down, and his cock springs free. It’s thick and of an average length, and the sight makes you salivate. You wish you had time to take him into your mouth, but that’s a pleasure for another time, like he promised.

The head of his cock is red, with a bead of precum at the tip. It looks beautiful, and your pussy clenches around the emptiness, eager to be filled. You can’t wait to have him stretch you, it’s been so long since you’ve had sex. It’s honestly been years, and as you realize this, you think he should have prepared you more. But you don’t get to mull over it for long; you feel the tip of his cock against your folds, and in one fluid motion, he pushes inside you.

You moan his name as he grabs both of your legs and wraps them around his waist, driving himself deeper into you. You feel so fucking full, it’s delicious.

“Fuck. I forgot about a condom,” he pants, slamming you hard against the wall. He stays inside for a moment before beginning a relentless rhythm of thrusts.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, “I’m clean, and I can’t get pregnant.”

He just grunts in your ear, then starts nibbling on it. The pace he sets is quick, hard, and dirty—unforgiving. But you don’t mind; you're pressed for time anyway. The pleasure is intense, and the way he growls into your ear makes the knot form in your stomach again.

“You’re a dirty little thing, aren’t you?” he growls, thrusting hard and deep. “You wanted this right from the start, didn’t you?” His voice is low, dangerously so, making you even wetter because he’s so right.

“Such a fucking slut for cock,” he pants, his tongue trailing along your neck. “No one in this godforsaken city to satisfy your needy pussy.”

You clench around him, your hands gripping his shoulders, fingers digging into the back of his sparkly jacket.

“Fuck. You’re so tight,” he groans, his hips working overtime to pleasure you, and your eyes roll back in ecstasy.

“Are you gonna come?” he asks, a wicked glint in his eyes.

You moan in response, releasing a wave of liquid around his cock, making the glide even smoother.

“Fuck. You’re gorgeous,” he says, licking your neck again. “I’m gonna come too.”

With a rapid burst of thrusts, he spills his warm seed inside your still-pulsating pussy. For a moment, you rest your foreheads together, panting for air. Your legs remain wrapped around his waist as he hungrily kisses your lips.

You feel a mixture of your essences trailing out of you, pooling on the floor or your panties—you don’t really care.

As you struggle to steady your breathing and rapid heartbeat, a pounding on your door shatters the moment. It's not gentle—it’s hard and oppressive, sending a terrible shiver down your spine. The New World Order. Your mind turns razor-sharp, senses heightened. Jimin quickly softens inside you, then pulls out, your legs falling to the floor, dripping semen as he pulls up his pants and grabs his gun and the hard drive.

You do the same, hastily pulling up your pants as the banging continues. The door handle rattles, but it doesn't open. Thank fuck you locked it.

“We have to leave,” you pant, your heart in your throat. You fumble for your phone, then throw it into your room—you don’t need it; they can track you with that.

“No shit,” he grunts, running a hand through his disheveled pink hair.

“We gotta jump out the window,” you say, fear in your eyes. You know it’s only a matter of time before they break down the door.

You grab Jimin’s hand and pull him to the window beside your bed. Thankful that you live on the first floor, you make the jump first, landing on the dirty ground. Jimin follows, landing more gracefully. You hear the brute force of the door breaking, and you startle, fear coursing through you. But Jimin is quick, pulling you to his bike, shoving his helmet onto your head. He straddles the bike, and without much thought, you climb on behind him.

You lean against him, feeling the rapid beating of your heart. He turns on the bike, and you hear shouting and gunshots from your apartment as Jimin speeds down the rain-soaked streets. You lay your head against his back, closing your eyes against the chaos behind you.

Jimin parks his bike in front of the Whalien 52 headquarters, and you dismount first, removing the helmet and handing it to him. He follows suit, and you both stride into the building. It’s well past midnight now, and as you walk into the headquarters with Jimin, all eyes turn toward you. The tension in the room is palpable; they’ve likely been anxiously awaiting his safe return.

“Hi,” he says casually, plopping onto the couch with a soft thud.

“Who’s this?” Taehyung strides up, pointing at you with a raised brow.

“Oh, that’s Y/N. The woman who got in my way last time,” Jimin shrugs as if this is information everyone should already know.

“So you decided to take her home?” Taehyung asks in disbelief.

“I helped him gain extra information. And I want out of the New World Order,” you say, crossing your arms, not flinching under their scrutinizing stares.

“You’re the enemy though,” Yoongi joins the conversation, his voice strained with a cough.

“She really isn’t. Do you even know how much she’s risked just by coming here?” Jimin retorts, defending you without fully understanding why. He knows you can defend yourself just fine.

“I have a target on my back now. So I want to help you guys. Make things right in the world. That’s what you want to do, right?” you ask, scanning the open living room space.

The room falls silent, the weight of your words sinking in. The dim, flickering lights cast long shadows, amplifying the room’s tension. Each member of the group seems to wrestle with their thoughts, eyes flicking between you and Jimin. Finally, Seokjin steps forward, his gaze steady and thoughtful.

Seokjin approaches Jimin with an intense gaze. “Did you get all the data?”

Jimin nods silently and hands over both the USB drive and the flash drive you gave him in your apartment. Seokjin’s eyes light up with a rare glimmer of hope as he takes the hardware and retreats to his makeshift lab.

You slump down beside Jimin, exhaustion finally catching up with you. Jungkook steps forward, extending a hand. “Welcome to Whalien52, Y/N.”

You shake his hand, offering a tired smile, then lean back against Jimin. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, you both allow yourselves a moment of rest. But Jimin’s mind races with concern. How quickly will the New World Order track you down? Did they follow you here?

Time becomes a blur in the dimly lit room. You drift off to sleep on Jimin’s shoulder, and his eyelids grow heavy as well. Just as he’s about to succumb to slumber, Seokjin bursts into the room, a triumphant smile lighting up his face.

“I’ve sequenced a cure from the data,” he announces, his voice brimming with joy. “And treatments for various cancers too.”

The room erupts in cheers and laughter, a collective sigh of relief and celebration filling the air.

“I’m preparing the cure for Yoongi and Bora now,” Seokjin adds, his pride evident.

Jimin feels a surge of relief and accomplishment. They’ve finally done it. You’ve secured the cure for cancer. Now Yoongi and Bora can be saved. And perhaps, just perhaps, they can save the rest of civilization. But first, they have to deal with the looming threat of the New World Order. 

The battle is far from over.

It’s been a few days, and the absence of the New World Order’s presence is unnerving. You expected them to chase you and Jimin out of the city, but they haven’t. This silence feels ominous, a dark cloud hanging over your newfound sanctuary.

You’ve settled into the daily routines of Whalien52, where hope and caution dance a tense waltz. Seokjin tirelessly crafts cures and treatments. Yoongi and Bora, the first recipients, show promising signs of recovery, their improvements a beacon of hope amidst the uncertainty. The group celebrates these small victories, buzzing with a cautious optimism that almost feels too good to be true.

In these days of uneasy peace, you’ve found roles within the group. Namjoon introduced you to his intricate tech—ingenious weapons and machines designed for survival. Taehyung showed you around the small town that Whalien52 calls home. On the horizon, the Capital looms like a dark sentinel, a constant reminder of the lurking threat.

Despite the calm surface, the air is thick with anxiety. The lack of action from the New World Order feels wrong. Yoongi polishes weapons with a grim focus, and you’ve all had tense conversations about the impending attack you’re sure is coming. Jungkook echoes your concerns, insisting on readiness.

Hoseok monitors the New World Order’s communications, but all he gets is an unsettling silence. This lack of intel twists your stomach into knots. Each passing day, the tension ratchets up. The quiet eats at you, turning every creak and rustle into a potential threat.

Weeks pass, and the tension in the headquarters is palpable. You’re all on edge, constantly looking over your shoulders. Every sound is magnified, each one making you jump, hearts racing with the fear that the New World Order has finally come for you.

Everyone is exhausted, sleep deprived and on edge, each day a relentless battle against the looming threat of the New World Order. You long for an end to this tense limbo, for the chance to truly rest.

Yoongi’s condition has worsened, and Seokjin’s latest research scatters your fragile hopes. “This isn’t a cure,” he admits, deflated. “It’s just a temporary fix, a treatment.”

Yoongi coughs weakly but manages a smile, hugging his girlfriend Bora tightly. “But it helps,” he says softly. “A cure was always a dream. There’s never been a real cure for cancer, and maybe there never will be.”

Bora kisses his forehead, her eyes glistening with determination. “The treatment is helping,” she insists, caressing his cheeks. “Maybe Seokjin can alter it, make it better, stronger?” She turns to Seokjin, who nods, already lost in thought, considering how to enhance the treatment. You all want to help, driven by a fierce collective will to save Yoongi.

You walk over to Jimin, giving him a soft kiss, seeking a moment of solace. Suddenly, the sharp crack of a gunshot shatters the room. Bora screams in pain, and chaos erupts. You all drop to the floor, hearts pounding in sheer panic. For a moment, there’s an eerie silence, broken only by Bora’s agonized cries. You can’t see her or Yoongi, shielded by the couch.

Frantically, you search for Jimin, and his hand finds yours, squeezing tightly. The connection is a lifeline, a brief reassurance amidst the terror.

More gunshots pierce the air, and you hold your breath, praying Bora is alright. Your heart races, the reality sinking in: the New World Order is here, ready to kill you all.

With steely resolve, you clench your free hand, feeling the cold metal of your holstered gun against your thigh. 

It’s time. 

Time to make a stand. 

Time to fight back.

You look at Jimin, your eyes wide with panic as your heart pounds in your ears. He army crawls to your weapon stash, grabbing an arsenal: a rifle he slides over to Yoongi, a gun for himself, and his sword, which he straps on while still lying on the floor. Jungkook, with his tattooed hand, clutches a rifle down his length of his body. You scan the room for Seokjin, Taehyung, and Hoseok, but they’re nowhere to be seen.

Bora’s screams have diminished to grunts of pain. Yoongi drags her towards Seokjin’s room, leaving a trail of blood. An eerie silence falls as you watch them. You hear Yoongi's voice from Seokjin’s room, explaining that Bora’s wound is a flesh wound, pleading for Seokjin to take care of her. Yoongi crawls back into the living room.

“Is Bora okay?” you ask, sweat beading on your hairline, your breathing quick and shallow.

“Yeah. Seokjin’s got her. Namjoon, Tae, and Hobi are in there too,” Yoongi grits his teeth, his face pale with anger.

Jungkook crawls over to join you, “I guess it’s the New World Order knocking down our doors.”

“We have to fight back. Or die trying,” Yoongi spits, his anger palpable. “I’m sick and tired of them. We need to overthrow them,” he says, his eyes bloodshot from sleepless nights. You’re all on high alert, fighting for your lives.

The door bursts open, a harsh light from outside flooding in as heavy boots stomp on the floor. You count six people by the rhythm of their steps and then a seventh, moving slowly and deliberately. Ominous, and just by the sound of the boots, you know who it is—the leader.

A cold shiver runs down your spine as your fingers curl around the trigger of your gun. The footsteps grow louder, the moment drawing closer. You roll onto your back, raising your gun for the inevitable confrontation.

Suddenly, you’re yanked by your legs, sliding across the floor with a yell, losing your grip on Jimin’s hand. The leader looms over you, a shadow of dread, as you prepare to fight for your life.

“Well, well. What have we here? Y/N. Nice to see you,” the man sneers, his voice dripping with mockery. You don’t know his name, but you remember him all too well—the leader of the New World Order, the man who had last spoken to you in his office after Jimin’s initial attempt to steal information from your former employer.

You gulp, pointing your gun at him.

He tuts dismissively, “You know that’s useless,” and with a swift kick, he sends your gun skidding across the floor.

“You’ve been a bad, bad girl,” he hisses, his hands casually resting in his pockets while his men, guns trained on you, stand menacingly behind him.

“What you’re doing is sick,” you fume, anger bubbling within you.

Suddenly, Jimin rises, his gun aimed directly at the man before you.

Recognition flickers in the leader’s eyes, “Ah,” he chuckles darkly, “so this is the man you left me for.”

Jimin grunts, “Hands off her.”

“Protective, huh?” he laughs, a cold, mechanical sound that sends chills down your spine.

Your eyes dart between Jimin and the leader, anxiety tightening your chest. You don’t know who will be quicker on the trigger. You hold your breath, terrified for Jimin’s safety. Your heart pounds so loudly it nearly deafens you.

A gunshot echoes through the room, followed by a heavy thud. Your heart sinks as you see the leader still standing. Fear grips you, paralyzing you from turning around to check on Jimin. You feel a scream or a sob rising in your throat, maybe both.

Then, you hear the sound of someone standing up and Yoongi’s voice cuts through the tension, “You are one sick bastard. Keeping vital information to yourself, letting people die of cancer and radiation.” His voice is thick with anger and disdain.

The leader turns his attention to Yoongi and chuckles again, a sound you’ve come to loathe. “Only the elite deserve to live. I don’t mind letting people die to create the perfect world.”

You scoff, the revelation of his twisted ideology making you nauseous. The horror of being part of such a sick scheme churns in your stomach.

As you try to glance over your shoulder to see Jimin, one of the leader’s men grabs you, yanking you into a sitting position. Panic surges through you, but determination hardens your resolve. It’s time to fight back, no matter the cost.

Finally, you spot Jimin lying on the floor. There’s no blood, thankfully, and his hand is giving you a thumbs up. Relief floods your body, momentarily pushing back the fear.

“You are so sick,” Yoongi spits, his voice a raw edge. “You killed so many people, for what? Utopia?”

Your old boss nods, chuckling darkly. “Too much freedom breeds murder and chaos. I needed a clean slate,” he shrugs, strolling past you towards Yoongi, who keeps his rifle trained on him. “People need order. Someone to follow. When the weak and poor have died off, I’ll guide the rest into a New World Order.”

Yoongi spits on the floor, “Over my fucking dead body.” His index finger twitches towards the trigger, his stance solid and ready. 

You stop breathing.

Yoongi fires, but your old boss is faster, landing a shot in Yoongi’s shoulder. Yoongi hisses, dropping the rifle to the floor.

“I told you it’s useless,” your old boss sneers, chuckling. “Next time I’ll aim for the head.”

Time stretches and warps as he paces the room, taking stock of you all. You’re at a standstill, trapped in the crosshairs of his malevolent gaze. Jimin remains prone, waiting for an opportunity. Yoongi grunts in pain, clutching his wounded shoulder. Jungkook lies still, eyes flicking between you and the leader. 

It feels like game over. 

You’re all going to die.

Your old boss paces slowly, chuckling, reveling in your predicament. “I wonder who I should kill first…” he muses, dragging out the words as he turns towards you. “Your boyfriend, maybe? How do you feel about watching him die?”

Your heart pounds wildly. 

You struggle against the grip of the man holding you by your hair, pain searing through your scalp, but the thought of Jimin’s death is unbearable.

The leader strides towards Jimin, raising his gun. Your breath catches in your throat, terror gripping you as you watch. You scream with all the force in your lungs, a primal sound tearing through the air as you close your eyes, bracing for the worst.

Bang. Bang. Bang. 

The sound of three gunshots fills your ears, and you scream even louder, tears streaming down your cheeks as you call out your lover’s name. More gunshots follow, and the man holding your hair lets go, dropping you to the wooden floor with a heavy thud. Tears blur your vision as you struggle to blink them away, desperate to find Jimin.

But you don’t see him.

Panic surges through you. Where is he?

Your gaze shifts, and you see your old boss, his head snapped back from a point-blank shot, blood pooling beneath him. You gasp, turning your head just in time to see familiar lace-up boots moving purposefully across the room. Chaos reigns. Bora stands in the hallway, a rifle trained on the lifeless body of your boss. She was the one who shot him?

Jimin moves through the room like a lethal dancer, his katana slicing through enemies with precision. Jungkook is on his feet too, methodically picking off the men from the New World Order. Amid the chaos, you see Bora approach Yoongi, who is clutching his shoulder.

“Are you okay, babe?” she asks, her voice strained but determined as she examines his injury.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he pants, noting the bandage on her thigh, stained with blood. “You should lie down.”

“I could say the same to you,” she chuckles, raising her rifle to take aim at another man.

How many are down now? You scan the room, counting seven bodies sprawled on the floor.

“Is it over?” Seokjin calls out, peeking from his room down the hall.

“I think so,” Jungkook replies, clapping his hands together, trying to shake off the tension.

The room falls into a tense silence, the aftermath of the battle settling over you like a shroud. You push yourself up, your body aching and adrenaline still coursing through your veins. Jimin meets your gaze, and you feel a flicker of hope amidst the wreckage. 

For now, you’ve survived.

You rush over to Jimin, pulling him into a tight embrace, relief flooding through you. “I’m okay, babe,” he murmurs, kissing you softly. Thank God.

“We need to take the fight to their headquarters. They’ll be coming for us anyway. Better to surprise them,” Yoongi declares, his voice grim.

“Don’t you think they’d anticipate that?” Jungkook counters, eyeing Yoongi critically. “And you’re in no condition to fight, hyung.”

“The fuck I’m not. It’s just my shoulder. I’m fine,” Yoongi pants, picking up his rifle.

“Let’s go,” Bora interjects from behind Yoongi, her voice determined.

Yoongi spins around, his mouth agape. “You’re staying, babe. Your leg—”

“This is as much my fight as it is yours, and Seokjin patched me up,” she retorts, her stern look brooking no argument. Yoongi deflates, conceding to her resolve.

You all huddle together, gathering weapons for the imminent battle. Taehyung, Namjoon, and Seokjin stay back, while the rest of you head outside to your vehicles.

You and Jimin mount his bike, while Jungkook, Yoongi, and Bora take the car. Jimin hands you a helmet, then puts on his own before revving the engine. The bike purrs to life, and with a roar, he accelerates toward the Capital, Jungkook and the others following in the car.

The journey is a blur, the rain pouring down in relentless sheets as you navigate the desolate streets. The Capital looms ahead, a monolithic reminder of the oppressive regime you’re up against. You skid to a stop in front of the New World Order headquarters, jumping off the bike with Jimin close behind. Jungkook, Yoongi, and Bora emerge from the car, weapons in hand, steely determination etched on their faces.

The rain-soaked mud reflects the harsh glow of neon lights, casting eerie shadows as you steel yourselves for the fight. The headquarters stands ominously before you, a fortress of tyranny that has caused so much suffering. You take a deep breath, fingers tightening around your gun.

It’s time to end this.

“Follow me. The building is massive,” you say, leading the way into your old workplace. Navigating the familiar lower floors is swift; they’re almost deserted. Jimin dances with his katana, each swing mesmerizing, cutting down any opposition with ease. 

Clearing the lower levels quickly, you ascend the stairs, banging open doors and moving through the less familiar upper halls. The men from the New World Order fall easily; many surrender, unwilling to defend a crumbling regime. 

Finally, you reach the top floor, the office of your now-dead boss. Stepping inside, you look out through the tall windows overlooking the city. 

“What do we do now?” you ask, your voice echoing in the silence. 

The horizon flickers with a strange yellow glow. 

Jimin, his katana sheathed on his back, joins you. “Is that the sun?” he asks, his eyes following yours.

“I think it is,” Bora says, intertwining her fingers with Yoongi’s.

“Now that the New World Order is gone,” Yoongi muses, “won’t another group try to take its place?”

“Maybe,” you respond, lost in thought.

Jungkook chuckles beside you. “We’ll make sure no one does. All information will be free and accessible.”

“Aren’t we just like the New World Order then?” Yoongi raises an eyebrow.

“No,” Jungkook replies firmly. “We’ll let people live freely, with no ‘order’ imposed.”

You all hum in agreement, turning your gaze to the horizon. For the first time in a long while, the oppressive clouds of the Capital part, slowly revealing the sun. The relentless rain stops, and you feel the air shift—this is a new beginning.

→ Requested taglist: @jeonsbabygirlsworld @11thenightwemet11 @haru-jiminn

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv @mikrokookiex @rapmonjoon94 @parkitrighthere

→ Disclaimer: the photo of kitty gang Jimin is a concert photo by a fansite, and I’ve been trying to reverse google search the image to find the fansite/photographer, but without luck. I can see on the original that the fansite name is something along the lines of ‘CelestialYM9999’ but that show on results on google either. If you know the fansite, please let me know so I can credit properly (my photography brain really wants to give proper credit).

→ Author’s endnote: what do you think? Please let me know! A big shoutout and thank you to @manipulatedstars for having the idea to make Jungkook run a survivalist camp 🥳💜 Now, I can’t wait to write something that isn’t action— back to my sappy romance writing! I think one of the mermaid fics is next on my list ✨

© @/kingofbodyrolls 2024 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰

[takaraphoenix]

37 and 38 for the ask game!

Thanks for playing, dear! ^-^

37. What’s your oldest WIP?

Oh, you're about to make me admit something nobody knows.

In 2014, I got inexplicably obsessed with The Hunger Games for a bit. And I started writing a fic for it; Like Cats and Dogs. The ship is Cato/Peeta and the idea was that the Hunger Games were humans' way of oppressing supernatural creatures, with each District essentially containing one supernatural species to control them.

District 1 and District 2 were both different types of werewolf shifters and formed an alliance and thus temporary pack off the bat.

Peeta is the only human in this game though, because sometimes, even among the supernaturals in the District, a human is born. But one had never been sent as a tribute before.

The moment Cato lays eyes on Peeta, he immediately knows that Peeta is his True Mate, so the pack wants him in the alliance.

Heavily negative of Katniss though, man, I hated her. So it was basically supposed to be the wolves being protective of Peeta and him joining their pack.

This is never gonna be finished but I also can't bring myself to delete the file, since i did get 3.6k into the story. I only delete abandoned work files if they're empty, if I never got around to writing anything for them beyond notes of what I would like it to be (and even then, attachment may make me keep the file).

But yeah, with a starting date of January 8th 2014, this is the oldest WIP in my WIP folder.

38. What’s your current WIP?

Stories that I'm currently actively working on and have written at least bits and pieces of - beyond the multiple chapter fics that I have posted right now, obviously:

Steter: The Alpha's Claim (post-date: November 25th)

The Hale Pack is in the process of establishing itself in their new home in London. Part of that is Stiles, as the Emissary, hosting a party with all the local packs. And it's going really well... if one ignored the fact that Peter kept growling at all the other Alphas. Fed up with his Alpha's behavior, Stiles drags Peter to his room to give him a preaching. Only to realize that Peter was being possessive - over him.

(This is a shameless excuse for wanting to write Peter giving Stiles a facial after a blowjob, ngl. Just, possessive Alpha Peter wanting Stiles covered in his scent so every other wolf can smell that Stiles is his.)

Stetopher: Surprise Wedding Guest (post-date: November 27th)

Neckz 'n Throats AU, I already talked about this one and posted a sneak peek! Allison and Malia invite their dads' celebrity crush, famous Neckz 'n Throats model Stiles, to their dads' wedding. Stiles attends the wedding, befriends Erica and when Stiles' stalker tries to kill him, Erica hooks him up with Chris' security company for protection and safety.

Stargent: Special Hunter Training (post-date: December 9th)

MY FIRST STARGENT FIC!! WOHOO!!

And the premise I just HAD to go with, for a first Stargent fic, is Scott as an accidental matchmaker by using his puppy-dog eyes on Stiles like "Please I want to spend time with Allison can you get her scary father out of the house :(" and out of the pure goodness and kindness of his heart, Stiles sacrifices himself and asks Chris to give him one on one self-defense and shooting lessons. Truly, such a selfless act. Had nothing to do with how hot Chris was or anything. Nope. Totally only doing this so Scotty can hook up with the other Argent in the house.

Stalion: The Overbooked Council Convention (post-date: December 11th)

Also already talked about this one and posted a snippet! Where the Alpha Pack is good and working for the Magic Council of North America. After helping in Beacon Hills though, they left. Now, years later, they meet Stiles during a council convention. Because Stiles started working for the council. However, the council sucked at booking so they don't have enough rooms. Deucalion is generous and selfless enough to share his room with Stiles. There's only one bed in it though.

Steter: The Disappearing V-Necks (post-date: December 16th)

I was just talking about this story this morning and posted a snippet! ABOverse where Stiles is nesting and stealing all of Peter's shirts, without the alpha noticing. Until Peter catches Stiles in the act of stealing more shirts.

Steter: Defying the Death Date (post-date: December 21st)

My next upcoming multiple chapter fic!! And I also posted a snipped of it before too. A soulmate AU where your soulmate's birth date appears on your skin when they are born... and their death date when they die. Stiles realizes that Peter is his soulmate when him and Derek kill the Alpha. Now they're left picking up the pieces together; Derek having killed his only living family and Stiles having killed his soulmate. Their grief bonds them and they build the new Hale Pack together, all while Stiles is plagued by hallucinations of a younger Peter. Stiles thinks he's losing his mind, but it's his soulmate trying to use their bond to resurrect himself.

Get To Know Your Writerly Friends!

[ragana62]

💌 ⇢ how many unread emails do you have right now? 

🦷 ⇢ share some personal wisdom or a life hack you swear on

🏜️ ⇢ what's your favourite type of comment to receive on your work?

💌- too many. I’ve been traveling and living out of a carry on bag for the past 2 weeks and have more to go so I’m way behind. Normally I’m very on top of it and all my notifications and comments and all that in general, but it’s been chaos so I’ve been chaos also.

🦷- hit something. If you’re feeling stressed, overwhelmed, sad, angry, any big strong overwhelming emotion that is too much for you and needs to get out, find something (safe) to hit. A pillow, a trip to the batting cages, full blown fencing/HEMA type playing with swords, one of those axe throwing places, those arcade games where you throw balls at targets, whatever works for you works. Even if you don’t think you’re feeling one of those big strong emotions, I suggest hitting something anyways every so often, just to see what you might be missing. We all wind up carrying a lot of big feelings in our bodies that we don’t fully process or get out and often don’t even realize are still there, and it’s just a good way to quickly and safely get everything out without just dumping it onto or taking it out on people.

🏜️- the ones where people ask follow up questions. I’m not kidding when I say even my one shot’s lore docs have lore docs, deleted scenes, research folders, world building, crossover elements/OCs/etc from other fics, all of it. Part of my academic background is in anthropology and a big part of my focus there was in storytelling/folk practices. Fictional anthropology, complicated world building, deep character development off page informing how they act when they show up on page, all that, it’s a big part of how I write and what I love in fandom. So any comment I can answer with a sprinkling of lore, or any comment I get asking about something (seriously: Anything. Where an idea comes from, how a magic system works, the social rules for a formal courtship/deb season in the setting, what character X’s relationship with their second cousin once removed is like, it’s probably in a lore doc somewhere.) is my absolute favorite because I get to toss all that out there into the world instead of just sitting in a doc being sprinkled in here and there in the background.

[storiesofsvu]

You probably already answered this recently and im probably just blind as a bat here but:

What you got in that WIP/To-be-written pile?

Cant wait to know what i have to look forward to!

-Ara

hahha it's all good! i tried to find it to link but i couldn't s... here's what we've got (for one shots. series i'm not including lol)

Elana Barth x reader-> mommy kink smut

Byran Kneef-> where yn's been teasing him all day and now he's going to tease her relentlessly back and be a little mean

Casey Novak x Rita Calhoun -> fluffy morning after (established relationship)

Sonny Carisi --> relationship angst where they come to a realization that while they thought they wanted the same thing, opinions change.

CM ladies mega smut -> yn friends w JJ, briefly and casually dated Em before Paris, briefly and casually dated Alex when she was on the team and now has just met Tara and is trying not to drool. Makes a joke to Em about how she doesn't know who to go home with and Em takes matters into her own hand.

Derek Morgan --> soft reassuring smut ending with some squirting

DiNozzo -> One first morning after fluff -> One first date fluff

Emily -> secret marriage fluff where the team finally finds out who she's married to

Hotch -> fluffy semi established relationship, fools in love kinda thing with a twist -> sneaky courtroom bathroom quickie ->developing relationship, protective hotch, stay the night fluff -> fluffy, developing relationship morning at work fluff

Poly Barhoun -> meeting somewhat shy/inexperienced yn at a sex club where they take her home and show her the ropes

-> pegging smut

Sonya Paxton -> comforting fluff. yn and her met outside of work post rehab stint. sonya hesitant about coming clean about her past.

Rita Calhoun -> sub rita smut. she's had a long, stressful week and yn takes it upon herself to make sure her weekend starts off in higher spirits

Addison Montgomery -> super fluffy, first kiss/first admittance of feelings.

Joe Velasco -> idiots in love trope, involving the whole squad

-> yn, bruno and joe find themselves sharing a hotel room while at an out of town conference with some rather loud and rambunctious neighbours. they figure if you can't beat 'em, join them... and have some fun of their own.

Abigail Borin -> daddy smut. pwp

Amelia Sheherd -> developing relationship super fluffy cuteness ->blooming flirtation fluff

As for series:

Alex Blake has one: fluffy, hurt/comfort

Rafael Barba: one spicy, fluffy one -> one mainly fluffy, sorta poly!barhoun harvard au style mini series

Heather Dunbar: -> three, all spicy fluffy, one with a bit of h/c -> one political thriller that's poly heather x jackie x reader

Hotch: -> 2 fluffy, semi spicy ones

Rita Calhoun -> 4. 2 AU's that are mainly spicy with a hint of drama. 1 mega fluffy. 1 fluff, hurt/comfort

Emily Prentiss -> one mainly fluff with a hint of thriller

One that's a CM and SVU crossover but i haven't figured out details and pairings yet!

I've also been going through prompt lists recently like i did when i first started writing to find ones that stand out to me and then assign them to character/see if anything sparks a good idea in my head. I either haven't been getting requests recently, or they're ones that have ONLY been the prompt and it hasn't sparked anything. I also deleted a bunch of stuff that was in my WIP folder cause it had been sitting too long without any work being done on it cause again, no ideas on how to flesh things out.

[thehouseofwayne]

[ 𝙳𝙴𝙲𝚁𝚈𝙿𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 ] : 𝙶𝙲𝙿𝙳 𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙴𝚂𝚂

𝙄𝙉𝘾𝙄𝘿𝙀𝙉𝙏 𝙍𝙀𝙋𝙊𝙍𝙏 #1 GCPD 22:08 : “ John Doe found cold and unconscious. Announced Death on the Scene. Pick up at Midnight. 

𝙄𝙉𝘾𝙄𝘿𝙀𝙉𝙏 𝙍𝙀𝙋𝙊𝙍𝙏 #2 GCPD 23:01 : “ John Doe identified. Bruce Wayne alive and breathing. Alfred Pennyworth insisted to take him to the hospital himself. Commissioner signed off on it. 

[ 𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙽𝙶 ] : 𝙼𝙴𝙳𝙸𝙲𝙰𝙻 𝚁𝙴𝙲𝙾𝚁𝙳𝚂

𝘐𝘕𝘊𝘐𝘋𝘌𝘕𝘛 𝘙𝘌𝘗𝘖𝘙𝘛 #78 THOMAS ELLIOT HOSPITAL 09:56 : Patient came covered in blood and what appeared to be burnt up bits of kevlar suit barely recognizable. No life threatening wounds despite needing stitches needed on two puncture wounds on either side of the shoulder blades around three inched deep. Possibly from rebar and other debris from the Attack. And one long curved cut across his lower back among older scar tissue. Too deliberate. Will advise Primary Care Physician. Minor bruises on the body. No symptoms of concussion but patient might still have hit his head. Too much blood. 

𝘔𝘌𝘋𝘐𝘊𝘈𝘓 𝘙𝘌𝘗𝘖𝘙𝘛 [ From the Clinic of Dr. Leslie Thompkins, M.D.] MRI implied no damage. Almost like a miracle. Trauma induced amnesia? Unlikely. Something happened down there. Alfred needs to talk to Bruce. Reassure him this might just be temporary. Need to talk. 

𝘔𝘌𝘋𝘐𝘊𝘈𝘓 𝘙𝘌𝘗𝘖𝘙𝘛 [ From the State Medical Examiner ] : [ NOTES REDACTED ]

[ ERROR - FILE DELETED ]  - ADMINISTRATOR RIGHTS RESTRICTED: ᴘᴇɴɴʏᴏɴᴇ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀɪᴢᴇᴅ. 

[ 𝚆:/ 𝙱𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙺𝙱𝙾𝙾𝙺 ] : 𝙿𝙴𝙽𝙽𝚈𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙲𝙾𝚁𝙳𝚂.

The Lazarus Serum’s effects weren’t absolute. It kept him alive but with it his memory. Something 𝗟𝗘𝗦𝗟𝗜𝗘 𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗠𝗣𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗦 hoped would only be temporary while 𝘼𝙇𝙁𝙍𝙀𝘿 𝙋𝙀𝙉𝙉𝙔𝙒𝙊𝙍𝙏𝙃 had hoped to be absolute. And what was initially thought to be a miracle eventually turned to a curse for Bruce. 

While his Brain couldn’t bring out the memories in him, it retained the fault in his structure. The pain that is as old as him in his bones and his nerves. There are scars he can’t recall. A house that is as unfamiliar to him as his face on the mirror. And it takes a whole month of him questioning and struggling to even get up out of bed from the pain for Alfred to show him everything. 

His parents. Their grave. His children. Their bed. The promise of more horrors and proofs to the stories that had marked his skin and bones for decades if he pushes even further. But for some reason, he doesn’t push. He doesn’t ask why the clock in his office is always at 10:27pm. He doesn’t ask about the bats around the manor. He doesn’t ask why there’s more shadows in the corner nowadays than he thinks there should be.

He goes to therapy. 𝘿𝙍. 𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙎𝙀 𝙈𝙀𝙍𝙄𝘿𝙄𝘼𝙉. She knows him, she said. Folders upon folder for him to see. A box filled with notes just on him. Proof of something. A life talked about and lived more extensively than his already thorough Wikipedia page. He likes her, he thinks. He trusts her. 

𝗗𝗥. 𝗟𝗘𝗦𝗟𝗜𝗘 𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗠𝗣𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗦 helps with his physical therapy. He learns how to walk again slowly. He learns how to handle the pain until it becomes familiar, tolerable. Even if it takes nearly over six months just to feel like he’s himself again. 

When he’s bored, Lucius offers him the 𝘞𝘈𝘠𝘕𝘌 𝘍𝘖𝘜𝘕𝘋𝘈𝘛𝘐𝘖𝘕 as his to oversee until he’s ready to come back as CEO. It gives him a better view of the aftermath from the ground. He sees the terror left in the wake of the Joker’s attack. He sees the community that knits itself back together in 𝙏𝙃�� 𝘽𝘼𝙏𝙈𝘼𝙉'𝙎 absence. He thinks he remembers why his parents did it ; what they died for. It must be this. Helping the City. Helping the people. Helping the kids. 

He busied himself with other children. Working from the new Kindergarten they had rebuilt in Midtown, right in the middle of the city. 

[ 𝚆:/ 𝙱𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙺𝙱𝙾𝙾𝙺 ] : 𝚃𝙴𝙼𝙿𝙾𝚁𝙰𝙻 𝙳𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙾𝚁𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 𝚁𝙴𝙿𝙾𝚁𝚃𝚂.

DIVERGENCES FROM COMICS:

Bruce figures out within the 1st month that Alfred kept the truth from him. He didn’t hide away from his own parents death and tried to process the entirety of his whole life and memory taken away from him and decides instead to step back from it. Naively, convinced, maybe, that this time around he can do better as Bruce Wayne. 

He focused his home efforts on getting better physically and mentally. The Serum aggravated his nerve problems, leaving him almost unable to control any of his muscles until he asked for help. 

He couldn’t remember his kids for a long time. And even then, with how little he knew and only really seeing what he felt was the aftermath of putting his own children in danger, his efforts to reach out to them wasn’t easy. And it didn’t help that Alfred did his best to protect him so to speak, keep him in a bubble. 

So his longing for his kids is turned into projects focused on helping out the children in Gotham. 

OPTIONAL PLOT POINTS:

Definitely fine with rolling with some of canon where Bruce absolutely doesn’t remember anyone, even his time as Batman, from his kids to the league. 

He’s engaged to Julie Madison. 

And he avoids putting on 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐋 for as long as he could. 

[theworldibuilt4you]

[This is solving nothing. It feels cruel to 'play' around with what was essentially a person devolved to an animal like this. That sonny guy seemed stressed. (and scary) Pumpernickle opened some google tabs. Looked at the files in Sam's zip folder. What was exactly the issue here? Corruption? Her eyes dart back to the browser. researching various scripts and corruption tools. Pumpernickle wasn't going to...risk doing anything at current. She could hurt him. But if she was really good at looking maybe she could add to the notes]

"Maybe run an antivirus"

[She flicks her ear back as Inch recommends that. No. If it saw something wrong it might delete it, which could- what happens when a sapient code is deleted? she did not want to see that. She bats her ear to keep the inchworm quiet. 1 tab turns to 20. Pumpernickle thinks now she knows what kind of errors and glitches to look for, maybe? Darting back to look at what she Could get ahold of while the...'creature' that was Sam at current tore into things]

[It was a bit hard to tell at first glance. To someone who hasn't worked with this file type before, it might be rather confusing.]

[Files seemed to be unorganized. It was... a huge mess in there. Not only that, but many have become too damaged to run, and some files have become unreadable by the executable.]

[Maybe rearranging some things could work. It couldn't get much worse than this, right?]

[glowyjellyfish]

Currently working to set up my Ubermega Test of Time. It helps that I already had an Ancient/Classical downloads folder prepared, but it does NOT help and in fact hurts that I used the method of “shove several old downloads folders together and then delete whatever doesn’t fit the theme”, because that leaves me with WAY too much junk. Especially if I am going to have multiple societies advancing at different rates, potentially getting very far ahead—I need to keep this downloads folder SMALL so I have room to add some stuff from later eras! So that’s been a little project. I cleared a fair amount out, but still have tons more. I’ll probably just bite the bullet and delete all alphabet soup from this downloads folder—most of it is gonna just be medieval anyway! I’ll check with DDO first, and see if it will help me find and eliminate orphans. I will probably need to get rid of a lot of medieval stuff that I once thought maybe might work in the Classical era, too.

Other than that, it’s going well. I gutted Belladonna Cove, Desiderata Valley, Pleasantview, and started Bluewater Village but got a crash so I decided I was done. The rules I came up a while back with involve everyone starting out living on the same lot, for the community aspect, but I quickly decided that won’t work for these premade hoods that start with 20-25 sims. So I consolidated families a bit and combined a few households, but am leaving them mostly in separate camps of the standard 8 sims or less. For the first era, my sims will only be allowed to plant seeds they dig up, and are not allowed to make more seeds from the harvest—they are hunter-gatherers just learning the concept of agriculture—but for each gardening badge the sims of one culture earn, they get one random Sun&Moon crop that can be planted in the next era, and unlocking a number of those is one of the two achievements to advance from a hunter-gatherer band to a horticultural tribe. I also have some plans to assign climates to each subhood and limit crops based on the climate, but I will have to make sure it’s balanced with the unlocking rule.

I’m also planning to play very Maxis-Match, with only Maxis-made supernaturals (well, and a Multi-PT mod so that alien descendants have a little more diversity and a less insane family tree, and keeping hereditary supernaturalism). So in this world, the Summerdreams will just have their elf ears and be normal sims. I MIGHT start the Cordial sisters as witches right off the bat, but I haven’t decided. I also am debating whether to rope the Picasos into Desiderata Valley and make Jessica and Sophia Jocque be sisters. DV really does need a couple more sims.

Currently, my plan is to have all the excess bin sims and college sims be a pool for when I need new sims—a subhood has run out of marriage options, some ROS event I haven’t figured out yet brings in a new family, or a Roman Empire needs some slaves to bring back from random conquest. That is, the bin sims that are not already attached to a particular hood. The Burbs are going in Pleasantview, all the Capps are going in Veronaville, etc., but the Ottomases and the Newsons might be in trouble. I’m also going to try to keep each subhood fairly isolated through Band and Tribe stages, and start outside communication in the Chiefdom stage. (Oh, I am splitting the Ancient aka the Neanderthal era into three mini-eras, Band, Tribe, and Chiefdom, which segues more neatly into the Ancient/Roman era.) I think the ideal scenario is for the society that first developed into the Classical era to conquer the other subhoods, only for barbarian invaders from the last unconquered subhood or, possibly, from the sim pool, to take advantage of the empire’s crumbling decadence to bring it down—but that doesn’t leave a lot of room for a New World to be colonized down in the Renaissance. If I can swing the former, then the remains of the sim pool could be used to create the New World at the beginning of the Renaissance. Maybe I’ll save the college sims for that? Obviously I still have a lot to think through—luckily I have been tinkering with my own ideas for Test of Time variant rules for years, it’s just a matter of figuring out what appeals to me to actually play, and paring down a lot of wild ideas into one system.

This should not take terribly long to set up, since I’m not remodeling any lots. I just need to pare down the downloads folder a bit more, finish gutting each subhood and sticking the sims in lots, give them all Ancient makeovers and traits, set up each lot—really not planning complex builds just yet, they will start with tents and hammocks—and throw together some Hunting Grounds and Water Hole type lots. Easy peasy.

[athetos]

My company is so stupid they just ‘hid’ all the apps on our iPads that they couldn’t delete in a folder on the Home Screen that says “do not open.” So I immediately opened all of them and for some reason there’s photos saved from several years ago of a wooden baseball bat and other junk and I want to believe it’s part of an ARG and my new goal is to fuck with as many settings as I can to find more clues and solve it.

[mrs-mquve-cc]

Hi Fia, I was wondering WCIF two of the accessories in your MayJune GoS contribution /post/718670103789568000 -- the skeleton hands on the sim with the purple skin, and the bat wings collar on Velguirie? TY if you answer! I've been hunting for more goth styled accessories lately and those look so cool

Hi! [post in question]

XenoriaRose's 3t2 conversion of Phixil's skeleton hands choker came with their sim Ilona (it's in a separate folder in the rar). There might have been an individual post for it but I think it's been deleted. I also have these neon and pastel recolors by Jessy. I have most of Xenoria's accessories and they definitely suit goth sims, take a look at their downloads tag (I think the download links still work but if not let me know and I can re-upload).

Velguirie is wearing Diamond Eyes Universe's 4t2 conversion of BlahberryPancake's Nocturnal Choker. You might also like the others in that post, I have almost all of them!

[unladielike]

So since it has been brought to my attention some rumours have been circulating about me, I just wanna make a few things clear.

First off, I did not supposedly stalk anyone's blog for years.

If need be, I can even provide my IP address (aka self-dox myself) to prove any screencaps to be false, but I'm nowhere near obsessive enough to check somebody's blog everyday. Like, sure, I might visit blogs of ex-mutuals every once in a blue moon out of curiosity, but contrary to popular belief, tumblr doesn't take up 90% of my time and at best, I would maybe lurk on COAR to read new confessions or refresh my dash once per day just in case non-active partners of mine have returned.

If anything, my time has been mostly comprised of going to work and grinding mobile gachas; in fact, should I notice I have replies to write, I will log in, throw my replies into the queue/save written replies in my drafts folder to queue later, and then fuck off to do other stuff. Honestly, provided someone has beef with me, it's unlikely I would know why unless my encounter with them on tumblr had been rather recent.

To my knowledge, I haven't harassed anyone off of tumblr.

Now, did I have spats with my own fair share of people over the eight or nine years I have been on this hellsite? Yes. Have I made vague posts about ex-mutuals, unintentionally ghosted others, privately vented to friends about people from the RPC I personally can't stand, and commented on COAR confessions? Also, yes.

But that being said, the only one I've ever sent anon hate to was myself and if I played a part in somebody deactivating their blog or quitting tumblr roleplay altogether, then that's certainly news to me, because I don't like participating in public smear campaigns, to the point where I even avoid name dropping certain users in my rules or PSAs I've made. Heck, the way I see it, I can only ever recall myself being relentlessly harassed/bullied, because when it comes to me for some reason, people on this site sadly don't know how to block and move on like normal people.

I also have never encouraged anyone to delete their blogs or chase them out of the RPC and have only ever reported one person due to the fact they would not stop posting about me/attempt to provoke me into engaging in drama on a site that we both frequent despite having me blocked; therefore, I have no idea where the narrative of me harassing people off of tumblr even comes from. Besides, I'm nowhere near popular enough to influence whatever following I have to dog pile on whoever I have grievances with, let alone have many people who would go to bat for me each time I'm being unfairly criticized. Honestly, the one time someone did call out my harasser, it was something I had no control over and they did so without my permission, to the point where I did privately tell them to stop url-dropping me and engaging with this person on my behalf... because again, I just wanted to be left alone.

Furthermore, I make it very clear to mutuals I've vented to that they don't have to unfollow/block roleplayers I've had bad experiences with... so I'm not sure if this is merely a case of the Mandela Effect rearing it's ugly head, individuals making up bad faith reasons to dislike me, or an issue of mistaken identity (especially since I'm likely not the only one who goes by the mun handle, 'Livi', and it has happened before where somebody had wrongly assumed a blog belonged to another person).

Of course, it's possible I could have forgotten stuff, as I have had more than three blogs over the years, so naturally, I won't remember all the OOC posts I have ever shared, let alone every instance before 2022 where I have been involved in drama... but regardless, I refuse to take accountability for things I have never done unless you personally come to me off anon with screenshots that provide evidence.

[rockergiirl]

slowly realising microsoft and other tech companies are actually gonna shovel their large language model crap down everyone's throats, and it's gonna end up like microtransactions in 2016 where everyone was making a fuss but through sheer determination they've become normalised and now barely anyone bats an eye cause like, and like the fuck are you going to do?

There's no easy way to go from one OS to another, linux requires basically reinstalling all your programs, not to mention the difficulty curve (I found it impossible to delete a folder that has stuff in it because linux is just like that) and macOS is... not an option at all

I hate what technology has become, I remember watching LGR videos and he'd talk about how exciting it was back in the day when new tech was being created, how it could genuinely innovate in what can be done with computers like the first graphics cards capable of rendering 3d models at runtime, now new technology is a chatbot taking up cpu cycles made to make you dependent on it for everything

[flieslikeamoron]

Okay, here's the rest!

20. Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

I'm not going to tell you the words I use too much because once I point them out you won't stop seeing it lol. But I do have recurring things. I write a lot of people getting drunk. I don't drink so that's kind of funny, but it's a useful way to write people at their silliest or their most truthful or to loosen up a tough nut, make a control freak lose control, etc. I write a lot of secret relationships. I write a lot of us against the world stuff, and I do love it when that relationship is a bit too close to be "healthy." I like making people who don't want to, or are scared to, fall in love fall in love. I write a lot of pining. I love pining while fucking especially. I'm sure there are others. 

56. What’s something about your writing that you pride yourself on?

Characterization always. I'll never sacrifice character for a plot point. And I think my characters are distinct. Like the characters I write for one fandom aren't the same ones I write in every fandom. Dialogue that sounds like how people talk. Porn is my art etc.

64. Something you love to see in smut.

Specificity. I don't mean specific sex acts, or some specific description of them. But smut that's specific to the characters in that story. I feel like a lot of people write generic sex scenes. The same generic porn dialogue. The same generic tab a in slot b stuff. No matter what fandom or characters, it's the same scenes. I don't mean writers need to come up with more creative, weirder, kinkier sex acts. (I'm pro-kink but that's not what I mean.) No a simple blowjob, a handjob, ass fucking, whatever. Even if you're talking about the basics those things shouldn't be generic. All sex shares some basic building blocks, but the sex you have with different partners is different! If the smut could be cut/pasted into any fic, that's boring. That's why people talk about skipping over smut scenes. It's because it's the same scenes we've all read before. It's because it's like you've stopped telling your story to "INSERT SMUT HERE" instead of making the smut part of the story.

What's actually hot is thinking about how these characters, these very individual and specific ones, would get each other off.  So what I love to see in smut are little things, little intimacies that feel specific to these two people. I like it when the way they're talking to each other and touching each other and turning each other on feels specific to them, and also specific to the situation. Like in Sleight of Hand the first blowjob Eddie gives Steve is a very different vibe from the first blowjob Steve gives Eddie, and it's because those are different characters in different situations. Just... Specificity.

76. Did you have any ideas that didn’t make the final cut of Sleight of Hand? 

Yeah, some of the ones I can remember... There was a thing where Eddie finds the nail bat. There was going to be a thing where Eddie and Jonathan talk, and Eddie asks him if he's ever worried Nancy will go back to Steve. There was going to be a thing where Steve and Eddie fuck on ecstasy. I took a thing with everybody at the diner out of chapter 18. IDK lots of things. Most of them never got fully written anyway, but I had like four or five versions of the nail bat scene. In the end I needed Eddie trusting Steve to put on the cuffs, and no matter how I tried to write it, it just introduced too much doubt. I spent a few days writing all these versions trying to get them back to status quo by the end so I could get on with the rest of the fic. But I was trying to force it so it wouldn't affect the rest of the plot, and that always plays false.

Since I'm already all up in my cut folder, here's a DVD deleted scene. It was going to be either when they're going to Dustin's or when they're going to the lake. Either way it doesn't work.

---

“Um, Steve?” Eddie says. “Why is there a bat with fucking nails through it in your trunk?” Ah. Steve had sort of forgotten that was back there. Eddie hefts it in his hand, and swings it experimentally. “This is like post-apocalyptic, man. It’s like Snake Plissken shit.” He looks at the nail end more closely. “Does this have blood on it?” 

Not human blood. Steve takes the bat out of Eddie’s hand and puts it back in his trunk. Closes it like if he can’t see it, Eddie will forget about the whole thing. He grasps desperately for a believable lie. It’s for emergencies? It’s for car trouble? Self-defense? “It was for Halloween,” is what he comes up with.

“Halloween was forever ago,” Eddie says skeptically. “Why’s it still in your trunk?”

“I forgot it was there.”

Eddie keeps looking at him, sharp-eyed. Seeing right through him. “What costume was it?” 

Jesus. If this is going to be a whole interrogation, Steve’s not going to hold up under questioning. “That guy,” he tries. “Snake Pimpkin?”

Eddie snorts. “You know I can tell when you’re lying, right? You’re fucking bad at it.”

“Can we go?” Steve says. “You can keep bugging me in the car if you want.”

“I’m not bugging you,” Eddie says, but he gets into the passenger’s seat. Thank God. Steve quickly follows and starts pulling out so Eddie can’t change his mind. “It’s a little weird that you have an apocalypse bat,” Eddie says. ”But it’s very, very weird you’re lying about it.”

“You lie about stuff.”

“Not stuff like- Weapons.” He frowns. “Is it- Billy? Or those guys?” Steve tightens his grip on the steering wheel. Eddie looks at him disbelieving. “You’re really not gonna tell me?” 

What if Steve just said it. Just- Monsters are real. They killed Barb. They killed that guy who worked at the Radio Shack. Maybe Eddie would believe him. He’s into all that fantasy stuff. He knows what a demogorgon is. At least the version in his D&D books. But- Monsters in books is different. Steve doesn’t know if he could tell it well enough to make Eddie believe him when it sounds fucking crazy. Demodogs and government conspiracies and possessed little kids and underground tunnels and things coming out of the fucking walls… Hell, he barely believed it himself the first time, and he actually saw it.

Steve looks at him, agonized. 

”Wow,” he says. “You’re really not. I’m-” Eddie pulls some of his hair in front of his mouth, looking at Steve like he’s never seen him before. Studying him. “I think- I need a minute to adjust here.” 

“What do mean- Adjust.”

“I mean this is bigger, and it’s fucking weirder, than the kind of secret I thought you were capable of keeping. So if I was wrong about that-” He shrugs. “Who fucking knows.”

“So you can’t trust me if I don’t tell you,” Steve says. “But if I do, you won’t fucking believe me.” 

“You don’t know I wont believe you.”

“I wouldn’t,” Steve mutters. He  looks over at Eddie. “I don’t- Ask you about your mom or your dad or-” Or where you learned to suck cock or why you don’t want me to tell you how I feel about you.

Something hard ticks over Eddie’s face. “Yeah?” he says. “And I don’t ask you where your bruises come from, or why you have nightmares so bad you came looking for me in the first place, or why you’re not okay even though you keep fucking saying you’re okay-”

“I get it,” Steve breaks in.

“I’d say we’re pretty even on the mind your business front.” Eddie kicks at the footwell, his arms crossed defensively. Steve keeps his eyes on the road. He doesn’t- He can’t think of anything to say. To make it better. “We all have our secrets,” Eddie finally says, relenting. “You can have yours. But this feels different.”

“I want to tell you,” Steve says. “But it sounds crazy. And I can’t- Prove it.” And the gate is closed. “And the reason I have that,” Steve says. “It’s gone now.”

Eddie cocks his head. “If it’s gone, why is the bat still in your trunk?”

Steve swallows, jaw clenching. Why does he still have the bat? He knows why. He just- Tries not to think about that. He dips his head in acknowledgement. “Because, I don’t believe it’s really gone. For good.”

Eddie rubs at his face with his hands, looking up at Steve a little wild in the eyes. “None of this is inspiring faith, man.”

“If the reason I have that bat ever becomes a- Thing you need to know about. If it does ever come back, I’ll tell you everything, I promise,” Steve says. “Can you trust me?”

Eddie looks at him for a long moment, looks at him like he’s trying to see all the way inside him. And then gives a one shouldered shrug. “Fine. Keep your secrets."