#stack series

[galedekarios]

📚📚📚

[ophernelia]

@imogencrnza: hair done? yes. bills paid? uh oh..

🎱 recent episode | 📍 riddim nightclub by themintsimmer

[dailymetanaito]

Day 282 🦭

[gilb0t5]

625 Sandwich Stacker

[cremeful]

𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐳𝐨𝐧𝐞 ノ when two entirely different lives become entangled together, a strange girl with a difficult past and present and a man with his ledger dripping red of killings, robbery and guilt.

this series contains heavy themes of religious/cult like trauma, abuse, death, grief, the over use of alcohol consumption and sexual content. As well as an age gap between !reader (22) and olderman!stack (30s). if you aren't 20+ please be cautious while reading this story. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞. ノ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠.

it's 6:30 am when you head out the front door to start on your daily chores. The sun barley peeking through, sky hues mixing with dark and light blues, it's your favorite time of the day, everything in the world is still; safe. A feeling you only felt in the morning.

You head down to the barn with a bucket of cornmeal for the various animals, spreading out the pallets. you laugh silently at the actions of the animals who seemed to be hungry, they came rushing towards you. "woah, y'all! 's plenty to go around!" shaking your head, you hanging up the bucket to go back up to the house.

the rocks beneath your feet crunch, boots kicking some of the gravel up, when you came closer to the house your father is standing on the porch with his hands on his hips and cigarette in his mouth, watching you.

"Good morin, pa." you say it tranquil. your head is low, gaze towards the ground. your father always told you "never look a man in da eyes. the women's gaze must always be lowered, unless told other wise." He never acknowledged your greeting, only asking if you finished your chores before spiting next to your feet.

you nodded your head, your father flicking the cigarette bud on the porch, crushing it under his shoe. He says nothing, just stares. It makes you uneasy, the way he diminishes you under just a single glaze, like he owns you.

you move to step-up on to the porch but he grabs your arm too tight. "put some proper clothes on. don't need other thinkin' ma daughter is unkept." his voice gritting with authority. you just mutter a yes, sir snatching your arm away.

As the day passed, you found yourself at the river tucked away from the main road leading up to the abandon saw mill. The river streamed slowly, crickets chirped and the buzzing sound of mosquito's, It's peaceful here. the only place you could go to slow down time, not trapped in the confines of your home.

you sighed, dropping the basket down reaching in and grabbing the cotton blanket, spreading it out on the ground. you opened a book reading a few pages before putting it down and walking over the river to put your feet in.

your life has been anything but easy. your mother left the delta before your 2nd birthday, having little to no memory of the woman makes telling it a little less bitter sweet but your dad on the other hand, he grew up in a strict home; a religious one.

His parents always telling him to always obey god, never question him. His way is the only way, to never allow sin to taint his body, it must be pure to be one with him. Your father followed easily, he grew up to be what you would call a haint but what others call an evil spirit. You'd like to think your father was a good man before becoming whatever he is now, but you only tell yourself that to ease the pain. Your father was never raised to be a good man, he was raised to be a leader too be the voice of their god, never a man.

you looked down at your reflection in the river, soft fizzy curls adorn your head, your skin glows under the setting sun, looking into the water you seen tiny little fishes swimming around your feet, you gasp letting out a soft giggle "well, hello there little ones!" you were too focused on the fish in the water to notice a car pull into the cut of the woods.

the mysterious man got out the car, leaning against it and checking his watch, kissing his teeth together irradiated by his older brothers lack of urgency. He over hears splashing of water near by, he looks over his shoulder seeing a young beautiful girl.

He sees her standing at the edge of the river staring down at her reflection, her once pristine white nightgown now soaked and damped by the mud. Her curls fluffed out and fizzed due to the humidity, he notices a silver cross necklace dangling from her, caught by the sun.

she still hasn't noticed the man across the river until the grass crunched beneath his feet. gasping out of surprise she snaps her head up, eyes wide like a new born fawn. she see's him, dressed in a expensive looking suit, red fedora and black oxfords. "you scared me" her voice panic-stricken. she lifts up her dress to move out of the water, wringing it out.

"you should be more attentive to your surroundings then." he says unsentimental. he takes the cigarette to his mouth, lighting it before taking a hit exhaling, blowing the smoke out. "you shouldn't be sneaking around like a creep, maybe i wouldn't have to be attentive." she shot back, waving her hands to diminish the smoke.

"and you shouldn't be smoking near others! do you know what secondhand smoke is!" annoyed at his egoistic actions. he just laughs, flicking the bud onto the ground and smashing it between his foot. she didn't notice earlier but he has two gold colored fronts decorating his polished teeth despite smoking.

she bends down to pick up the wicker basket, stuffing her belongings back inside and standing up, his sight never being off of her. "and you shouldn't be telling strangers, what the hell to do without knowing their name."

she cocks her head to the side, brows pinched together "and why would i tell you my name for, when you were the one to disturb me?" demeanor appointed.

he walks near her, closing the distance before bending down and picking up her forgotten book. he hands it to her but pulling away when she reaches for it "because it's the polite thing to do, especially when someone is returning something back to you." he mummers, his gaze intense.

she doesn’t falter underneath of it. she moves her hand towards the book, snatching it back before huffing out her name. He takes a step back with a grin, turning around and walking back to where he came from before shouting out

"bye ♡ ! , i'll see you soon."

[dustykneed]

i just think spock has great mom friend potential tbh. strong contender for the cutest thing i've ever drawn

[gl-saveme]

We’re eating soooo good

[nerd-who-likes-cats]

Elias Tsum!

Elias belongs to @r-aindr0p 💙

I put him off for a while because I didn't want to draw the ignihyde uniform, but he's here! I figured since tsum Ortho couldn't fly, tsum Elias wouldn't have Elias's cool prosthetic arm, and like tsum Ortho would get some cool technomantic upgrades while at Night Raven. (Story under cut)

Upon noticing the lights in the sky, and more importantly the hunter in a tree with binoculars already aimed at them, Elias swiftly activated his unique magic to get a quite literal birds eye view. He watched the scene through the eyes of a bird, fluttering around between the small round creatures falling from the sky. When he spotted one with familiar scruffy hair covering its face. He flew closer, this creature really did resemble him to a bizarre extent... as he fluttered around it, an arrow shot up from the nearby copse of trees. Just as Elias was realizing who shot it, the enchantment on the arrow activated, and rather than piercing the tsum, it transformed into a bubble around both the small creatures. Elias had seen enough.

Deactivating his magic, Elias rushed outside. On his way he tripped no less than three times, but he made it.

Elias! I do believe I've just encountered your tsum lookalike!" Rook said cheerfully.

This was a good chance to test a new feature Idia had added to his arm. Elias pointed and shot a tiny technomantic beam at the bubble, breaking it so the tsum and innocent bird could go free. It was barely a fraction of what Ortho could do, but only a fraction of him was robotic compared to Ortho, and hey, it was still pretty cool.

The tsum dropped down and stood at Elias's feet looking up into the tree where Rook was.

Rook was unphased "is that a new feature? Magnifique!"

"Yeah, it is" it was meant to help him be an even better hunter, but after having Rook catch his tsum before him, he didn't feel worthy of claiming it was working quite yet.

"Also!" Rook continued "I noticed les chats espiégles had a tsum companion aiding them in tripping you on the way here, I do believe we are due for some trouble while the tsums are around."

Rook had seen that? This was humiliating. "Yeah whatever" Elias said, picking up his tsum and returning to the main building, not looking back at Rook.

Once inside he noticed the new message he'd gotten, the headmaster was calling all those who caught a tsum to his office. He sighed and looked at the tsum in his hands.

The little creature was hard to read with its hair in its face, but Elias did notice something about it. While the tsums he'd seen before all had four nubbins as their appendages, this tsum was missing the front right one. Well, Elias had his first project in mind for once the meeting with Crowley was over. He was going to make this guy a prosthetic nubbin. (Or more likely convince Idia to do it for him, but eh, same result.)

[bookaddict24-7]

I keep hearing such great things about this series. Is it on your TBR?

[dawnscraft]

As someone who plays on a server with a /sit plugin I can confirm that Scar’s power is really fun.

And as someone on a server where almost everyone has a bonk stick with knockback 100 I can confirm Scar’s other power is also really fun.

[autumnalfallingleaves]

Hilda Appreciation Week Day Five: Favorite Relationship(s)

Y'all had to have know it was going to be these guys for me (what can I say, I'm always a sucker for a good king-and-lionheart relationship)

reblogs are highly appreciated, and please do not repost my art

[encachette]

𝙖 𝙘𝙚𝙧𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚

Ch. 1: 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦

❣ yoongi x f!reader ❣ musicteacher!yoongi x englishteacher!reader; high school teacher au; rivals 2 lovers ❣ cw: crack, slight angst, eventual smut; american public school system (yes, this is a cw); eventual smut ❣ MDNI ❣ Word Count: 4.6 k ❣ Chapter 1 Summary: Kicking off the new school year with several petty spats, the halls of Bangtan High School echo with the insults and bickering between two otherwise very respectable teachers. You think you might str*ngle Min Yoongi before fall term ends.

❣ Author's Note(s): → I love all my public school teachers, can’t wait to be one of y’all.

༄˖°.☕️.ೃ࿔📚*:･ᝰ.📓🗒ˎˊ˗

early september 

“Why is it that every time there is a problem, it’s always you two chucklefucks?” Vice Principal Kim Seokjin reprimands from behind his desk. It was hard for you to take him seriously. 

Well, it should be hard for anyone to take him seriously when his daily uniform consisted of a bow tie and a sweater vest. 

“Way to fuckin’ loud, dude, turn it down,” Min Yoongi groans from his spot on the armchair facing Seokjin’s desk. “It’s not even 8:00 am.” His lips formed a small ‘o,’ blowing the steam from his coffee before taking a flinchy sip. 

He looked uncouth, dress shirt unironed and hair unkempt, earrings glinting at you as it swung under the fluorescents. He wore his glasses today — that was new, too. You note the blue of his wrinkly shirt. You were fuming, hoping that he could feel the daggers you were staring straight into his skin.

“It is week one of the semester, Mr. Min,” Seokjin raps his ruler against his desk. Each tap of the wood deepened Yoongi’s winces as he rubbed his temple. “What seems to be the problem?” The sound of Yoongi’s obnoxious sipping is grating on your nerves. You huff, at the both of them, too irritated to sit in the chair next to Yoongi.

“HE —“ you point a manicured finger straight at the criminal, “stole my reservation for the library on the shared faculty calendar!” 

Yoongi just rolls his eyes.

“Everyone knows it’s not permanent if it’s written in pencil,” he shrugs.

“I have been here for three years now and I’ve never heard that rule,” you seethe. “Plus, it’s not written down anywhere in the employment rule book and contract we signed. I checked.”

Yoongi snorts.

“You hear that, Jin? She checked. Back me up here,” he says, nonchalant. Jin, the shrill little worm, gives you a sheepish shrug, conceding to the criminal. (“It’s Mr. Kim during school hours,” he hisses at Yoongi quietly.)

“It is my understanding that the shared calendar must be filled out in pen to be considered official and permanent.”

“See, Ms. LN?” Yoongi smugly looks up at you through his glasses. “It needs to be reserved in ink or else it’s not permanent.” His eyes, way too bright and gleeful. 

“What if I stabbed you with this pencil, huh Mr. Min? Do you think the scar would be permanent?” You address him formally in an exaggerated, sugary pitch. 

“Yah! Ms. LN. There will be NO stabbing in my office.” Seokjin intervenes, slapping the ruler on his desk again. “Do not make me bring Principal Kim into this.” You had to laugh at that threat. 

“Please, Namjoon isn’t going to do shit,” Yoongi echoes your thoughts. 

“So now what? Are we just operating by unofficial rules now?” You snap at both of the men in the room, frustration licking up your throat. “How is this fair to me?”

“Can’t you just reserve another week?” Yoongi asks you, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. And you’re absolutely incensed.

“It is the principle of the damn thing. You should’ve had the courtesy to ask me before you erased my reservation.” Your tone is accusatory, and you’re determined to prevent any wavering, any weakness, from leaking through to the surface. Truth be told, it wasn’t a big deal for you to shift your lesson plans by a week, you didn’t need that particular reservation date. But the library had the only projector in the school, and you had promised a viewing of Romeo + Juliet for your students at the end of the month after they’d read through the play in class. Namjoon and Seokjin, no matter how hard you lobbied them, steadfastly maintained that there simply wasn’t enough money in the annual budget to purchase more projection screens for the classrooms. It felt like half of your job was spent in front of Seokjin’s desk, trying to bully him into putting more money into resources for your students.

“What’s done is done,” Seokjin interjects. You thought him a clown. “Next time, Ms. LN, just write your reservation in pen. Problem solved.” He looks happy with himself.

It takes everything you have not to scream at the both of them. Not this early in the year. Doubtless there will be a more lively confrontation the next time the likes of Min Yoongi decides to push one too many of your buttons. So you take a deep breath. Yoongi looks up at you, eyebrow arched in teasing curiosity.

One.

Two.

Three.

Release breath. 

“Fine.” You grit your teeth. 

“Hey, YN?” Yoongi interrupts the awkward silence.

“What?” You’re practically barking with rage.

“Unclench,” Yoongi says, as if he had the authority to command you. You think you feel the rage forcing a twitch in your eye, right under the waterline. Seokjin fails at suppressing his snort. You take another 3-second deep breath.

Chin held high in promise, eyes narrowing; your expression is murderous.  

“One day, we will have an HR rep who actually cares about what goes on in this place.” You lace as much venom as you can into your threat, all smiles and simpering. 

The two men just stare at you, wide-eyed and unsure of what to make of your malice. “And on that day, I will dance upon both of your graves.”

You huff, tighten your cardigan around you, and march out of the office, making sure to slam the door on your way out. Satisfaction from snatching the last word for yourself provides brief respite as you make your way to your classroom.

✎

By 8:30 am, your homeroom students had settled into an excitable chatter, with the morning energy only present in young classmates who had spent three long summer months apart. A few kids scattered themselves in your reading corner, cordoned off by bookshelves and a secondhand loveseat you had haggled away one of the pearl-clutching monsters on the PTA. 

Months spent scrimping and saving for secondhand furniture, used books, and a dinky little speaker that eked out soft classical music throughout the day. In the corner stood a few drawers of mini personal hygiene products and extra school supplies, paid for out of your own pocket (as was the case with the majority of the teachers in this school district) on your own meager salary. You avoided the overhead fluorescents like the plague, opting for the yellow warmth of fairy lights and some antique Tiffany lamps you’d snagged at an estate sale. And despite the broken desks, the bucket catching water from the leaking ceiling, you had made a sanctuary for you students out of your classroom. 

By 8:45 the clang of the bell signals the official start of the school day.

“Alright, kiddos. Into your seats and settle down for morning announcements, please.” You sip your mug of tea and pull your cardigan tight around you; your classroom was always so cold despite the countless times you’d put in a service request to Hoseok the janitor. You watch your kids make their way to their assigned desks, basketball shoes scuttling on linoleum, backpacks dwarfing their figures, you bask in your morning routine. “Remember, legally, we cannot make you stand to say the pledge,” you waggle your eyebrows at your students with mischief, jokingly sneering at the striped flag dangling next to the door of your classroom. A gaggle of giggles breaks out just as the intercom system beeps and Seokjin’s voice comes over the speakers, all static and haughtiness.

“Good morning, Bangtan High!” The screech of the microphone feedback and a few taps (which only exacerbated the screeching) disturbed the sacred calm of your room. “Testing, test— Jimin! Stop messing with my microphone!” More feedback screeching. “No I’m not spitting on the mic, now fix the feedback or you’re fired.” A few of your kids are giggling, hands over their ears. You just roll your eyes as you write the date and the day’s lesson objectives on the chalkboard.

“Okay, let’s try this again. Good morning, Bangtan High! This is Vice Principal Kim,” his screeching replaces the microphone feedback, only slightly less grating to the ear. You listen as he runs through the announcements for the day — slop for lunch (gruel for vegetarians), applications for hall monitors, varsity soccer tryouts to meet in the fields behind the gymnasium, the moronic cult-like recitation of the pledge of allegiance — you were grateful for the morning routine you had, even if your boss was incompetent. And you were excited about your assignments for this year.

“And finally, there will be a mandatory faculty meeting today at 4:00 pm in the lounge. Light refreshments will be provided.” You groan internally, just now remembering that you had to attend that god forsaken meeting. “This is Veep Kim, signing off! Go Scouts!” 

“Ms. LN, does this mean that today’s debate team meeting will be canceled?” Irene asks. By far, one of your favorite students, and captain of the debate team that you coached as required by your contract.

“Yeah, unfortunately, kiddo. Can you send out a text letting the rest of the team know? We’ll just meet next week.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Irene responds.

“Alright, 9:00 am!” You look at your reliable old Casio, ready to start your lesson. “Starting next week, we will be reading Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet. In each of your desks, I have placed a copy — if yours is damaged or dirty, please bring it to our librarian Mr. Kim Taehyung and he will get you another copy. I will be assigning roles based on preference.”

“Oh, Mr. Kim is the hot new librarian,” you hear another student next to Irene whisper, all girlish gossip and hushed tones. You fight to keep a hold on your chuckle. 

“Is there a problem Wendy?” You look at her, brows raised with authority, even though the situation was amusing. 

“No,” her cheeks turn pink. “Sorry Miss LN,” she says sheepishly.

“I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear any of that,” you tease her before resuming focus. “Back to business. Extra credit will be awarded to the two of you who will read for Romeo and Juliet. Please submit your preferences to me by email before Sunday night. If you don’t submit your name, I will assign roles randomly until we have each role casted.” You do your cheesy little snap and finger guns, saying “Capisce?” with a bright smile on your face.

The students just groan and repeat “Capisce,” back at you.

It was your thing.

✎

By 2:00 pm, Min Yoongi’s back was starting to hurt from having to tune thirty instruments every hour. Violins with bows missing one too many hairs, guitars with broken tuning pegs, and a roomful of pubescent monsters hyped up on Monster energy drinks and sugar — dreams do come true. But that didn’t mean that he didn’t love his job. Sure, the music program was up for the chopping block every year, and sure, he didn’t have the budget he needed to truly teach in the way he wanted; but these snot-nosed little rascals were the light of Yoongi’s life. 

In every sense except financial, stability was what he needed; teaching gave him what producing never could. For Yoongi, there was integrity in teaching, and it provided him with immense relief after he quit his cushy producing job at Big Hit. Day in and day out of making formulaic pop music — he had hardened into a soulless robot. And by the time that AI had become incorporated into the production process, Yoongi found himself completely bereft. Useless. Meaningless. His life’s work, thrown into an industry that traded integrity for streaming numbers. 

Now, after six years at Bangtan High, he couldn’t imagine doing anything else. He loved it. The screechy, off-tune concerts, the 7:00 am mornings, even fighting with you — all of it. He loved all of it, even if he didn’t get by unscathed; a few mistakes and a handful of regrets still nagged at him on his worst days. But today wasn’t one of those days. 

Yoongi tapped his conductor’s baton on the music stand, commanding attention from his Advanced Orchestra students. This was always his favorite class of the day — the last class, and all were students who loved Orchestra I enough to come back. He didn’t have to start from scratch with these kids. 

“As you all know,” he starts after clearing his throat, “the Winter Concert will take place the weekend before the holiday break, and Orchestras I and II will be performing. Please make sure to tell your parents ahead of t—” 

“Mr. Min,” Irene raises her hand, waving it in the air with fervor. First chair violin, precocious but disciplined. Yoongi nods at her, his glasses flopping down his nose. He thinks he’ll start wearing these more often.

“We actually have a debate competition the last weekend before winter break starts,” Irene states matter-of-factly, “and frankly, it’s an important one.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” he asks softly, confusion wrinkling his features. He swore that there weren’t any bookings on the shared calendar for that weekend when he checked this morning. 

“Me, Irene, Joy, Yeri, and Seulgi,” Wendy chimes in loudly, and it only adds to Yoongi’s annoyance.

“That’s… just not possible,” he mumbles, “but thank you for letting me know. I’ll figure this out with Miss LN.” It takes all of his effort not to grit his teeth in frustration. His best performers, whisked away by you in revenge? Not going to happen. “We’ll discuss it later,” he adds curtly.

“As I was saying,” Yoongi continues, much more tersely than before, “Tell your parents ahead of time and let me know if you cannot participate so I can dole out the proper roles to the beginner Orchestra…”

By the time he’s finished his classes, cleaned up his room, and disinfected each desk and chair with a sanitizing cloth, Yoongi’s ready for his afternoon coffee. As he walks into the faculty lounge, to his annoyance, he sees you standing next to the kettle, stirring honey into your mug of tea. He checks the shared faculty calendar by the entrance, and sure enough, you reserved nearly every campus facility available for the week before winter break. With your back turned away from him, Yoongi takes a moment to look at you before taking up the space next to you at the counter.  Another sparkle of irritation burbles in his chest, compelling him to move forward. 

“Well, well, well,” he keeps his voice curt, “if it isn’t the thief.” He keeps his eyes trained on his coffee. 

You spill a little of your tea, letting out a squeak of surprise as the tea scalds your hand. “Fuck, ow—”

Yoongi immediately regrets his attempt at taunting you as he watches you hiss in pain. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he panics, promptly grabbing you by the wrist and shoving your hand under the tap. He turns the knob for cold water on full blast, surprised that you let him guide you like that.

“Thief?” you spit at him angrily. “You’re the one who stole my reservation for the library this morning.” Yoongi frowns as the spot on your hand becomes an angrier red by the second. You snatch it away from his grip. “And don’t touch me.” 

“The last weekend before Winter break has always been reserved for the Winter Concert, you know this,” Yoongi says, trying to keep a lid on so he wouldn’t explode with impatience. 

“Give me back my library reservation and I’ll give you back the Winter Concert weekend,” you state with no emotion in your face.

“You’re a terrorist,” Yoongi fires back as he opens the freezer, picking out a handful of ice and throwing it into a sandwich bag. “And no, I can’t. I don’t negotiate with terrorists and I need the library that day. It has the only projector on campus and I need it to show a movie.” He offers the makeshift ice pack to you, wrapped in flimsy paper towels because the school’s budget cuts didn’t prioritize usable hygiene and cleaning products.

“For what? You teach music! I’ve seen your Winter Concerts, Min Yoongi, and it seems like you need to work on making sure your kids aren’t tone deaf before they watch Stomp Out Loud for the 800th time in their musical education.” You accept the ice pack anyway, gingerly placing it on the angry red burn on your hand.

“I show Stomp one fucking time. One time, and now I never hear the end of it from you,” he sighs in exasperation. “And why can’t you just move your reservation to a different date? I need that week, I have an appointment.” 

“Because I planned my syllabus meticulously and that specific week was meant to be the end of my Romeo & Juliet unit. I need the projector.” You couldn’t keep the agitation out of your demeanor: you hated deviating from your syllabus, from your plans. Now everything needed to be shifted and it would mess with your schedule for the rest of the semester unless you spent another three hours figuring out how to restructure everything. You’ll keep Yoongi’s Winter Concert hostage, if not just to torture him a little bit.

“Well, move your syllabus around,” Yoongi replies, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He moves in sync with you, the two of you mired in your bickering as the faculty lounge conference table starts filling up with your colleagues.

“Your arrogance truly knows no bounds,” you snarl. “Move your appointment around!”

And to your irritation, he just smirks as he plays with one of his earrings. “Over my dead body, sweetheart,” he almost coos at you as he exposes his gummy smile.

Taehyung slides into the seat next to you, disrupting your bickering. Yoongi’s face visibly hardens when you turn your attention toward the new librarian. You beam at him, as if sunshine came out of his ass. 

“Long time no see,” Taehyung says to you, a hint of amusement shared between the two of you. 

“Tae — just the person I needed to see,” you lean closer to him and whisper something Yoongi can’t hear, so he just sips his coffee with a cranky look on his face.

“What happened to your hand, babe?” Taehyung’s concerned tone grates on Yoongi’s nerves. Babe? Wasn’t there some kind of rule against fraternizing with your colleagues?

“Nothing, just spilled boiling water on myself,” you respond, brushing it off like it was no big deal.

Yoongi just sinks down further in his seat.

“I call this meeting to order,” Jin’s screeching breaks through your chattering with Taehyung. Thank god, Yoongi thinks to himself, side eyeing you and Taehyung.

“Principal Kim sends his apologies, he couldn’t be here today so I’ve been sent in his stead,” Jin clears his throat and adjusts his detestable bowtie before reading off the list of notes Namjoon had sent him.

…

You sip your tea and ignore Yoongi for the rest of the meeting, diligently taking notes and contributing whenever necessary. 

“And finally, this is a reminder that all faculty are responsible for volunteering at or chaperoning at least two formal school events each semester,” Jin looks pointedly around the room when the faculty erupt in groans of annoyance. He holds up a clipboard, evidently pleased with his ability to irritate everyone with his overenthusiastic attitude, “You may sign up here — Miss LN, Mr. Min, please stay for a few minutes. I would like to speak with the both of you.”

This better be an apology for the calendar mishap, you grumble to yourself as you check your watch. Fine. Whatever. You look over at Yoongi, who seems just as displeased as you.

“Miss LN, a new teaching assistant will be shadowing you tomorrow,” Jin says to you, opening his laptop. You narrow your eyes, mind flashing through Jin’s prolific history of assigning you tasks that Principal Namjoon had actually assigned to him.

“Why me?” you ask suspiciously. “He’s looking to teach English lit,” Jin replies, clicking around on his laptop. 

“There are four other teachers in the English department, why not ask them? They have seniority over me,” you argue back, hesitant about piling more onto your list of responsibilities.  In the reflection of the window behind him, you could see his mouse moving around playing cards on a deep green screen. I need a raise, you groan internally, complete self-loathing in that moment for not selling out your intellect and going into business or finance after college. 

“Stop playing solitaire and pay attention!” you slap your palm down on the conference. Jin looks up at you with slight fear.

“Is there any reason why I need to be here?” Yoongi interjects.

“Shut it—”

“Yes.”

Both you and Jin look at Yoongi.

Jin clears his throat, and closes out of the solitaire window. “His name is Jeon Jungkook, and I’m assigning him to you because you have the least experience with shadows and you ought to learn how to manage one.” He smiles at you innocently, “It’s not like I don’t care about your professional development, you know. Now. Moving onto the ruckus this morning.” Jin pushes his glasses further up his nose bridge and tightens his ridiculous bowtie once again.

“I am assigning you two as heads of the Autumn Festival planning committee,” he announces. 

The fucking gall on this man. 

“What?” Yoongi balks as you stare, confounded.

“Why? Are you punishing me?” you nearly scream.

“Don’t make me call the union,” Yoongi threatens. And for once, you’re with him.

The bastard just smiles at you and Yoongi from across the conference table. You have half a mind to throw his $9 latte straight in his face, multimillion dollar lawsuit be damned.

“Just listen to me, okay?” Jin asks, raising his eyebrows as if he was an adult trying to resolve an issue between two obdurate toddlers. Neither you nor Yoongi respond, so he continues, despite the murderous glares on both of your faces.

“I need you two to get over whatever the fuck is going on. My faculty is a team, and I can’t have two essential members of my team going at each other’s throats. In the past four years, I have received exactly 22 complaints from either your colleagues or your students about aggressive behavior from the both of you,” Jin explains, chipper as always. “So, you two will be working together with the PTA to put on the annual Autumn Festival.” He smiles at his ingenuity.

“This is god punishing me for my sins, huh?” You look up at the ceiling dramatically, mentally cursing your luck. 

“You can’t be serious,” Yoongi grumbles, sinking into his seat and sighing with frustration. “You’ve already put me in charge of the Winter Concert, Jin.”

“Mr. Kim…” you chime in too, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath — you will yourself not to quit right then and there. “I am already coaching the debate team and my weekends are spent taking them to competitions. I can’t take on any more responsibilities,” you try to reason with him.

“As you both know, the Autumn Festival is our largest fundraiser of the year,” your boss continues, disregarding the protests coming from you and Yoongi. “If you manage to pull this off without a hitch — and I mean it,” Jin points at the both of you with a long, crooked finger, evidently enjoying his little power trip, “If there are no complaints about the two of you from the students or the faculty from now until the Autumn Festival, I’ll give the Music and English departments 25% of the funds each, as long as you can rake in over $10,000.” That gets the both of you to shut up. The offer stuns both you and Yoongi into your own quiet internal deliberations. The English department definitely needed that money. You could finally take your students to the Shakespeare Library. Maybe a few more copies of course textbooks. 

“Of course, you’ll both be excused from one of the mandatory two-event faculty service requirements,” Jin adds.

After several awkwards beats, Yoongi narrows his eyes at Jin and decides to be the first to break the silence.

“Thirty percent,” he deadpans. You look over at him in the seat next to you, his long fingers interlaced behind his head. You could see the bulge of his muscles through his shirt when he sat in that position.

“And you’ll excuse us from both of the events for our service requirement,” you add to Yoongi’s demand.

“You drive a hard barg—,” 

“I’m not done,” you interrupt your boss, bringing your hand up to stop him in his tracks. “You will also buy another projector or TV that will be used exclusively by the English department,” you demand. “I’m tired of fighting with this lunkhead for resources,” you nod over to Yoongi.

“Excuse me? Lunkhead?” Yoongi cries indignantly. You just smirk at him, silently waiting for Seokjin’s response with an expectant look on your face.

Jin narrows his eyes, looking back and forth between you and Yoongi. “Fine,” he acquiesces. “I agree to your terms. But you two will be on your best behavior this semester or Principal Kim will hear about this.” 

You sink back into your chair, a sigh escaping you in aggravation. “Fine,” you huff, facial expression disgruntled at the realization that you’d be spending more time than you’d like with the world’s biggest thorn in your side…

Jin looks at Yoongi, raising an eyebrow when he doesn’t confirm his cooperation like you did.

“Fine,” Yoongi pushes his glasses up his nose bridge and shows his palms in surrender, “I’ll do it. Just don’t blame me when this blows up in your face, Jin.”

You couldn’t have agreed more.

✎

The next day passes by like most days, except for the new teaching assistant trailing behind you every second of every hour, overly eager to impress. He arrived half an hour before homeroom started, two disposable cups in hand like a nervous intern on his first day of work. 

“Miss LN,” he had introduced himself in a sheepish, polite manner, “My name is Jungkook. I’m your new teaching assistant.”

“Hi,” you smile at him warmly as you unlock the door to your classroom. “Come on in,” you nod him toward the room while kicking down the door stop. Jungkook offers you one of the drinks he had in hand.

“Herbal tea,” he said, “Yoongi said you drink herbal tea.”

You raise an eyebrow at him questioningly, and maybe something in your face betrays your disgust at this information because Jungkook starts prattling.

“I can get you something else if you like, Miss—”

“It’s fine,” you cut him off. Uninterested in thinking about Yoongi anymore than you needed to. Instead, you just nod, taking the cup from Jungkook’s hand. “I’ll give you a tour of the room and show you where you can put down your stuff.”

You run through your classroom with your new TA. 

“Students can borrow as many books as they want, as long as they return them within two weeks,” you start listing off your rules on your fingers as the two of you get to your desk in the front of the room. Jungkook is scrambling to write down every word you were saying, determined tongue sticking out as his pen tore across his notepad. 

“Your desk is back there,” you nod toward the cozy set up you made for Jungkook, complete with his own mug that said ‘#1 TA.’

“It is a strict rule in the faculty lounge that you use your own mug. Do not touch anyone else’s mug, and keep your shit clean if you’re going to use the storage available in the faculty lounge kitchen,” you continue. 

“Yes, ma’am, Miss LN.” You stare at the kid, eager as a puppy to impress any and every human within its vicinity.

“Two more things, and I want you to just listen,” you instruct Jungkook. He dutifully puts away his notepad.

“One, you can call me YN,” you raise your eyes at him, waiting for affirmation from him. 

“Got it,” he nods.

“And second, you need to relax. This is public school, not the military.”

[faestunna]

me watching everyone vote for remmick fic fully thinking the stack fic would win

[mysterygrl20]

“Welcome to the world of Vampires…”

[cremeful]

𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐳𝐨𝐧𝐞 ノ when two entirely different lives become entangled together, a strange girl with a difficult past and present and a man with his ledger dripping red of killings, robbery and guilt.

this series contains heavy themes of religious/cult like trauma, abuse, death, grief, the over use of alcohol consumption and sexual content. As well as an age gap between !reader (22) and olderman!stack (30s). if you aren't 20+ please be cautious while reading this story. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨 ノ 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫.

you laid in the clawfoot tub, body fully emerged and face half sunk in the water. Your mind completely afar from reality, almost in limbo. The moon shines through the window, candle lights creating a soft glow, your mind drifting off to the man that you interacted with today.

His infuriating voice echoed in your head accompanied by his devilish grin "i'll see you soon, ♡" the say he said your name, how easily it slips off his tongue like it was made for him to say. It frustrates you that this man, who you don't even know the name of was plaguing your mind.

you don't know how long you were in the tub for until you heard heavy pounding on the bathroom door, breaking you out of your thoughts. "which ya doin in there? get the hell out!" gasping from the sudden banging, you splashed water on the floor. "shit!" stepping out quickly and grabbing your towel.

you yank open the door, your father is standing there. "what the hell were you doin?" his tone clipped, on edge, you can smell the alcohol oozing off of him. You stutter out a response, afraid of the outcome of his drinking "i-i um w-was washing up, sir." His upper lip twitches, irritation written on his face, "its half past 7, da hell you doin washin up this late?" You know the tone from a mile away, he thinks you're lying. He doesn't allow liars to live upon this house.

you say nothing, you feel your heartbeat in your chest. If your father finds out you've been talking to someone half your age, yet alone a man, he will kill you. He all but said it, threw it in your face. you were just 16, playing with a cotton field boy, nothing more.

He found you two playing in the corn field a few feet from your house, he was furious, screaming profanities. You went to defend yourself and the young boy but your father saw it as defiance and you must always obey him no matter what, he cocked his hand back and striking you in the face so hard you fell to the ground. He spoke with conviction, " IF I CATCH YOU BEIN A JEZEBEL, IN THE NAME OF THE LORD I WILL LAY YOU DEAD, YOU UNDERSTAND ME!"

"i-i-i, was at the river today! that's all." You were still wrapped in your towel, your hair soaked and coiled up dripping water on the floor. Your father eyes are sharp and twitching. He can sense your lies but questions it no more, roughly letting go of the topic.

once he leaves from in front of the bathroom door, you let out a shaky breathe hand pressed on your chest to soothe your rapid beating heart. When you make your way out the bathroom, you walked back to your bedroom, you saw the Livingroom light on and your father voiced muffled merging with another. "she is the spawn of lilith. she's becoming wicked and i will not be punished by god because of her whorin ways!" you notice the other mans voice when he speaks, it's Edwin Robinson, the owner of the formed Church your father is apart of. "you must bring her down to the church to wash away her sins. she must be initiated before the devil gets too close to her."

you shut the door, once you make it back to your bedroom. you sit on your bed, the room is lit only with a few candles scattered about her room, Her bedding is soft laced like cotton. A little bear sat up in the middle of her pillow with a cross hanging above the bed; her room was innocent, yet she felt like anything but.

That night the girl cried herself to sleep for the first time in a long time. The guilt of slipping away from the god she was supposed to pray too. Her fathers years of abuse and harsh actions finally catching up with her.

Her thoughts beginning to drift to a dark place of contemplation of her place in the world. She asks to whom ever may be listening "Why must i endure this cruelty?" her broken sobs go unheard only confined within her walls, tucked within her pillow.

[bird-inacage]

The Heart Killers EP4: Is Bison Playing Dumb?

Before the series aired, I did wonder if we were going to get a Mr and Mrs Smith type scenario at some point. The 'I know that you know that I know' type mind game which goes both ways, where both parties are pretending to be none the wiser until the time is right.

Up until Episode 4, Bison had some reservations but there was some ambiguity in regards to how much he bought into Kant's attentions and believed his own words in Kant's defence. Since being poisoned, Bison's gut instinct is louder than ever before. Paired with Fadel's reproachful reasoning and the evidence against Kant is mounting up so fast that Bison's excuses cannot deter the warning signs anymore.

So when Bison goes to 'confront' Kant with a pocketknife in hand, he's on a mission of his own. Despite what this implies, he not going on the immediate offence. He plans to put Kant on trial. He's going to do this his way, not how Fadel expects him to.

Now Kant is a pretty terrible liar as far as liars go. When Bison closely scrutinises his every move under an accusatory gaze rather than one of just slight suspicion, Kant visibly buckles under the pressure. It requires him to lie in a much more overt, blatant and upfront manner, which he stumbles through under Bison's unrelenting spotlight. Later on Bison directly asks him, "You're not hiding anything else from me, are you?" You could read this as Bison re-assessing whether he can afford to give Kant another chance, but to me it felt like Bison was almost tempting Kant to lie to his face. He already knows Kant has not been completely truthful. What he may be re-affirming is the extent to which Kant is choosing to continue lying to him. 'You must know that I'm onto you, why are you still keeping up the pretence?'

Every time he questions Kant, it's an invitation to come clean; to drop the act, to fess up or slip up. When he presses, he's testing to see if Kant will forfeit the information himself, but he continues to dodge, swerve and deflect. And actually, it's no coincidence that their first ever interaction plays out on very similar footing. Kant initially flirts with Bison under a guise of bravado. When Bison doesn't buy into it because he dislikes the façade, Kant changes tack and goes for a candid approach. That's when Bison gives him a chance, and his smile says 'See, why didn't you just start with that to begin with?'

Unsurprisingly, it's when Kant 'drops the act' that Bison wavers because he detects genuine sincerity. Even if Bison is harbouring anger, he's also acknowledging that Kant hasn't lied about absolutely everything. And that's enough to maintain a small concession. Based on next week's preview, I wonder if Bison intends to play into Kant's guilt to see whether that prompts him to redeem himself.

After all, Kant is also a prisoner of his circumstances (though Bison doesn't yet know the full context). "I saw it with my own eyes. Kant was just trying to get away from his bad past." On an unconscious level, he feels a kinship with such a predicament, which is why he's biding his time. He's decided to continue the charade and call Kant's bluff by agreeing to be his boyfriend, to see just how far Kant plans to take this by giving him what he wants. A 'keep your friends close and your enemies closer' strategy, mirroring how Kant is equally digging for intel on him by getting up close. Why are you doing this? What's in it for you? What exactly is your motive? Where do the lies start and end? How much of what you feel for me is true, if any of it?

Bison's undecided. He's human after all and not immune to Kant's charms (which funnily enough is the same problem Fadel's currently having with Style). Every time Kant refers to him as his boyfriend, you can see Bison's heart flutter. The attraction between the two is undeniably there and that will still colour his judgement.

In the meantime, Bison appears to be mentally cataloguing every transgression and forming his judgement slowly on whether Kant will deserve punishment or vindication.

You can keep tabs on bird-inacage’s BL meta directory for my other long-form posts around The Heart Killers, which I’ll be updating in real time as the show airs.