#woohoo! the gang's all here

[waiting-on-a-dream]

Where my ocs lie in a (dnd) alignment chart! :0

Using this template as a reference:

Aurora: Chaotic neutral (Do I even need to explain? My problem child does as they please and their wants change constantly.)

Slyvan: Lawful good (Sweet goat boy wants everyone to be live in peace and comfort and will try his best to make that happen!)

Iris: Somewhere between lawful neutral and true neutral. (She cares for her friends, and will certainly help them if she doesn't lose anything from it. Anyone else though...What's in it for her?)

Violet: Her alignment is spread throughout all of the three goods, but is ultimately chaotic good most of all. (She's doing her best, but man, her good intentions don't always lead to good results.)

Wyn: Lawful good (Pure of heart, what can I say?)

Mahira: True neutral, with the potential for lawful evil. (Save for the few people he cares for, everyone else will have to negotiate with him for something.)

Zoya: Chaotic neutral (She just wants to have fun!)

Xenon: Lawful neutral (He has a personal code. I cannot elaborate.)

Irene: Somewhere between lawful good and neutral good, leaning more towards lawful. (She's selfless alright, but knows to put her needs first before everyone else.)

Mia: Chaotic good (She generally tries to follow the rules. But rules quickly become guidelines instead when someone needs help.)

Chandani: Again, somewhere between lawful good and neutral good. (She tries her best to help, but also believes some things must be dealt with by oneself.)

Xue Mei: True neutral (She just minds her business and nothing else.)

Emile: Lawful evil, but acts like true good. (No, I will not elaborate.)

Luka: Lawful neutral, with a bit of true neutral? (He follows the rules and expects his brothers to do the same. He finds some things unforgivable, but other than that, he minds his own business.)

Duran: True neutral (Like Xue Mei, he's just chilling.)

Alma: Chaotic neutral (He's just vibing.)

Emlyn: True neutral (He has certain goals he wishes to achieve. Whatever he comes across in life, he judges based on that.)

Gaius: Lawful good/lawful neutral? (When he decides to help someone, he truly tries to help them, even if he has to resort to more drastic means. He does it out of good intentions though, so?)

Fleda: True neutral (Please just leave him and his 27 open tabs be.)

Elio: Chaotic good/lawful neutral. (He has a rather loose moral code, but seeks to help people out however he can most of the time.)

[kenlvry]

LISTEN TO ME RN HEAT ME TF OUT STANS GANG + CRAIG DOIGN THE LIPSTICK TREND FROM TICTOK WITH READER

the lipstick trend with stan and craigs team

an, I AM LISTENLING ANON DONT WORRY. no idea what you mean by heat out though 🤨 , 17-18 and gn reader but use of her in tolkiens

kenny

he was the one who suggested it, it came across his fyp one day and he sent it to you "lets do this come over rn." "you asked, why dont you come to my house? 🤨" "why don't i cum in your mom" "HUH 😧" "im here."

you both definitely argue on what lipstick you should wear "okay but i don't even use pink lipstick" "well you should" "its light colour its not gonna appear" "well fuck 😒"

the process of kissing his face is wild, he would suggest to do his lips as the first place "KENNY HOW ARE WE GONNA DO THIS TREND IF YOU KEEP TRYING TO MAKE OUT WITH ME" "ITS NOT MY FAULT"

after like2 hours you finally get the lipstick on his face. now the tiktok was even harder he wouldn't stop laughing. you'd give up and he apologises while laughing

thank god you guys were able to finish it under 1 hour it turned out really good, at the end of the video he kissed you and you wanted to cut that part but he said keep it for like and its true the comments were all about the kiss on the last clip

kyle

okay he too wanted to ask you first but he was kinda shy and waited for you to ask and you did!! woohoo for kyle

"kyle wanna do this" "OKAY" he insists on picking your lipstick and picks the ugliest colour like what 😐

to him there was no such thing as an ugly colour buy it didn't suit your face so no way.

the process of it was calm, he at first wanted to put on the lipstick for you but you looked like a clown has mans never put on lipstick??

he watches you as you kiss him and reapply lipstick and then kiss him again, he feels like a princess fr 🤭🤭

he hasn't seen his face yet so when you record and he saw his face he laughs out loud, "LMAO WHY DO I LIKE THAT??" "WDYM"

you would tell him to take off his hat which he refuses but you looked too cute, when it posted cartman was first to comment and you can already tell what he commented "ew gay" your followers defended you two though 🤭

stan

stan blushes internally when you ask him. "sure im down" DEEP DOWN HE WANTS KIDNAP YOY AND KEEP YOU TO HIMSELF

"what lipstick do you think matches me best, pink or red?" "id say my tip colour" "WHAT 😧"

he has to hold in the very urge to puke every time you kiss him because like you look so cute omg.

he looks in the mirror and is js like "damn, i did it". HE LOVES IT SOOOO MUCH YOU CAN TELL HE'S BLUSHING ONGG ‼️

he even directs you like "do here next, okay now here" its so cute 🤭🤭

when you record and the camera pans to him, he smiles and covers his face blushing bc he can't contain it. it was such a cute video and got iver 2 mil likes. cartman definitely commented "i bet you had to change your clothes 10 times"

cartman

"cartman lets do this" "what." "wdym? cmon its cute" "y/n no offense but that is the most gayest shit i've ever seen" " NO ITS NOT UTS CUTE" "my reputation is at stake if i do that be so for real" "okay I'm asking kyle then" "lets do it."

he actually been wanting to ask you for weeks now but doesn't know how so winwin. you take your absolute time picking your lipstick and he couldn't be more done with "hurry up this doesn't even effect anything" "shut up cartman if i use the right one people will ask what lipstick it is and i get views"

picking a lipstick was already a big deal just imagine the process "ew gay not on my lips" "cartman 😐" tbh he wish he could just make out with you rn but yk how mans is

now recording is even more a hassle "JUST SMILE IS IT SO HARD TO CRACK A SMILE" "NOT WHILE IM LOOKING LIKE THIS" the most he does is wipes your lipstick off and then he just gives a 🙄 look until the end of the video

the comments are just him getting teased at clydes commenting "NAHHH CAN'T BELIEVE HE AGREED TO THIS" kyles is "i can tell that this took a long time" and then wendys is "is that cartman or a clone of him". cartman is pissed af at the comment, he told you his reputation is at stake 😒.

he actually has it saved downloaded and also is his live wallpaper sooo.

butters

butters is the one who asked you this " um y/n can we do this? 😣" while twiddling his fingers, "OKAY"

he's all giddy and smily during the process, after every kiss his blushes intensifies and by the end of it he is just.. 🔴

even though it is the most simplest video ever he has to have a tutorial, he is asking questions for everything man, how do i wipe the lipstick, what do i do, do i smile when its on me , do i laugh??

you tell him what he thinks he should he and he starts kissing you bc rn the sexual tension between you two is intense (to him atleast, he thinks thinks hand holding is already intense)

everyone comments on how cute he is and yk how tiktok is so people comment "does he whimper" "submissive who?" and hes likw WHATTTTT 🧍

clyde

when you suggested this he nodded so hard his head probably was about to fall off. "clyde you wanna do this" "DO I???" ..... "well.. do you?" "i mean yeah it's like a way of- yes i wanna do it"

he loves any lipstick you wear so he lets you pick. after every kiss he looks in the mirror and kicks his feet giggling and you just stand there 🤨

he also tries to make it a makeout session like kenny, when you kissed on his lips he holds your neck and literally makes out with like cnon we have 9 more

when you first hit record and yk how the guy has to wipe your lipstick off, nah he grabbed you by the chin and slams his lips with yours "WHY DIS YOU DO THAT??" "its called content,you wouldn't know with your 9 likes and 70 views"

well you kept the clip and everyone in the comments were talking about it "need a boyfriend like you y/n" "why can't my boyfriend be like this" clyde is obviously gloating bc he had the idea.

tolkien

most romantic man you know, is the first to ask you. "y/n can we do this?" "OKAY BOO 😝"

"hmm which lipstick do you think babe?" "i think every lipstick makes you pretty, it doesn't matter if it doesn't suit you because in my eyes you look beautiful in anything ☺️" "what if i wore kim kardashians 2013 met gala dress" "might have to rethink what i said"

he smiles while you kiss him here and there, every once a while he kisses you back, it was such a cute moment for you two😝🤞🤞

when recording he looks at you while smiling during the whole video and it blew up fast because of that

"the way he looks at her" "wishing he was like this" "you got the bag that man is inlove", it blew in seconds fr

craig

"craig lets do-" "okay" "i didnt even ask you yet" "I'll do anything if its with you" "what if i asked you to have a threesome" ".....if its makes you happy idk.."

idk about you but i think he acts like he doesn't care but inside he is so happy you asked he's been wanting to ask you this but doesn't know how to start up the convo

he doesn't care what lipstick or where you kiss him, its just the way you press your lips on him and look at it then quickly reapply to do it again because it wasn't pigmented enough.

when recorded, he doesn't just wipe he makes you turn to face him by grabbing your chin, and he doesn't let go and just looks at you with those yk siren eyes.

people are simping over him ong "damn girlie share for us" "you mean OUR boyfriend" "tryna find someone as hot as him" and you are pissed fr he laughs at you cursing out the people, like bae dw my eyes only fo you 😝🤞

tweek

"tweek, wanna do this?" "but what if I can't remove the lipstick stain" "tweek what dw i have makeup remover" "WHAT IF THAT DOESN'T WORK 🤯🤯" "TWEEK"

okay so the lipstick may turn out ugly bc of how shaky he is but ITS OKAY BC ITS TWEEK DUH, "a-are you sure you dont want to redo this?" "tweek its fine"

he insists on redoing it the 2nd try turns our worse because he's even more twitchy because of how close you are☺️☺️☺️

his face is just red because he keeps wiping it off with his hands so you can redo it and its obvious too

recording it was so funny because you can't stop laughing at the smudge lipsticks

when posted the comments were so cute but... uh questionable some were "the way the smudges are so obvious 😭😭❤️" or "wishing my future relationship will be like this 🤭" and some were just "tip colour when?? 😜"

[corroded-hellfire]

Finally His Year - Eddie Munson x Reader

An As You Wish Story

Collab with my soulmate @munson-blurbs 🩵

Summary: It’s Eddie’s birthday and what he really wants is you.

Note: In honor of JQ’s 30th birthday woohoo 🎉

Words: 4.1k

[As You Wish masterlist]

The Munson house is buzzing when you arrive. There are three unfamiliar cars parked in front of it, probably from the other people celebrating Eddie’s birthday with him. You have his gift tucked under your arm and a Tupperware of raspberry and white chocolate chip cookies in that same hand, using the free one to ring the doorbell. 

You barely have time to pull your forefinger back before the door swings open. Luke peeks his head around, grinning when he sees you standing there. 

“Good evening, madam-a-zell,” he says in a vague concoction of European accents—none of them even resembling French. “May I take your—ooh, cookies!”

Laughing, you reach over and ruffle his mop of curls. “These are for Daddy, Luke-miere.” When his face falls, you quickly add, “but maybe he’ll share.”

This placates him, and he skips off to announce your arrival. As soon as he says your name, you hear the sound of Eddie’s feet shuffling towards the entryway. 

“You made it!” He says with a huge smile. In your dreams, he pulls you in for a hug and kisses you tenderly. But this is real life, so he just stands with his hands in his pockets. 

“I made it,” you agree awkwardly. It takes a moment for you to remember everything you’re holding. “Oh, these are all for you.” You maneuver it all, handing him the cylindrical tube and then the plastic container. Luke loudly clears his throat, and you grin. “Unless you feel like sharing the cookies.”

Eddie takes the presents, shaking his head at his younger son’s interruption. “I’ll consider it. Thank you, Sweetheart.”

That stupid nickname. You love and hate it; as much as he calls you that, you know you’re not his sweetheart. Because he’s married. 

His wife—God, you hated that she held that title—was sipping a full glass of wine. Though she’s standing next to Nancy, the two aren’t exchanging any words. 

You should go over there. Brittany is technically one of your employers, so it’s best not to rock the boat. Unless, of course, you could ensure she’d fall overboard. 

Plastering a feigned smile on your face, you walk over to her. Before you can even get out a hello, she points towards Ryan and Luke. 

“They have to go to bed at nine o’clock, so just have them in their pajamas with their teeth brushed by then.”

Embarrassment crawls under your skin. “Oh, I, um, I’m actually here for the party. Not to babysit.”

Brittany doesn’t seem thrown off at all; she just rolls her eyes and turns to Nancy. “Didn’t realize people still needed parties after they turned thirty,” she quips. 

To her credit, Nancy just shrugs and walks to you, ignoring the snark hurled your way. She guides you over to where the rest of the group is chatting. 

“Can you say, ‘Uncle Dusty’?” Dustin asks little Tiffany Mayfield-Sinclair, gently bouncing her in his arms. “C’mon…Un-kul Duh-stee!”

“Elmo!” Tiffany claps her chubby hands together gleefully, unbothered by Dustin’s frustration. 

“I think your kid’s broken,” he grumbles, handing the little girl back to Lucas. 

“She was fine until you held her,” Lucas quips as he holds his daughter against his chest.

“Or maybe she just thinks you look like Elmo,” Steve offers with a shrug. 

“What is this, high school?” Dustin asks, looking between his friends. “Ganging up on me?”

Eddie shakes his head and gives a loud tsk. 

“It’s because you’re not part of the club, Henderson.”

“Oh, because I’m not a dad?” Dustin asks, gesturing with a motion that looks very similar to jazz hands. “That’s fine. Because I’m the coolest uncle these kids have. Someone has to be that figure in their lives.”

“Are they always like this?” you ask Nancy with an amused chuckle.

“Since high school,” Nancy confirms with a sigh. “The sad thing is, I can see how they’ve matured since then.”

You giggle at her response before there’s a weighted thunk against the front of your legs. Ryan’s chocolate eyes peer up at you, a huge grin on his round face. 

“Well hello, you,” you greet him, reaching down to ruffle his honey colored hair. 

“I’m so happy you’re here!” Ryan cheers. Warmth spreads in your chest at his words. You’re touched until he opens his mouth again to ask, “Luke said you brought cookies?”

“I did,” you tell him, tugging on a lock of hair that’s fallen into his eyes. “But they’re for your dad. It’s up to him if he wants to share with you guys.” Of course he will, you think to yourself. Eddie loves these boys more than Luke loves his Hot Wheels collection; and as you’re reminded by the five-year-old almost every day you babysit, that’s a lot. 

“Maybe after he opens his presents,” Ryan muses, more to himself than you. “Or after we have the cake Aunt Nancy made.

“Ryan!”

A little girl’s call echoes around the room. The older Munson boy gives you a quick smile before running towards the kitchen where Natalie Harrington is drawing a picture. 

Something Ryan said sticks in your brain though. You turn towards Nancy, brow pinching slightly.

“You made Eddie’s cake?” you ask. 

The deep breath Nancy takes lets you know there’s more to the story than she’s probably going to tell you. After all, she hardly knows you. The two of you had only met a handful of times since you started watching the boys last year and none of the visits were particularly long. It's an annoyed sigh that Nancy heaves out, her petite shoulders falling with the release. She’s not annoyed at you, if her kindness and body language towards you are anything to go on. So, what’s got her so tense?

“I did,” Nancy affirms. She’s quiet for a moment and at first you think that’s all she’s going to say. But the way her head bobbles slightly from side to side and her jaw muscles tighten and release, you can tell she’s picking her words carefully before she speaks. To her, you’re her friend’s employee so how much should she reveal? “Steve, um, called Eddie yesterday morning to confirm the time for the party today. Eddie was headed out the door just as Steve called. He said he was going to the grocery store. To buy his own birthday cake.”

“His own? Why couldn’t his wife get it? Or better yet, why didn’t she make one for him with the boys?” Your mind floats back to when you and the boys made a cake for Ryan’s birthday over the summer. It was messy and overly sweet, but the love and care put into it are what made it special. 

“That’s what I said,” Nancy grits out through a clenched jaw. After a few moments, you see Nancy’s body deflate. The tension rolls off her like a wave returning to the sea. “So, I made him one. Carrot cake with cream cheese frosting.”

“Carrot cake?” you ask, wrinkling up your nose. It’s not that you disliked the dessert, it just wasn’t what you would’ve pegged Eddie for on his birthday. 

“I know,” Nancy says with a small chuckle. She shakes her head in amusement, wavy locks of hair swaying at the movement. “He can’t be typical, right? Not chocolate or vanilla—or even strawberry, but carrot cake. That’s Eddie for ya.”

The party continues with casual conversations: milestones Tiffany is meeting, work updates for the “kids” (who were now full-fledged adults, but would always be freshmen to Eddie), and a tentatively scheduled reunion for their high school Dungeons & Dragons club. It only came to a stop when there was a crash in the kitchen. 

Everyone’s heads whipped around at the sound, worried that one of the Munson or Harrington children was causing chaos, but the reason for the clamor was none other than Brittany. She’d dropped the cheese and cracker board on the ground and was laughing like she’d just heard the funniest joke. 

“Oopsie daisy!” She cackles, nearly falling over with the force of her laugh. While the rest of you had been casually sipping wine or beer, she had been drinking like she was at a frat party. 

“Jesus,” Nancy mutters under her breath. 

Eddie glances at Steve, who nods at Lucas, and the two of them step in towards Brittany. 

“C’mon, time for bed, Britt,” Steve says as patiently as he can manage. He hooks an arm around her, and Lucas does the same on the other side. It’s obvious that this isn’t the first time they’ve done this. A well-oiled machine, ensuring that the kids are none the wiser.

Small miracles, you suppose. 

“We can do presents when they get back,” Max jumps in, trying to keep the attention away from the drunk woman stumbling away. 

Eddie nods in agreement, collecting the various gifts from the kitchen table and placing them next to his spot on the sofa. When he sits, he spreads his legs enough that you can imagine yourself between them, pressing kisses up his thighs to his—

No. Stop it. 

When Steve and Lucas return, Eddie reaches for the first package. Though the room is filled with excited murmurs and crinkling wrapping paper, you can still make out the quiet conversation between Nancy and her husband. 

“Did you hold a pillow over her head?”

“No, Nance.”

“Damn it.”

You tuck your lips into your mouth to stifle a smile. 

Eddie pulls out a pair of sneakers from the box: white with a black check mark on the side. He immediately slides them on his feet, wiggling his toes around to ensure enough room. “These are perfect! My old ones were falling apart.”

“We know,” Nancy says wryly as Steve proudly announces, “You said you liked mine, so I got you the same ones.”

“Aww!” Dustin coos, pursing his lips exaggeratedly. “You guys are twins!

Eddie discreetly flips him off before continuing through his stash. Theo and Natalie Harrington made him woven friendship bracelets, which he immediately slid onto his left wrist. When he opens Dustin’s gift, a mug printed with the words “rock ‘n roll” underneath a cartoon rock and dinner roll, Wayne proclaims that it’s even cornier than the ones in the trailer. 

Eddie’s face lights up at the present from Max and Lucas—a new Walkman and some heavy metal cassettes. 

A pit forms in your stomach: is your gift going to be enough? Will he even like it? Was this whole thing a bad—

“Holy shit.”

You look up to see Eddie staring awestruck at the now-unwrapped present; specifically, the present you got for him. It’s an autographed Metallica poster that you’d spotted at the mall months ago, before his birthday was even a consideration. You’d bought it and kept it safely in your room, waiting for the perfect time to give it to him. 

“Sweetheart, this is…” He just shakes his head, blinking misty eyes. “Wow. I, um…thank you,” he finally manages. 

Unbeknownst to you, Eddie had seen that same poster just last week. He had Brittany’s shopping bags clutched in his hands when he walked towards the record store. 

Kirk Hammett’s signature called to him like a siren. 

Eddie was just about ready to pay for it when Brittany marched over, plucking it from his grip and mumbling something about not having room for any more of his stupid music shit. 

That had been the end of that. 

“You’re welcome,” you say with a small shrug, as if it was nothing at all. “I saw it and immediately thought of you.” That wasn’t too much to say, right? It’s normal to think of someone when you see something you know they’d love, right? Even if that person is your boss?

Once Luke stops scavenging through his father’s presents like one might be hidden there for him, he looks up at his dad with wide, pleading eyes that he most definitely inherited from the man. 

“Time for caaaake?”

Eddie snorts and playfully rolls his eyes. A ringed hand comes down to ruffle the little boy’s curls.

“I guess we could have cake now.”

The Munson boys and the Harrington sibling duo cheer in excitement and beat everyone else into the kitchen. All you can hear as the kids disappear into the next room is an I’m okay! from Luke.

Steve taps you on the shoulder as you step over the threshold into the kitchen.

“Hey, could you give me a hand with the cake?” he asks. 

“Sure.” You follow Steve over to the refrigerator, silently wondering how many women had actually denied the handsome man anything when he asked in such a smooth voice. 

The cake looks delicious as Steve pulls it out of the fridge. Nancy definitely put in some work to make sure it turned out this lovely. The cream cheese frosting is smooth on all sides with delicate piping lining the edge of the rectangular sheet cake. In a beautiful scrawl that is far nicer than your own handwriting, she had written “Happy Birthday Eddie!” in black gel icing. 

Steve sets the cake down on the gray granite counter and reaches for a drugstore bag that has a pack of candles and a lighter in it. The two of you work as a team to plug the cake with the multicolored striped sticks and take turns lighting different sides of the cake. 

“You got it?” Steve asks as he steps over towards the light switches on the wall.

“Yep,” you assure him as you carefully lift the flaming desert off the counter. Turning around to face the table proves the most difficult part as you slowly spin your body while keeping the cake steady. 

Eddie is seated at the table, kids surrounding him on all sides as they clamor about what’s taking so long with the cake. Taking so long? You thought you and Steve worked pretty efficiently together. 

“Watch out rugrats,” Dustin says, clapping a hand on Luke’s shoulder and pulling him out of your way. 

You give the curly haired man a grateful smile before you slide the cake onto the table right in front of Eddie. As you go to pull your arms away, pale, calloused fingers reach up and rest against your skin for a moment.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Eddie says. 

All you did was carry a cake over but you’re more than glad to receive praise from your boss any time that you can. 

Steve flips the kitchen lights off and everyone breaks into a rousing rendition of Happy Birthday. Ryan stands right in front of you as you sing, and you rest your hands on his small shoulders. 

“Make a wish!” Luke calls from Dustin’s side once the singing ended. He watches as his dad purses his lips, thinking of a wish. The dim lighting in the room may be playing tricks on you, but you could’ve sworn Eddie’s eyes flickered over to you before he took a deep breath and blew out all thirty-something of the candles on the first try. 

“Yay!” Luke cheers while everyone else claps. “Whatcha wish for?”

Ryan scoffs and rolls his eyes at his little brother. “He can’t tell you or it won’t come true.”

“For my last birthday I wished for a pet,” Luke says. 

“Is that why you dug up the worm in the backyard?” Eddie asks.

“Yep,” Luke announces, a proud smile on his face. 

“Wormy Munson is missed,” Ryan says, patting his little brother’s shoulder. 

The attention quickly turns from squiggly little pets when Nancy asks the room, “Who wants a piece?”

“Me!” Four children’s hands shoot up at the same time, but Nancy just shakes her head at them.

“Birthday boy gets first crack at it,” she says as she slices a piece and transfers it to a Darth Vader paper plate. Nancy delivers that and a plastic fork to Eddie before returning to the counter to cut slices for the rest of the guests. 

When you get your piece of cake, you slip into a seat next to Eddie’s at the table. 

“So, carrot cake, huh?” you ask him with a playful smirk on your face. 

“Hey, gotta get vegetables into these kids somehow,” Eddie says, reaching behind him to tickle Ryan’s belly. The older boy laughs and moves out of his dad’s reach. 

“Broccoli brownies next?” you ask, a shit eating grin on your face before you pop a chunk of cake into your mouth.

“Such a smart ass,” Eddie teases, scooping some of his icing onto his pinky and wiping it off on the tip of your nose. Both boys giggle as you try to reach it with your tongue, trying to stretch it out as far as possible to lick it off. Though the boys found it funny, Eddie had an entirely different feeling wash over him as he watched your tongue snake out to try and lick the white substance off your face. His pants tighten and Eddie shifts in his seat, trying to hide his crotch further beneath the table. 

Guests drift in and out of the kitchen with their plates of cake, mingling with one another out in the living room. You offer to collect the paper plates up for the garbage once everyone is done. You’re carrying the stack back towards the kitchen when you hear Steve and Eddie having a conversation in there. It’s pretty clear this is just meant to be between them, but when you hear Steve’s question to his best friend, your feet become glued to the floor. 

“Think you’ll finally get lucky tonight since it’s your birthday?” 

Eddie snorts. “It doesn’t seem like it.” You can practically picture him nodding his head in the direction of his bedroom where Brittany is probably snoring her ass off as she sleeps off her alcohol. You really hope she has a hangover tomorrow. 

“Not what I meant, dude,” Steve replies.

This catches you off guard. Who could Steve possibly be talking about if not Brittany? Does… A sickening thought winds its way through your brain, claws taking hold in those places that are already prone to insecurities. Does Eddie have a girlfriend? It’s not like you would judge him for it after Brittany’s whoring around is common knowledge. But it drives an ice pick through your heart just picturing Eddie with his own awful, evil wife. Knowing he might be with someone who could be kind and caring should comfort you—but it doesn’t. It makes you want to tear your skin off to think of Eddie with anyone else but you. Because if he wasn’t going to be with Brittany, you wanted him to be with you. And if you didn’t even get a chance to show him what the two of you could be together? The idea threatened to destroy you. 

“Watch it Harrington,” Eddie answers Steve, his voice low. It’s the closest thing to a warning you’ve ever heard from him. 

A familiar toddler’s cry abruptly ends their conversation and your now-agonizing eavesdropping. Eddie shakes his head, giving Steve one last glare as he walks out of the kitchen, and looks over at a wailing Tiffany Mayfield-Sinclair. 

Ryan scrunches his face. “Daddy, play her the song!”

“Yeah, play it!” Luke echoes, hands pressed to his ears. 

Now you’re intrigued. “What song?”

Eddie sighs. “Boys, I don’t think anyone wants to hear me play—”

“Au contraire,” Dustin butts in with a smirk. He hands Eddie his acoustic guitar, propped up in the corner. “I think we’d all love a little concert.”

Eddie gives you a look that pleads help me out here, but you’re already invested. 

“Concert! Concert!” You chant, laughing when the others join in. 

He doesn’t say anything, just slips the strap over his shoulder and quickly tunes the guitar. 

“If…you’re…happy and you know it, clap your hands!”

Everyone in the room claps twice. Everyone except Tiffany, who is still wailing. 

“If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands!”

Same result. 

“All right, all right. Let’s skip to a different verse.” Eddie takes in the baby’s squealing form. 

“If…you’re…angry and you know it, do a growl.” He lets out the most ridiculous roar you’ve ever heard, and you can’t help but laugh. 

From her mother’s arms, Tiffany lets out a roar of her own. Your giggle catches her attention, and she reaches out for you to hold her. 

For a moment, Eddie believes his heart is going to implode from the sweet scene in front of him. He wills himself to concentrate on playing, but the sight of you holding a baby girl weakens his resolve. How many times has he daydreamed about you holding his baby girl that he shares with you? Probably too many times on the job for someone who deals with heavy machinery. In his mind she has your hair and his eyes—though he knows she’d probably gets his curls since both boys have them to a degree.

Tiffany bounces in your arms, enraptured in the music. If Eddie plays Old MacDonald, she’ll be mind-blown. 

The soft timbre of Eddie’s voice, enthusiastic enough to capture Tiffany’s attention without riling her up, has your heart beating double time. Though you’ve known from the beginning that Eddie plays guitar, this is the first time you actually get to witness it. It’s as sexy as you’ve always imagined—even if he’s only playing nursery rhymes.

“There we go,” Eddie murmurs as whatever had been bothering the little girl seemingly dissipates. He grins at Max and Lucas. “That should buy you about five minutes before the next meltdown.”

Sure enough, the crying starts up again, signaling the party’s end. Hugs are exchanged as everyone clears out; final “happy birthday’s” sent Eddie’s way.

There’s a small tug on your arm just as you’re about to grab your purse. “Can you tuck us into bed?” Ryan asks, eyes wide. Luke’s at his side, nodding in agreement. 

“Of course.” Always the babysitter, you think, but you truly enjoy being a part of their lives. The fact that they also enjoy it makes it even better.

The youngest Munson beams at you. “Maybe you can sleep over!”

“Uh, not this time. Sorry, kiddo.”

After teeth have been brushed and bedtime stories have been read, you retreat back to the kitchen. Eddie is clipping open bags of potato chips, and you start to gather any used paper platesto toss in the trash. 

“You don’t have to,” Eddie says, gesturing towards the stack of disposable cups in your hand. 

You cock your brow and smirk. “Do you really wanna clean all of this by yourself?”

“Fuck no.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He smiles back at you, shaking his head when he notices icing smeared on the back of a kitchen chair. “Should’ve put the boys on clean-up duty” he grunts.

“Then everything would just get shoved under the couch and they’d call it a day,” you point out, and he readily agrees.

Once the floor has been swept and the leftover food has been placed in the refrigerator, you have no valid excuse to stay any longer.

“I should get going,” you say, plucking your keys from your bag and twirling the chain around your forefinger. “I hope you had a good birthday.”

Eddie nods as he walks with you to the front door. He holds it open for you, then follows you out to your car. “Yeah, it was great. Especially your gift. It, um, meant a lot.” A slight rosiness tinges his cheeks, and he pulls you in for a hug.

You return it easily, your arms wrapping around his torso. Both of you hold on a beat longer than necessary, but you can’t seem to pull away.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, breath tickling your ear. He leans in; for a moment, it seems like he’s going to kiss the top of your head, but he takes a step back. Eddie’s done it so many times in his mind before that he almost forgot he doesn’t get to do it in real life. “Get home safe, yeah?”

“I will.” You duck into your car, giving him a small wave before you pull out of the driveway. As you drive, you watch Eddie trudge back into the house from your rearview mirror.

Once he’s inside, he closes the door and breathes out a sigh. He adjusts himself over his pants, painfully aware that he’s half-hard from a simple hug. Looking towards the bedroom he shares with Brittany, he pivots away and beelines towards the Tupperware of cookies you’d made.

Taking a big bite, he chews thoughtfully, delaying the inevitable. If only he could curl up next to you instead of her. He chuckles at the insanity of the idea and takes another bite of cookie.

“Happy fuckin’ birthday to me.”

[dearherondale]

I love how there must be like 5 ppl rn that are talking about Wind and Truth and we are all liking each other's posts. the whole gang is here woohoo !!

[alphabetboyluvr]

throttle │ jjk - one

this fic is my baby and has just hit 400k over on wp, so I'm sharing her here too he he

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven

warnings - jungkook is blonde <3, he's also a bit of an asshole. dangerous driving, alcohol consumption, nothing major, we're setting scenes, building worlds just to ruin them woohoo. mentions of violence, gang dynamics. both the oc and jk swear like sailors.

word count - 17.8k

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

The bell above the gas station door always chimes just a little bit louder than is really necessary. 

In fact, the shrill clang of metal is so intrusive, that it feels borderline rude every single time a customer swings the door open. It's only natural for you to ignore it now, affronted by the way it distracts your focus.

It's not like you're ever doing anything important. Just flicking through the day's newspapers or counting stock. 

Although, come to think of it, you're never actually counting stock, either. You leave that job for Jieun, because you know she's a stickler for the rules, and likes feeling accomplished after her shifts are finished.

You're not really sure how much accomplishment can be derived from a part-time job at a GS25 attached to a gas station forecourt, but she seems to enjoy it.

This job really isn't for you - but it's better than following your father into local politics, and nepotism is all you really have going for you, considering you flunked the college entrance exam. An act of rebellion, for the corruption scandal your father had chosen to embroil himself in during your senior year, you had refused to write a single word on the paper. 

You thought it would embarrass him - and it did. Just at your expense.

And so, while it may not be your childhood dream of being a pop star, or a vet, or anything of any significance, ringing up bills at the gas station is how you're able to pay your own bills. It'll do for now.

You ignore the chime of the bell as the door to the service station opens once more. 

It's the start of the year, and the breeze is bitter whenever it rushes in. This time, the wind is accompanied by a guy in his mid-thirties. Dark slacks, burgundy jumper. His off-brand sliders scuff across the floor as he traipses round to the refrigerator, bottle clinking as he picks up a little soju and some beer for his evening. It's not an uncommon occurrence for men his age.

You hypothesise his next move. To the snack section to pick up something for his kids? Maybe straight to the kiosk to pay for his fuel? You check the screen, and notice he's barely added enough gas to cover the minimum charge. 

A scornful mutter of 'priorities' laces your lips, as you see him put back the soju and reach for the whisky instead.

Still, you can't blame him. It's fucking freezing. A little whisky to warm him up will probably be as cost-effective as getting a new boiler that actually works.

It's all just an assumption of course. 

You don't know this man, and you don't have a clue if his boiler works or not - but thinking about the lives of the people you meet for split fractions of time always helps to make your shift go quicker. 

He comes to the counter, pays, and leaves. 

You wonder if he's made up a life for you in his head, too.

Probably not. He probably already has an actual life to distract him from his thoughts. Maybe that's what the whisky is for.

And there you go again; hypothesising. Thinking. Putting your assumptions onto strangers.

The next customer is a girl around your age, wearing a fluffy pink coat and hoops big enough to be worn as bangles. She arrives on foot, pushing the swing door open without much care for excessive force. 

You decide, all rather quickly, that she must work at the gentlemen's club around the corner from the gas station. She's buying a coffee, iced, and nothing else. 

It's when she's at the kiosk that you realise your make-believe life for her is terribly inaccurate. She fumbles with her purse, dropping her staff I.D. card.

She's a nurse. Paediatric nurse, to be specific. The coffee she's picked up isn't for a boost before a shift on the poles, but to keep her going through a night on the wards.

And yet despite how your assumptions are so often so wrong, you still consider yourself to be a good judge of character.

It's a flaw, the way you always seem to think you can read people; think you can look at their demeanour, their clothes, and assume their financial status, what they do after the sun sets, and if they're going home to an empty house or not.

Your thoughts become lore. The gas station you work in is the thick leather cover that protects your make-believe world from outsiders.

When the bell chimes again, you don't look up. 

It's a habit. You don't want to make eye contact. It breaks the illusion that these people are just characters in your head.

Instead, you glance up to the curved mirror in the far corner of the shop. It acts as a second pair of eyes, and is ignored by pretty much all of the customers - except for the teenage girls who like to take selfies in it.

Tall, you assess when you finally find the new customer in the mirror. Broad. 

His posture a little sloped, but all things considered, he carries himself well. He heads for the refrigerators, just like every man above the age of 19 seems to do on a Friday night. There's that clink again, and you guess he's going for soju. He's young, so it seems apt. Whatever's cheapest seems to be the drink of choice for the guys your age, and you can't blame them.

You watch, cautious to not catch his gaze, as he heads to the food fridge. 

Gimbap, you guess. Tuna, not chicken. One roll, not two. 

He pulls out his phone to check a notification, and you notice just how hard his gaze is. There's a ridge between his brows, and a couple silver ballbearings accenting the brow farthest from you. Whatever he's reading on his phone, he doesn't like.

Girlfriend, you guess again. No. An ex. No, no. A FWB turned far-too-clingy. 

He looks like the type to be after something a little casual. 

The tattoos on his hands are nothing special - you've seen hands like his in countless 'sneaky' Instagram stories; a hand on the thigh, holding a bag. Y'know, the ones. The kind of shit girls post with the caption 'private, not secret' - but you both know there's nothing really 'private' about it. The owner of the hands will be blocked within a week or two, once the girl realises he's nothing special, just like his hands.

You hear him mutter beneath his breath. You can't quite make it out, but the way he shakes his head lets you know that it was most likely a curse. He locks his phone, tucks it into the back pocket of his jeans, and carries on looking for something to eat. 

You watch as his gaze lifts and falls.

That's it, you urge silently. Go for the gimbap.

You want to be proven right. 

He's already got a green bottle tucked into the pocket of his black bomber jacket, so you know you've got his choice of drink correct. You're assuming that your guess about his phone is correct, too, so you only need one more right to get a full house.

As he looks across the snacks - gimbap, vacuum-sealed meats, cheese, strawberry sandwiches and enough microwavable food to feed an orphanage - he pushes his hair out of his face. The way it falls back down almost instantly makes you smile. 

He needs a haircut - but you bet that his FWB (turned far-too-clingy lover) loves it, so he keeps it long for her satisfaction. It's bleached; pale as the sticky rice balls he's eyeing up, with dark roots that let you know he's trouble. No boy with hair like that has ever been good news. Especially not the ones who look like him.

Or so you guess look like him. He's wearing a mask. It's black, to match his outfit, cinched at the nose, hooked around ears that are studded up the sides. He must have, what? Five? Six? Little square studs in there. Airport security must be a nightmare.

You smile to yourself as he reaches for gimbap. One roll, not two. Tuna, not chicken. Bingo.

"Pump six," he says as he approaches the counter. You already know. It's been waiting on the screen since he walked in. There's no one else in the forecourt. "And these."

He tosses down the gimbap, and pulls the soju from his pocket, an old receipt coming with it. Kang's Auto Repairs it reads, but he stuffs it back into his pocket before you can read anything else.

"We're cheaper," you note, not really caring for revealing just how incredibly nosey you are. There's a perspex screen between you, which always makes you feel protected - from people, their judgements and whatever other airborne diseases they might be carrying. From the looks of him, the only diseases he'll be carrying are the ones found beneath the sheets. He's too well-built to be suffering from any ailments - but equally, too well built to not to be fucking about. "Cheaper than Kang's, I mean. He'll charge you an arm and a leg for the honour of his service."

"Hmm?" He raises a brow, obviously just wanting to pay for his shit and go. "Thanks, but I like Kang's. Been going there for years."

You hold back a laugh. He's no older than you. 24? 25? Yet he's talking like he's been loyal to that over-priced, under-qualified garage for decades. The neighbourhood is littered with garages, scrap part dealers and gas stations, and yet Kang's is the main competitor for your place. It's not even in this neighbourhood - it's across the river, which is a different district entirely, but the proximity is close enough. Your boss will never miss an opportunity to shit talk Old Man Kang and his 'con-artist' car mechanics. He doesn't think any of them are actually trained.

"Yeah, well," you smile, scanning his items, pretending there's a fault with the barcode on his gimbap just to be a little annoying. "Our guy, Yoongi, he's a specialist with those." You nod out of the window and towards the car by pump six. It's red; a little bit brash, but a classic. "Pony, right? Hyundai? '80?"

"Pony," he nods, tone neutral but eyes a little narrow. Doesn't know why, but he didn't expect you to know - and then he remembers you work at a garage. Of course you know. Got the year wrong, though."It's an '83. A mark two. I'll keep the suggestion in mind," he adds, though you both know he's lying. "How much do I owe you?"

He doesn't really listen as you list off the figure. Just hands you his card, hums when you ask for his signature - sign of a big spender, must be a full tank - and says little else. His phone buzzes on the counter as he stuffs his purchases back into his pockets, and you glance down - again, not caring for the discretion of your nosey tendencies.

KNJ. (1)   New Message.

Sneaky bastard, you think. How rude of him not to have his message previews displayed.

You're not sure if he caught you looking, but he snaps his phone up regardless and shoves it into his back pocket.

"Cheers," he nods, before he sets off into the night. Car unlocked, he slides into the driver's seat and empties his pockets onto the passengers' side. You watch on for a moment, before there's a rattle of his exhaust pipe, engine roaring into action - and like that, he's gone. You assume he's not on his way to his FWB (turned far-too-clingy lover). Wouldn't have bought tuna if he was. Then again, he's a guy. You don't expect him to care about such social cues.

Maybe he's just left hers. His neck did seem a little red, but then again, it's cold. Minus 3. The river you walk across to get to work is frozen over, and has been for about two weeks now. You've got a heat pack stuffed in either pocket of your work jacket. 

Well, Yoongi's work jacket. It's his name stitched into the breast pocket - but it's bigger than yours, so you can fit a few more layers beneath it. If the boss saw you in it, he'd have a bitch fit for 'not following company protocols,' and for not caring about the 'company brand image'. Which is true. You're neither following protocols, nor do you care about the company nor its brand image. 

It's just gone nine on a Friday night, though, and the boss clocked out a few hours ago with a bottle of makgeolli and the day's newspaper under his arm. He's not gonna see. And if he does, what's he gonna do? Fire you? Good luck to him finding anyone else who wants to spend their winter nights freezing half-to-death in this shit hole of a gas station.

By the time midnight hits, you've been yawning for at least an hour. Keeping yourself warm is a laboursome task.

"You're gonna catch a cold," Yoongi acknowledges as he enters the shop through the back entrance. He's still wrapped up in a calf-length puffa jacket, all warm and cosy. He heads out past the kiosks as normal, up to the fridges. Bagged americano and a cup of ice. You know his score - and you're proven right. "Tell me why I agreed to cover your night shift, again?" he says with a slight shiver as he scans through his own items.

Though he's typically out fixing up cars behind the service station, he helps you out at the kiosk too. Normally just when there are staff shortages - which in all fairness, occur more frequently than you'd expect.

"'Cause you love me," you sing, knowing that it's entirely plausible. 

Yoongi - stone-cold, stoic, as emotionally inept as you'd expect a bachelor verging on his 30s to be - could very much be in love with you. It's not like he really speaks to many other women, and he's never given you a reason to believe he's not interested. 

But he does give you his jacket, cuts you slack on the days you feel like shit, and covers the shifts you don't want to work without asking any questions. Sometimes he sneaks you the food that was meant to be tossed in the bin overnight, and other times he makes sure there's a peach tea waiting for you when you clock in.

"It's 'cause I love money," he corrects, as if the extra 30,000 won he'll make from the last three hours of your shift is really an incentive. He's already spent 3,000 on his coffee. "Now scram. Get yourself home. Fucking freezing tonight. Want me to call you a cab?"

That'll be an extra 7,000 to his evenings' expenses. You really don't think he does love the money. At least not enough for it to be a reasonable excuse.

"It's good," you shake your head. "You know I'm not far away."

He nods, not really fighting your choices. It's not like you ever accept his offer anyway. He learned quite a long time ago that if you want something done, you'll do it for yourself.

Y'see, you're not the only one who watches.

Yoongi watches you too, as you tap through on the screen to log yourself out and cash up the till. 

You've only run 260,000 through your till in the last four hours, barely enough to make ends meet for the gas station. No wonder the place hasn't had any upgrades - with the exception of tills and a new fridge every now and again - since the mid-noughties. The signs are rusting, and Yoongi still has to change the fuel prices by hand every morning.

On the rare shifts you work together, you like to make assumptions together. You guess what people are gonna buy, hypothesise where they're going, who they're going with. When you hear bottles clink, you guess which flavour soju they're going for, as if you don't only have 4 flavours stocked. During the summer, you like to guess who's filling up their tanks to go to the coast.

The door chimes as a new customer walks in, and Yoongi knocks his head back. "Go on, out. I'll cash your till up. It's all good."

You ask if he's sure, to which he smiles and tells you to leave again - so you do. Not without thanking him, and fluttering your lashes a little. Maybe it is your fault, just a little, that Yoongi might be a tiny bit in love with you. 

"I owe you the world!" You squeal as you skip out the door. He laughs, but says nothing. He just wants you home and safe as quickly as possible.

Yoongi doesn't mind covering your shifts, not this late at night. He knows this area doesn't have the best reputation, and despite your sharp tongue, he knows that you'd stand absolutely no chance if someone decided that it seemed like a good place to commit a felony or two. 

It's a debate you've had a few times before. You know he's right, but you fight against him regardless. It always makes him smile, and only adds to your theory that he might be a little bit in love with you.

You forget the quiet thrum in your chest as soon as the cold air hits you. Yoongi traded his jacket with you before you left; him now in his work uniform, and you in his thick puffa which reaches down to your ankles. Hands stuffed into his pockets, your shoulders hunch as you walk, a mask covering your face just to keep the heat in. Your scarf is wrapped around you so tightly that you might just suffocate, but it would be worth it, you think. You hate this time of year. So fucking cold, and for what?

The bridge lights are off by the time you reach it, illuminated only by a couple of cars. They're sat up towards the far end, facing you, and you sigh. Every fucking weekend.

It's not always the same cars, but quite often it is - or some variation of the same group, at least. They sit, waiting for traffic to die down and the lights to cut off, before turning the bridge into their own little speedway.

You should have guessed from the sound of that asshole's exhaust earlier that evening that he'd be one of them. 

The fact he goes to Kang's, too. 

It's obvious, when you think about it now. 

Guys his age never fill up their tanks - but he did. Filled it up just to spit it all out again, painting the road in iridescent speckles of gas.

You can see the Pony. It's the car farthest away from you, next to a black SsangYong. 

You can't make out the model of the SsangYong, but it looks fast. It's lowered, windows tinted, exhaust tampered with, just to create an almighty roar - which screams 'I have a tiny cock'. 

At least with the Pony, you can tell that the sound being delivered comes from his engine. Credit where it's due, and all that. He could still very much have a tiny cock, but at least he's better at hiding it.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you hug into yourself to preserve heat. The lights of the cars make you a little self-conscious, aware that you're the only thing in sight that's disturbing their peace. There's ice on the road, but you pay it no notice, knowing that there's no point in worrying about one of the cars swerving off-road as they inevitably shoot past you. 

If it happens, it happens.

The SsangYong is loud. Obnoxiously, so. You can hear pressure being put down and released on the gas pedal, clutch raised. He's teasing you. Warning you. Hurry up. 

Next to it, the Pony hums. He doesn't seem interested in taunting you as if you could fight a two-tonne vehicle as it hurtles towards you. That, or he doesn't want to waste his gas. Lord knows he'll be wasting enough of it tonight as it is.

"Try me, fucker," you mumble under your breath, eyes trained on the black car. You can't make out its driver, nor do you really care. 

It's at this point you notice a guy on the opposite side of the road. 

He flashes the torch of his phone, once, twice. The Pony kicks into gear now, too, revving to rival the SsangYong. You're halfway across the bridge, wishing they could have just waited, like, one more minute. But whatever. Assholes will be assholes.

The torch guy is out of your line of vision by the time you hear tyres screech against the ice-cold road, rubber-burning regardless. The Ssangyong bolts, fumes from the exhaust fogging in the air behind it. You expect the Pony to do the same.

It takes you half a second to realise it's stagnated, and another half to realise that things aren't going to plan for Mr Gimbap.

There's a thud from the back wheels as they lock and release, causing the wheels to spin out. You've seen enough wheel spins now to know one, and as the Pony lurches forward, you know that's exactly what it is - but you also know the road is icy. 

The fun of a wheel spin, or so Yoongi likes to tell you, is that brief moment of lost control. He likes to do it whenever he gives you a lift home, because he finds the way you freak out funny - but he's always in command of his vehicle. He's never done it with you in the car during the winter. He knows better. Doesn't actually want to lose control.

At least, not like the dude in the driver's seat of the Pony currently is. 

The back kicks out, sending him swerving. The front wheels are a fucking mess, his hands twisting the wheel in an attempt to rectify his fuck up. It's fruitless. He's off the clutch, the wheels aren't spinning, but he's already on the ice, and he's hurtling towards you.

You're aware you should run, but like the river, you're stuck. Frozen in place. 

Maybe you should have accepted Yoongi's offer of a taxi. RIP.

There's another biting screech as you're doused in headlights, and you're pretty sure that this is what people mean when they say you see the light before you die. Fucking blinding. No way those lamps are regulation approved.

It's as you're bracing yourself for the inevitable end (and thinking about how embarrassing it's going to be when your family is tasked with clearing out your apartment after your demise - you haven't cleaned for weeks, laundry has been sat in the washer for two days, and there's a pizza box that you don't dare look in sitting next to the bin) that miracle seems to strike.

The Pony hits an uniced patch just in time for the driver to slam on his breaks. Handbrake, by the sound of it, but you're not sure. Not really sure of anything. Your heart is beating in your throat.

Steam is coming from the heat of the tyres, but the air around you is frozen, and so are you. You're not sure if it's from the cold or from the shock. A bit of both probably. You don't shake out of it until the driver's door pops open.

"The fuck are you doing?" He shouts. His mask is off now, not like it had been in the store. Light glimmers off yet more metal stuck in face, this time a ring around his plump bottom lip. His nose, though well proportioned, is blushed. "I could have fucking hit you!"

"Uh, yeah?" You almost laugh, too stunned to compute the fact that he was shouting at you. "Yeah, you could have fucking hit me, you asshole-"

"The fuck are you doing on the bridge? This late? Wearing all fucking black? I know you work around here, so I know you know what this place is used for-"

"Yeah, it's a bridge," you deadpan. It's notorious for racing, but who cares? It's not like you're in the wrong here. He's the one breaking laws. You're just trying to go home. "It's used to cross rivers. So, yanno, people working night shifts can walk home without rowing a fucking boat. Pretty neat actually, invented by the Greeks."

"Don't be smart," he scolds. "You saw us gearing up, you knew what was about to ha-"

"I'm sorry," you really are laughing now. "Are you telling me that I'm in the wrong? You? The asshole who's racing his shitty car on an icy fucking bridge? The asshole who can't control his aforementioned shitty car-"

"Can control it," he snaps. "If I couldn't, you'd be fucking dead."

"Oh, well thank you very much! How kind of you to not kill me as a result of your reckless driving. No, really. I appreciate it so much. How ever can I repay you?"

"You know what?" He calls after you when you begin to walk away. As far as you're concerned, the conversion is done. "Next time, I will just hit you."

"Be my fucking guest!" You shout back, holding your middle finger up to wave goodbye. "Stick to Kang's next time, you pretentious, self-absorbed cunt."

"Gladly."

"Oh, and by the way," you begin to say in a sickly sweet tone, which you just know is going to piss him off. You turn to find him standing, facing the bridge wall, looking at the river that's illuminated only by the headlamps of his car, like two little moons. The real one is hidden by clouds. "You'll have better control if you release the clutch a little slower. Wheelspin like that? Yeah, someone needs to practise their clutch control."

He looks like he wants to say something, but instead, he just flares his nostrils and grates his jaw. He knows you're right. Knows he missed the mark - but he'd been distracted when he noticed you on the bridge. You threw him off his game.

Equally, you know he's a good driver. The way he gained control of his car on the ice was borderline expert. Impressive. You won't go as far to say life-saving, because if it wasn't for his driving in the first place, your life wouldn't have needed any God Damn saving.

You walk backwards for a step or two, just to gloat in the knowledge you've gotten the last word. He glares at you, but stays silent. Victory.

"Oi, Kook. The fuck was that about?" A distant voice yells. The SsangYong driver, you assume.

"Nothin'," he yells back. His eyes are still on you, watching as you hunch a little, folding your arms over your chest. You must be freezing, he thinks. Stupid, too. The area is littered with taxis on Friday nights. Why anyone would choose to walk is beyond him. He casts you one final stare, his chest heaving from the adrenaline, before he turns away from you. "Stupid bitch almost got herself killed. Starting line. Let's go again."

────────────

You don't mention your near-death experience to Yoongi when you see him at work the following Monday. You know he'll just worry, and then he'll really start insisting on ordering cabs for you.

Worse yet, you think he might just order them to arrive when your shift finishes, and then you'll have to take them. No point in making mountains out of molehills.

Customers are always steady on Mondays; people fuelling up for the working week, replenishing stocks wasted on the weekends.

By the time it hits four, school kids are piling in. They're picking up snacks, something to fuel them between mandatory classes and the additional ones they've picked up at hagwons. Poor suckers, you always think.

It's been years since you did the same grind, and you still don't fully understand just why you worked yourself to the bone, only to end up working in a fucking service station. 

It had never been the dream. Still isn't - but it beats being hired on account of nepotism, thanks to a father with an unlawful influence in the city. 

Your family name - which you don't go by, these days - is on the side of buildings, in the list of hospital beneficiaries, even on the local soccer team's fucking shirts. You're cursed with it; no identity of your own. Even when did try to get a job without the backing of your family, people still knew. Your face has been at God knows how many press junkets, playing the role of the Mayor's darling daughter.

All bullshit, of course.

Your father is just as good at saving face as he is at making investments. Turns out there really is nothing money can't buy; support for a mayoral campaign, the silence of a nanny - of whom he started fucking when you were still in middle school - and enough pearls to keep your mother happy after she found out.

Cars, houses, material goods? You'd wanted for nothing as a kid.

Privilege. It's a funny little thing. You had the world, and yet none of it was yours. Not really. And so, as soon as you were of legal age, you were out of the family home, trying to find some concrete meaning for your life.

All you'd found so far was the harrowing knowledge that your father's mayoral tenure had been hell for those without the privileges you'd been raised with, and therefore you'd distanced yourself so far from your family that you weren't even sure they'd recognise you, anymore.

"You good?" Yoongi asks, around about the time the clock hits five. He's by the back entrance, wiping his oil-covered hands on an old rag. "Just finishing up."

"Good," you nod in response to his question. You give him a fond smile to let him know that the perplexed expression he'd caught on your face was nothing to be worried about, and then you ask him his plans for the evening.

There are only a few more hours left on the clock for you. It's a mid-shift, someone else coming in to work the night rotation. You've never liked these shifts - the highest influx of customers, but by far the least interesting interactions.

They come and go so quickly that it's hard to make up a fake life for them, before they're replaced by the next sullen face, wanting to get in and out as quickly as possible.

"Gimmie a call if you need a lift," Yoongi calls over as he gets his jacket to leave. Off comes his work one, tossed over to you, replaced with the black puffa you returned that morning.

"Will do," you nod - and you both know you're lying. Still, he's a gentleman through and through. Wouldn't have felt right if he didn't at least offer. The bell on the entryway door chimes, but you don't look over to see the customer, choosing to smile at your friend instead. "Catch ya later, Yoongs."

"Yeah, you too," he smiles back, zipping up his coat and pulling up his mask. He's walking home, too, but it's still light. It will be dark by the time nine hits, and even though he doesn't know about last Friday night, he still doesn't like the idea of you walking home alone.

You hear the clink of glasses by the fridge, but the view is obscured by an obnoxious advertising standee your boss has insisted you put up inside the store. You tried telling him that the whole point was to draw customers in, not block them from even entering, but he was having none of it. Doesn't trust the kids in the neighbourhood not to nick it.

There's a crunch as the lid of the chest freezer is slid open, a cup of ice rattling as it's pulled from the stack. You only filled it up half an hour ago. 

Annoying. And who the fuck is drinking an iced drink on a day like today? You think, as if Yoongi doesn't reach for an iced americano before each and every shift. You're just as bad. Your peach tea habit is becoming an issue.

You glance to the forecourt to check which pump to ring through - and that's when you see it. 

Sat in bay six, as proud as the paint is bright, is that stupid fucking Pony again. With a small scoff, you pull up the balance - just over 30,000. Half a tank. Already.

Hardly a surprise, with the way he had been ragging it about on Friday evening. Must be a common occurrence.

As he comes into your line of vision, you busy yourself. 

Turning your back to the kiosk, you're arranging cigarettes that don't need to be arranged, purely so that you don't have to look at him. The bottom of his soju bottle clinks against the counter, the ice and a coffee bag following suit. You still don't turn around, instead opting to look through the 'how-to' manual for the lottery machine, just to really reinforce the fact that serving him is the last thing you want to do.

Had you not told him to stick to Kang's?

"Ahem," he coughs.

You pause mid-page turn and look vacantly into the distance for a moment, before facing him with a smile so insincere it's almost comical.

"Sorry, didn't see you there."

He nods, but doesn't say anything further. He's in all black again, this time with a sweater beneath his bomber. Air quality is still bad, thanks to the cold temperatures and lack of rain to clear the skies, so he's wearing a mask again, but it's perched beneath his jaw. His poker face holds up well.

You ring up his total, ignoring the fact he's chosen to go for a peach tea, not coffee like you'd assumed, and ask if he wants a receipt. He declines, and heads on his way, scooping up his soju bottle, leaving the peach tea.

"Oi," you call after him, but he ignores you."Oi."

Still, nothing. He pushes the door open with his knuckles that are wrapped tightly around the neck of his bottle, not paying you any attention. He's just being a dick at this point. You know he can hear you.

"Oi," you shout again, sliding out from behind the kiosk and following him to the door. You don't grab his drink - he can go back and pick it up himself, the asshole. 

"Kook," you shout, remembering the name the SsangYong driver had called him by.

He stops now.

"Oh," he turns, lips pursed, before throwing your words right back at you. "Sorry, didn't see you there."

Neither of you say anything. It's fucking freezing, and you can see your breath as you huddle yourself together. His eyes are soft, expression gentle, to suggest he's only teasing, but you can't work him out.

"You left your drink."

He shakes his head. Holds up his soju. "No, I didn't. That's yours. You like them, right? It's what you were drinking the other day?"

You narrow your eyes, only for him to raise his brows. You aren't the only nosey one, doll.

"Bit weird," you tell him.

Retrospectively, he thinks you're probably right. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. He hadn't intended for it to be so strange - he just isn't great at admitting when he's in the wrong, so a peace offering is a far more tempting solution.

He digs a hand into his pocket, almost as if he's searching for the remains of his dignity, but simply shrugs. "I know I was a bit of a prick."

Acknowledgements of flaws are always welcome by you, but you really don't fancy just forgiving and forgetting. As stupid as it all seems, it was a life or death situation. A peach fucking tea wouldn't have resurrected you or uncrushed your bones.

"Yeah," you nod, biting down on your lip, a little unsure of how to handle the situation. "You were. And not just 'a bit' of a prick. Massive prick, actually."

He repeats your correction, and adds, "You just took me by surprise. I panicked. I'm not usually that..."

"Unreasonable? Arsey? Unable to control your clutch?"

"All of the above," he smiles, and you notice that he has dimples. Asshole. "Look, I won't bother you again. It just wasn't sitting right with me, the way I behaved. My mother would have been rolling in her grave if she heard me speak to a girl like that, especially so late at night. It was a dick move... and so," he inhales, looking at the ground before briefly meeting your eyes again. They're round and wide, almost as if he's incapable of telling lies. "I'm sorry."

There's silence for a moment, and then there's the flash of headlights as a second car rolls into the forecourt. You both turn to check the car, but it's just a standard family saloon. Nothing worth checking out, but it's enough to end the conversation.

"Stick to Kang's," you simply say as he pops open the door to his car. "I appreciate the sentiment, though. Was sweet."

He nods, fully intending on sticking to Kang's. He just needed to do this before he could move on from things. 

Or at least, that's the assumption that you make as he drives away. 

You wait for a little while, ignoring the man clicking the gas nozzle into the side of his car, just watching the now empty road where the small red car had sped off from. You wonder where he's going, but determine he's most likely going to that FWB you've decided he has.

Turning on your heels slowly, you let your body weight fall into the swing door, pushing it open with your shoulder. The bell jingles, like always, and for some reason, it kind of feels like the sound has settled in your stomach. It's all jittery and annoying, and you don't quite understand it. You definitely don't like it, whatever this feeling is.

It's the same feeling that washes over you next Thursday afternoon, when the bell chimes and you glance out the window, only to see a red Hyundai fucking Pony sat in bay six.

He begins to make a habit of it. Neither of you really address it. He just keeps showing up, filling his tank up, and buying whatever tickles his fancy from the snack fridge. It's nearly always gimbap. Occasionally he'll pick up something a little more substantial, and it's always accompanied with soju on Friday nights.

It takes about three weeks for you to be able to distinguish the way in which he opens the shop door. The bell chimes a little slower than normal, his casually cool demeanour preventing him from using too much force to open it. It will always 'ding' for just a bit longer than when other people push open the door. Doesn't matter where you are in the shop, what time it is. You always know when it's him.

It's a Saturday when you hear the unmistakable sound of him again, 4 weeks since that first time.

You can't see him, thanks to the standee that is still obstructing your view, but you can hear the fridges. One, two, bottles of soju. There's another clang. Three? Unusual. It's when he heads to the snack fridge that you realise you're off your game.

He's holding beers - four of them. Making the most of the four for 10,000 deal, you muse. The bottles are green, so you assume Terra, but there are some foreign imports in the fridge, too. You kind of stop guessing at this point, too busy watching. His hair is messy, like aways, and the flannel shirt he's wearing is in need of an iron, but you have to admit - there's a certain charm about him.

Your eyes flick to the door to check that nobody else has entered, and are proven correct - so why does your stomach still feel like that bloody bell chiming?

"Am I good to leave these here?" He asks, drawing your attention back to him. He's already putting the beers down on the counter, so it's not really like you can say no. "Haven't filled up yet, just wanted to check that you had what I was after, first."

"Beers?" You laugh almost immediately. "It's a GS25, dude. Course we have beers."

"Right," he nods, scrunching his nose up a little as he smiles. It was a stupid excuse, and he knew it. Part of you thinks he actually looks a little bashful. It's sweet. Confusing - but sweet, nonetheless. "I'll just go fill up."

"Uh-huh," you nod, when he doesn't leave immediately, almost as if he's waiting for permission. He laughs, and so do you. It's awkward, and you don't know why but you find yourself dropping his gaze. "Just go fill up your car."

"Yeah, yeah," he says. "Fill up. Right."

You move his bottles to the side just in case of another customer, and set about making yourself look busy, but you're a simple being. It's hard to do anything other than wistfully stare when a boy that pretty is stood in your forecourt. 

He pays you no notice as he unscrews his gas cap and positions the nozzle against the opening of his car.

There's a casual nature to his posture, leaning back ever so slightly as he slides the length of the nozzle into his car, displaying just how in tune he is with doing such a menial task. It's second nature at this point.

He watches the nozzle, then lifts his gaze above the car and out towards the road. His eyes are hard, focused almost, that little line forming between his brows again. Almost like he's looking for something.

There's a click as his gas reaches its limit, and he withdraws the nozzle slightly, letting the excess drip into the tank. He knocks it once, twice, against the entrance to be sure that he's emptied it of every last drop, before he slides it out and hooks it back into its holder.

You finally avert your eyes as he screws the cap back into place, your fingers working nimbly to bring up his total on the screen.

There's that ringing feeling again when you notice he's barely reached the minimum spend, yet you could hear the tell-tale sign of a full tank from the forecourt. He hadn't needed gas at all.

He could have just gotten a few bottles of beer from any of the convenience stores in the area - and yet for some reason, he made his excuse to come to you.

The silage of his aftershave lingers by the kiosk, and you remind yourself that he's probably off to see a girl you've made up in your head. The beers are probably to be drunk with her. The flannel shirt is still creased because what's the point in ironing something that will just end up on the floor, anyway?

It's these thoughts that have you acting a little frosty again when he returns. You ring up his total, instruct him to put his card in the machine, as if he doesn't know what he's doing, and then you offer him a receipt.

He's a little confused by the fact you're as cold as the air outside.

Had your interactions not developed past the point of a typical cashier-customer relationship? Maybe he'd read the situation a little wrong.

"Kang's have beer," he finally adds, accepting his receipt, studying it, just to see if it has your name listed under the cashier ID. It does. He takes his time to fold it up, instead of just stuffing it into his back pocket. He's biding time. Making more for himself. "But I'm a bit of a liar," he says, ending his statement with your name. The way he says it, hanging onto the last syllable, taking claim of your identity as his gaze meets your eyes, has that stupid ringing feeling back in your stomach. "I'm not here for beers."

"No?" you ask, almost nonchalant. You're divided by a perspex screen, and you've never been more thankful. It's cutting the tension for you.

"No," he shakes his head. He's about to speak, when the bell of the door goes again - for real, this time. Not just in your stomach. 

He steps aside to let the customer pay for their gas. It's a simple transaction, no added extras like Flannel Boy always has.

He stands awkwardly, toying at the bagged sweets with his ring adorned fingers. You decide that even if your assumptions about him are wrong, there's one that must be right: he knows he's hot.

The way he turns and smirks after the customer leaves, and says, "where were we?", only confirms this.

"You were saying how you weren't here for beer," you remind him, not that he actually needs it.

The perspex screen feels like a thick brick wall. You're simultaneously thankful for and annoyed by it.

"Ah, that's right," he nods. "You were saying how you're going to call in sick tomorrow night and meet me downtown."

"I'm gonna do what now?" You laugh, caught off guard by his boldness. He's smooth, you'll give him that much.

"You're gonna meet me downtown," he says simply, before adding, "Jungangno underground, exit two. The one near CGV. I can draw you a map-"

"Shut up," you laugh, blissfully ignoring the fact he's flirting with you. "I know Jungangno."

"So you'll meet me there?"

"I didn't say that."

He begins to gather up his beers, two in either hand, a smile etched on his cheeks. "So I'll see you tomorrow, at, hmm, say, 8?"

"No," you laugh.

"Yes," he grins back, walking away so that you don't have even more opportunities to reject his advances.

"No, you won't."

You sound so full of conviction when you say it. Determined. Self-assured.

Idiot.

────────────

You tell yourself that you're not going to go.

You told Mr Gimbap that, too, before he left the gas station, not that he was listening.

You tell yourself it again when you're thinking about what you could wear, and then you repeat it like an oath when you're texting Yoongi to see if he can cover your shift.

It's not like you're actually going to go.

You just want to check out your options.

And yet, somehow, you find yourself sitting on a bench outside a shitty burger chain at seven-fifty-six the next evening.

You're dressed casually, in a pair of jeans and a slouchy sweater which is a few sizes too big, but you think it looks cute. It's covered by a thick puffa jacket, regardless - cropped to your hips, unlike Yoongi's mammoth calf-length one.

He told you he'd be happy to cover your shift tonight when you asked, but you still feel a little guilty.

Mainly because when he asked why, you panicked and lied, telling him it was a friend's birthday. 

You then also told yourself that you're definitely going to hell - but it's not like that's news to you. 

It's still freezing, and you're thankful that you changed out of your converse and into a pair of boots before you left your apartment. Your hair is clipped up, make up the same as it normally is, just with a little more mascara than normal. You don't want to make it look like you've actually made an effort - but you definitely have.

You're about a mile and a half from work, but you can feel that bloody door chime in your stomach, again.

Should you walk away, a little? You don't want him to see you waiting.

Appearing too keen is the least of your desires. 

Desperation isn't a good look for anyone. If anything, he should be the one waiting for you. Kind of rude that he isn't, actually. So you get up, and pace around a little, before thinking fuck it. 

You hop on the elevator and head down into Jungangno underground mall, painfully aware of your stomach doing that stupid ringing thing again. Maybe it's vertigo. From, like, the change in altitude, or some shit like that. You're almost able to convince yourself that it's plausible. Almost. 

The shops in the underground mall are a welcome distraction. Ajummas stand in dated clothing stores, offering low-quality clothes for even lower prices. It's crowded, and stuffy, but you're enjoying the distraction. You head for your favourite jewellery place, an emporium filled floor to ceiling with what must be thousands of jewellery pieces, and fumble through the racks of earrings. 

You aren't wearing any, and remember that he - Kook, though you're not entirely sure that's actually his name - wore enough to open up his own jewellery store. You settle on a simple pair, just a couple silver hoops. It's a subtle difference, but one that makes you feel a little more confident. A little more willing to awkwardly say hello, and go on a date (if you can call it that) with a guy you barely know.

Pulling your phone out, you check the time. Seven past eight. Do-able. A little late, but not so late that it's rude. You head up the stairs, and are greeted with almost the exact same scene you had left ten minutes earlier. 

Perhaps he's just running late. It's not embarrassing to be the first one waiting, not now that it's gone past the meeting time, but you can feel that ringing in your stomach begin to grate against your insides. 

It hits eight-fifteen, and you're feeling anxious. Embarrassed. Even if he does show up now, it's obvious that you've been waiting there like a tragic, desperate excuse of a woman. 

Five more minutes, you tell yourself. 

But five turns into ten, and then another fifteen, and then it's nearly nine. 

You pull out your phone and are barely able to type, thanks to how bloody cold it is.

How long until lateness turns into being stood up?

Opinions vary, but everyone on the little online forum you're reading seems to be of agreement that 45 minutes is the cut off point. 45 cold, lonely, mortifying minutes. 

You imagine he's watching you, laughing from the warmth of a cafe, with that friends-with-benefits girl you've convinced yourself is definitely real. 

God, you must look like a twat. You've been sat here for so fucking long. Your hands are numb, arse too, and you know you're gonna wake up with a cold - but none of these compare to your hurt pride. Not by a country mile.

With a sigh, you stand, admitting defeat. Being a jerk, you could get over. But this? Deliberately being cruel? You're proven right, after all. The guy is an asshole.

You hop on the 503 out of the downtown area and back towards home. The ride is lonely, city lights reflecting in your eyes as you gaze out the window and wonder at which point your life became this bleak. You work at a gas station, and got stood up by a guy who drives a fucking Pony. Mortifying.

The ding of the bus as it rolls into its stops reminds you of the chime of the gas station door - so you stay on for a few extra stops past your apartment building. 

You're gentle as you press the red button to let the driver know you'd like to get off, but there's a little more traffic than normal, so he lets you off ahead of schedule. Odd. The roads are never normally blocked, not at this time of night. 

You're only a couple hundred steps away from the bridge, but you notice the red and blue flashing lights across it almost instantly. 

Your heart sinks to your stomach, right into the pit where the chime has been grating your insides apart. Still, you keep on walking. It's only the road that's blocked. Not the path. One foot in front of the next, you keep going, until your pace begins to increase. You can see the police cars now, and where they're parked. 

Fuck the kid you barely know, fuck feeling sorry for yourself. 

All you can think about is Yoongi. 

There are four cars sitting outside your place of work, and you can hear an ambulance blast its sirens away from the gas station in an attempt to get through the crowd. 

You're gonna be sick. You can feel it - or is that just the chime resting too far up in your oesophagus, now? You ignore it though, and begin to run, faster, faster, faster, boots clicking against the pavement as you draw closer to the gas station. Your boss is there, locked in conversation with a police officer, but Yoongi is nowhere to be seen.

A cop notices you approach, grabbing onto you as you attempt to run past the tape and into the store.

"Woah, woah, woah. Calm down, little lady-"

"Where is he?" You panic, not even caring to offended by the officers choice in tone. "Min Yoongi. The guy who was working. Yoongi, where is he?"

"Who are you?" The officer counters, and you want to scream.

"Where is he?!" You struggle against his grip, kicking out, but the officer is firm. He's trained to handle situations like this; girls like you. The little but fierce. The kind of girls Shakespeare wrote about. "Where the fuck is he?"

From across the forecourt, your boss calls over. "She's one of mine. Was meant to be working this shift. Did a last minute switch with Min Yoongi."

The officer nods, understanding the situation, but not easing his grip. "In that case, I'm gonna need you to come with me to the station. Need you to answer some questions."

You stop struggling. "I- What?"

"You're not under arrest. It's voluntary, but we'll have to go to the station," he speaks calmly, straight to the point. You notice that his nose is slightly crooked. You wonder how many people have punched it. Quite a few, probably, considering that you'd quite like to do the same.

"Just go," your boss calls over, not even looking in your direction. Asshole, you seethe internally. City is full of fucking assholes.

"Where the fuck is Yoongi?!" You demand to know, this time shouting towards your boss, who looks like he's in desperate need of a cigarette. He just fucking shrugs.

"C'mon, station," the officer says, deciding that enough is enough. 

You don't know your rights. You can't fight back, not really, and you're starting to tear up, and everything feels like such a fucking mess. You just wanna know that Yoongi is safe, that he's well, that he's okay. If he's not, it's all your fault, and you don't even know how to process that. 

In fact, you don't know how to process any of this. Your cheeks are wet before you're even sitting in the back of the police car. The engine rumbles, and before you know it, you're back downtown, but this time you're at the city's main police office. 

It's hard to comprehend anything. You practically feel like you're dragged from the car and then dumped in the witness interrogation room. Some rookie cop is asking you questions, and you find yourself not wanting to answer a single one of them.

They're stupid fucking questions, for starters. Dumb shit.

Why did you switch your shift? Were you aware of a planned hold up at your place of work? Is that why you swapped? Who were you going on a date with? Why did you lie to Min Yoongi about your activities this evening? How do you not know the name of your date? Says on your file that you legally changed your name six years ago? Why? Anyone know of your family ties to politics? 

Dumb questions reap dumb answers though, so once they realise they're getting nothing of any substance from you, they admit defeat. Tell you they'll be in touch if they need to follow up.

And then, after they've watched you cry for an hour and half over Yoongi, they tell you he's fine. Came in for routine questioning, but was released without charge (obviously) and drove back. 

He's waiting for you in the lobby. 

That temptation to break the officer's nose? Yeah. Intensifies. 

"God, you fucking idiot," Yoongi speaks softly as you come into view, face all red and puffy from tears cried over him. He pulls you into his chest, and you can hear his heart thud, thud, thud, against your head. "Why did you go to work? Shouldda just gone home."

He calls you an idiot again, and you sniffle into his chest. There's a comforting scent to his clothes, a mix of gasoline and cotton, and it makes you feel a little calmer. 

You pull away, and inspect his face. There's a small graze on his cheekbone, which is beginning to bruise, and a little dried blood crusting around his nostrils. Other than that, he seems okay. 

He's silent as your fingers trace the pink flesh of his cheeks, lips resting a little ajar, unsure. Uncertain. He doesn't know what to make of such an outward display of concern - so he simply brushes it off. 

"I'm fine, trouble," he promises, bringing his hands up to clasp your wrists and stop your hands from roaming. Doesn't wanna stop you. Not really. Just knows that he should. "C'mon, let's get you home."

And it's ridiculous, 'cause Yoongi was the one who had been held at knifepoint by three men that evening, the tills forcefully emptied and his life threatened if he didn't tell them where 'the girl' was. 

He doesn't tell you that last part when he tells you what happened, though. Doesn't want to scare you. He's scared enough, himself.

It replays in his head, the way the guy with the knife doubled-down when Yoongi said he had no clue where you were. The clatter of the knife against the counter, the hands that tangled in his hair and slammed his face against the surface... yeah, they weren't memories he'd be forgetting any time soon.

Yoongi has few regrets in life, but taking the perspex screen down at the beginning of his shift to clean it definitely makes the list.

A conversation plays on loop, though, which scares him more than anything else. 

"You said she'd be here. She ain't fuckin' here!" "Well she normally is. You know I've been keeping watch for weeks-" "Not hard enough." "Oh fuck you, you do it next time, prick." 

Doesn't take a genius to work it out - and Yoongi's pretty smart, regardless. For whatever reason, they'd been hoping you'd be on shift.

"Do me a favour?" Yoongi asks as he rolls his car into your neighbourhood. He only lives around the corner from you, but it's too far, he thinks. 

"Mhmm?"

"Kind of feel a bit..." he pauses, but doesn't elaborate. He doesn't need to. You already know. "Don't really wanna be alone."

"Stay at mine," you offer, straight off the bat, not giving it a second thought.

He shakes his head. Makes some excuse about your place being small. Avoids mentioning the fact he's scared that someones keeping tabs on you. 

"I've got a spare room," he adds. "Makes more sense."

You'd be forgiven for thinking this is just another sign that the poor boy is helplessly infatuated with you. He knows he isn't really all that inconspicuous, but he also knows that the pair of you would never work. He just can't seem to help himself.

And so you end up in his bed, while he takes the pull out sofa in his spare room, because he's far too much of a gent to make you sleep on something so crappy. He leaves the heater on in your room, because you're always complaining about the cold, and tells you not to worry when you pout and mention the fact it will hike his heating bill. It's a small price to pay. 

"All the money I've saved when you refuse taxis can go on the heater, instead."

Still, you click it off as soon as you're confident Yoongi won't be back in to check on you.

In the morning, when his hair is all fluffy and cheeks puffy from a crappy sleep, he orders breakfast and double-checks that you're okay to work the shift you're scheduled on for. You remind him that he was the one held at knifepoint. Not you.

You're not surprised to learn that Yoongi thinks two iced americanos and half a bagel each qualifies as 'breakfast', but you appreciate it nonetheless. 

"I can cover, if needs be," he rambles, bagel in one hand, americano in the other, while you watch on with a smile. His cheek has bruised rather spectacularly, and you wonder if it aches as much as your heart does. "Boss gave me a couple days off, but I don't love the idea of you being there alone-"

The guilt of asking him to cover the night before is eating you alive. You don't think you'll ever ask him to cover for you again. Karma will catch up with you, you're sure, but for now, you'll be your own Saturn. 

"I'll be fine," you smile. "Lightning never strikes twice." 

────────────

When Jungkook drives, he drives alone. 

No music, no radio, just him and the open road. He likes to hear the way the tarmac sounds beneath his tyres, and how the engine purrs a little louder when he steps on the gas. It's therapy in a way - though, with the amount that he spends on gas, he's pretty certain that an actual therapist would probably be cheaper.

The roads are empty, morning sun breaking beyond the mountains that line Daegu, as he makes his way past the bridge over the river, and out towards Kang's. There's a boxing studio next door, owned by Old Man Kang himself, a little decrepit and definitely not the kind of place you end up by chance. 

It's the kind of place that's bestowed upon those who need it; the people looking for a home. A family. A cult, some like to joke, though Jungkook thinks they're half right. For him, it's somewhere to hide when the world gets too invasive; a shadow in the spotlight. 

Old Man Kang's boxing club is a shit hole, when Jungkook looks at it objectively. Wires hang from the ceiling, and the walls have needed a paint ever since he'd first stepped foot into the place six years ago. He thinks about doing it sometimes, just showing up early before anyone else arrives, with a can of white emulsion from Daiso and a few brushes. Never does it, though. Would be a thankless job. Old Man Kang probably wouldn't even notice. 

And if he did? He'd probably make Jungkook pay for 'defacing his property.' 

As he pulls his car into the forecourt, parking up by the air compressors, Jungkook sighs. He isn't expecting anyone else to be here so early, but he's having trouble sleeping. Pulling down on his sun visor, he's rough as he slides the mirror cover across to study his face.

He's not looking too bad - lip a little split, but alright, all things considered. Could have been a lot worse. Namjoon has a mean left hook, after all.

His thumb presses down on the buckle of his seatbelt, releasing it as he reaches over for his duffle bag in the footwell of his passenger seat. There's a clink as he does so, half a dozen bottles of soju ready to be transferred into the fridge by the entrance to the locker room. It's a free for all, used by all the members of the boxing club, but no one ever knows who actually stocks it up. It just kind of... replenishes. Like Christmas presents, or coins under pillows in place of lost teeth.

Admittedly, Jungkook never used to know, either. He still doesn't know who stocks up the waters. He knows who stocks the soju, though. Or at least, he's known for the last few weeks, now.

Where else is he gonna put all the bottles he buys from your store? It's not like he ever drinks them. He just needs an excuse to visit so frequently. 

"You're early," a voice says from the back entrance, as Jungkook is shuffling around with the bottles. The fridge light hums, illuminating his face, as he lets his perfectionism take priority when arranging the bottles. He doesn't turn to look, knowing the tone by heart.

"So are you, Minnie."

Minnie by name, mini by nature, Park Jimin is a 5'7 (though he swears blind he's 5'9 with shoes on) force to be reckoned with. He likes to get to the club early, before his shifts at the fishmongers. It gets his blood pumping, ready for a day of hacking away at marine carcases. 

"I'm always early," he teases, as he tosses his bag on an old wicker chair in the corner of the room. 

It's a large space - a disused rice store that was repurposed in the 80's, and taken over by Old Man Kang after the last owner gambled it away during a back alley game of poker. A large square ring is in the middle, red ropes a little tatty, but still usable. There are a few machines dotted around the corners of the room, but most people opt to use the plethora of punching bags hung up by the far wall.

Jungkook smiles softly as he begins to wrap his hands up. He's dressed down in just a black t-shirt and a pair of grey sweats. They're tapered towards his ankles, where they meet his beat-up black high tops. His laces are pulled tight, wrapped around the classic star logo, and tied in hasty bows on the back of his ankles. Double knotted, as always. "Couldn't sleep."

For how much of a liar he is, Jungkook is always honest with Jimin. 

Well. Nearly always.

Jimin heads for the far corner, where a skipping rope is strung up on a rusty nail embedded into the wall. He nods, figuring as much. "Joon isn't happy."

Jungkook rolls his eyes as he stretches out his back. He couldn't give a fuck if Namjoon is happy or not, especially not after-

"You should talk to him."

Squaring up to the coffee-brown punching bag, Jungkook knocks his head to the side. His jaw clenches as he gently presses against the leather to get a feel for the weight. He bounces, left, right, and then throws a punch. The smack of his hand against the weighted bag echoes into the room.

"Or not," Jimin adds, sensing that Jungkook is in no mood to talk to anyone - and definitely not Namjoon.

Unsolicited advice is never received well by Jungkook. If he wants it, he'll ask for it. Jimin knows this.

There's an art to the way his body moves, recoiling a little with every punch thrown until he disciplines himself. Back broad and triangular, calves strong and tense, it's clear to see that Jungkook can defend his own. If he had wanted to fight back against Namjoon, he could have. 

But Jungkook is a man of honour. Integrity. Respect. He'd never fight against Namjoon, no matter how much he disagreed with him - so instead, he takes it out on a punching bag that is so old it may as well be an antique. The echo of his assault against the leather rings in his ears like a warning bell. A siren. A chime. 

It's funny, 'cause a few roads over - just past the bridge and down the lane  - there's a ringing in your ears too. 

For you, it actually is a chime - the one of the gas station door, and it's a scathing reminder of how badly you fucked up by asking Yoongi to cover your shift.

You spend your morning lamenting, hypothesising. You're so busy thinking about the stupid boy who drives that god-awful red car, that you don't even bother making assumptions about other customers.

They're all about him. Where he was, who he was with. Why he did what he did. 

You decide that he grew up in a single-parent household. He's already mentioned his late mother, and suggested that she influenced his need to apologise, so a father figure didn't really seem to fit the profile you have of him. 

He wears so much black because he's scared of having an actual personality. Scared that it makes him vulnerable. Or so you assume. In fact, you decide that 'scared' is the best way to describe him. 

A scaredy-cat. A chicken. A pussy. No balls. 

After all, he was too scared to show up, and didn't even have the bottle to find a way to let you know. Did he have your number? No - but perhaps that was deliberate on his part, too.

Your final assessment of his character comes in the form of his FWB (turned far-too-clingy lover). If she's real, which again, you've decided she is, then you don't think it's her fault that she's developed an unhealthy dependency on him. He seems to be the type to lift others up, only to drag them back down with him.

Enough thoughts about him, though. 

If you're not worthy of his time, then why should he be worthy of yours?

The next few days are spent in a subliminal haze; body moving, mind still. It's Wednesday before you know it.

Jieun is on shift with you, after she complained about not wanting to work alone following the raid. You told her that no one would be stupid enough to rush the place again so soon after the first time, but she's having none of it.

"We don't get paid enough to put our lives at risk," she states whenever the topic of conversation is mentioned. And she's right - you don't.

But as you look at the grainy CCTV footage still-image that's taped up above the counter, you can't help but think they wouldn't have actually killed either you or Jieun. Realistically, they barely left a scratch on Yoongi. Physically, at least. Mentally, he's a little more wounded. 

There had been three of them; two rather tall, the third shorter. About Yoongi's height, you guess. Dressed in all black, it's hard to really distinguish any features or their bodies, let alone their faces, which had been covered in ski masks. Run of the mill robbers. The kind you see in crappy action films. Background characters. Just a way to move the plot along, no real personalities, no actual significance to the lives of the protagonists, other than causing a mild inconvenience.

You don't even realise when you're making assumptions, these days.  You think in hypothesis more often than not.

The thieves had run off on foot and down the back alley behind the shop, which is where the trail to find them ends. The CCTV for the alley has been out for months. The boss didn't deem it a necessary investment - "Well, we'd never been robbed before!" - so it had fallen to the bottom of his priority list. The issue with the back alley is that it leads to an underpass with so many blind spots that it's easy - almost too easy - to slip into nothingness. 

It's when you're staring at them, thinking about the assumptions you could make for your mystery men of misdemeanours, that the door chimes. 

You don't ignore it, anymore. The raid has spooked you. So you look towards it, and are met with the sight a broad back. The shoulders, strong and well-defined, are covered in a brown flannel shirt. It's tucked into a pair of jeans, that cling to the contours of the customer's legs. He's not wearing a coat - just hopped out of his car, where the aircon is keeping him toasty - and you realise you recognise his posture. 

The mop of bleached hair is pretty damn recognisable, too. 

"Jieun," you hiss quietly, drawing her attention from the stock she's counting in front of the kiosk. She glances towards you, eyes startled by your tone. You beckon your head back, and she scurries over to you.

"Can you man the till?"

She looks confused for a second. "Why?"

"Girl issues," you lie, knowing she won't be able to say no. "Just came on my period. Need to, yanno-"

"Go, go, go," she nods, hurrying behind the counter, ushering you away and towards the staff room door. 

As you leave, you glance to the curved mirror in the far corner; the one that only you look in. It's your second pair of eyes - but you find another pair staring back at you. It's brief, and his gaze drops as soon as he sees you focus on him, blonde hair covering his dark eyes from your view. He's looking at the gimbap again, now.  Pretending like he never saw you.

Good, you think. Fuck off. 

It's been three days since he stood you up; three days since you jeopardised one of your best friends lives to see him, only for him to be M.I.A. You don't know the kid, not really. Why waste any more of your time on him?

You stay in the bathroom for upwards of five minutes. Just enough time for him to leave. Jieun must be wondering what you're doing, but you'll just explain it away.

You're quite good at that. Lying. Just little ones, white lies. Porkies. Fibs. Never anything that will harm another person, just things that will protect you instead. 

"Who's the blonde dude?" Jieun asks when you return. You furrow your brows and play dumb. "The one with the brow piercing," she adds, as if you need any clarification. Blonde dudes aren't really the norm around these parts. He sticks out like a sore fucking thumb. "Tattoos."

"Dunno," you say with a smile. It's the same one that laces all of your little lies.

For once, Jieun looks at you, her thick brows hard and poised, as if she knows you're lying. 

And then she nods towards the counter, where a peach tea and a cup of ice sits. "Left this for you."

"Hmm," you purr. "Must think I'm someone I'm not."

Yeah, you think scornfully. Must think I'm an idiot.

It worked as an apology once before - but it's a pattern of behaviour, now. He's a leopard, spots unchanged as he runs away from the consequences of his actions, suffocating you in the dust clouds he leaves behind.

"He's cute," Jieun muses.

"No," you smile. It's the same one. That little one full of lies. "He's not."

────────────

The peach tea sits on the counter by the till for two days. It's tucked behind a box of pocket money candies, which are waiting to be restocked; hidden in such a way so that only you know it's there.

Y'see, you've been making assumptions again - though you wouldn't really call this one an assumption. It's acceptance of a habit that's been proven: he will return.

He always does, it seems. 

And sure enough, that afternoon, two days after you'd last been graced with his presence, he returns.

Jieun spots him first, eyes darting immediately towards yours. You're like a deer in headlights, ready to bolt - but she doesn't let you.

"Gotta go," she squeaks, before mouthing 'girl issues' to you, with a smile she reserves moments like these; her little victories. 

He does his usual rounds, and you're already mentally ringing it up: a bottle of soju, and a tuna gimbap roll. You glance out to the forecourt, towards pump six - but it's empty. Not a single car in sight, let alone his trusty red pony. You're confused. Brows furrowed, nostrils a little flared. Lips pouty. You big baby. 

When he eventually comes to the kiosk, it takes all of your strength not to ask, 'why the fuck are you here?'

And just like all of your assumptions about him, you're wrong. Again. 

No soju, no gimbap. Banana milk and bibimyun ramyeon, instead. A great combination by all accounts, but you're not gonna give him the satisfaction of letting him know you think his choice is elite. 

As far as you're concerned, he can take his banana milk and shove it up his ass.

Frustratingly, he appears to find amusement in your outward expression of annoyance. There seems to be a small grin on his face, cheeks appled beneath his mask, as if he's not aware that it's painfully awkward between the pair of you.  

He has no manners, you decide. No spine. No awareness of social cues, either. A triple whammy. What a catch.

But you believe that silence is a virtue, so you say nothing as you ring up his items. You don't even tell him his total - just nod towards the card machine. He follows your line of sight, watching the machine light up for a moment, before putting his card in the slot. 

While he does so, you reach for the peach tea and add it to his stockpile. 

"You forgot your drink again."

He looks at the pouch of tea, then up towards you. And then he repeats it, several times.

"Ouch," he says, ending his declaration of pain with a small laugh. You've got half a mind to rip the pouch open and pour it all over his shitty flannel shirt. It's blue today, paired with sweats, because apparently that's fashionable? 

Boy looks like he got dressed in the dark, you think scornfully - but really, you're just annoyed with how hot you think he looks. Unreasonably hot. He's the bloody Sahara storming through Daegu's coldest winter. He's melting the river, leaving everyone wet in the process. 

Or maybe not. Maybe just you-

"What's the grin for?" he teases, and you realise that you've been paying too much attention to your thoughts.

"No grin," you snap, face flushed.

"Service with a smile, as always."

"Your transaction is done," you say, this time smiling as if butter wouldn't melt. "You can leave, now."

He holds up his pot of ramyeon and shrugs, before glancing over to the food station, where the hot water and microwaves are waiting for him. "Actually, I think I'm just gonna eat here."

Without even so much as a glance back towards you, the asshole picks up a pair of chopsticks, wrapped in thin paper, and heads towards the food station. You're in a state of disbelief. Entitled prick.

Jieun returns almost as soon as he's left the counter. She still doesn't have a clue about whatever's happened between the pair of you, but she did see you hiding up the peach tea a couple of days ago, so she figured it was something. 

"You gonna take it to him?" she asks, nodding down towards the tea, which he's left at the counter, again.

"No."

"Take him the tea."

"No."

"Take it."

"No.

"Fine," she huffs. "If you don't, I will-"

"Fine!" you whisper, though it's definitely a shout. You might not want anything to do with him, but you also don't want to watch him work his charms on Jieun. For her benefit. Not yours. Definitely not because you don't want to see him flirting with her instead.

Him, with his stupid tattoos, and dumb blonde hair, and annoying smile and-

"Go," she grins. 

"Just... give me a minute."

You watch as he fills up his ramyeon bowl, hot air steaming around the jet of water. It's been a while since you ate, and you're a little jealous. Your break isn't for another few hours yet, though, so smelling his food throughout the store will be torture. Asshole.

He sits down, and Jieun pesters you a little more, but you're trying to wait it out. If a customer comes in, then you can just deal with them instead - but the forecourt is empty, just like it always is at this awkward time of day. After lunch, but before the end of school. This is the real ghost shift of a gas station - after midnight is when it comes alive. 

Admittedly, it was a little too lively the night of the raid. You make a mental note to text Yoongi on your break, just to check-in, and then you glare at Jieun and her shit-eating grin, before heading towards gimbap-less Mr Gimbap. 

Tossing the bag down onto the cheap plastic table, you're indifferent as you speak. "Like I said. This is yours."

"Is it?" he asks, unpierced brow raised. "Doesn't look like mine."

"Well, it is," you say, clearly fed up with him. "And just while we're talking - where's your car?"

His eyes narrow ever so briefly. Almost like he knows you're onto him. For what? No clue. But something.

"Taillights out. Just needs a repair."

You nod. Seems plausible. At least he sticks to the highway code - even if he does break it after the clock strikes twelve every other weekend. 

You're not quite sure what to make of him as he looks at you, eyes only lingering for long enough to let you know that there's something he's not telling you. 

The air quality isn't bad today. There's no need for him to be wearing a mask, but he's hiding. From you? From something else? You can't work him out.

Perhaps it's shame. 

After all, this is a boy who came and apologised to you for being a little bit mean in the heat of the moment. Being deliberately cruel doesn't really seem like his motive, no matter how cold his demeanour is.

And so, instead of just letting your assumptions fester, you voice them.

"You're hiding something." 

You're met with silence. 

"Behind that mask," you clarify, before repeating yourself. "You're hiding something."

He looks at you for a moment, before dropping your gaze, and glancing towards the door. 

Thinking about making a run for it, you lament internally - but he's not. He just doesn't like how sometimes - just sometimes - your assumptions are entirely correct.

He lifts his ringed index finger to his ear, unhooking the thin black elastic that keeps his mask in place, before letting it fall. His skin is clammy beneath it from the heat of his breath, and the chill of the winter breeze outside, but your eyes fall to his bottom lip. 

It's split, the centre crease darker than the soft pink flesh around it. There's a bruise beneath it, still tender and sore. You don't mean to, but you gasp at the sight of it. It's no worse than Yoongi's graze, the placement makes it so much more bothersome.

Uncomfortable with the way you're looking at him - like you feel sorry for him - he hooks his mask back up again. 

"Happy now?" he asks, knowing that you just love to be proven right.

You scoff, a little offended. "Obviously not. What happened?" You take the seat opposite his. "Are you okay?"

"Nothing happened," he lies, avoiding your eyes as he does so. It's funny how you haven't noticed that little trait of his yet. You will. Just not yet. "I'm fine."

"You're quite clearly not fine."

"Quite clearly am," he bickers, before nodding to the food on the table. "Just hungry."

Ouch. You're just trying to make sure he's okay, but if he wants to be hostile again, then fine. No skin off your back. 

You nod, looking away. It's awkward, and when the bell chimes to indicate another customer entering the shop, you find your stomach lurching. 

Still, he toys with the softening noodles in their pot, as if they're the most fascinating things in the world. 

This isn't how he wanted this conversation to go. Hell, he doesn't even know what the outcome should be. He's just feeling uneasy, as if he's making all the wrong choices.

"I heard about the raid."

You nod. It's been on all the local radio stations. Thankfully Yoongi is the only employee being name-checked. You aren't ready to give up your own personal paradise just yet, which is exactly what will happen the second your family gets notice of where you're spending your days.

"Yeah, me too," you deadpan. It's a fault of yours, giving back the same energy you receive, unable to just suck things up and be nice all the time.

Thankfully, he smiles. You kind of expected that he would. He seems to get you, get your humour. It's something you both share, like a little secret. A smile rests on his lips as he glances up towards you, like he's a school kid trying not to giggle in class.

And then you find yourself making assumptions again. You wonder what he would have been like in school, if he would have been just as charming. You bet that he was the kind of kid who could get away with murder in class. All he'd have to do was flash those of eyes of his, and he'd be off the hook.

Sort of like how he does with you. Why else would you be giving him the time of day after he stood you up?

"Oh really?" He entertains your attitude."What did you hear?"

You lean against the table, a little bit provocative, but only 'cause his tone of voice matched it. "Heard that I'm lucky some prick asked me out, even if he did leave me waiting for hours in the dark."

His smile falters a little, but only for a fraction of a second. He likes the flirt; doesn't like the acknowledgement of what he did. "Hours?"

"Nah," you scrunch your nose up, and sit up straight again. You're still smiling, to let him know that you're feeling fine about it, now. "Didn't stick around for that long. What?" You laugh when he raises a brow, and begin to tell white lies. He'll see through them, but you want him to. "You think I don't have other eligible bachelors lining up, trying to take me on dates?"

He shrugs, and you can tell that he's pouting a little behind his mask. "I'm still the one you skived off work for, am I not?"

"That's neither here nor there."

"Yeah, it is," he speaks softly, leaning forward on the table. Closer. "What time do you clock off today? I wanna talk. Properly."

"Are we not talking properly now?" You say, unable to resist being difficult. It takes everything within his power not to roll those pretty eyes of his - but you're grinning, and he finds himself doing the same back. His mouth may be covered by his mask, but you can still tell.

He thinks about his response for a moment. If he's being honest, he wants to make some crude remark; tell you that he wants to get you talking just so he can think of ways to shut you up. You're not at that level yet, though. Coming on strong is unfavoured by him, so he opts for something a little cooler.

"We're talking about talking," he reminds you, picking up the pot up and leaning over to the sink by the food station to drain the excess water. "I wanna talk about... well, anything else."

You purse your lips, folding your arms across your chest. There's part of you that really wants to say no, to tell him to go fuck himself. But there's a teeny tiny part of you that wants to say-

"Nine. I'm off at nine."

"Nine," he nods. "I'll be here."

"Sure you will," you tease.

"I will."

"Yeah, yeah. Course. You're really good at that." You're nodding enthusiastically, a stupid smile on your face, eyes all wide as if you couldn't be more naive. You can tell he's smiling again, and it's like that door chime in your stomach is bloody broken. "Yanno, the whole showing up when you say you will, thing."

"Shut up," he laughs, but it catches in his throat like a low growl. "I'll be here, but not if you keep being a little bitch."

Your teeth cushion themselves on your bottom lip, and you nod. "See you at nine... Kook?" You question, realising that you're yet to actually ask his name.

"Jungkook. But Kook works, too. Just depends on how well acquainted you're planning on getting."

He doesn't give you a chance to reply, simply standing as he pushes the pot of noodles over to you. "Eat up. You look hungry."

Turning on his heel, he heads for the door. 

The bell chimes, and it's like it's harmonising with the feeling in your stomach.

You prod around at the noodles, and sigh, posture defeated. This is not good.

────────────

The rest of your shift trudges on. It's slow, the hands of the clock seemingly frozen - until, suddenly, it's nine.

"You're late," Jungkook greets you, perched on a bollard by the side of the forecourt. He's wearing a coat, now, wrapped up a little warmer than he had been earlier. His sweats have been traded for jeans, but he's still in that big blue flannel shirt. You like it. 

And he's not wrong - cashing up your till took a little longer than normal, thanks to an old note that wouldn't read properly in the sorter. Just another thing your boss refuses to upgrade.

"At least I'm here," you quip back.

"Touché." He holds out his arm, almost as if he expects you to link yours with his. "Shall we?"

You look at his arm, then up towards him. And then you repeat it, letting out a soft laugh, not accepting his arm, instead turning to walk in the direction of home. "C'mon," you call back. "You walking me home or not?"

It's his turn to laugh now as he ups his pace to catch up with you. "Not."

"Not?"

"Not," he repeats, seemingly unable to say anything else - until, of course, he does. "My cars around the corner. Wanna go for a drive?"

"Sorted the taillight?" You ask, curious, figuring that it would have been at Kang's overnight.

Jungkook hums a response, not really saying yes or no, but as you turn the corner and it comes into vision, you can see that his taillights seem fine - not that you can really judge. A car as old as his doesn't come with central locking systems, so it's not like you'll see the lights flash as it-

Oh. Nevermind.

There's a beep, and the car flashes in front of you, mocking those damn assumptions of yours.

"Since when do Pony's have electric locks?" You ask defensively, almost as a reflex for having your assumptions disproven.

"Since I decided to install them," he says, as if it's the simplest job in the world. You've heard Yoongi mutter 'bastard locks' enough times to know otherwise.

"Kang's must make a killing from you," you joke as he nods towards the passenger side, indicating for you to get in.

"Kang's don't make shit from me when it comes to the wires."

You wait for him to pop his door open before you do the same. The interior is leather, all black, and is cold to the touch as you get in. The windscreen begins to fog almost instantly, the minimal heat you're letting off proving just how cold it's been getting lately. 

It's curious, you think. There should be a little heat left in the car from his drive to meet you.

"No?" you question, choosing to ignore the temperature of the car. It's below zero, you rationalise. Of course it cooled quickly.

"No," he shakes his head, turning the key in the ignition.

The car rumbles - purrs - softly. You can tell he's listening to the engine, making sure that it sounds okay before he sets off. Standard old car problems. Running gas through the motor before it warms up only causes issues.

Like his locking system, you notice that the stereo isn't exactly true to the era in which the car was built (even if the lack of insulation is). It's got an aux cord hanging from the headphone jack, which he picks up and places in your lap. "Don't put anything shit on."

He avoids clarifying your question, and it annoys you - so you choose to be direct about it, not plugging your phone in at all. If he doesn't want to listen to shit music, he should be a more specific.

You're stewing, clearly irritated, but you're also casually enamoured, watching him as he carefully observes the dashboard, checking the revs, trying to heat the car up a little.

"Just the electrics? What about everything else?"

He doesn't look your way as he replies. "Just the electrics. Put your seatbelt on."

"Why?"

He's still not looking at you. "'Cause if I crash, you'll go straight through the windshield."

"Not the seatbelt," you reply, though he's got a point. You haven't clicked it into its buckle yet. Nor has he, though. "The electrics."

Still. Not. Looking. At. You.

It's not even like it's an important question. You couldn't give a flying fuck about his shitty car's electrics. You just don't like that he's deliberately avoiding answering something so simple, as if you're asking him how old he was when he lost his virginity.

Eventually, he cracks. It's as he's sliding his seatbelt down, the smooth noise of  fabric scruffing against plastic filling the car. He's bargaining - hopes that if he does his belt up, then you will too. 

Then again, he knows that you're difficult, and that you'll probably use it as a bargaining tool. You won't do it up until he gives you an answer.

"Electrician by trade," he says with a little sigh, before turning to face you finally. "Happy?"

You don't want to say yes - but you are. You're smug in the knowledge that you know just as much about him now as he does you.

"By trade?" You push a little further as your buckle clicks into place.

"By trade," he answers, in that annoying way he so often does, not really giving you an answer, just confirming what you already know. "I'm in between jobs at the moment."

"Ah," you smile, finally putting the aux into your phone. The windows are beginning to clear. "That explains why you're always in the garage at such weird hours."

It doesn't. There's an entirely different explanation for that. Not one that he'll give, though.

He hums a response, not wanting to tell more lies. He knocks the car into first, and lets the handbrake down, easing the car into motion as it rolls gently from the curb and into the road. 

It's at this point you realise you're in the car with a near-stranger, and that it's probably the dumbest thing you've done in a while. You're smarter than this. Been raised better.

Jungkook smiles at your statement, though. "You ever stop making assumptions?"

A laugh falters in the back of your throat. "No," you muse. "I don't think I do."

His palm rests on the gear stick, thigh pressing down against his seat as he dips the clutch. There's a simple joy to be found in watching his movements like this, as if you're getting to see something reserved for very few people. He's smiling as he knocks it into second gear. Smiles a lot around you, actually. 

Perhaps he's just like this all the time. Naturally light natured, despite the dark clothes and even darker eyes.

"Tell me mine," he says as the car moves from the slightly beat up side road, towards the main street that leads up to the bridge. There's a change in pressure beneath the tyres, the new road far smoother, far easier, than the one you'd been on previously. "Your assumptions. I wanna hear them."

"I can't," you reply, as if they're some closely guarded secret. In a way, they are. You've built up this idea of Jungkook; of who he is, who he associates with, what he does in the dark.

If he confirms or denies a single one of these assumptions, then it could all be in tatters.

"Can't? Or don't want to?"

You watch his hands as he flicks on an indicator. There's no one else on the road. Seems redundant. It's interesting, though, how he seems to care about the rules of the road now that you're in the passenger seat.

"Why can't it be both?"

And just like that, you're going round in circles again. Always talking, but never quite saying anything. It's a strange little dance you like to do, one that you don't know the steps to, but seem to get right anyway.

He uses the palm of his hand to turn the wheel, back on the bridge now. It's less icy today, but you find your heart resting in your chest just like it did the first time you were here with him. He glances over to you, but you keep your eyes straight ahead.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "About that time. When we were here, yanno?"

You nod. It's a weird thing to think about. You could have died. Came pretty fucking close to it - and yet all that really lingers in your mind from that night is the way he stared you down.

"Mhmm," you press your lips together, and cross your legs.

He doesn't like it. The way your body sort of angles away from his. It's cold. Cruel, almost.

So he lifts his hand from the gear stick and taps your knee. A request, not a demand. He's gentle as he nudges, encouraging your legs to unhook, until they're back in their original position. You just kind of let him. Neither of you say anything, but there's an awareness that he doesn't want you to close off from him.

Your arms move instead, without much thought, crossing over themselves.

"Don't."

The silence is so loud you think the windows might shatter.

"Please," he follows it up, then decides that he needs something to fill the void that you're leaving in the conversation. "Put some music on," he says, before backtracking on his earlier statement. "I don't mind if it's shit."

It earns a small smile from you, an exhale from your nose letting him know that you find humour in his words.

You unlock your phone and head to spotify, confronted with more playlists than you know what to do with, and settle on the one you use when Yoongi lets you control the music in his car. It's pretty inoffensive, you think. Nothing too shit. No noughties classics, at least, though there are a couple from the 80's. If he complains, you'll just remind him of how old his car is.

"So what's the deal?"

The fact you only start talking as he exits the bridge isn't lost on Jungkook.

"No deal," he replies just as casually as you asked.

"Well you aren't taking me home," you muse, glancing over to him. There's a smile on his face. Dimples present. "And I'm hoping that you're not chauffeuring me to a date with the Grim Reaper - so where are we going?"

"We-" He turns to face you, now. Just briefly. Just a glance with a smile that has a chime sounding in your tummy again. "-are heading into town. I don't think the Grim Reaper's gonna be there, but you never know with that dude. Always showing up at the worst of times."

"Mm," you agree with a small laugh. "His social skills are atrocious."

"You give him a run for his money, yanno," Jungkook teases you.

It's reflex, more than anything, that has you swatting at his shoulder. The fabric of his shirt is soft, and there's a waft of his aftershave as you draw your hand back to your lap. Oaky. Mature. Probably more than he seems to be.

"My social skills are fine. You're just shitty company."

"Me?!" He sounds affronted now, but there's a grin plastered all over his pretty little face. "Sorry, little miss clutch control. Forgot you were queen of making casual conversation."

"Uh-huh," you say as you shift in your seat, body angled towards his. The smile on his face grows. There's one on yours too. A pretty fuckin' big one, at that. "That's why they hired me. Could see I'd be great with the customers."

He snorts, crown of his head tipping against the back of his seat. "Oh, yeah?"

You hum an affirmation, and Jungkook looks towards you briefly, chin lifted, eyes narrow, curious of what you'll say next. 

"Well, I seem to have done alright with one of the customers, at least."

His teeth begin to show as he looks towards the road again. "Poor fucker. I'd hate to be him."

And then you're both laughing. 

It's how it remains for the rest of the evening. 

You're laughing when he parks in the furthest corner of the lot, just to make sure no one scrapes his paintwork. You're laughing when he can't figure out the QR code for the automatic parking fee, and you're laughing when he tells you to fuck off for laughing. 

But he's laughing too. 

Laughs when you can't figure out the apron in the dakgalbi place off the side of the main shopping street, and laughs when the middle-aged lady running the shop comes to help you out. Jungkook had refused. He was enjoying the struggle too much.

See, your cheeks go all red when you get flustered. He's never seen that look on you before. You get a similar look once you realise the spice of the galbi is a little hotter than what you're used to, and you get it again after you've had a few shots of soju.

He matches you, shot for shot, but also makes sure to keep filling up your stainless steel water cup. In fact, he fills it more than he fills his own.

Unlike you, and your perceived ability to judge characters, Jungkook actually can read people pretty well. He knows his limits, and he's guessing at yours, but doing a good job doing so.

It's not until Jungkook's paying that you realise just how many bottles the pair of you have gotten through. You're steady on your feet, but you can feel the alcohol in your system, and know that he must be the same.

"How we getting home?" You ask, as the chime of the door rings behind you. Within seconds you're pulling your arms over your chest, trying to preserve heat. You fucking hate January.

"C'mon," he mumbles, looping his arm around your shoulders, rubbing at the side of it quickly to build up some heat. He's all hunched up too, clearly feeling the cold. "Taxi? I can pick my car up in the morning."

It's gone twelve on a week night. You both know there's no way in hell you'll be able to score a taxi, not without a 45 minute wait, at least. The curse of downtown Daegu. Should have just gone to eat in your neighbourhood, but Jungkook felt like he had a point to prove. He wanted to make it up to you. Properly.

You drop Yoongi a text as you load up your taxi app, just checking in, letting him know that you're all good. He replies pretty much instantly, but you're distracted by Jungkook letting you know that his app says no cabs are available.

"Shit," you hiss, bouncing around on the balls of your feet, trying to keep warm.

Jungkook weighs up his options. On the one hand, he knows he needs to get you home. On the other, you're hopping around like a fucking bunny. It's borderline cruel to keep you out in the cold like this. Especially when his place is only a ten minute walk away, in the heart of town, compared to your hour long trek back to the outskirts.

"My place isn't too far."

The suggestion is out of his mouth before he knows any better. He's getting himself in too deep already. All it's taken is a couple weeks of awkward flirting across a gas station kiosk and exactly one (1) shared dakgalbi. Maybe the 6 bottles of soju didn't help.

"You can wait it out in the warm for a taxi, at least," he adds on, before realising that you're both as tipsy as one another. Both hovering a little too close to one another. Both feeling that weird pull, of which he's telling himself to ignore, but he just can't seem to help himself.

He's a simple man, of simple pleasures - and sex is the most simple of them all.

If he wants it, then you probably do, too.

Might do, he corrects himself. Best not to make assumptions about things like these.

"Wait it out," you nod, a little grin resting on your lips. They're a little plumper than normal, partially thanks to the galbi spice, but also thanks to the you've been biting down on them all evening. It's okay, though. Jungkook's lips are just as bad. All plump and pretty and - fuck. You know you're staring but it's kind of hard not to.

He knocks his head to the side and holds out his hand for you to take. "C'mon. I'm this way."

And so you do take it. Fingers neatly linking between his, hooking on and holding close as if it isn't the first time that it's happening. It's been so long since you did this with another person that you're almost not sure you're doing it right. His grip adjusts, and then his other hand reaches behind your shoulders to prop the hood of your jacket over your hair.

"For the wind," he says. 

Definitely not so that the pair of you are a little more incognito. 

It's why he puts his hood up, too... For the wind. 

After all, he's not hiding behind his mask like he was earlier. Not hiding from you. 

But he's hiding from something.

And you should be, too.

────────────

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Johnny Cade and Steve Randle as Foils

Ok so the great thing about the Outsiders is how every character foils every other character in some way, but there is one glaringly obvious foiling is barely ever talked about and it drives me crazy because it’s brilliant. I’m talking of course, about the similarities between Johnny Cade and Steve Randle.

The brilliance of them as characters is that personality wise they’re almost complete opposites. Steve is cocky and self assured and has a bitter, occasionally cruel streak a mile wide. Johnny on the other hand, is unsure, quiet, and deeply kind. These differences are what people seem to focus on the most when discussing these characters, but as characters they’re actually INCREDIBLY similar.

Both of them are the members of the gang with the worst home lives, coming from downright abusive situations- yes, Dallas had a shit dad, but at the time of the book it’s established he’s living by himself at Buck’s, he’s made himself an adult and as such his home life doesn’t foil Johnny’s, not really. Steve on the other hand, still lives at home but gets kicked out every other week, and ends up crashing at the Curtis place or anywhere else he can find. His mother is deliberately never mentioned, leaving the audience to draw their own conclusions, but it’s clear Steve doesn’t have much of a relationship with her. Either she’s a doormat who doesn’t defend him when his dad is hollering or maybe even beating him around, or she isn’t around at all and she left him with his dad. Either way, Steve has an abusive father (EVEN if it isn’t physical it is DEFINITELY psychological and emotional) and a neglectful mother. We have even more backstory for Johnny whose mother is an emotionally abusive ‘selfish slob’ and whose father beats him viciously. Of all the gang, their backstories and home life are the most similar, and their characters have been shaped by it as a result. (The way Steve is sometimes vilified in this fandom for his very real responses to childhood trauma and abuse, while Johnny is universally pitied is a whole other essay so I’ll save if for another day.) 

Ponyboy even says as much early on in the book;

 “Johnny was high-strung anyway, a nervous wreck from getting belted every time he turned around and from hearing his parents fight all the time. Living in those conditions might have turned someone else rebellious and bitter; it was killing Johnny.”

Rebellious and bitter, huh? Sounds like Steve Randle to me. His presence in the book is to show what kids in Johnny’s situation but without Johnny’s kindness turn into. Yes, Dally foils him a bit in this regard too, but I think Steve is a better, more in your face example of it. Their are other pieces in the book too, that highlight Steve and Johnny’s similar upbringing and the effects it has had on them, without directly calling them out as foiling characters, such as the fact they’re the two members of the gang who Pony calls out as examples when he’s talking about starting smoking young (woohoo nicotine as a coping mechanism am I right?);

“Johnny had been smoking since he was nine; Steve started at eleven.”

Here, the linking of their names even in what Pony views as an innocuous thing- smoking isn’t a big deal to him- forces us as readers to think about why they started. Knowing that smoking is used by the greasers as a tool to help them calm down reminds us that at their core these characters aren’t so different, and they likely felt the need for nicotine to deal with horrible experiences Pony never had to. Ponyboy smokes a lot, and he started young too, but whatever his catalyst was, it wasn’t the same as Johnny or Steve’s.

Yet another attribute that links them as characters is their fierce independence. Johnny is young, and the gang is protective of him, but as his core he is incredibly self sufficient because he has to be. He finds himself places to sleep, is forced to provide himself with food, and prior to being jumped was fine walking by himself. Steve works for a living, and much like Johnny, he too has to find himself a place to sleep and food to eat on the nights where he isn’t safe to be at home. Both Steve and Johnny are also incredibly protective in their own ways, especially of their more ‘innocent’ best friends (Soda is less innocent than Pony by a long shot, but he is still used to a modicum of security that Steve isn’t.) Steve gets angry at Ponyboy on Soda’s behalf when he asks about Sandy, even though Pony had no way of knowing what happened. Johnny kills Bob for Pony and looks out for him a whole lot in the church, then later sacrifices himself when he pushes Pony out of the fire. To their buddies, their main ‘safe’ zones, both Steve and Johnny are ride or die.

Finally, an important scene that rounds out my analysis of them as foils, is when Dally dies and Steve breaks down crying. 

“Steve stumbled forward with a sob, but Soda caught him by the shoulders.”

Here we see Steve Randle pushed to his limit- and Steve’s breaking point leads to tears, whereas Johnny’s breaking point pushed him to kill Bob. There’s a subversion of their roles here, where the usually cold, bitter, hateful Steve shows a sensitive side, and quiet little Johnny Cade gets rough and cold. To me, this just shows once again, how they’re very similar characters, with similar trauma, that has simply shaped them differently and made them tough in different ways. Steve, with bravado, craving a fight all the time because he can’t fight the helplessness or the feelings of being stuck; Johnny, resigned to his lot in life and tough because of it, seeking out love when he knows he will never find it where he wants it; but at their cores the both of them are battered, lonely kids who were forced to grow up way too fast. 

[myadmiringmind]

Pounding Rain or Pounding Heart? | Hiccup Haddock

Hiccup Haddock Masterlist

Word Count: 3.3k

Genre: Action | fluff | lil bit of angst

Pairings: Hiccup Haddock x reader, platonic!gang x reader

Summary: When on a mission that goes wrong, you get captured by dragon hunters.

Warnings: Weapons, Explosions, Kidnapping, Knives, Threatening, Cursing, Poison, Possible dehydration

Notes;

|PICTURE ARE NOT MINE|

——————————————

It was windy this evening. But you suppose that might be because you’re riding on the back of a dragon.

Your eyes were cast on the water below. Whispers about effective dragon traps being sold to hunters had gotten to Dragons Edge.

Hiccup decided that the group should check it out.

You had heard from some hunters that the shipments of weapons were around this area.

“Hiccup there’s nothing around here!” Astrid shouted from the back of Stormfly

“Keep looking! We can’t risk missing it!” Hiccup called back

You sighed, you’d been out for hours. All you could think about was dinner and your warm bed back on the edge.

“Are we sure that hunter was telling the truth? He could’ve given us random coordinates just so we’d let him go.” Tuffnut pointed out

“Yeah, we might just be wasting our time.” Ruffnut agreed

“We have to be sure.” Hiccup answered

You scanned the steady waters before casting your glances upward. The sky was pretty clear when you had left. Now it was dark, it looked like it was going to storm.

“Hiccup, maybe we should head back before it storms.” You shouted

Hiccup looked back at you, then maneuvered Toothless so the two of you were flying side by side.

“We will. But we have to keep looking.” He responded

“We’ve been looking for hours, Hiccup. Maybe it’s time to go home.” You replied

Hiccup sighed, looking at Toothless below him, he was clearly in thought.

He turned his head toward you to speak but was cut off by a shout.

“There!” Fishlegs shouted

Sure enough, a large ship was in sight. It was a little ways away but with the speed of your dragons you were sure to come in contact with it soon.

“Come on!” Hiccup shouted and dived down closer to the water.

The rest of you followed. The cold air hits your face in cold stabs. You closed your eyes for a moment, the air had caused your eyes to water.

You opened your eyes when you felt your dragon straighten out, becoming parallel with the water below.

“Astrid, Snotlout, attack from the sides. Ruff, Tuff, ring of fire!” Hiccup instructed

The twins shouted with glee, eagerly flying Barf and Belch around the ship to complete their task.

“Fishlegs, scout the area for the traps.” Hiccup looked at you, “We’ll attack from above.”

You nodded, signaling your dragon to follow Toothless.

Arrows with dragon root were already being shot into the air by the time you hovered above the ship. Your dragon expertly dodged all of them.

The ship rocked from the explosion the twins had made.

You expected it to begin to sink but it didn’t.

“Hiccup, it's dragon proof!” Astrid shouted, frustration laced in her voice.

“There aren’t any signs of the traps either!” Fishlegs flew up towards the two of you.

Hiccup groaned in annoyance.

Snotlout took that moment to speak his thoughts, “Well, now that those plans failed, I say we put my plan into play. Fire blazing attack. Snotlout!” Snotlout and Hookfang dived towards the ship.

“No!” Hiccup yelled but it was lost with the wind.

“Yeah!” “Woohoo!” The twins yelled following Snotlout

Hiccup tightened his hands on the reins, “Toothless, dive!”

You, Astrid, and Fishlegs followed after him.

Your dragon's tail whipped out, knocking an arrow from its path to Stormfly.

Astrid sent you a grateful nod.

The blonde yelled and jumped off Stormfly, ax in her hands.

Stormfly hovered in the air loyally, protecting Astrid from above.

“Down.” You said to your dragon

Your dragon landed on the deck of the ship, protecting your back as you pulled your knife out of your pocket, ready to kick some dragon hunter ass.

“Help!” Snotlout shrieked, he and Hookfang were caught in a net.

“There!” You shouted, your dragon blew fire at the net.

Only to reveal it was dragon proof.

You cursed under your breath, mounting your dragon.

Your dragon used its feet to try and lift it, but it was too heavy.

“A little help!” You yelled a little panicked

“A little busy. Gosh, doesn’t anyone respect the art of the fight.” You heard Tuffnut say

“I’m coming!” Fishlegs said

The two of you tried lifting the net but it was still too heavy.

“I’m here.” Astrid came over.

The three of you were able to lift the net up long enough for Hookfang and Snotlout to get out.

“We had it handled.” Snotlout said once they were in the air

You rolled your eyes but dived back down.

Hiccup and Toothless were corned by a group of hunters. Your dragon sent a blast, knocking the hunters out the way, and creating a path for Toothless and Hiccup.

The rain started coming down heavily.

The clouds were dark and it was hard to see anything other than your dragon blast.

Which is why you didn’t see a hunter cut a rope till a dragon proof cage fell down, trapping Hiccup and Toothless.

“Drop me here.” You instructed your dragon. You hopped off its back and pulled out your blade once more.

You punched the first hunter you came in contact with, knocking him out. You searched through his jacket hoping to find the key to the cage.

Your dragon roared, alerting you of the hunter that was running towards you. You dodged his attack. You turned ready to fight, just to notice he had knocked himself out by accidentally banging his head on a wooden pole while grabbing for you.

You repeated your process, but still no key.

You heard a deep chuckle and saw a hunter aiming an arrow at the twins.

You tackled him to the floor. His large hands trying to push you off so he could run away.

You noticed the keys at the last second, grabbing them from his belt without him noticing as he ran for shelter. Only to be stopped by a blast from Hookfang.

You rushed over to Hiccup and Toothless, quickly letting them out.

“It must have been a trap.” Hiccup said, “Get in the air, quick!” He shouted, mounting Toothless and flying upward.

You looked around but you couldn’t spot your dragon with the rain. You could hear them, but you couldn’t see them.

You looked back toward where Hiccup had been but he too was gone.

They were still here, you could hear them, even over the sound of the pouring rain, you could hear them.

Before you could call for your dragon, a firm grip grasped your wrist, the one with the bad that was holding your knife, and they turned it, hard.

You shrieked in pain.

You could hear your dragon call out in worry after hearing your pain. But they couldn’t get to you with all the arrows.

After an arrow narrowly missed their eye you had had enough.

“Go! Go with the others!” You shouted but your dragon didn’t move, “Go, there’s nothing you can do for me right now!” Your dragon roared regretfully.

The hunter holding you placed their hand over your mouth.

“Stay still pretty.” The hunter whispered

Angered, you bit down on his hand.

The hunter staggered back in pain. You tried to make a run for it, but you had already been surrounded by armed hunters.

You placed your hands up in defeat. You couldn’t fight ten to twelve hunters by yourself.

You thought they were just going to tie your wrists when a hand came from behind you, placing a cloth over your mouth.

You gasped in surprise.

Soon, your vision was fading, and you couldn’t tell the difference between the rain and your pounding heart.

————————

You coughed, again, and again, until you were fully conscious.

“Quiet brother, our guest has awakened.” A frighteningly familiar voice said

You looked up in shock. Sure enough it was Viggo with Ryker standing threateningly behind him.

“Sleep well?” Viggo asked faux kindness

You only glared back.

Viggo shrugged, unphased, “Fair enough.” He muttered

“I say we slit her throat.” Ryker said

You shivered involuntarily in fear.

Viggo sighed, clearly annoyed, “I’ve told you this big brother, we need her alive for this to work.”

“Just tell the dragon riders that she is alive.” Ryker said

Viggo shook his head, looking like a disappointed father, “Hiccup is too smart for that. We need her alive and well. Now…” He turned to look at you, his expression changing back to the faux friendliness, “Is there anything you’d like to share with us?” He asked

You glared in return, partly because you wanted to annoy them, and partly because your throat ached.

Viggo sighed, disappointed but not surprised, “Very well, throw her in a cell till we reach land.”

Two lower ranking guards nodded and picked you up, one of them on each arm.

You went to stand as they began moving but collapsed.

Viggo looked at you, again unsurprised, “I probably should’ve mentioned that you won’t be able to walk properly for a little while. Some side effects of the poison.”

Your eyes widened but he didn’t cast a second glance at you.

The guards dragged you downstairs and threw you into a dragon proof cell.

You looked around and saw that there were dragons in the other cells.

None the same type as your dragon, but there was a deadly nadder, which reminded you of Astrid and Stormfly. A couple gronckles too, which made you think of Fishlegs and Meatlug.

Astrid would’ve come up with a plan to get you out of here. She would’ve been able to take out the guards no problem.

Fishlegs would’ve known what they gave you. He would’ve known what to use to heal you.

The twins would’ve talked about something stupid and come up with jokes during inappropriate times that would’ve made you want to laugh.

Snotlout would’ve complained about being trapped. He would name all of his favorite things and complain that he’d never get to do them again. He might’ve even sung some of the lullaby’s his mother used to sing to him.

And Hiccup…oh how you wish Hiccup was here. You didn’t want to be alone. Surrounded by enemies and dragons that wanted nothing to do with you. Hiccup would’ve tried to befriend the dragons so they could both escape.

You didn’t have the energy for that though. You were tired. You were so tired. Your head hurts. The wooden walls of the ship were extremely uncomfortable but they were all you had.

You wanted your dragon, or your friends. You wanted Hiccup. He’d convince you that everything would be okay, even if they weren’t.

But you were all alone.

————————————

You were awakened by the sound of metal banging.

One of the hunters was banging his ax against the bars of your cell. He was grinning.

You clenched your teeth, wanting nothing more than to knock out his teeth.

“Wakey wakey.” He said, waving his ax as if he was greeting you with a wave of the hand.

You growled under your breath in annoyance.

“Ryker said to take you above deck.” The man said, using his keys to unlock your cell.

The dragons around you roared in protest.

“Oh shut up you stupid lizards!” The man yelled

You clenched your teeth. One, he needed to be punched, preferably by you. Two, the loud noises were not helping your headache.

The hunter yanked you up by your arm, causing you to gasp in pain.

“Whoops, did I hurt you.” He laughed

You considered trying to trip him, but then shut down the idea knowing if he went down you went down with him.

Your legs dragged on the floor through the lower deck and the steps were worse.

The hunter grumbled because he had to practically carry you up.

The feeling of the sun was the same as running head first into a tree.

You could barely keep your eyes open.

“Oh, looks who’s awake.” Ryker said, “You, take her down to the tent next to Viggos. Tie her to the bedpost and leave.”

You guessed he was addressing the hunter that was currently yanking you around because suddenly you were being dragged down a ramp.

Again, not good, not good at all.

You heard the sound of fabric being moved and the sun wasn’t as bright behind your eyes, so you assumed you were now in said tent.

You opened up and sure enough, you were right.

The guard used some rope to tie one of your wrists to the bedpost. He made sure to do it extra tight.

You fought the urge to cry out as you felt the rope dig into your skin.

The hunter sneered at the sight of you helpless, but followed his orders and walked out without a word.

You rested your head on the bed. You felt like you had been thrown off a mountain.

A few moments later you heard the tent open, for a moment you wondered if it was Viggo. And the hopeful side of you hoped it was one of your friends.

It was neither. This time, it was a different hunter. He was carrying a plate of plate in one hand and a cup with what you assumed was water in the other.

You wondered if he wanted you to watch him eat. Or if Viggo had sent him to make you watch him eat.

“Viggo says you should eat.” The hunter said

Of course. “Alive and well.” Viggo had said.

Hiccup wouldn’t be happy to find out they had starved you. Then again he probably wasn’t happy they kidnapped you either.

As the hunter walked back out you peered at your food.

It was a well served plate. Plenty of food to eat, and it looked good as well. It smelled good too.

But looking at it made you nauseous. So you decided against eating.

You reached for the cup of water, as you wrapped your hands around it a loud sound could be heard from outside your tent. You jumped in surprise and your water spilled, with barely a couple drops of water left in your cup.

You wanted to cry out in frustration.

You once again hoped for your friends to be on the other side of the tent but once again you were disappointed to hear Ryker shouting at some men for dropping something.

You sighed, laying your head back once more in hope to sleep until your friends got here.

———————-

“-up. Wake up!” A voice shouted

You jumped, opening your eyes to see Ryker in front of you with an impatient expression.

“Lucky you, your friends have come to save you.” He said

He hauled you up and you were dragged out into an open field.

The sun had mostly gone down, the sky was dark. Thankfully you could keep your eyes open now without a headache.

Walking further you could make out Viggos back, getting closer you could finally make them out. The dragon riders, your friends, stood together, with Hiccup at the front.

Oh you could cry in joy.

You heard a familiar roar. Your dragon was here too. Hovering above and looking straight at you.

Your dragon had announced your presence as all your friends looked over to you at once.

Some looked shocked, others relieved, some angry. A couple had a mixture.

Hiccup called out your name and stepped forward but Viggo held up his hand and stepped to the side in front of you. Viggo blocked your view from Hiccup and in turn blocked Hiccup's view to you.

“I’m a businessman Hiccup. One does not make these types of transactions without getting something in return.” Viggo said

“What do you want Viggo?” Hiccup asked, he sounded very frustrated.

“I want the papers you stole from me. Do you have them?”

Hiccup didn’t answer for a moment but seeing the back of Viggos head nod you assumed that Hiccup did have them.

You heard the sound of a buckle and some footsteps. You saw Viggos hand reach out but it stopped midway.

“One doesn’t make a trade without getting something in return.” Hiccup said

Viggo chuckled in amusement, “Yes yes. Big brother.”

Ryker walked forward with you. When you could see Hiccup again you could make out the stress in his posture and the worry in his eyes. You tried to smile but it probably didn’t look right.

“Do we have a deal?” Viggo asked

Hiccup sighed, “We have a deal.” He outstretched his hand with the pieces of parchment.

Viggo took them, opened them, scanned them, then nodded toward Ryker.

Ryker pushed you forward and Hiccup caught you.

Your face was against his chest and you breathed in his scent.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Hiccup tried to sooth you.

“What did you do to her?” Fishlegs cried

“Relax. It’s simply a side effect of the poison.” Viggo answered

You heard a collected gasp from your friends.

“You poisoned her!” Snotlout yelled

“You monster!” Fishlegs said

“How dare you!” Astrid screamed

“Not cool, dude.” Tuffnut said

“So, not cool.” Ruffnut agreed

“It’s a common poison, I assure you. I’m sure you’ll be able to heal her just fine.” Viggo said, unphased

“We better.” Hiccup threatened

“Farewell, dragon riders. I’m sure we will see each other very soon.” Viggo said

Hiccup, and you guessed Astrid helped you walk over to Toothless. There was no way you could fly your dragon, you knew that.

Astrid and Fishlegs helped you on to Toothless after Hiccup mounted.

Your back rested against Hiccup's chest. His arms come around your waist to hold onto the reins.

“We’ll be home soon enough.” Hiccup whispered

That was the last thing you heard before you fell asleep.

——————————-

The next morning was odd.

Like waking up after a dream kind of odd.

You realized that a damp cloth rested on your forehead. You reached up to grab it when a hand, gently this time, grabbed your wrist.

“Leave it be. It’s meant to help you.” A voice muttered

“Hiccup.” You rasped

“Hey, yeah, it’s me.” Hiccup said, placing his hand over yours.

You heard a quiet grumble.

Hiccup looked over his shoulder, “And these guys too.”

Looking over, Toothless and your dragon were watching the two of you closely.

“Hey guys.” You said weakly

Your dragon walked over to you carefully. They gently rubbed their head against yours.

“I missed you too.” You whispered

“She’s awake!” Another voice said

You grimaced at how loud they were speaking.

“Sorry.” You heard them say

Fishlegs and Meatlug were walking toward you.

Hiccup moved from the chair he was sitting on so Fishlegs could get a better look at you.

Fishlegs examined you for a few moments before asking, “How do you feel?”

“Better.” You responded, “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Fishlegs replied

You looked toward Meatlug, “What’s the final judgment, doc?”

Meatlug grumbled something and Fishlegs translated, “She said you’ll make a full recovery.”

“Thank the gods, you’re alright.” A new voice said

Astrid made her way into view and smiled down at you.

“You really had us worried, you know.” Astrid added

“Not me though.” Snotlout added in

Everyone glared at him and he went quiet.

“She’s awake?” Tuffnut asked

“Of course she’s awake, look at her!” Ruff replied, “Have you ever seen someone sleep with their eyes open?”

Tuff went into his thinking face, “Well, there was this one time we were at…”

Hiccup made his way back over to you and grabbed your hand.

“Perhaps we should go.” Astrid said

“I agree.” Fishlegs said

“What? But we just got here!” Ruff said

“Yeah! She’s our friend too, why does Hiccup get to hog her?” Tuff added in

Astrid grabbed both of them by the shoulders and walked them out, Fishlegs and Snotlout following behind. Not before Snotlout sent a disgusted look towards the two of you though.

Hiccup sent a look toward the dragons, a silent request, and they too left.

“Thank you for coming back for me.” You whispered

“You didn’t think we were gonna leave you there, did you?” Hiccup chuckled

You smiled, “I knew you would come back for me.”

Hiccup smiled too, “I would never not come back for you.”

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

edited on 05/15/2024

[princessbrunette]

line cook turned baby daddy jj who definitely cried his heart out when he held his newly born daughter to his bare chest for the first time. just sobs his heart out. he’s an empath guys. he’s got his backwards cap on and is still wearing his apron when he shows up, wide eyed and sweating after getting the call you’d went into labour. and you know he doesn’t leave your side basically at all, completely ignoring his manager blowing up his phone cause there’s way more important things going on (aka the birth of his c h i l d). he basically gets his hand broken and he won’t complain but it hurt like a bitch, but that all goes out the window when this slightly cone-headed screaming wriggly little babe is put on his chest and he’s just an absolute mess. you’d think he had the baby at that point.

- 🧸

this kills me bc yes :((((

you couldn’t call, in too much pain — but you shot him a text just hoping and praying he’d see it. it read a simple ‘in labour come asap’, and luckily for you — jj did see it, but unluckily for him he saw it not only mid shift, but mid lecture from his manager about being responsible.

“the way you act, represents us as a company jj and—”

his eyes are glancing down at his phone when it dinged with a notification, practically falling out of his head as he reads what it says. he’s suddenly moving without thought, yanking his apron off and throwing it aside, nodding quickly as if he gave a shit about what he was being told.

“uh-huh, yeah for sure and i really understand but i gotta go, i really gotta go—” hes already headed for the exit.

“excuse me?”

“my girls having her baby!” he hollers as he leaves, a faint “woohoo!” heard from the restaurant as he sprints off. of course, john b had received the same text, nearly knocking JJ off his feet when the twinkie swung round the corner with the gang inside, barely slowing down for him to jump in.

he gets there in time of course to hold your hand through the screaming and the refusal and the fear and the crying (mostly your own, but you were squeezing his hand pretty tight.) until before he knows it the room is hit with calm, a babies cry ringing out through the air.

he’s so focused on you he almost forgets the acknowledge the baby at first, making sure you look okay and healthy, cupping your face breathlessly like he was the one screaming as he presses millions of kisses to your cheeks, laughing gleefully. “you did so good baby, so good holy shit. you’re a fuckin’ weapon.”

the baby gets brought for you to hold on your chest and he goes real quiet, the reality of the situation settling in as he stares at the life the two of you created there in your arms. it had been such a long nine months, and today had moved so fast he hadn’t had time to process the fact that the baby was finally going to be here for real.

his ears are still ringing, and he can’t hear what you’re saying as you talk to the baby, holding her on your chest. he’s just staring, looking at all the babies features. a sweet baby girl, still clammy and bloody but beautiful none the less, the spitting image of you already, he can tell, and wouldn’t have it any other way. he’s still stroking your head, fingers twisting the hair at your sweaty scalp almost nervously as he just stares in shock.

exhausted, you look up at him. he recalls you looking as beautiful as the day you met him. “you wanna take her jayj?”

the nurse helps the pass-over and he sits in the chair beside the bed, this clammy warm baby tucked into his chest, so real, moving and whimpering. you’re smiling, tiredly but encouragingly in his direction, your first ever look at JJ as a dad. he looks back at you, lips slightly agape, eyes wide, then back at the baby, then back at you, then back at the baby and he just crumbles, bursting into tears.

“oh jayj.” you whisper hoarsely in awe, tears filling your own eyes at the sight.

“shes so beautiful man, i swear— i swear to you right now, no one is ever gonna hurt you okay? not as long as daddies around.” he rambles to the baby, lifting her to kiss her damp head, careful not to let his salty tears drip on her perfect skin. “my baby girl.” he adds in a whisper, rocking her before letting out an embarrassed laugh, looking back at you. “dude i’m a wreck, i feel like i just gave birth.” he comments, which gets a laugh out of the nurses.

after the baby gets checked by the midwives you’re allowed visitors, JJ handing the baby back to you so he can go and tearfully retrieve the group to bring them in. he walks into the waiting room and of course they all stand up instantly, waiting for him to say something. “y’all wanna meet my daughter or what?”

[issacballsac]

“Being Best-friends with Dante Sparda„

Being a son of Sparda doesn’t mean he doesn’t have time to fool around with you ! Gender neutral human reader

Teenage Years | DMC3

Being the massive flirt he is he’ll most likely try and flirt with you upon meeting

Seeing as his twin brother is currently trying to kill him and take his necklace he’ll keep your first conversation short and leave you with his number

After literal Hell on Earth he’ll remember to give you a call

Y’all click instantly…he’s also just a really easy person to get along with but we’ll just ignore that

Now we all know he STAYS broke so either you pay for a meal or y’all are taking a walk in the park somewhere

Getting him to actually talk about himself is pretty difficult

Give him space and he’ll open up about deeper things in his life eventually especially things that concern his demon half(brother, childhood, etc.)

He does enjoy throwing compliments everywhere so expect daily words of praise whether it be sarcastic, goofy, exaggerated, or sincere praise

If you like to compliment as well it’ll be like the most sickening bromance ever

If your still in school DO NOT go to him for homework help

He’ll hype you up for sure but if you need genuine academic help just get a tutor💀

Would be genuinely upset if you made a joke regarding his white hair bro would get hella moody and claim you aren’t friends anymore

If you have a part time job you can BET he’s gonna ask for some bread

Not exactly outright but he’ll allude to it like..

“You remember all the damage those demon guys did to my shop? Yeah…it’s gonna cost A TON to repair it by myself…”

“Are you hungry? Well I heard about this new pizza spot that WE should totally tryout 😁.”

If you like to make clothes/jewelry/accessories he’ll totally wear it

Refuses to let you mess with his hair until like two years into knowing each other

Takes pride in his looks and you should too! Self care! Ofc you’re paying for any and all expenses🫶

Glorified sugar daddy😭

If you live with your parents…so does he

Congratulations you have a new brother 🩰

If you don’t he’ll offer to be roommates so he can get a cheaper rent

You’ll definitely meet Lady she is absolutely appalled at how you tolerate him constantly sarcastically ofc she knows he’s a good guy

If you’re into video games he’ll play with you granted he doesn’t have the money to pay for a game console so it’ll be on whatever console you have

Once he’s in your life he’s never leaving literally.

A best-friend for a lifetime

Adult Years

He probably saved you from some demons

Like if you met him in his teenage year he’d def start flirting

What can I say he stays true to himself

His personality would never change regardless of his aging

Still the same wacky woohoo pizza man we know and love

Thinks you look hot and invites you on a date which quickly just turns into a hangout after the LACK of romance

Still finds hanging with you to be fun and keeps a friendship

Even after establishing a friendship he still flirts here and there—force of habit

Would definitely teach you how to ride a motorcycle if you didn’t already know

More willing to let you mess with his hair

Like put it in pigtails or tie it up/braid it

Introduced you to the whole DMC gang

Now depending on the time period he’ll tell you about Vergil and his upbringing

He would totally tell you all about it after the events of DMC5 after he returns ofc!

I feel like he’s an animal guy so if you have any pets they’re now his pets too

Co-parenting core🩰

If you’re an artist he’ll be your muse/reference material any day

Loves the attention

Drunk dance nights

Karaoke too he doesn’t have the best singing voice but it’s not the worst

Since he’s a devil hunter he goes on missions a lot and seeing as you don’t want to get your shit rocked you stay behind

Cherishes every moment spent together and will make sure you know that

You always take him with you on vacations

How could you not???

He appreciates if you chip in helping him pay off his MASSIVE FUCKING DEBT

He doesn’t expect you to though

Despite being broke he stays stylish and if you asked would help you with fashion

Ofc he isn’t like BIG on fashion but cmon have you seen his looks? He dabbles

Immediately sees you after missions and starts ranting about the entire thing

“Can you believe it?! So obviously I shot that nasty bitch and it had the nerve to explode all over my jacket! It died so I can’t even get it to pay for a new one!”

“Don’t worry about why I smell like this worry about the fact that Trish totally took MY commission!”

Very dramatic but laid back too if that makes sense

Calls you cheesy nicknames that I will not elaborate on use your imagination 🗣️🫶

Enjoys live music and will go with you to concerts if you like

Shows you his demon form if you’re interested

Whatever your hobby is he’ll be interested

Would make sure nothing ever bad happened to you regarding devils ofc

Best bros for life and in death🫡

[cxhleel108]

LITG S8 Thots for this week: I love winning!

(Fusebox hasn’t proven me wrong often…damn near at all, but oh do I love when they do!)

• Ok but his body kinda tea I’ll give him that.

• Also do I spy a Libra tattoo??? LIBRA GANG STAND TF UP!!!♎️♎️♎️

• Luna really just want every man in here except her own like damn bitch just give Jin to me since you so open to change😭😭😭

• The spat being us disagreeing on one thing for maybe 30 seconds and then Oakley immediately apologizing to and worshipping me like ok girl, sure.

• Keep trying all y’all want I’m not turning on my man😑😑😑

• We not doing this again uh uh.

• But also…HOW DO WE GET OAKLEY IN THESE??? QUICKLY!

• The fact I was finna deny speaking to Hari and then he brings up that he has intel on my man ugh they know how weak I am help💔

• The intel in question being that he was gonna ask us to go exclusive. WOW! WHAT A SHOCKER!

• Theo what I have to say to you couldn’t take any more than 5 seconds. Stop wasting my time PLEASE!

• Oh yes I love when a man acts “playerfully”…

• It was so obvious that the letter was from our partner can we stop being fucking dumb?

• We didn’t emote enough after reading that letter. I needed my bitch to break out into tears while screaming or something!

• They are arguing over the letter omfggg the day that this villa knows peace, pigs will be flying.

• I busted out laughing at this cuz some of y’all were theorizing that Bea was his sister. Do you know how funny that would’ve been if she was😭

• Oh for christ’s sake can Luna shut the fuck UP? I’m so tired of her getting pressed at Jin being flirty with other bitches as if she don’t do the same exact shit. Ho mad cuz he says Bea might be hot but was just begging Hari to give her pussy a taper fade haircut, girl byeeeee!

• Theo finally manned up and admitted he wants me. Woohoo! Can we move on?

• Outfit time!

• Ngl I thought this was gonna look a whole lot more stupid but thankfully it doesn’t. Now as to why they made accompanying shoes that we couldn’t even put on is beyond me.

• Jin stfu😭😭😭

• IGNORE WHAT HARI AND I ARE DOING BAE IS BACK AAAAHHHHHH😝😝😝

• Yes use the good punani powers to distract him sis exactly!

• I’m seriously so glad I didn’t have to wait 20 episodes to see my bookie bear again like y’all don’t understandddd.

• He just got back and he already being messy helpskdmsmasnd.

• I know they ain’t actually shocked that I dropped the rope during tug of war…I already told y’all I am a one dick woman!

• Figures that Bea is the one that’s actually with my man, yet Luna is the one that’s making me wanna smack the shit outta her.

• Outfit time again!

• Say what you want but they are definitely killing the outfit game this season. Another bad bitch fit!

• The fact we can just tell Hari to shut the hell up so we can listen to the other date awww he really shoulda chose another girl to go after.

• Ok I fucks with you Bea! We love real bitches here💯💯💯

• And the fact Oakley recognizes that we would NEVER play those games oh when I tell you we fucking him real good tonight!

• God why am I so evil😭😭😭

• We actually get a private moment and they didn’t hoodwink us this time omg can we get fed like this more often?

• Oooooo wait clock his tea bae! Cuz that actually don’t make no fucking sense like how you out of practice for 2 years and suddenly you pulling out romantic ass stories just cuz you meet one bad bitch on Love Island?

• Oh lord someone duct tape Luna mouth shut before she start another yap fest.

• To clarify, when I say “you both” I’m referring to Oakley and his donk. Sorry Hari!

• Mind you the stuff that’s supposedly gonna change my mind about him is finna be some shit like “Instead of buying you a box of chocolates, he said he was gonna get you a giant teddy bear and a bouquet of roses and carnations.” Like can y’all cut this shit out it do not be gagging us anymore😕

• Because of course as soon as y’all bring me my baby daddy back you take him away again…

• Welp, loyal girlies I guess it’s time for us to suffer for another 2+ weeks!

[thatonefreemanversefic]

Good morning everyone! Happy Freeman Friday!! Woohoo!!

Chapter 5 is here!! Yippee!! Yahoo!! Hip Hip Hooray!! The Gang's All Here :)

[aquaredhomestuckau]

who wants an unintelligibly unfinished lore infodump

wow really ? ok here goes … no pictures sorry

set the scene theres a space player guy who played sburb ( who would have guessed ) and did all that average dead session caliborn stuff but like not caliborn , and also the challenge being more tailored towards space players rather than time players , how it would change ? IDK . he wins all the fucked up sign leprechauns who will become the horoscope and is like wow i could conquer so many universes with these guys or Whatever thats very on the nose

but in a different medium , his timeplayer ex-hate-girlfriend from ANOTHER UNIVERSE also played sburb and because of the challenge thing couldnt really get all too much done past the god tiering crap . but its ok … becaus she didnt need to .. she only did that bs so she could stop that orher guy from being all big and bad .

she traveled through the furthest ring woohoo and kicked that other guys ass hashtag girlboss and then was like ok guess im leading you guys now and the leprechauns were like OK that other guy was kinda chill but ALRIGHT , they go back to alternius through stupid time shenanigans

this girl im tlaking about is technically the lord englisj ‘ standin ‘ but there was a falling out involving a first guardian ( doc standin ) and the fun gang or whatever they were called and time girl went their separate ways … how this happens ? give me a break i havent thought that far yet . scratchndin is like dont weorry you can go run your errands and become one with the timeline or whayever your team and universes are in good hands ……. and time girl is like ok thats good i guess dont try any funny business , ill be back with the milk soon ……….. then you wont believe who fucks a bunch of future stuff over ..

ok now weve got the first guardian of alternifuck and shit who like in a way is very opposite to doc scratch … everything she .. its a girl btw i dont know why i made her a girl but its too late to change it now LOL .. everything she does is very against what timeplayer stands for and does a bunch of stuff just for the hell of it as a test of her powers she thinks shes funnie …… let women have hobbies i guess ..

thats about as far as im gonna infodump

OK howd you like it how many plot holes did u find how much will you drink to that

[gabessquishytum]

Dream and Hob have been doing some roleplay in the Dreaming, where they reenact each of their centennial meetings only this time they fuck nasty right there in the White Horse. Hob asks Dream which one was his favorite, and he can't decide. He needs...more data. That, and one Hob just isn't enough. He needs all of them at once in order to make an accurate assessment. It's science, you see.

So the next time they have a sex date in the Dreaming, there's just the one Dream but all eight versions of Hob are there. Present day Hob is simultaneously in control of all the other versions of himself, so he gets the weird and amazing experience of being eight people at once while Dream just lies back and gets gangbanged by all the Hobs. Two of them are in his ass, two more are fucking his face, one is sucking him off, and he's jerking off the rest. Since Hob is experiencing all of this at once, they all come at the same time and each of them comes a lot more than they would in the waking because Dream is a total cumslut. So yeah. Hobukkake.

Afterwards Hob asks Dream if they can do that again but in reverse (one Hob, multi-Dream gangbang), and of course he obliges because this is important scientific research, after all.

Woohoo, Hoborgy! Hobukkake! Gang Hobang! Dream really out here living his best life.

It's so good to make up for lost time and get to enjoy all the things he missed. He gets to play with 1389 Hob’s hair and beard, enjoy 1489's cute, shy appearance and 1589's softer physique. All while they fuck his arse and play with his cock. He can give the Hobs from 1689 and 1889 the attention that he feels that he should have done at the time, and make his apologies by sucking them off. He's already thought about all the things he wanted to do to Hob in 1789, and now they get to come true! And he even gets to be introduced to Hob from 1989 and make up for missing the meeting.

It's not easy to control 8 versions of himself at once, but dreams are amazing things and Hob is able to do exactly what he wants. He has Dream completely at his mercy, splayed out in the middle of the White Horse just for him. He even gets to give Dream a show by making other versions of himself make out or jerk each other off. The climax is one of Hob’s most intense dream experiences ever. His cum drips all over Dream’s skin and Hob just wants to lick it all off him. Or rub it onto him and make sure that the scent stays there forever.

Dream can't help thinking about how it would be to have all of those lovely Hobs inside him. He would need to manipulate reality of course, but that's no issue. He just wants as much of Hob in him as possible, wants to be totally stuffed with his cock and cum <33 and Hob is only too happy to oblige him. He's already have visions of big!Dream getting fucked on 8 of Hob’s cocks at once.

And then maybe Hob can have ago with all the Dreams, too. Because let's be real, he's just as much of a cockslut as his boyfriend <33

[1indigoisles]

TWP Crackpot Theory Time!!!

So, we finally got the TWP titles! Woohoo!

Except the third one's called The Last Shadowhunter. And we are all dying a little inside because of it.

But, it may not be what we all, in at least some part of our brains, believe.

Now, before I begin with my probably crazy theory, I've been thinking about one thing ever since the titles came out, namely The Last Shadowhunter. So, Lucifer is our main villain, right? And villains, as we all know, are hugely fond of giving our heroes nicknames. So, what I'm thinking, is that Lucifer calls Kit Last Shadowhunter. I promise, it fits in my theory.

Now, we all read the Shadowhunters wiki about The Wicked Powers, yes? And it says over there that all the different generations of Shadowhunters that we have read of so far will have to band together to save the world, and Angel knows how many other different realms, from ultimate doom.

That would require them all to come from the past, right?

So we have magic the messes with both dimensions (I'm talking Thule over here) and time, which in this case means the past.

But what if it also means the future?

Now, what I'm thinking is that our TWP gang, namely Kit, Ty and Dru, somehow, through the craziness of the first two books, manage to land themselves into a possibility of the future. Mind the word possibility.

See where this is going? Dru, Ty and Kit then find themselves in a world where the nine princes won, Downworlders run rampant, warlocks are forced to join the princes, faerie are the only uniform government left, werewolves and vampires are scattered, and worst of all, Shadowhunters are all gone.

Except for one.

Kit Herondale from the future swoops in and rescues the time-travellers from an oncoming demon attack. And yes, he can fly because he has gold wings (read my other theories and convince me otherwise). Kit having gold wings and faerie magic is my Roman empire, okay?

He stares at the three of them, Ty and Dru in particular because they're dead. There's a huge confusion at first, but then future Kit explains what happened.

So the Nine Princes of Hell won. Shadowhunters, even part-Downworlder and Ascended, are all truly dust and shadows. Because Lucifer, knowing the saying We are dust and shadows really well, he gains supreme power and turns all Shadowhunters into dust and leaves their shadows behind (this is my other Roman empire, okay? Kill me later).

And just when every Shadowhunter around him was disintegrating, and Kit saw everybody he loved die too and was glad he himself was about to die, he didn't.

Nothing and no one could explain it.

All that aside, Kit had lost his parents, his sister, his friends, Dru, Ty. And lots of other people lost too. Magnus and Max lost Alec and Rafe, Maia and Lily lost their good friends, Kieran lost Mark and Cristina (and I like to think that Kieran swore to exact vengeance for the deaths of the people he loved), and Gwyn lost Diana, and the list of people who lost doesn't end. Tessa, however, is dead too, because she is also part-Shadowhunter, but Ash is still alive because he's half-faerie, quarter-Shadowhunter and quarter-demon.

Now, Kit, Ty and Dru finally understood why Lucifer called Kit Last Shadowhunter. It was because Lucifer had foreseen a future exactly like this, a future where he'd won.

And it is in this future that Kit, Ty and Dru finally find a way to stop the Princes of Hell.

Now, I have a question for you all.

[hamartia-grander]

So I recently found out that the Sims 4 is free for download, and naturally I wanted to check it out because I was never allowed to play as a kid but I am an Adult now so I can do what I want. Then I got the brilliant idea to make as many Detroit: Become Human characters I cared to have and play that way, because I’m too impatient to try to learn how to play before I jump into something. So of course it has been a disaster and a learning curve. Here’s some key bits because. I mean this is too funny. I need to share it:

First off I spent way too much time designing each character because I’m a perfectionist and the Sims customisation interface was difficult for me to get down. But I figured it out and I think I did pretty good. I had to download some hair and outfit mods though.

I started out with three households: the Jericrew, the Kara fam, and the DPD gang (ft. all three Connor bros) but now I have five households: 1. Gavin, Kamski, and Nines, 2. The Jericrew + Chloe, 3. Kara fam, 4. Connor and Sixty, and 5. Hank and Cole.

Chloe joined the Jericrew because she and North started dating. Previously, she lived with Gavin, Kamski, and Nines. And I made Gavin and Kamski brothers ofc, but I also made Chloe their sister just so no funny business happened. Also I found out you can change their romantic/sexual preferences and technically make them aroace if you uncheck everything, so Kamski, Connor, and Kara are all aroace because I headcanon them as such. Also Gavin is trans bc I said so. I also found pride flags which was fun. 

Kara fam is just perfect. They are the absolute best. I’m so glad I started with them but also I think they gave me too high of standards, because everyone else just sucks (affectionate). Everytime I go to the Kara fam household, they are all happy/fine/positive emotion, and they actually take care of themselves. I have full autonomy on, and yet I’ll come back to the Jericrew or DPD gang or whoever and find they haven’t fed themselves and the toilets are broken or something. It’s insane. Nines once started a fucking fire on his own. He’s level 6 in cooking. Connor fucking DIED while I was away but luckily I just reloaded a previous save and got him back but like what the FUCK. I don’t even know what he died from either lmao but he died in his bedroom so I can only imagine. Meanwhile Kara, Luther, and Alice are all perfect angels who could do no wrong and they clean their house and have safe kitchen practices and don’t die. I love them a lot. Alice does so well in school. She has many friends and one enemy, idk wtf went down there but it’s funny to me. Every good girl deserves a nemesis. Luther is a gamer, didn’t expect that to happen but it’s funny. Kara plays pranks on them???? But they laugh so it’s fine. Also Alice isn’t a scared little bitch baby like Cole, who can’t sleep a single night without waking up scared of the monster under the bed. Alice befriended hers. 

So yeah I wasn’t going to initially make Cole, just have Connor Nines and Sixty be Hank’s only sons, but then Hank had the aspiration of wanting to start a family so I just decide to try adopting for him and there was a kid named “Anderson” which was so funny and I had to adopt him. But he’s a very weird kid, he’s like if Connor was an 8 year old. Like, gets good grades but is sad about not making friends, tries and fails to befriend the monster under the bed so he’s scared of it, he eats cereal at 3am, he sings to and talks to his stuffed unicorn. It’s adorable. I had no idea all of this was possible.

Oh yeah um. Another thing I had no idea about? Fucking “woohoo”. I knew what it was but I had no idea it was so graphic???? Like they fucking make noises???? I couldn’t even like look at my computer it’s ridiculous. I have to like leave and control another sim each time. Simon and Markus woohoo’d in North’s bed once (against my will) so I had to get her a new one because that’s fucking gross.

The couples will just randomly walk up to each other and kiss which is adorable but also annoying when like for example, I’m having the Connor bros + Gavin visit Hank and Cole and Gavin and Nines just start kissing in the middle of the living room. But then Cole has an adverse reaction to seeing them kiss and is all like disgusted by it, which is hilarious. The others will clap though??? Lmao

Oh my God Sixty flirted with Gavin once and Nines got pissed. Then CONNOR yelled at Sixty for betraying Nines. This game is the funniest thing in the world. Who came up with this. 

North and Simon are best friends but like they kinda did that on their own. North will just go up to Simon and hug him randomly which is crazy to me bc she’s got the hothead trait and like will randomly yell at Josh or stomp around the house, but she sees Simon and just hugs him. It’s so cute. She flirts with Chloe unprompted too. 

I love Markus to death in dbh. He’s one of my favourite characters. Sims Markus, however, is the Worst. He’s got the Friend of the World aspiration or whatever it’s called so he makes lots of friends, but then he’ll like say something mean and get people mad at him?? And obviously it’s in a sims language so idk wtf he says but for example, I introduced the Jericrew to the Kara fam and he got Luther mad at him. Idek how. And then he will mope around about not being recognised for his paintings but gets mad at me when I make him show off his paintings. Bitch what do you want from me. He took Simon on a date and it went really well, but as soon as it was over he fucked off and like did pushups in the park while Simon just stood there. He once spent $45 all at once by making himself three coffees in a row. What the hell. He also got mad at Simon for God knows what but then North yelled at Markus for it which was so funny. I had Josh ask Markus for encouragement once when he was sad, and Markus walked away. Idk if I’m just this bad at the game or if Sims Markus is bugged but it’s wild. 

Josh adopted a kid when I wasn’t there. I was gone for twenty minutes and Josh adopted a kid and named him Antony. It was hilarious but also annoying bc there was literally no space for this kid so I had to rearrange the entire house, and they definitely couldn’t afford a whole Child but Josh didn’t care apparently. Full autonomy is fun but I didn’t realise they could do crazy things like adopt a child on their own. Poor Antony is also really scared of the monster under the bed but Josh has so far proven himself to be a terrible father in that, everytime his kid wakes him up to spray the monster under the bed, Josh gets up and then goes off and does something else, doesn’t even like check up on Antony it’s so annoying. Antony started waking up North instead, unprompted, and she helps him. 

North made an enemy and, at first I encouraged it and had her fight the guy because it was funny, but now she’ll just be walking down the street and it is on sight with this poor fucker. She sees him across the street, runs over, and starts beating him up. It’s hilarious and I love her so much. 

I gave the Jericrew a pool and had everyone invited over for a neighbourhood pool party to introduce them all to each other and Sixty swam into the road. I know it was a glitch but it was super funny. He just. Kept swimming. Into the road. And then swam back. Like he was in the road.

I gave Sixty the “villainous valentine” trait or whatever it’s called because I don’t ship him with anyone and he’s a drama queen so I thought it would be funny, but then he flirted with Josh and Josh reciprocated. I didn’t even make him do it. I had Sixty flirt with everyone who wasn’t in a relationship and it was Josh who liked it. I saw the little green hearts with the ++ above their heads and I was like. What. the fuck just happened. But anyways now Josh and Sixty like each other and I’m too much of a weak bitch to have Sixty cheat on Josh even though it’s his aspiration because I love Josh so idk what I’m gonna do there. I could change it I guess but also I doubt they’ll last lmao especially since I’m doing nothing to help them. It’s still funny tho. I guess I’ll update if anything changes?? If anyone even cares ab this lmao.

Oh also before that, I had Sixty homewreck the Goth marriage and then break up with Mortimer goth so he could get the two aspiration achievements from it, it was funny. Mortimer was a bitch to Connor too, so worth it. Also this family is definitely a Walmart brand Addams family lmao. Except the husband is nowhere near as devoted and loving of his wife obviously. 

Luther is a really high level in the comedy skill and I didn’t do that myself so I guess he’s just naturally hilarious. He’ll be watching tv with Alice and I’ll see him say something and they both laugh, or he’ll joke with Kara while they cook dinner together and they both laugh and it is adorable. Then Alice will come home from school and go see Luther to tell him about her day and he listens and talks back he’s just the sweetest ever.

Simon and Markus’s wedding. Dear lord. I could make a whole separate post about it. It was pure chaos. Let me reiterate that I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing in this game. I’ve never played before and didn’t even know you could hold weddings without the special pack or whatever. Anyways, I had to redo their wedding three times. Three times. So their wedding happened four times because I don’t McFreaking understand this game’s antics.

The first time, I just was floundering and didn’t know how to do anything it was asking me to do. I invited all the other dbh characters but when we showed up at the park, which is where I held the wedding, everyone just wandered off and I had no idea how to get them to watch or anything. I wasn’t prepared with any resources either. It was a mess. Technically I succeeded in the event because I did get them married, but nothing else happened. So I reloaded the save and tried again. 

The second time, I did it a little better, and I had actual tables and chairs and cookware prepared to make food/the cake/etc. I had a whole setup in Magnolia Park that actually looked pretty good. Plus it’s free if you build in the park which is double cool. But anyways I got about halfway through the event when I had Simon and Markus sit at the table with their guests to eat and socialise, and Elijah fucking Kamski flirted with Markus in front of Simon. Markus made a disgusted face and like waved him off, clearly not reciprocating the flirting, but for some reason the game still counted that as “cheating” even though Markus didn’t do anything??? Idk why tf that is but it’s dumb. Anyways, Simon is heartbroken because Markus “cheated” thanks to Kamski being a twat, and I didn’t think much of it til the event ended and I got everyone home and I realised that Markus and Simon’s romance bar had almost completely reset. Like it had the tiniest sliver of pink left. And their friendship bar was halved. Like Kamski fucking bulldozed their relationship when they were just married. And I spent a good hour working frantically to repair their relationship but it wasn’t going well and it was just even more of a mess, and NORTH decided she hated Markus now because he hurt Simon, it was just the worst. So I cheated a little again and went back to my save just before the wedding and started it over again.

The third time went the same as the second, except this time Luther flirted with Markus in front of Simon, and Markus fucking flirted back. I meant it when I said Sims Markus is the worst. He and Luther were good friends before the wedding bc I play with the Kara fam and Jericrew the most bc they’re my favourites, so that makes more sense than Kamski, but still!!! Markus sucks in the sims. Anyways, as soon as I saw that happen I learned my lesson and immediately restarted again.

The fourth and final time, I took away their autonomy. That fixed every problem. The wedding went smoothly, no one fucking flirted with Markus and ruined everything, and poor beloved Simon was so happy. Then when I sent everyone home I gave their autonomy back. Now, when it comes to certain other characters, I definitely wouldn’t have cared this much, but neither Markus nor Simon would ever be the type to cheat, so I don’t at all feel bad about going back and restarting each time, because that’s not who they are. And I’m lowkey pissed that other characters I’m not even controlling are able to flirt with characters I am controlling that are in relationships. Like dear lord, Luther would never. Kamski might. But Luther absolutely would not ever. It’s so crazy.

So anyways, I finally fucking got them married, everyone’s happy, I’m happy. 

Connor is so sweet with Cole. It’s so cute. He reads to Cole and sprays the monster under the bed when Hank isn’t available to and he tag-teams with Cole to prank Gavin and it’s adorable. Oh also I gave Connor the mischief trait or whatever it is because he’s canonically a little shit and it’s funny. And his number one victim is definitely Gavin, close second is Sixty. He pranked Hank a few times but Hank didn’t like it so he stopped. He’s never pranked Nines though idk why. He’ll also just clean things and fix things without me telling him to. He’s a gamer too.

Nines decided he loved fitness on his own. He just does push ups in the kitchen. I’ll be playing as another household and see him jogging down the street. It’s kinda funny. 

I was gonna have Nines propose to Gavin bc I think that’s how it would happen, but Gavin actually beat me to it. 

North and Chloe are so fucking cute. North will just walk up to her and kiss her cheek or flirt with her and Chloe gets all blushy it’s adorable. North handed her a rose once on her own. 

Dude some of these guys are idiots. Someone will be in the bathroom and they’ll just walk in and then be all like “I can’t unsee that!!” like bitch have you heard of knocking. Wtf. but apparently couples can use the bathroom or shower in front of each other no problem so at least I don’t have to worry about that.

I gave each of the Jericrew fireplaces in their rooms. Big mistake. Within five minutes, Simon and Josh caught themselves on fire. I took the fireplaces away immediately. 

I gave North some knight armour stands in her room bc they’re cool as fuck and I think she’d like them, and she’ll just stare at the armour sometimes it’s funny. 

I found out you can have male characters wear dresses if you remove the dumb “masculine” tag on their outfit choices and I spent at least ten minutes freaking out and salivating over Markus in a dress. GOD he looks so fine. Fuck. I gave Simon and Sixty dress options too bc I think they’d rock it and I’m right. Tempted to give everyone dress options actually. North wears a tux though, and her swimsuit is a one piece because I refuse to believe she’d ever wear anything that even slightly resembles the Eden Club “outfit”. She’s hot as fuck in a tux which is obvious.

I think that’s it but I’ll add on if anything else crazy happens. <3

[bunbeeplays]

The Lemon Legacy: Generation 1, Chapter 20 - Summer Days and Nights

The gang hits the local beach.

Summer: You look like a burnt chicken nugget.

Becca: I didn't ask but thank you so much, Summer.

Mark and Travis grill some fruit in the meantime.

Mark: I know you're WHITE white, man, but you can use at least a little seasoning when you cook.

It's lunch time. Libby and Ophelia are too busy eating each other up visually.

Travis: Those two need to get some rest in since they're definitely going to keep each other up all night, huh?

Summer: That is a very rude and inappropriate thing to say, Travis. I would never.

Listen, this isn't super plot or dialogue heavy stuff. They build sand sculptures, sunbathe, search for seashells. Y'know, typical beach episode behavior.

The couples eventually split off, so Ophelia takes Libby to her favorite spot: the island of Mua Pel'am.

Libby: Are you sure this is safe? The water looks deep out there.

Ophelia: Our energy bars are full, we'll be fine!

Libby trusts Ophelia and allows herself to simply float.

The two weightlessly float in the ocean, any prior stress leaving their bodies as they enjoy the simplicity of this moment, the warm sun, the cool water. They don't even have to worry about drifting away from each other, nature itself brings the two women even closer together.

As the sun sets, the couple wades back to shore.

Libby: Even doing nothing with you is magical.

Ophelia: I think the view helped.

Libby: I prefer this view right here.

Ophelia: Oh my Watcher, quit being such a dork.

Libby: Is this where you grew up? Why would you ever want to leave?

Ophelia: Nah, Gran just retired here a few years ago. I suppose I could have moved here to be closer to her, but there's not many performing opportunities here that wouldn't be cultural appropriation.

Ophelia: My parents and I aren't on good terms, to put things simply. That's why I moved to Willow Creek, and why I'm alone on the family tree. Maybe I'll get into it someday, but right now, I just want to enjoy this moment.

Libby can't argue with that. It's a good moment.

As it darkens, the couple continues to explore the island. They take a break to draw some hearts in the sand.

Ophelia: Aww, you made our hearts connected!

Ophelia: I want to show you my favorite place in all of Sulani.

Libby: I want to see it.

Ophelia guides Libby over to the nearby waterfall. Pure, unfiltered beauty. At this moment, they feel like the only two people in the world.

Maybe it's the rush of the water clouding their senses. Maybe it's the look in each other's eyes impairing their judgement. Maybe it's the fumes from the nearby ocean sludge.

Either way, they know they can't wait long enough to go back to their rental. They need each other now.

Libby: Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

Ophelia: OMW, Libby! My first woohoo, in public? And outside?!

Libby: Come on, no one's around! And ask yourself, would you rather lose your woohoo card in some rental bed, or under the stars in your favorite place?

Well, Ophelia clearly didn't need much convincing.

Ophelia: Come on, you go first! This was your idea!

Libby: Gladly.

Ophelia loves learning new things about her girlfriend. Today, she learns that Liberty Lee is a top. A surprise, but a pleasant one, nonetheless.

Ophelia: You okay?

Libby: I'm great. That was-

Ophelia: Amazing. You've got to teach me that thing you did with your tongue. That was insane!

Libby: Not to ick you out, sweetie, but that might have been one of the frogs.

The two end the night with a cheeky skinny dipping hot tub make out sesh, hoping their housemates don't try to join them. They're a little preoccupied, girls.