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exterminatusiguess · 1 year

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A draft made by me and a good freind

Dagon slowly climbed the spiral staircase of Pyke's tower, periodically gazing out through the windows and watching as the waves crashed onto shore, and allowed the wind to carry the seas spray up and into the castle. It had been the first day back from the great Reaving. It had been a great and glorious adventure, full of plunder and the thrilling bloodshed which turned boys into men and kept the Iron Islands strong. A youth of 16, in the Greenlands Dagon would be considered to have just come of age. But these were the Iron Isles, and Dagon had already spent half his life out at sea, rowing, Reaving, raiding, and paying the iron price.

Boys became men quick in the Iron Isles, and Dagon was no exception. He held the demeanor of a man twice his years, and possessed three times the strength of any other of his age. But no matter who you are or where you come from, some things can sap the resolve of any human being. And it was one of those very situations which caused Dagon to feel as if his stomach was full of lead as he climbed the tower.

This Reaving had been the first time Dagon had truly commanded a fleet, and though by all means he had commanded valiantly and brought glory to his house and his own growing reputation, the reason for his command managed to turn any pride or joy Dagon might have felt to ash.

His father was sick. Dying they said. Oh at first it had seemed like nothing. He took less food at the feast, his body ached and pained more than a man of 40 and 4 should, he became less energetic and preferred to spend his time lounging in his throne room or captain's quarters. But all of this had just been the beginning. Before long his complexion had grown pallor, at first just for moments of pain or weakness, but soon at all hours. His strength began failing him, he could no longer wield a sword or an axe, before long he could barely walk. Confined to his bedroom at all hours it seemed he wouldn't even survive the month. In desperation a Maester had been sent for from the Citadel. This was truly a last ditch ever. Maesters were rarely welcome in the Iron Isles, they were viewed with suspicion and mistrust. If they were brought in chains as thralls, there was no taboo there. For a thralls throat could be cut at the slightest sign of treachery with no need for justification afterwards. But to bring them over as a free man? Hired with gold? That was something nearly unheard of.

Had Alton been well enough to have any say at all he likely would have forbade it, regardless of his own fate. Even still the Maestar had been sternly warned to never bring up the subject of religion, and to never do anything but smile and nod if Alton began to speak of it. Alton had earned his reputation as the holy fool for good reason.

The Maester himself was a slight fidgety Reachman, and Dagon had soothed his own nerves by envisioning all the ways he could tear the bookish man to pieces if his father perished under his care. The treatment the Maester had suggested was an highly invasive surgery that had made the Drowned men assigned to his father's care balk and go white with horror. But with all other options met with failure, the Maestar's treatment was approved. His father had been a bloody mess after the surgery, barely surviving. The Maestar had only survived by insisting they only hang him if Alton actually did perish. For a whole week the Reachman paced back and forth in the study, wringing his hands raw, sweating, pale as a ghost, while everyone waited to see if Alton pulled through.

To the shock of all, seemingly even the Maester, Alton's health began to drastically improve once he recovered from the surgery. He wasn't cured by any means, and if the words of the Maester were to be believed, he never would be cured, but it was clear Alton was in vastly better health than before. After that the Maestar's position as Alton's chief physician was secured. And truth be told, he had earned a great amount of respect in Dagon's eyes. He was no warrior to be sure. But he had saved his father from death, using only the soundless words from his dusty old books. And perhaps that too was something to be admired. It had certainly been enough for Dagon to swear a silent oath to kill the first man who ever so much as looked at the Maestar crossly. Though that oath was something even Dagon was a little too proud to share, even if it meant the Maester took every opportunity to duck in fear away from him. Finally Dagon reached the top of the tower, waving his way past the door guards and into his father's chambers. Inside the Maester stood in the entry hall, seemingly packing up some sort of whitish substance contained in a small corked jar, which he was placing inside of a small box. Turning to the open door with a smile, only to make quiet noise of terror as he realized who had entered.

"M-my lord!" He made a quick sloppy bow before grabbing up the box into his arms, and doing his best to hurry past Dagon out the door without seeming impolite.

"Your father has just taken his afternoon medicine for pain. He will be sleepy but should be able perfectly awake and aware enough to speak with you." The man hardly got out even those words before he escaped out the door and down the staircase.

Dagon tried his best to quell the slight sting of hurt at being treated like some kind of savage beast waiting to strike, especially by one he was grateful to and respected. But he merely shook his head and walked into his father's bedchamber to deal with the greater crisis at hand. "A boy left me… A man has returned." Came his father's unsteady voice from the bed. Gods… This was better!?

Alton's face was white, almost waxy, and it seemed as if he had lost half his weight in the little time the two of them had last seen each other. Dagon couldn't help but balk for a moment, but he quickly composed himself, not wanting his own pains to weigh at all on his father's mind.

Walking over to Alton's bedside, Dagon kneeled before his father, pressing his fist into the ground and bowing his head. Father and son they were, but Dagon was a warrior and Alton was his liege, even in situations like these there was a tradition to follow. That of a young Reaver coming home.

"You have grown so much… since last I've seen you." Alton gasped out between deep wheezing breaths.

"I have done much with the lessons you taught me. I have Reaved far and wide, and brought much glory and honor to our name, and wrought much fear in the hearts of those who would oppose us." Dagon reached out and placed a few trinkets onto the bed. Small tokens of his conquests during the Reaving. An Umbari chieftain's wooden circlet, a Bravosi merchant's lucky silver coin, a dragon bone ring pulled from the cooling hand of a Tyroshi noblewoman's corpse.

"Oh my…" Alton sat up with obvious pain, though he smiled in wonder as he picked up and ran his fingers over Dagon's gifts. For a moment he sat there in childlike wonder, before looking down on Dagon with bemusement.

"Come now boy. Stand up and let me get a good look at you. We aren't in front of the court after all."

Dagon obliged and stood silently as his father gasped in the mixture of awe and heartache that only a father could have as they looked over a son who had grown up.

"You have become a greater warrior than I had ever hoped…" His father's words both filled Dagon with pride and made his heart ache with sorrow. He shuffled uncomfortably where he stood, desperate to change the conversation before he cried in front of his father. Alton was finally, mercifully, snapped out of his reverie as he chuckled mirthfully.

"Where are my senses? You have come home to me a great Reaver, a proven admiral, and I still fawn over you as if you were 6!" At this both Dagon and Alton laughed, joyfully and without care. Only stopping when Alton broke out into a hacking cough which he took a few moments to recover from.

When the merriment was over Alton beckoned his son over for a hug with a quiet: "come here my boy." And Dagon was in no position to refuse. When they broke off Dagon pulled up a chair so that he could sit at his father's bedside. Alton for his part merely set Dagon's offerings aside on the nightstand, before settling in to make himself comfortable on the bed, his smiling face growing solemn in contemplation.

Dagon took note of this change began to worry for his father's wellbeing. Being cooped up in your bedroom for months on end could drive anyone to throw themselves from a window. And Alton was just the sort to assume the Drowned God would reach out and catch him.

"Does this room vex you? Perhaps I can open a window, allow in more light?" Dagon spoke with concern in his voice. Alton merely waved him off.

"It is not the room which troubles me boy." Alton shook his head. Dagon grew quiet with grim realization.

"You should know…" Dagon began haltingly. "Maester Jaron is the best healer we could find. Truly! I mean you've seen for yourself what he's done to treat your condition- "It is not my health which troubles me either!" Alton spoke sternly but comfortingly. Relieving poor Dagon of the task of having to soothe his father's imagined worries over an incurable disease. This got Dagon's attention, and it took his father a moment to collect his words before he decided to enlighten his son.

"I have another task to ask of you." He spoke with solemn finality.

Dagon brightened up instantly.

"Is that all? Name it." Dagon stood unwavering.

"If you ask that I bring the Storm God down from his hall in the clouds I will drag him in here with his beard of lightning tied in knots. This I swear." Dagon knelt once more, like a Greenlander knight awaiting the orders of his king.

"There's no need for that now boy stand up!" Alton waved Dagon into a standing position. His father looked down at the foot of the bed for a moment while he collected his words, before turning back to Dagon.

"You have heard of the violence that has been taking place in the Greenlands?" Alton finally managed to speak, with a voice that almost sounded… guilty.

Dagon cocked his head in confusion.

"Word has not escaped me yes. They've taken to killing each other over foolish petty squabbles that could be solved in a day with a single duel. As is their way." Dagon couldn't help but reflexively sneer and turn up his nose Alton nodded his head before leaning in with a look of sincere conspiratorialism.

"The Drowned God has spoken to me Dagon."

Internally it took all of Dagon's strength not to slump over and groan. Conversations between them that began this way between them never ended well.

"What does any of this have to do with the Greenlands?" Dagon spoke, his amusement leaving him as the dread from before began to creep back.

"A new king is rising to take the Greenlands for himself. Not soft, dunderheaded cowards of before. But a true warrior, a man who takes what he wills by right of blood and conquest alone."

"A new king or a war in the Greenlands is of no concern to us, unless your warrior king means to raise our taxes." Dagon tried for a smirk but it came out more like a grimace.

"Can you not see?" Alton spoke with an almost religious zeal.

"The Greenlands are changing. Becoming a land of strength. If this new king takes the throne the Greenlands may become as the Iron Islands, a land of warriors where the people trade in iron, not gold!"

"I'm speaking with your maester. I'm having him take you off this medicine at once. It's making you delusional!" Dagon's voice rose to just below a shout.

"I AM NOT DELUSIONAL!" Alton cried. An old wound re-opened. A holy fool he may have been. But not a fool enough to not hear what people said about him behind his back.

Father and son sat in silence for a while, in contemplation and regret. Finally Alton spoke.

"I want you to go to the Greenlands my son. Help this warrior king to win his war and take his throne. At last the Greenlanders may be made our brothers, and find the strength in blood and iron that we do." Alton spoke, a command to be sure, but with an undercurrent of plea.

"You cannot be serious…" Dagon turned his back and gazed out the window into the sea. He had no issue Reaving and even dying in service of the old way. But in a Greenlander war? For Greenlander kings? That was far too much to ask. He could've refused Alton's command. He should have. No man in the Iron Islands could command another to take up sail against his will. But as Dagon turned to look at his father where he sat on his bed, and contemplated what it would do to Alton's health if they were to get into a massive argument like this. Dagon knew what had to be done…

"I'll go."

#game of thrones #asoiaf #daemon blackfyre #blackfyre rebellion

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donttalkaboutmemes · 2 years

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Lady and The Tramp (1955) Sentence Meme

Under the cut you will find 90+ sentences from 1955 version of Lady and The Tramp to use for your enjoyment!

1. “It’s for you, darling. Merry Christmas.”

2. “It’s the one I was admiring, isn’t it? Trimmed with ribbon?”

3. “What a perfectly beautiful little lady.”

4. “Are you sure she’ll be warm enough?”

5. “This is where you belong. Right here.”

6. “If we’re going to show her who’s master, we must be firm from the very beginning.”

7. “Remember. Just for tonight.”

8. “Have you noticed since we’ve had her, we see less and less of those disturbing headlines?”

9. “I just don’t know how we ever got along without her.”

10. “You know how sensitive he is about those things.”

11. “Dreaming of those bonny bygone days when he and his grandfather were tracking criminals through the swamps.”

12. “It’s time you knew the truth, lassie.”

13. “It shouldn’t have happened to a dog.”

14. “We must never let on that we know. It would break his poor heart.”

15. “Now there she is, a full-grown lady wearing the greatest honor man can bestow, the badge of faith and respectability.”

16. “As my grandpappy Ol’ Reliable used to say…don’t recollect if I’ve ever mentioned Ol’ Reliable before.”

17. “You know, darling, with her here I’d say life is quite complete.”

18. “I don’t imagine anything could ever take her place in our hearts.”

19. “Hiya, handsome. Come to join the party?”

20. “No time for wisecracks. I’ve gotta get out.”

21. “I’m tellin’ ya, the pressure’s really hot. Signs all over town.”

22. “I’ll bet they’ve got a lid on every trashcan and a fence around every tree.”

23. “I wonder what the leash and collar set does for excitement.”

24. “Well, I just can’t help worrying. After all, in your condition, alone here all day…”

25. “Remember, they’re only humans after all.”

26. “There comes a time in the life of all humans when…uh well as they put it…the birds and the bees.”

27. “She’s expecting a wee bairn.”

28. “They remember humans, but I’d say a mite smaller.”

29. “Home-wreckers, that’s what they are.”

30. “Look here! Who are you to barge in?”

31. “No human is that cruel.”

32. “Everybody knows a dogs best friend is his human.”

33. “You haven’t fallen for that old line, now have you?”

34. “We’ve no need for mongrels and their radical ideas.”

35. “A human heart has only so much room for love and affection.”

36. “When a baby moves in, the dog moves out.”

37. “There isn’t any way we can tell for sure what it’s going to be, is there?”

38. “I’ve never seen you look more beautiful.”

39. “I just can’t leave him. He’s still so small and helpless.”

40. “Come on. If he wakes up, we’ll never get away.”

41. “I feel so guilty deserting him like this.”

42. “Don’t worry, old girl. We’ll be back in a few days.”

43. “Oh that wicked animal! Attacking my poor, innocent angels!”

44. “I want a muzzle. A good, strong muzzle.”

45. “What are you doing on this side of the tracks?”

46. “That’s the angle.”

47. “I beg your pardon. Were you addressing me?”

48. “You’ll be tellin’ me next it was the dog that was whistlin’, eh?”

49. “Pull a knife on me, will ya! Tryin’ to assassinate me, are ya!”

50. “No, no, no. No use even asking them. They wouldn’t understand.”

51. “If anybody ever needed a muzzle, it’s him.”

52. “That’s what makes of tying yourself down to one family.”

53. “Haven’t you a family?”

54. “When you’re footloose and fancy free, you take nothing but the best.”

55. “This way. I have my own private entrance.”

56. “It’s morning. I should’ve been home hours ago.”

57. “You still believe in that ever faithful old dog trey routine?”

58. “Open up your eyes to what a dogs life can truly be.”

59. “There’s a great bit hunk of world down there with no fence around it, where two dogs can find adventure and excitement, and beyond those distant hills? Who knows what wonderful experiences.”

60. “It’s all ours for the taking.”

61. “It’s all ours? It sounds wonderful.”

62. “But who’d watch over the baby?”

63. “Not to change the subject, but uh, ever chase chickens?”

64. “Come on, kid. Start building some memories.”

65. “Blimey! A regular bloomin’ debutante!”

66. “Pipe the crown jewels she’s wearin’.”

67. “We was only havin’ a bit of sport, we was.”

68. “Can’t you see the poor kids scared enough?”

69. “Miserable being must find more miserable being.”

70. “That’s your passport to freedom, honey.”

71. “Now there’s a bloke who never gets caught.”

72. “No matter how tight a jam he’s in, that tramp always finds some way out.”

73. “He has an ever for a well-turned paw.”

74. “He never takes ‘em serious.”

75. “The poor champ grows careless.”

76. “You’re too nice a girl to be in this place.”

77. “I’ve never even considered matrimony.”

78. “No matter which of us she accepts, we’ll always be the best of friends.”

79. “Remember, not a word about her unfortunate experience.”

80. “Some of the finest people I ever tracked down were jail birds.”

81. “Neither of us is as young as we used to be.”

82. “Anything new in the kennel club set?”

83. “Looks like I’m the one in the doghouse.”

84. “If this person is annoying you, we’ll gladly throw the rascal out.”

85. “I thought you were right behind me! Honest!”

86. “Don’t ever mention that horrible place!”

87. “Who would ever harm a cute little trick like you?”

88. “I don’t need you to shelter and protect me.”

89. “If you grow careless, don’t blame me.”

90. “Couldn’t sleep a wink with that brute in the house.”

91. “If you want my advice, you’ll destroy that animal at once.”

92. “I was certain he was no good the moment I first laid eyes on him.”

93. “The scent. Follow the scent.”

94. “If you’ll just step into the parlor, I’ll see about refreshments.”

95. “No doubt about it. They’ve got their mothers eyes.”

96. “There is a bit of their father in ‘em.”

97. “There’ll be no living with him from now on.”

98. “You know, I clean forgot what it was he used to say.”

#ask meme #askbox meme #roleplaying meme #rp meme #sentence meme #disney meme #lady and the tramp

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radicalrascals · 2 years

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The Kind Wolf

Original Character | FC: Wagner Moura

NAME: Nicolau Moreira da Silva | Nick Silva

AGE: in his 40s

SPECIES: werewolf

PROFESSION: shopkeeper at Spellbound - Occult Books And Curios

Short Bio [Urban Fantasy Setting]

At the age of 17 Nicolau was turned into a werewolf and ever since he’s been rejecting the wolf-life. Every full moon he locks himself away to do no harm when the beast takes over, the remainder of the month he spends helping people of the supernatural kind who are struggling to come to terms with their powers and being different. He acts as a mentor and father-figure to those who are lost, alone or struggling, and offers more materialistic support to the supernatural community in his occult books and curios shop.

Relationships

Ben Hernandez > [Tag] | [Ship]

Kenza Ashita > [Tag]

Damien Kane > [Tag]

Flor Evermore > [Tag]

Veronica Castillo > [Tag]

Cris Morales > [Tag]

Marcus Voltraep > [Tag]

Seph Mist > [Tag]

Krista Frey > [Tag]

Abraham King > [Tag]

Jack James > [Tag]

Playlist

Me Perco by Mercenárias from Cadê as Armas (1986)

Spellbound by Siouxsie and the Banshees from Juju (1981)

Tempo Perdido by Legião Urbana from Dois (1986)

She’s Lost Control by Joy Division from Unknown Pleasures (1979)

Incubus Succubus II by Xmal Deutschland from Tocsin (1984)

Detailed Profile

FULL NAME: Nicolau Moreira da Silva

KNOWN AS: Nick Silva (anglicised)

NICKNAMES: Lobo, Nico, Niquito

~~~~~~~~~~~~

SPECIES: Werewolf (turned at age 17)

RESIDENCE: verse dependent; somewhere in the US

PROFESSION: shopkeeper at Spellbound - Occult Books And Curios

~~~~~~~~~~~~

AGE: in his 40s

DATE OF BIRTH: July 13

PLACE OF BIRTH: Belo Horizonte, Brazil

NATIONALITY: US citizenship through naturalisation | formerly Brazilian

~~~~~~~~~~~~

PARENTS: Ana Maria Schmidt Moreira (†) & Renato Soares da Silva

SIBLING: Rafael Moreira da Silva (older brother)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

FACE CLAIM: Wagner Moura

HEIGHT: 5ft 11 (1.80m)

NOTABLE FEATURES: the scar of his damning werewolf-bite is located on his left side, just shy below his ribcage and at the size of a grown man’s hand hard to miss; after each full moon he adds a plethora of self-inflicted claw marks and welts from tying himself up, but they usually take only days to heal

STYLE: Casual to business casual at best, Nick often wears a pair of jeans and a t-shirt or a button-down shirt, often topping the latter with a leather or suit jacket, depending on the occasion. Generally he prefers comfortable and low-effort. He’ll often wait for his dark greying mane to grow out before he tames his locks with a hair cut, and he appears more often unshaven than not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

LANGUAGES: Portuguese (native), English (fluent), German (broken)

SPEECH MANNERISM: Nick has an exceptionally deep and soothing voice and an unhasty, very deliberate way of speaking. It becomes obvious that he thinks before he talks, though when he’s overwhelmed by emotion, he tends to stumble and trip over his own words leaving his utterances often a bit of a jumbled and incomplete mess. He deliberately slips into Portuguese when cursing, and accidentally so when he feels overwhelmed or exhausted.

STRENGTHS: Being a werewolf, Nick is more resilient and physically stronger than humans, and has shown an accelerated wound healing; his aural and olfactory senses are also more advanced

WEAKNESSES: Silver. On open wounds silver acts like poison, causing the werewolf pain and making him weak. On bare skin, silver can leave a chemical burn, and bindings of silver will make it impossible for Nick to break free without help.

INTERESTS: as much as he loves books, being surrounded by them in his bookshop for most of the day leaves him to appreciate more passively consumed arts even more: lazing on the couch enjoying a movie or listening to music tops the list, even better when he gets to sip a hot cup of coffee or a cold beer while at it.

VICES: religious coffee drinker, occasionally smokes and drinks

~~~~~~~~~~~~

NSFW

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: homoromantic

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: homosexual

PREFERENCE: dom | switch | sub

ROLE: top | vers | bottom

#Muse #Muse: Nick

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ant-mer-12 · 1 year

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"The Lighter Side" Items ~ Gags, Cartoons, etc,

#1:

A man goes into a pub, aka, bar for US residents, goes up to the bar and asks for a Vodka Martini. However, before he can drink this, a monkey runs along and dips its willy (male anatomy) in it. Annoyed with this he asked for and received another drink free of cost. Again, the same thing occurred. This occurred at least 6 more times. Eventually the man demanded to see the manager, who was playing the piano.

The customer walked over and said, "Do you know there's a monkey dipping its willy in my Martini?", to which the Manager who thought this was a new song to play on the piano replied, "No. But if you hum the first few bars, I might be able to pick it up!".

#2:

On a very busy morning one day at Melbourne Airport, the following conversation occurred (this is actually a joke):

Caller: "Can you tell me how long it takes to fly from Melbourne to New York, please?"

Phone Operator answering another call: "Just a minute please"

Caller: "Bloody hell (dang for US residents) that's fantastic", then ends the phone call

#3:

Two men were arguing the potency of Irish Whiskey versus Scotch Whiskey, please note that Atheists don't believe in religion

Scotsman: "Och, Scotch Whiskey is powerful. Last year I drank half a bottle, then traveled to Berlin and back in three days"

Irishman: "That's nothing, Irish Whiskey is dynamite. The wife and I drank a full bottle last Saturday night, then got up Sunday morning and went to Catholic Mass"

Scotsman: "But you Irish always go to Mass"

Irishman: "True, but, we're Atheists!"

#4:

Hoping to impress her new boyfriend, a young lady decided to treat him to her playing the piano one night. Unfortunately, as she was halfway through a section, she accidentally farted.

At the end of her performance, he asked, "What was that tune you played, please?". She replied, "The 1812 Overture". He said, "Very good performance, however, I didn't expect to have thunder striking the dunny (toilet) during the crescendo!"

#5:

Here is a letter written by a Biddleonian mother to her adult son in Melbourne, Australia. It's full of gags, and Biddleonia is a non - existent country made up during the 1970s by an Australian Variety show, to avoid running the risk of unfairly stereotyping people from other cultures with some types of Jokes

Dear Son,

The weather here is cold, wet and still, and I hope you are the same

Your older brother has 900 people working under him.......he mows the lawn in the cemetery

Your uncle fell into a vat of Whiskey. People tried rescuing him, but, he fought them and drowned. His Death Certificate showed Cause Of Death ~ Happiness (drunk in the Whiskey). He was later cremated and it took them three weeks to put the fire out

Please let us know when you're coming home to visit, so we can be at the old address, to let you know how to get to our new address

You won't know your younger brother......he's grown another foot (extra leg and foot)

Your twin sister in New York has a boyfriend who had trouble with his hearing. At her request he had his ears fixed. It was apparently a resounding success as he said he'd heard from his brother in London for the first time in 10 years afterwards

Well, I'd better go now, as your dad is having trouble cooking a chicken. Everytime he puts it in the oven (kitchen window open) it keeps flying away

Love, your mum

#6:

A young lady decided to swim across Bass Strait one day, from Portsea Back Beach, Victoria, to Devonport, Tasmania, and back again, 200 km (128 miles) each way. She took 18 hours to reach Tasmania, then returned to Victoria in 40 minutes.....the elastic waistband of her bikini bottom was caught on the pier

#7:

A Postal Delivery person reached a letterbox and asked the occupant who was in the front garden, "Can you tell me who this is, please? This name is obliterated (not readable)", to which the reply was, "No, we're Fitzgerald"

#8:

Two cows were in a paddock one day, when one said, "Moo!". The other cow said, "Damn, I was about to say that!"

#9:

Visual humour

#hilarious

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captainconvey · 1 year

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Sarah Huckabee Sanders says the dividing line in America is between normal and crazy.

Americans want common sense from their leaders, but in Washington, the Biden administration is doubling down on crazy.

Here are the full remarks, as prepared for delivery, of Arkansas Gov. Sarah Huckabee Sanders, in the Republican response to President Joe Biden’s State of the Union address.

tinyurl.com/yhpkrhhx

“Good evening. I’m Sarah Huckabee Sanders.

“Being a mom to three young children taught me not to believe every story I hear. So forgive me for not believing much of anything I heard tonight from President Biden. From out-of-control inflation and violent crime to the dangerous border crisis and threat from China, Biden and the Democrats have failed you.

“They know it. And you know it.

“It’s time for a change.

“Tonight, let us reaffirm our commitment to a timeless American idea: that government exists not to rule the people, but to serve the people. 

“Democrats want to rule us with more government control, but that is not who we are. America is the greatest country the world has ever known because we are the freest country the world has ever known, with a people who are strong and resilient.

“Five months ago, I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer. It was a hard time for our family, particularly for our kids – Scarlett, Huck, and George – but we kept our faith and persevered.

“Thanks to exceptional doctors here in Arkansas, a successful surgery, and the grace of God, I am cancer-free.

“Through it all, I couldn’t help but think about my mom.

“She was 20 years old and in her first year of marriage when she was diagnosed with spinal cancer. The doctors told her she might not live. If she did live, they said she’d never walk again, and if she did walk, she’d definitely never have children.

“The daughter she was told she’d never have was just sworn in as the new Governor of Arkansas and is speaking to you tonight.

“Adversity and fear of the unknown can paralyze us, but faith propels us to charge boldly ahead.

“We can’t stand still in the face of great challenges. You and I were put on this earth for such a time as this to charge boldly ahead.

“I’ll be the first to admit, President Biden and I don’t have a lot in common.   “I’m for freedom. He’s for government control.

“At 40, I’m the youngest governor in the country. At 80, he’s the oldest president in American history. 

“I’m the first woman to lead my state. He’s the first man to surrender his presidency to a woke mob that can’t even tell you what a woman is.

“In the radical left’s America, Washington taxes you and lights your hard-earned money on fire, but you get crushed with high gas prices, empty grocery shelves, and our children are taught to hate one another on account of their race, but not to love one another or our great country.

“Whether Joe Biden believes this madness or is simply too weak to resist it, his administration has been completely hijacked by the radical left.

“The dividing line in America is no longer between right or left. 

“The choice is between normal or crazy. 

“It is time for a new generation of Republican leadership.

“Upon taking office just a few weeks ago I signed Executive Orders to ban CRT, racism, and indoctrination in our schools, eliminate the use of the derogatory term ‘Latinx’ in our government, repealed COVID orders and said never again to authoritarian mandates and shutdowns.

“Americans want common sense from their leaders, but in Washington, the Biden administration is doubling down on crazy.

“President Biden inherited the fastest economic recovery on record. The most secure border in history. Cheap abundant, home-grown energy. Fast-rising wages. A rebuilt military. And a world that was stable and at peace. But over the last two years, Democrats destroyed it all.

“Despite Democrats’ trillions in reckless spending and mountains of debt, we now have the worst border crisis in American history.

“As a mom, my heart breaks for every parent who has lost a son or daughter to addiction. 100,000 Americans a year are now killed from drug overdoses, largely from fentanyl pouring in across our southern border. Yet the Biden administration refuses to secure the border and save American lives. 

“And after years of Democrat attacks on law enforcement and calls to ‘defund the police’, violent criminals roam free, while law-abiding families live in fear. 

“Beyond our border, from Afghanistan to Ukraine, from North Korea to Iran, President Biden’s weakness puts our nation and the world at risk.

“And the President’s refusal to stand up to China, our most formidable adversary, is dangerous and unacceptable.

“President Biden is unwilling to defend our border, defend our skies, and defend our people. He is unfit to serve as commander in chief.

“And while you reap the consequences of their failures, the Biden administration seems more interested in woke fantasies than the hard reality Americans face every day.

Most Americans simply want to live their lives in freedom and peace, but we are under attack in a left-wing culture war we didn’t start and never wanted to fight.

“Every day, we are told that we must partake in their rituals, salute their flags, and worship their false idols, all while big government colludes with Big Tech to strip away the most American thing there is—your Freedom of speech.

“That’s not normal. It’s crazy, and it’s wrong.

“Make no mistake: Republicans will not surrender this fight. We will lead with courage and do what’s right, not what’s politically correct or convenient.

“Republicans believe in an America where strong families thrive in safe communities. Where jobs are abundant, and paychecks are rising. Where the freedom our veterans shed their blood to defend is the birthright of every man, woman, and child.

“These are the principles Republican governors are fighting for. And in Washington under the leadership of Senate Republicans and Speaker Kevin McCarthy, we will hold the Biden administration accountable.

“Down the street from where I sit is my alma mater, Little Rock Central High. As a student there, I will never forget watching my dad, Governor Mike Huckabee, and President Bill Clinton hold the doors open to the Little Rock Nine, doors that forty years earlier had been closed to them because they were black. Today, those children once barred from the schoolhouse are now heroes memorialized in bronze at our statehouse.   “I’m proud of the progress our country has made. And I believe giving every child access to a quality education – regardless of their race or income – is the civil rights issue of our day.

“Tomorrow, I will unveil an education package that will be the most far reaching, bold, conservative education reform in the country.   “My plan empowers parents with real choices, improves literacy and career readiness, and helps put a good teacher in every classroom by increasing their starting salary from one of the lowest to one of the highest in the nation.   “Here in Arkansas and across America, Republicans are working to end the policy of trapping kids in failing schools and sentencing them to a lifetime of poverty.    “We will educate, not indoctrinate our kids, and put students on a path to success.

“It’s time for a new generation to lead. This is our moment. This is our opportunity.

“A new generation born in the waning decades of the last century, shaped by economic booms and stock market busts, forged by the triumph of the Cold War and the tragedy of 9/11. A generation brimming with passion and new ideas to solve age-old problems. A generation moored to our deepest values and oldest traditions, yet unafraid to challenge the present order and find a better way forward.

“If we seize this moment together, America can once again be the land of the free and home of the brave.

“During my two and a half years at the White House, I traveled on every foreign trip with the President.

“A trip I will never forget was on December 25, 2018.

“My husband Bryan and I had just cleaned up wrapping paper that had been shoved into every corner of our house thanks to our three kids, when I had to walk out on my own family’s Christmas, unable to tell them where I was going, because the place I’d be traveling to was so dangerous they didn’t want anybody to know that the President was going to be on the ground for even a few hours.

“We boarded Air Force One in total darkness—there were no lights on the plane, no lights on the runway, our phones and computers shut down and turned in. We were going completely off the grid.

“Nearly twelve hours later in the pitch-black of the night, we landed in the war-torn part of western Iraq. It was again a similar scene—no lights on the plane, no lights on the runway.

“The only light you could see was coming from about a mile away in a dining hall where hundreds of troops—who were in the fight against ISIS— had gathered, expecting to celebrate Christmas with senior military leadership from around the region.

“They had absolutely no idea that the President and First Lady were about to walk into that room.

“And when they did—it was a sight, and a scene, and a sound I hope I never forget.

“The room erupted. Men and women from every race, religion, and region, every political party, every demographic you can imagine started chanting in perfect unison over and over and over again, ‘USA, USA, USA.’

“It was a perfect picture of what makes our country great.

“One of the young soldiers yelled from the back, ‘Mr. President, I reenlisted in the military because of you.’ The President said, ‘and son, I am here because of you.’

“Shortly after, that young soldier came up to me and said, ‘Sarah, you have a tough job.’ I told him ‘What I do is nothing. You take bombs and bullets. That’s a tough job.’

“And in a moment that I know I’ll cherish for the rest of my life, that soldier reached up, and pulled the Brave Rifles Patch he wore on his shoulder and placed it into my hand, a sign of ultimate respect, and said, ‘Sarah, we are in this together.’

“Overwhelmed with emotion and speechless, I just hugged him, with tears in my eyes and a grateful heart for our heroes who keep us free.

“That young man and everyone who has served before him, all of those who serve alongside him, and the thousands we know who will be called upon to serve after him, deserve to know they have a country and community back home doing our part in the fight for freedom.

“America is great because we are free.

“But today, our freedom is under attack, and the America we love is in danger.

“President Biden and the Democrats have failed you.

“It’s time for a change.

“A New Generation of Republican leaders is stepping up, not to be caretakers of the status quo, but to be changemakers for the American people.

“We know not what the future holds, but we know who holds the future in His hands. And with God as our witness, we will show the world that America is still the place where freedom reins and liberty will never die.

“Thank you. God bless you. And God Bless America.”

Captain Convey Note

Arkansas Governor Sarah Huckabee Sanders Speech Quotes.

“The dividing line in America is no longer between right or left. "

“Americans want common sense from their leaders, but in Washington, the Biden administration is doubling down on crazy."

“President Biden is unwilling to defend our border, defend our skies, and defend our people. He is unfit to serve as commander in chief."

“America is great because we are free.

“But today, our freedom is under attack, and the America we love is in danger.

“President Biden and the Democrats have failed you."

“We know not what the future holds, but we know who holds the future in His hands."

The Biden regime doubling down on crazy is reflected in the constant nonsense the fake media and the biden regime keeps telling the American people.

"President" biden is unfit to be commander in chief because of his demented mental state.

Biden is totally under the control of evil forces who, “Every day, we are told that we must partake in their rituals, salute their flags, and worship their false idols, all while big government colludes with Big Tech to strip away the most American thing there is—your Freedom of speech."

One of the rituals include accepting transgender mutations as normal for children.

Another daily ritual is the biden regime telling us everything is great and there is no inflation, prices are not going up and up jobs are increasing when in fact they are decreasing as companies have massive layoffs reported every day.

The daily ritual of suppressing the truth continues because the biden regime and obama regime have weaponized parts of the federal government against the American People.

Remember this:

“We know not what the future holds, but we know who holds the future in His hands."

We all can trust God for what the future holds.

Proverbs 3:5-6

3:5 Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.

3:6 In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.

0 notes

bonvoyagenoona · 3 years

Text

Kittenfishing | KTH | 01: Pawsibilities

Pairings: Taehyung x Reader

Rating: 18+ / Mature / Explicit

Synopsis: You've kept detailed notes. Kim Taehyung moved next door about six months ago. He picks up the mail at night. He likely works in the north part of town because he walks to the blue line station in the morning. He takes his trash out on Mondays and Thursdays. His receipts show that he's stopped buying bananas from the nearest grocery store because the ones a block farther up the street are 40 cents cheaper. And because he's just popped up on your dating app, you've also learned that he's a Capricorn, has a pet dog named Tannie, and he loves visiting his family's farm. Also, he is very hot, and very single, though you knew that first part already just by bumping into him in the hall. You are not regimented about your schedule, or mindful about money, or into families, or hot. But you're smart. And, like you've said, you've kept detailed notes. With some luck, and your best friend and tech extraordinaire Yoongi's help, you will become Kim Taehyung's perfect girl. And you will catch him.

Genres, Content Warnings, & Themes: Strangers to lovers, fluff, angst, smut (unprotected sex, penetrative sex, oral sex, casual sex, public sex), lying, deception, obsession, oh the ethical dilemmas present in online dating today

Kittenfishing Masterpost

Chapter 01: Pawsibiltiies

Yoongi clears his throat. “Look, I’m just saying.”

“Uh-huh,” you reply.

“I feel for the guy, and I think he has every right to be particular, insistent, yet cautious. I mean, the environment being what it is.”

A smirk edges at your lips, but you’re not ready to reward him with it yet. “Pray tell.”

“He already told you,” Yoongi goes on. “He gives it to you straight. He said he’s nastier than a full grown German Shepherd. And if you couldn’t glean from that, he goes further to explain that that means he’s not the kind of person you want to step to.”

“Sure.”

“And he’s supportive,” he adds, his voice leaning into the word with warmth. “He wants you to be with someone real. Someone who knows your worth.”

“For a mere guest, he sure has a lot of stipulations,” you point out. “Doesn’t exactly garner empathy.”

“Please. He’s the best kind of guest. Upon arrival, he proclaimed that he came here with his dick in his hand. You know exactly why he’s here. He knows you know exactly why he’s here. He’s unabashedly supporting this business. He just doesn’t want to be pressed. Given how he arrived, he doesn’t want to depart with his foot in your ass, so he’s warning you by telling you to be cool.”

Yoongi’s arm is threaded through a swinging bag of four Arizona Iced Teas, and his hands are full with two hastily ketchup-and-mustard-topped hot dogs, six taquitos (two of each kind that were available, though by now, you’ve forgotten what they were exactly), three family-sized bags of chips, twin tubes of Pringles, and two Slurpees, one Blue Raspberry, and one Wild Cherry.

His Wild Cherry-red tongue searches for his straw, and you know to wait through the sound of ice squeezing through the tube.

“Plus, he’s generous,” Yoongi continues, his mouth cooler and fuller. He gulps, and red droplets splash out ahead of you. “Fuck a dollar. Pick up a fifty.”

“Who carries fifties as their smallest denomination?” you counter.

As he answers, you lean over to give your Blue Raspberry tongue a second nip.

Yoongi tilts in your direction, and then back again when you’ve finished. “Mystikal is a busy man. You think he has time to count out singles? His rap is about the hustle. That’s what it comes down to---”

Suddenly, you loop your arm around Yoongi’s left and free elbow and hook him into the room housing the trash chute.

“What the fuck?” he asks, his worried eyes scanning your jostled items to make sure nothing has been compromised.

You stare at him, wild-eyed, desperately trying to force Blue Raspberry down your gullet.

“That’s the guy!” you sigh, a little bit of blue at your chin.

“What guy?” Yoongi blinks, pouting slightly. “Wait, the guy from the mailroom?”

“Yes,” you whine petulantly. “The hot guy from the mailroom!”

“That’s why you stage-hooked me into the trash room? A hot guy?” Yoongi frowns, adjusting his shoulder. “Anyway, if it’s the hot guy from the mailroom, then why are you hiding?”

You attempt to cover your face with the pizza boxes that you’re in charge of carrying.

“Hey, hey, hey, the cheese will slide!” Yoongi exclaims, trying to swing the bag of iced teas to knock your elbow open.

You lower the boxes and lay them flat, like they had been, when you were just hanging out with your best friend Yoongi and your body wasn’t about to combust.

“I don’t know, I just wasn’t ready to see him again?” you guess.

Yoongi begrudgingly smiles. “OK, well, that’s cute. Not as cute as the blue on your chin, though.”

You swipe at it with your thumb and lick the evidence away, but that doesn’t mean you’re ready to be seen. “Let’s just let him go wherever he’s going,” you say, starting to shift your weight from one leg to the other.

“How do you know he’s going somewhere and not coming back?” Yoongi asks.

Face falling, you say, “Yoongi. Keep up. What’s the use in me telling you all this if you’re not going to retain any of it?” Before Yoongi can offer one of his epic zingers, you remind him, “Since my apartment is the other way, that means his apartment is the other way.” Impatience mounting as you speak, Yoongi shifts his weight from one hip to the other too quickly for him to use that momentum to propel him in any direction. But you press on. “Have you forgotten why we’re even hanging out today? I’m so tired of harboring this crush and doing nothing about it.”

Yoongi’s hips swish again. “OK, fine, so he’s going somewhere,” he relents, “but what if that somewhere is to throw away his trash?”

The door swings open, and you and Yoongi find the subject of your conversation standing there, with a soft, bewildered expression on his face.

“Oh, um… hi,” he says.

Yoongi’s eyes narrow so much that they nearly close. “Hey, man,” he says, smiling and nodding.

Your neighbor looks at Yoongi. Then at you. Then back at Yoongi.

After an uncomfortably long silence, your neighbor looks at you and asks, “Are you… are you eating in here?”

The speed with which you have turned sanguine is alarming. Your skin feels tight, like it’s about to expand and tear off of your unforgiving muscle and bone. Cowering, pitiful you. There’s nothing that you can contribute. Yoongi has to save you.

“We were considering it,” Yoongi says. “Makes for the easiest clean-up.” He positions himself to walk in front of you so that you can hide your face. “We’ve decided against it, though. Room’s all yours.”

You scurry behind Yoongi as he pushes past your neighbor and leads the way to your door. It takes everything you have not to look back and see if that soft, bewildered expression is still there for you.

Yoongi watches as you pull the keys from your pocket and hurriedly move to unlock your door.

“Fuck,” you mutter, just under the metal jangling, “he’s a confirmed S-Tier Squirtmaster. I’m definitely gonna rub one out to that look.” You huff. “I don’t know if I’ll even need the toys.”

“What’s the appeal?” Yoongi asks, still staring down the hall, but matching your volume and grimacing more and more as your words land. “Ugh, wait, did you just say--- nevermind, please don’t say it again---”

“S-Tier Squirtmaster isn’t enough of an explanation for you?” you whisper back, as you set your pizza down on the kitchen counter and go back to the door to make sure it’s closed and triple-locked.

“It’s not that it isn’t enough of an explanation,” Yoongi says. “But it certainly isn’t as detailed of an explanation that I’ve come to expect from you.”

He eases his shoulders as you help him set the rest of your snacks down. You look around, a quick scan, a habit you’d been taught to make sure that nothing has gone awry in however short or long of an absence. Then again, there isn’t really much to notice. Sparse furniture. No decorations. This is your apartment, but not really a home. You don’t really see the point of nesting. You and Yoongi spend most of your time at work anyway, and with the constant guessing game of rent surcharges in this quickly developing part of town, you could be in another one-bedroom rectangle with updated fixtures in three months’ time.

“Get the plates?” you ask, as you start sliding the iced teas into the fridge.

You hear Yoongi close the cupboard behind you, and two pangs of ceramic hitting the counter. Cardboard slides against cardboard, and more tones ring out as little thumps of dough plink onto their new but temporary homes.

“But leave one out for---”

You set one iced tea out next to Yoongi’s Slurpee, and he smiles appreciatively.

He pops the tab as you put the chip bags in the pantry.

“He just seems like a regular dude?” Yoongi asks.

Maybe to the untrained eye. One not as calculating as yours. Where Yoongi sees stuff, you see signals. A strong jaw. A band tee. A perfectly trimmed 5 o’clock shadow. They tell you things. Then again, Yoongi never says anything he doesn’t mean, and that isn’t true. You have more examples of him being right than missing the mark.

“There’s nothing wrong with him, so why am I attracted?” you interpret.

Yoongi smiles fondly. “You have to admit that you have weird tastes.”

“I spend most of my time with you.”

“Case in point,” Yoongi answers, as he rests his forearms on the counter and takes a couple of steps back to lean down at a comfortable planking angle. You curse that your best friend actually is that easy-going and defenseless. Uniquely disarming, he makes for a quirky mix, given how particular he can be, illustrating this when he adds, “But that’s not what I meant.”

You turn back to him, pondering his take. “You…” Eyes shift from left to right. “You’re already bored by him?” you guess. “Disappointed that my attraction isn’t to someone more entertaining?”

“He’s wearing khakis on a Saturday.” Yoongi’s vowels are muffled by cheese, dough, and sauce. “But that’s not what I meant either.”

You hop up onto the counter and dig into your own slice. Yoongi takes the opportunity to speak uninterrupted by your quips and tendency to want to finish others’ sentences.

“You’re just one of those people who… I dunno. You settle.” Yoongi sighs. “But this town is chock-full of dirtbags.” His lashes flutter in the quick glance that he gives you. His smallest voice says, “You really do deserve better than what’s available.”

Heart-to-hearts aren’t Yoongi’s style. But surprise heart-to-hearts are totally Yoongi’s style. A sticky note on your desk at work when he’s swung by and missed you. A text out of nowhere telling you that he loves you and hopes that you have a good day. A tag online to a song that he was listening to that made him think of you. A song that describes the kind of woman you want to be, definitely are not, and yet how Yoongi already sees you. You wish others would. And the really touching thing is that he wishes that, too.

“Excuse the fuck out of me,” you chuckle, pushing in a piece of pepperoni when it slides out of the corner of your mouth, “are you trying to pay me a compliment??”

“Not trying. Paid in full. Lump sum.”

Yoongi grins, bits of basil between his two front teeth.

You lean over and kiss Yoongi on the nose, even digging your fingernail into his teeth and scraping the torn leaf out. You push your finger into his mouth, and he nods appreciatively before sucking the remnant into his bite and swallowing.

“Thanks.”

Yoongi rummages around his teeth with his tongue before grinning again at you with approval. “Back at ‘ya.”

This level of intimacy. You’d never had it with anybody before. But you knew you had it your second week at work, attending the end-of-quarter party, your pupils widening at Yoongi’s head excitedly rising and spinning at your Eartha Kitt song request playing on the speakers. His black pools eventually met yours, and you knew you had found a partner in crime.

“Kitt.” The warm, fond way that he says your nickname makes your heart feel fuzzy. “You can claim that you want to be evil all you want, but you’re a sweet princess who belongs with Prince Charming. And, frankly, your neighbor seems to be more of a Joe Schmo.”

“Actually, he’s a Taehyung,” you mumble.

“He’s hung?” Yoongi raises his eyebrows. “Well, if you already know that, then why the pizzas? Why am I even over here? You could be fucking, and I could be sleeping.”

You chuckle. “Taehyung.” You take a deep breath. “He’s not Prince Charming, or Joe Schmo. He’s Kim Taehyung.” You brace yourself for the end of Yoongi’s friendship, like you always do whenever you’re about to admit some inane shenanigans you’ve pulled.

Maybe if you reach down into the junk drawer of your counter sheepishly enough, you won’t earn a look of ire from Yoongi when you pull out the envelope that has been sitting there for weeks. An envelope addressed to one Kim Taehyung, who lives in 12-B.

“Ohhh, you’re sick!” Yoongi gasps, taking the envelope and moving to snag his finger in the corner, eyes darkening with fascination when he realizes you’ve already ripped it open. He looks up at you with a beguiled gape. And then, feigning scandal, he clutches his pearls and holds up the front of the envelope to you. “But we’re in 12-C!”

“Jackass!”

“Felon!”

“It’s just the monthly coupon book!” you tut, snatching the envelope away from him and pulling out the glossy ads. “Besides. I didn’t open it. He did.”

You remember how graceful Taehyung looked even then.

“Did you ask him for his coupon book?” Yoongi asks, confused. “That’s a weird pick-up line.”

“Nah,” you answer. “He went through them, and then he threw it away.”

He did it with a smile. You'd wondered if he was the same way with people.

Yoongi has somehow already downed a second slice and is now throwing the pizza box lid up to reach for his third. “You still have yours?”

You smile, glad that Yoongi’s jumped onboard. “Still wish you were napping?”

Amused, Yoongi reaches over for your junk drawer, which you’re pinning shut with your calf. Straightening your leg again, you pull from your junk drawer your matching but untouched envelope and rip into it.

“Can’t believe your thirsty ass is already digging into his trash,” Yoongi replies, voice muffled again by his slice.

“Despite this, and today’s events, I swear that I’m not,” you reply, as you drag your finger along the paper seal, leaving ragged destruction in its wake. “So far, all I’ve done is bump into him in the mail room, which is when he…”

A dreamy glow starts to emanate from your eyes. Your grin. Your very pores.

Yoongi groans. “Ugh, Kitt---”

“He smiled at me.”

“Gross.”

“Who smiles at anyone?” you go on, brushing chunks of paper that have fallen around your plate and onto your hoodie. “In this city? Talk about dirtbags. You smile at someone, and you’ve just put a target on your back.” You pull the coupon book out. “I almost got shanked because I told someone ‘bless you’ after they sneezed.”

“I remember,” Yoongi says, nodding, his words moving faster as the details come to him. “On… the… subway? The movie… A late showing of… Clue! That’s right, I thought it was a fake knife because of all the people who dressed up like we did.” He chuckles fondly, mimicking you. “‘Sorry! I didn’t mean it! I’m an atheist!”

“And that’s why I don’t say anything when people sneeze anymore,” you say simply, pulling the coupon book out.

It lands on the counter with a plastic clap!, right next to Taehyung’s discarded version. You close the drawer and hold your coupon book open, as Yoongi holds Taehyung’s open, and together, you flip through each page, noting which coupon stubs seem to be missing.

In your book, there’s a picture of an incredibly muscular man doing bicep curls, but it’s missing from Taehyung’s.

“Discount is gone.” Yoongi wiggles his eyebrows. “He works out.” But Yoongi’s quite surprised when a frown appears on your face.

“He’s a gym rat?” you ask disappointedly.

Yoongi’s eyes roll so far back that his pupils nearly disappear. “Like that’s a dealbreaker.”

There’s a row of perfectly cut apple and banana stars floating in berry-colored smoothies in your coupon book, whereas latte art stubs are left in Taehyung’s.

“He prefers the local juice shop,” you comment. “That plus gym means health nut.” Your eyes hover over your pack of snacks. “Maybe he doesn’t even like coffee?” You sink a little. Do you have anything in common?

Yoongi starts to tear the coffee coupons out of Taehyung’s book to keep for himself.

“Hey!” You reach out for Yoongi’s working hands, but the perforation on the stubs works in his favor.

“You just said he doesn’t like coffee!” Yoongi stuffs the coupons into his back pocket and, now that his Slurpee is officially gone, reaches for his tea. “OK, so what else is there?”

After flipping through the rest of the coupons, you shrug. “The coupon book has spoken.”

But Yoongi’s face boasts a dubious smile dotted by pizza sauce, and a splash of iced tea. “Kitt. I know you better than that.”

You sigh. “All I really know for sure is that he’s Kim Taehyung, and he lives in 12-B.”

“Lies.” Yoongi rests his chin in his palm. “Go ahead. Start spinning your yarn.”

Fine. You might have more details. Background info, really. “Well, he owns khakis,” you point out, making Yoongi chuckle. “Um… I think he got a haircut last week.”

“Mmhmm,” Yoongi encourages while nodding, “and?”

“He walks with a little bit of a strut.”

The couple of steps that you’d seen couldn’t have been enough to come to that conclusion. Especially not for someone like you. And especially because you’re the type of person who gets the embarrassed inclination to cover her face when she sees her own reflection in the mirror.

“How do you know?” Yoongi asks.

“I just know,” you say.

“You hear him?”

The echo of Taehyung’s footsteps plays easily in your mind. There’s a slight unevenness. And you’ve seen him, often passing each other in the hallway. You always lower your eyes, like you do when approaching most people, but not before taking a taste of those sharp shoulders alternating, helping him slice through the air. You don’t know if his gait comes from supreme confidence or some kind of injury. The smoldering, almost pained gaze that accompanies it doesn’t do much to help you differentiate, either. But the entire package, a king’s walk, always makes you pause what you’re doing and imagine that he’s walking up to you.

“What time does he leave for work?” Yoongi asks. “What time does he get home?”

“I think he leaves after I do,” you say, irritated that your dreams of Taehyung have often been interrupted by your boss Bang Si-hyuk’s 6 AM face. Way too early for a night owl like you, but least Si-hyuk is kind and good. “And he usually comes home after I do,” you continue. “Around six or seven. He comes home, is quiet, and then usually leaves not too long after that again. Maybe to get dinner?” You search the floor for holes you’ve missed before you add, “Sometimes he brings home dates.”

Yoongi’s beady eyes and narrow smile resurface. “I knew your weird, sponge-like mind had soaked up more dirty dishwater.”

You start to chuckle, but then you hold your voice in when you match Yoongi’s searching gaze, traveling around your bare apartment, easily landing on some stacks of office supplies that you need to bring to work tomorrow.

Yoongi straightens and stands. “Alright, Kitt. We’re going to have to get a little…”

He walks over to one stack and picks up a whiteboard, colored sticky notes, and dry erase markers.

“…Crafty.”

“It looks like I’m plotting a murder,” you observe.

Two pizzas, all the drinks, and your pantry of snacks later, Yoongi has pulled the thread taut. There are things you didn’t even know you had internalized. Hypotheses that seem pretty solid when put to the test. When Yoongi asks you about where you think he works, you realize that you guess something corporate, safe, and reliable, given that he’s always wearing earth tones on top of those khakis. When Yoongi asks you whether you’ve talked to him, you play back a conversation about the weather that was actually just you daydreaming about a phone call of his that he was having on his balcony.

“Are you high?” Yoongi cries out.

“No?” you whine.

Yoongi scratches his forehead. He knew your imagination was active, but how could you have just planted yourself into Taehyung’s life like that? Taken a real conversation and stuffed it into your mouth? And, what’s more, forgotten it had nothing to do with you in the first place?

“Can we be high?” Yoongi asks tiredly, moving toward the drawer containing your stash. He needs to be on whatever plane you call home.

He packs the bowl as you talk more about Taehyung. More questions. More unanticipated answers. More of Yoongi’s scrawls on the board.

You've actually kept detailed notes. Kim Taehyung moved next door about six months ago. He picks up the mail at night. He likely works in the north part of town because he walks to the blue line station in the morning. He takes his trash out on Mondays and Thursdays. His receipts show that he's stopped buying bananas from the nearest grocery store because the ones a block farther up the street are 40 cents cheaper.

“Also, he is very hot, and very single, though you knew that first part already just by bumping into him in the hall,” you finish, handing the bowl back to Yoongi for his hit.

The lighter flicks softly. “Why do you sound so disappointed?” Yoongi asks.

You play back that moment just after it happens, lingering on the last few notes of the falling Ls in “hall”. Yeah. You do sound disappointed.

“It physically hurts when I look at attractive people,” you tell Yoongi. “It’s like I can’t take it or something. Like I’m trying to understand a dimension I’m not from.”

“You’re attractive, Kitt,” Yoongi says, shaking his head as he erases your disparaging words that he’d begun to jot down while listening in autopilot.

You are not regimented about your schedule, or mindful about money, or hot. But you're smart. And, like you've said, you've kept detailed notes.

Yoongi looks at the board. “Hmm. There’s a lot here.” He turns back to you and smirks. “Maybe he is Prince Charming.”

“And maybe this won’t be as boring as you thought,” you say, nudging him in the ribs with your elbow as he flops down next to you on the couch.

“Oh, Kitt,” Yoongi teasingly coos. “Settle in. One way or the other, this is going to land you in handcuffs.”

It’s easy to waste an entire afternoon hanging out with Yoongi. Especially when you’re scheming. When you can’t identify the in that you need to give you a reason to talk to Taehyung, you and Yoongi decide to make it an evening as well.

“Chinese sounds good,” you confirm, as you pull out your phone. You hand it to Yoongi before standing and walking over to the trash can in your kitchen. “Place the order on my phone. My turn to treat.”

Yoongi nods. He knows your code. He starts to type.

Slugging through the hallway with four full trash bags, you notice that you usually wonder where the hell all this stuff comes from. How much stuff you selfishly consume day-to-day. But in your smoky stupor, a state that often helps you see angles that you would normally miss, you think about how this doesn’t really feel that much different from life itself. As you reach the trash room and tip the first bag into the chute, you start to nod to yourself. Another bag goes in the shoot. What is life if not things just moving from place to place over time? The third bag goes into the shoot, and you think, why be so hard on yourself if you’re the one helping them along? Someone has to do it.

Giggles in the hallway catch your attention. The door is still propped open, seeing as you had four whole bags to take out. And you see Taehyung by the elevator, facing an absolute knockout of a woman, both of them snaked around each other and leaning on the panel.

Eventually, they break their kiss.

“Did you have a good time?” the girl asks, tracing his jawline with the side of her pinky.

Envy rattles through your bones. Ugh, that’s such a cool move, you think. You could never pull something like that off.

You look down at your own pinky. Which has a hangnail.

You bring it to your lips and gnaw on it before watching a little more.

Taehyung snaps his bear trap-like jaws at her. His deep, snorting snarl and his brilliant teeth chomping together makes her giggle and yank her pinky away from him. She leans forward and squeals excitedly into the next kiss, her hands mussing up his wonderful, black curls. You wonder what they feel like against her palms and fingertips. How silky. How incredibly sexy. You want to rip them from their roots and use them to make a bed to nakedly nuzzle into.

He pulls back from their kiss and takes her in with a look as soft as his curls.

“You could just stay,” Taehyung offers, voice surprisingly and suddenly sweet. “We could go for another round.”

“I think seven’s enough for one evening,” she coos. “I’m starting to feel sore.”

Seven times in one night?! You nearly drop everything and run back to your apartment. Have you even had sex seven times total? You try to count on your fingers. You stop long before your as of now non-hangnailed pinky.

“Then we can get something to eat?” Taehyung places a peck on her cheek. “Or just sleep, if you’re tired?”

“Message me later,” she tells him. “I have to go, but falling asleep to you does sound appealing.”

“On Matchmaker… or text?” Taehyung asks hopefully.

“On the app.” She smirks knowingly when Taehyung crumples his lips.

He lets his chin fall and watches her carefully through his brow. Hee starts to speak in pout as he fiddles with her fingers. “You’ve seen my place,” he tells her. “You know my address.”

“Sorry. I’m still not comfortable with giving you my real number just yet,” she admits, leaning into him and kissing his neck.

Taehyung closes his eyes as she sucks on the skin there, pulled tight as he looks to the ceiling and grunts.

The elevator doors finally open, and as if to underscore how many repairs it needs, it’s nearly a full minute until the off-key, warbling ding! sounds.

Taehyung picks up on movement when you startle at the sound.

His eyes meet yours.

And then, after dropping your fourth trash bag by the open cute, you run.

You try to pull your face into the same expression you had on before you went completely and terrifyingly blank. Was it agonized? Surprised? Reproachful? You hope not the last one. If only Taehyung could see past your pizza-stained, fear sweats. You would have loved to rest your pinky on his jaw.

Yoongi looks extremely excited when you burst into the apartment, but when he sees you, he frowns and lies back down on your couch. He shakes his head at himself, and you hear him muttering. Of course it couldn’t have been the food. He just placed the order.

The door slams behind you. “I saw him again,” you whisper.

Yoongi slowly sits back up, with considerably less interest, but interest nonetheless. “OK. Talk me through.”

“I think he was on a date,” you say, breathless.

“Someone you’ve seen before?” Yoongi asks.

“No.” But you’re already replacing her face with yours, pretending like it was you all along. You try to fend off your overactive imagination. You need a clear picture. “She was hot though.”

“Say more,” Yoongi says.

You whimper, but Yoongi shakes his head.

“Not about her, Kitt. About what you saw.”

You try to stitch your thoughts together. “They were making out. The elevator really needs to be fixed. I left my garbage. Pinky. Jaw.” Your eyes soften, as if you’re about to cry. “I have hangnails.” You could never be her.

Yoongi shakes off the confusion and tries to stay with you. Tries to keep you on track. “Did it seem like a first date?”

“No, but…” You brighten, which makes Yoongi brighten. “She told him that she wasn’t comfortable giving him her number. That she wants to keep their chat on the app.”

“A-ha!” Yoongi says gleefully, narrowing his eyes and rubbing his hands together.

This is it. This is the in.

Yoongi, tech extraordinaire. The Work Laptop Whisperer. He tells you that most of his workday is telling people to turn things off and on again, but it takes a certain level of skill to even get there.

“What app is it?” he asks.

All you can remember is the beige walls blurring past you as you sprinted home. You wince. “Maybe if I heard the name, I’d remember?”

“Let’s see,” Yoongi begins, pulling out your phone again. He searches through the app store options. “There’s Cupid’s Bow, Adam and Eve, Adam and Steve---” He grins appreciatively. “Aw. That’s great.” He looks up and smiles at you, showing you the logo of two men flirtatiously grinning at each other from across a picnic bench. “Look! Representation!”

“That is great,” you say, eyebrows forming an upside-down V on your forehead, “but if Taehyung is on that app, I’m afraid I’m shit out of luck.”

Yoongi goes back to scrolling through apps. “Kindling, Matchmaker, One Fish Two Fish Red Fish New Fish---”

“Matchmaker,” you say suddenly, perking up. “One of them said it. Must be the app they’re using.”

A curt nod, and a focused gaze. “Free or paid account?” Yoongi asks as he types.

“Free,” you say flatly. You’re already taking too great a stride. Paying would be pushing it. The man lives next door. He’s probably right outside as you speak.

“Name.” He looks at you. “Real, or---”

“Kitt,” you say. “It’s my real name now, anyway. Use it more often.”

You smile at each other fondly.

“Alrighty,” Yoongi continues. “Date of birth… done. Favorite color… done. Favorite food… done.”

You watch as he enters in the rest of the shallower details, and you wonder how it is that you got here. You can’t help the fuzzy feeling in your chest from consuming you. How did you make a friend who knows you this well? You’d hidden yourself so far away to make it so that no one ever could. Maybe to cushion the blow when it turned out that people didn’t want to bother.

“Alright, we’re at the inane questions now,” Yoongi says with a straight face that makes you giggle. “Are you a cat person or a dog person?”

When you actually hear the question, though, you groan. “Ugh, really?” The first cringe seeps in. You need to walk over to the kitchen counter to keep yourself from disintegrating. Propping yourself up on it, you say, “Nevermind, I’m not doing this.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Well, you asked me over because you wanted to do something about this, and I’m certainly not going to listen to more of your whining unless you do, so either you jump into this app with all the hangnails you have on your feet, or you shut up about him,” he huffs.

You frown.“Fine. Well, is there a ‘neither’ option?”

Yoongi cocks his head to the side. “Neither?” He blinks. “How can someone be neither?”

“I just don’t like cleaning up after anyone except myself,” you say.

Yoongi suddenly becomes very self-aware of his contribution to the water rings, crumbs, napkins, and drops of sauces still littering your coffee table.

“And my loved ones,” you say, smiling easily. “But you know what I mean. I’ve never had or wanted a pet. And I don’t want kids.”

“The fact that you equate them certainly doesn’t bode well,” Yoongi points out.

“And I don’t… I’m not good at…” You scrunch up your face.“It’s like, I ask people what they need, right? But then they get these crazy looks on their faces. Like I’m too… blunt? So blunt that people don’t trust me with what they need.” The thought has circled round and round in your mind for so long that you know it to be a truth. So, you huff, and you finally admit, out loud, to another living soul, “I’m terrible at taking care of other people.”

“OK, well, one of the questions at the end of this is what your love language is, so I think I can go ahead and delete Acts of Service,” Yoongi jokes.

But when he sees your head hanging low, forehead and chin wrinkled with worry, he softens.

“I think you’re better at taking care of others than you think you are,” Yoongi says. “I mean, you start every day by telling me that I’m the crabbiest, most difficult person you’ve ever met, and that hasn’t stopped me from coming over here all the time.”

You grin momentarily at Yoongi’s encouraging words, but then you retreat back into the cave of self-pity, its stalagmites sharp and piercing.

“But you’re entertaining and actually sweet,” you whine. “People want you around.”

Yoongi furrows his brow. “Didn’t you just hear me say that I’m over here all the time? Y’know? To be around you?”

“Yeah, but that’s different.”

“How?”

You shrug, but Yoongi can tell there’s more going on in that racing mind.

“Just let it out,” he says softly.

You take a big breath. “My parents had been together for over almost forty years, OK?” you begin.

“OK.”

“And during their most recent anniversary dinner, I asked them for advice on what they thought was the key to their happiness.”

“And now you’re doing that thing where you’re overthinking their answers?”

“My mom said that there was no key, and I started to quibble with that---”

“So that’s a yes to the overthinking.”

“So,” you say, forcing Yoongi to go down this road with you, “I realized that if there was no advice, no key, no plan, then I’m fucked.”

“Yeah, all I’m hearing is the overthinking you’re doing,” Yoongi repeats. “I get that you’re freaking out, but I don’t understand why.”

“I just…” You resign to the heaviness in your bones. “If there’s no key, then… what do I do?”

You freeze. You always freeze. A highlight reel plays in your mind. Not of big blowouts. But quiet fractures. Moments where some switch has flipped in your brain, and you just decide to abandon whoever you’re with at the time. Friends. Romantic partners. Family members. Ice them out. Melt away. See if they’re still after the thaw. They usually aren’t.

“You’re human,” Yoongi reminds you. “Besides. We can soften the edges a little bit. That’s the beauty of these apps.”

“Soften the edges?” Your voice is still sharp as you say it.

“Yeah. There’s even a term for it.”

“Lying?” you ask. But then you realize there really is a technical term for it in the online dating context specifically. “Wait, catfishing?”

Yoongi yawns out, “Kittenfishing.”

You scoff. “What the fuck?”

“It’s a baby version,” Yoongi says, leaning forward and resting his weight on his elbows on his knees, your phone hanging between his legs. “It’s not straight-up lying. But you tweak the wording to make yourself a little more… palatable.”

“Give me an example.”

Yoongi holds up your phone and reads the question. “‘Are you a cat person or a dog person.’ Well, instead of saying neither, you could say…” He looks up at the ceiling and thinks. And then he smirks at you. “Depends.”

You smile. “Cryptic,” you comment.

“Just enough,” Yoongi notes. “Not so stand-offish that people disengage. Arguably, it’ll make him want to learn more.” Yoongi imitates what he’s heard of Taehyung’s deep, airy voice. “What does she mean by ‘depends’? I must know. I should ask her out and rawdog her until she explains it to me.”

Your eyes narrow, but your lips fight a smirk.

This helps with the rest of the inane questions.

Are you an introvert or an extrovert?

You know most people want an extrovert, but you’re so introverted that your social battery drains if you’re with anyone other than Yoongi after about fifteen minutes.

Yoongi enters: Isn’t everyone a little bit of both?

Do you like to spend time in nature?

Given the amount of hiking profile pictures on the app, you know the answer has to be yes. There’s no way you can answer that honestly. With the amount of hives you break into when you so much as think of a blade of grass, you think your body is allergic to the concept of an outside world as a whole.

Yoongi enters: Nature is all around us, isn’t it?

Do you believe in signs?

Not in a mystical way. You think you’re pretty good at reading tells. That constant hyperfocus and vigilance is actually what fuels your anxiety. No one wants to date an anxious mess.

Yoongi enters: I believe what my eyes tell me.

“All that’s left is the profile picture,” Yoongi chuckles, “and I know the perfect one to use.”

You want to keep him from uploading a picture at all, but Yoongi has already hit Save. It’s a group picture of you all from the end-of-the-quarter party. It’s the only picture he has of you, and it’s the only picture you have of Yoongi. Not much for selfies and photoshoots, you have no other pictures in your gallery. You’re lucky that it’s a good one. Playing hooky from one of the party’s events was fun until you found out that you happened to be standing in the spot where the photographer had planned to take the group photo. He put you and Yoongi front and center. At least you had makeup on, and your hair was somewhat styled. And that green dress is one of your favorites. One of just a few hanging in your closet. But one of your favorites.

Yoongi smiles at you.

“Alright, well… what else do I need to do before we begin?” you ask.

Yoongi chuckles. “What do you mean? I already updated your profile.”

“WHAT?!”

You dash over to the couch and prepare to wrestle the phone out of Yoongi’s hands, but he surrenders easily.

Gear icon. Where’s the fucking gear icon?

“If you delete it, I’m just going to create another profile on my phone that you can’t control,” Yoongi says lazily. You’re jealous. It’s so easy for him.

You drop your arms in surrender.

He grins and goes on. “I set it to sort by location. Get on the app and see if he comes up.”

Unsurprisingly, at literally zero miles away, Taehyung is the first person to pop up. And you quickly learn that he's a Capricorn, has a pet dog named Tannie, and he loves visiting his family's farm. There are ten pictures. Two of him in the city somewhere, one at dusk, and one late at night. One of him at, presumably, his family’s farm. Two of him dressed up at some fancy events. Five of him with Tannie, playing around in a layout that looks like your apartment but flipped. But his profile picture is the one that you like best. It’s a candid photo of his literal profile, his curly locks ruffled, hand at his lips, eyes looking slightly surprised, or sparkling with thought. His lips look so delectable. A little red. As if they’ve been kissed, juicy, plump, and raw.

“I don’t know,” you say nervously. “I can barely look at his profile picture. I’ll be a mess if I look into his actual eyes.” You shake your head slightly. “Besides, we don’t seem to have much in common?”

Yoongi’s eyebrows raise. “You don’t know that for sure, do you?”

You guess that you don’t. Anyway, Yoongi’s suggestions have definitely bought you some time, and you can use that time to find out. And to soften the edges. Mould yourself a bit. Make yourself more palatable. With some luck, and Yoongi's help, you will become Kim Taehyung's perfect girl. And you will catch him.

Slowly exhaling, you swipe right.

You let your arm fall to your side again. It’s a huge first step, opening yourself up to the world like this. You’ve been listless, and people have been unkind. You could count on one hand the number of positive experience that you’ve had on da---

A friendly chime vibrates through your phone.

Yoongi’s eyes are suddenly wide awake. “Is it him??” he asks.

The screen tells you that it is. That you’ve matched. You don’t believe it. Yoongi gets up at the deafening echo of your terrified silence and walks over to you. You show it to Yoongi. It’s not until his look of recognition that you’re able to accept what’s right in the palm of your hand.

Kittenfishing doesn’t seem to be so hard, but you’re still not sure if that’s a such a great thing.

Someone raps on the door, knocking your jaw to the floor.

You think you hear Yoongi mumble, “Nice.”

When you realize Yoongi has left your side, you nearly scream. You reach for his other arm and pull him toward you, initially counterbalancing his weight. But your socks slide you across the floor, and your bum lands on the ground.

“What the---” Yoongi stares at you in bewilderment. “But, food??”

“What if it’s him?” you whisper.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Wow, Kitt. I mean, no offense, but it would take Olympic-level flirting to seduce the average person that strongly and that quickly, and we’re kind of starting at a deficit with you.”

“Just let me check first!” you hiss.

He begrudgingly helps you up, and you skate on your soles over to the peephole.

Taehyung is standing there, the same profile you were just admiring looking bloated through the fish lens.

You whirl around to Yoongi. “Do what you did in the trash room!” you beg, pulling on his shirt. You’ve never been so scared. “Save me!”

“No, this is different. You’ve gotta take this one. If he sees me again, he might think we’re dating ors something.” Yoongi places his hands on your shoulders. “Don’t freak out, just, y’know, say hi and keep it short. Copy his words and movements, and just smile if you’re unsure. I’ll go hide in your room.”

“What if he asks me a question or something??” you squeak. It was hard enough answering the questions on the app. You can’t guarantee you’ll be able to hold a conversation with him without a screen and a chaperone.

“Say yes,” Yoongi advises you. He clicks his tongue. “Shit. If he’s here to fuck---”

“He might be here to fuck?!” you whimper. “Because that girl didn’t stay?” Your pussy clenches as if locking down due to threat. “Is seven times not enough for him?!”

“I said don’t freak out.” More calculations come, and then, “I’ll go hide in your shower,” Yoongi decides. “Just go with it! If you need to pause, go to the bathroom!”

That’s where he scampers as you turn back to the door. You don’t even remember to check your appearance using your phone’s camera. You have a lot to learn.

Gripping the side of the door, rather than the knob, you make way for the king. His curls make a crooked crown. He’s leaning, hip cocked left, right forearm bracing the doorway. When he smiles, you feel like you might explode.

“Hi,” Taehyung says lightly.

“Hi.” When was the last time your smile was this uncomfortable? And when did your knuckles get so bony? Did you get the last of your hangnail?

He holds up his phone, and you see your profile, with just a hint of the tortured wince that you’re projecting at full blast.

“Seems we’ve got a match,” he comments.

“A match,” you parrot.

Taehyung sticks his phone back in his pocket. “I think I saw you earlier today. In the trash room.” His smile squiggles, and his eyes laugh along when he chuckles, “Twice.”

You keep grinning painfully and just stay silent.

Carefully, he asks, “That your boyfriend, earlier?” His next breath is more hopeful. “Or just a friend?”

Your best friend, you want to say. The Best Friend. The Best Friend a person could have. He somehow got you, a bottom-dweller, a front seat on the cloud soaring through Taehyung’s incandescent gaze. You try your best to memorize as many details as you can, just in case this is the summit. Brows thick as his slightly squinting, dark-lashed eyes. So many places to fall from.

And where would you fall? Pinball-style against the gentle downward slope of his cheekbone to the outer turn of his straight, proud nose, rolling up the top of his mouth but not quite reaching the peak of his Cupid’s bow, instead tumbling back, the upturn of that dangerous smirk not quite enough to keep you on his lips. It’s a maddening dive down to that carved chin. By the time you think to try to save yourself with your hangnailed pinky, you realize that you were always headed for the fire below, the kindling of his collar bones, ribs, forearms and femurs, stoking a flame making his neck burn red.

“Just a friend.”

When you answer, his neck sighs into a lighter peach. “Ah.” He’s relaxed enough now that his forearm plumps against the drywall. “Hope that wasn’t too weird to ask. You know how it is.” But then he narrows his eyes. “Or… do you?” Can he trust you with what’s on his mind? “How long have you been on the app?” Judging by your continued puzzlement, he makes a guess. “Not long?”

“Not long,” eeks out from your throat.

“Figured.”

“Oh?” you ask before you can stop yourself. “And how do you figure?”

Taehyung grins. “We would’ve matched sooner than this.” The implication of his words shows up on his cheeks, ruddy and honest.

But then the embarrassment creeps back in. The tentative glee he had let himself feel on the walk back to his apartment. The thrill of seeing his date return not long after saying goodbye. The worried expression on her face at dodging his kiss and admitting that she left something behind. And then the chest-crushing weight of the boulder that crashed into him when he discovered that that something was definitely a diamond ring, and maybe something else.

This city’s full of dirtbags. That’s why he went back to the drawing board, and the app. That’s when he matched with you. That’s what brought him over here now, studying you so closely.

You can’t take it anymore. The heat under Taehyung’s gaze is stifling. Bordering on burning. Eviscerating the filter that’s been keeping your words at bay.

“Are you just here for a quick fuck because you struck out?” you ask, frowning.

Taehyung’s eyes grow past what you thought was possible. That probably means he thinks this is your audacity speaking. But he’ll learn that it’s more about efficiency. You don’t want any part of this if all he wants is a participation trophy when he failed to get the grand prize. At the thought of his audacity, a small, drole laugh escapes you, like a grunting, too-loose snare drum hit, fizzling and squashing any dash of hope that he might’ve had.

When he shifts his weight, you sense that he’s leaving. And that’s just fine. Maybe you’ll have better luck with the next obsession.

But then you realize Taehyung isn’t going anywhere. Not even just a couple of feet to his right to sanctuary. He’s just straightening. And smiling. And scratching his chest with the hand that was resting just beside your doorframe. He scratches with his thumb, outlining the side of his left pec. He stares at you dead on, and as he drags his eyes down the centerline of your form, he licks his lips. He’s curious what you really look like. You assume that he can’t make out much of you from those baggy sweats. But he seems sure that he’ll like whatever’s inside. His smile hangs open for most of the journey, and when he drags his eyes back up again, finding yours, he bites his lip, pushing it out before settling into an amused pout.

You feel safe. But when he speaks, there’s more bass in his voice.

“No. I just wanted to stop by and say that I liked your profile. I wanted to compliment you on your picture.”

Your turn to blush. Where does your green dress stop again? The bust, just above the cups of your bra? The skirt, mid-thigh? How much have you shown?

He likes the searching that your eyes are doing. Flustered you is even cuter than he’d anticipated. Just a little more.

“And now, I want to ask you out on a date.”

Trying to swallow your pounding heart down your throat distracts you from the conversation. How did your heart get outside of your body? How do you still feel it everywhere within? Are you going to choke? You usually do.

“Date?” you rasp.

Taehyung presses his lips together, trying not to laugh. “How’s tomorrow night? You free?”

You nod. “Free.”

“Can I pick you up for dinner? Around six?”

You nod again. “Six.”

“Cool.” He turns and takes a step. Incredible how much fresh air just that one step gives you. You take a deep breath.

But then he turns back to you, holding your gaze. He’s never encountered energy like yours before. He isn’t sure how to handle it. Is he supposed to handle it? He kind of just wants to let it wash over him. You seem so quiet. Then again, so does he.

His eyes fall to the ground.

When he says, “Night,” he lets his eyes aim for yours again, like two darts seeking bullseyes.

And then he looks back at the floor with that dangerous smirk.

You catch sight of your bitten pinky when you move to swing the chain lock back into place.

When you open the door to the bathroom, Yoongi looks so small to you, sitting there in the dry tub, legs pretzled, palms on his knees, shoulders hunched, and mouth agape.

“Did you hear?”

“Every word.”

“What?” You raise your eyebrows at the silence bouncing off the tiles. “Well?”

He smiles brightly at you. “Well, I think I’m a genius. That’s what.”

Yoongi certainly has good taste. You’ll give him that. Cappuccino brown isn’t something you usually gravitate toward, but it turns out that it suits your skin tone and your shiny, coiffed hair. The cut shows off your elegant lines and curves without making you feel insecure. And it matches your comfy nude heels.

The one thing he’s initially unsure about is your makeup, but it turns out that he’s got a knack for that, too.

“Hold still,” he mumbles, a slight wrinkle forming at the bridge of his nose.

You stifle a laugh. Who knew Yoongi watched Bob Ross videos in his spare time?

“Seriously,” Yoongi chides, as you giggle at the tickle of the eyebrow brush. “I might end up making happy trees all over your cheek if you don’t stop.”

After a few more minutes, he pulls away. Both of you -- one foot each in the sink, one foot each hanging off the counter -- turn to your bathroom mirror. Yoongi went with a wide sweep of gold on your lids. The liner is the most symmetrical you’ve ever seen on your own face.

“Is that shading?” you ask. “Do I look skinnier?”

“That’s bronzer,” Yoongi replies.

“I get that painting and understanding light helps in this scenario, but how did you know what to use?” you ask, looking down at the various compacts and brushes he’d bought with your money and brought over.

“Recon, Kitt.” He swivels his hips and hops down from the counter. “If you do your research, you can do just about anything.”

You certainly hope so. After you give Yoongi a quick hug goodbye, you start going over the details about Taehyung that you’ve been studying. And not just the ones that he shared on the app. The ones that you found when you stalked his social media.

He doesn’t skimp on the pictures, that’s for sure. The earliest ones you could find were from his senior year of college. You appreciate how his cheeks have filled out. How his shoulders have broadened. How much more meaningful his gaze has become, now that he’s seen more. And the more that you see, the more that you want.

You know you’ve tailored your questions well when you rightly anticipate how he answers. Once you get past the easy stuff, like birthplaces, schools, general interests and hobbies, and a long detour about Tannie that you need to pinch your thigh to get through, you hit the real challenge.

Family’s been a big theme. He’s online so much with them that his icon’s status stays green. Two younger siblings, one girl and one boy. Loving and doting parents. A huge group of aunties, uncles, and cousins. A memorial album for his grandmother that he and his family still post messages to regularly.

Tilting your head, you say, “Can I ask what happened?”

Heart attack, you think.

“A heart attack,” Taehyung says sadly. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly through his nostrils.

“I’m so sorry,” you reply, voice heavy.

You do as Yoongi told you and keep your palm open on the dinner table. Taehyung’s thumb grazes your well-manicured pinky. His hand looks so big compared to yours.

“That’s OK,” he replies.

“Must’ve been hard.”

“It was.”

You stay silent for a brief moment, heeding Yoongi’s initial words. But you can’t help adding, “I can’t tell if you want to talk about it or not. But I don’t mind listening if you do.”

Yoongi didn’t mention that in his directions. You aren’t sure if it’s the right thing to say. But your heart thumps a little when Taehyung lifts and places his hand on yours, fiddling with your fingers a little as he talks.

“Our family has an album, and we post messages to her.”

Every week, you think.

Taehyung smiles. “Sometimes I post as frequently as every week.”

“What do you usually write?” you ask.

This week’s post was about work, you remind yourself.

“I got Employee of the Month recently,” Taehyung laughs sheepishly. “A little thing, but…”

You think of his message to her. How he hopes that little things like that still make her proud. You shed a couple of tears at his earnest words and wonder if the ache in your heart matches the one that he writes with.

“One she would have shown off to her friends, I’m sure,” you reply.

Taehyung looks a bit dazed when you say it. He puffs his chest out and resettles in his seat with less of a slump, smiling warmly at you.

You grin back, and you feel a little guilty that it’s more a winning smile than an empathic one. It’s not like Taehyung needs to be able to tell the difference. What does it matter, so long as he scoots his chair in closer and loops his fingers between yours?

Your hands only separate when your first and second courses arrive at the table. By the time dessert comes around, you don’t bother.

They intertwine again three, or maybe four?, hours later when you’re walking home from the bistro that he suggested. It has quickly become your favorite place, and it’s just two blocks over. New, and hidden in plain sight.

Like him.

“We’ve been talking a lot about me,” he reflects. “What about you?”

“What about me?” you parrot.

The first of the three slick moves that end your evening is the way he swings your interlocked hands behind his back and wraps your arm around his solid, thick waist. You lean against him and smell another whiff of his scent, something spicy, yet clean. His clothes are as well-tailored as your questions, and you’ve been eyeing the ripples of muscles against his French-tucked, button-down shirt. It’s another thing completely to feel them against you, flexing in his trademark stride. You feel your body moulding to the spaces between his ribs, and you dare to rest your head on his shoulder as he rests his forearm on your hip.

“Are you close with your family?” he asks softly.

Your heels clip-clop like the pendulum of a clock. Don’t wait too long. He’ll know you’re making stuff up.

“Uh, they kinda live far away,” you stammer.

Who even is your family, anymore? People you sometimes see on holidays every other year? Your siblings are more like distant memories of kids you took sink baths with.

And then you think of your and Yoongi’s feet resting against each other in your bathroom.

“But… yeah,” you say, fondly. “Very close.” You giggle. “Family’s very important to me.”

The second slick move is the way that Taehyung hits the 12th floor button with his elbow. It lets him keep his arms around you, guiding you to lean back on him in the elevator.

“What keeps you here, in this city?” he asks. “Y’know. If your family is so far?”

“Work,” you say. It’s not necessarily what brought you out here, but it’s certainly what’s making you stay put.

You nestle into him, and he hums against your temple as he runs his fingers slowly up and down your arm. “Relatable,” he laughs gently. And then he sighs, your hair floating gently in his air. “Connection seems to be pretty important to both of us.”

“Seems that way,” you echo.

“Then I’m glad we met,” he tells you in a voice that’s spicy like his cologne.

Ambling down the path in Taehyung’s firm embrace is a much better way to share hallway space with him than your usual quick march and averted gaze. You’re sorry that you reach your doors, but you’re glad that he chooses to linger.

“Early day tomorrow?” he asks.

You nod. “Unfortunately.” You haven’t even packed all those office supplies yet, and they need to be on everybody’s desks by your usual 6 AM call time.

He smiles. “Mind if I ask you one more question?”

“Not at all.”

He looks down at you, still pinning you to his side.

“What are you on the app for?”

You raise your eyebrows. You hadn’t anticipated this question.

“W-what do you mean?” you ask.

The nerves are starting to return. You start scratching at your shoulder. You wish a knapsack with a parachute were hanging off of it.

“I mean… are you on the app because you want a relationship?”

He asks quietly. Tentatively.

But when you look up, there’s peril in his eyes.

“Or are you on the app for a quick fuck?”

You don’t even have time to laugh.

Because the beginnings of the third slick move are happening.

His left hand slides down your waist and to the front of your dress. The fabric of your skirt doesn’t seem to be doing much to stop him. Those thick fingers are rubbing slow circles around your clit, telling it to release those juices that have been easily flowing for him all night, and if you’re being honest, all throughout the night before.

You groan and lunge forward, and he moves to stand behind you. He takes your limp right arm and bends it at the elbow, placing it on the wall between your two front doors. A bump from his woken length jostles you forward, and you feel him moving between the cleft of your pert ass.

He starts to grunt, and finally, that laugh drags out of your heated core and reforms as condensation on the thin metal lining around your door.

“This OK?” he whispers in your ear.

You nod, starting to lose yourself in the fog. When his fingers press down harder, you press your forehead onto the wall. Tiny bumps find homes in your pores. Where there isn’t space, your skin bends back and surrenders.

“Tell me,” he says, hips starting to grind against you now. “What are you on the app for?”

“You.” A tiny groan seeps out of you. “I’m on the app for you.”

It’s the most honest answer you’ve given all night.

He brings his moist fingers up to your mouth.

“Then let me in.”

You open your mouth and suck, nearly pulling skin from bone. Mumbles of encouragement spike that energy that he’s been lusting after.

“That’s it. Nice and wet.”

He rips his hand from your lips and then looks left and right to make sure you’re still alone.

And then he lifts the front of your dress and slides his fingers into your pussy, finding your clit as if he had spent all day studying it somehow. He moves up and forward, then back and down, in a straight line from the top of your lips down to your entrance. Your hips move in the opposite motion, and Taehyung revels in the reward that he gets against his hard cock.

“Fuck. That feels so good.”

You turn your head, resting your temple on the paint dampening from your sweat, and eye your doorknob. It would be so easy to go inside. To do the proper thing. The polite thing. To keep this behind closed doors.

It feels sinfully delicious not to.

“Let me in,” he whispers again.

You arch back, and Taehyung hoists your hips up against his torso bent forward.

At this point, slick only begins to describe the third and final move, his fingers sliding inside of your pussy’s entrance and stopping at the hilt. A couple of slow pumps shows him the lay of the land. How you curve. Where you swell. Where you’re most sensitive. Most vulnerable. As he feels you, you choke down your weepy, frail voice as best as you can, and Taehyung offers help by covering your mouth with his free hand. If anything’s going to weep, it’s going to be his cock, which is oozing with precum that’s already hastening to the front of the cloth of his black, wool dress pants.

“Shh,” he coos. “Come nice and easy for me.”

You sigh.

And then you shiver.

And then, you explode, starting to thrash against your wall, the toes of your nude heels scuffing the surface, and being scuffed in return.

You land your left heel adamantly right on Taehyung’s shoe.

“Ahh!” he yelps.

And then he comes, releasing your mouth and holding you tight with both arms at your waist, bent at 90-degrees, supporting himself on the brace you’ve created with your elbows at the wall.

After you catch your breath, you brush your hair back and turn around to face him. You’re surprised to be met with eager, shining eyes, no longer studying you, but more just generally curious about you.

And then he pulls you into a kiss.

At first, you think it’ll be just as rough. Just as stolen.

But you find yourself sinking into soft velvet, plush lips and tongue surrounding you instead of using you up.

He pulls away, and you smirk at the lipstick on his chin. You reach up and wipe it away with your pinky.

Taehyung brightens. He looks like he wants to say something. But then, he decides against it.

Instead, he straightens and pulls his keys out from his pocket.

“We’re doing this again,” he tells you.

You grin. “If you say so.”

He chuckles and flips through the keys on his key ring. Storage. Mailbox. Front door.

“Night,” he says, smirking.

“Night,” you say.

He hangs onto your gaze as he closes the door behind him.

And you realize that you’d dropped your purse at some point.

You bend over to pick it up and find your keys.

You walk into your apartment, lean back on your front door, and slide down until your stained skirt meets your hardwood floor.

And you ponder how unfathomable it is.

The possibility that you have just been with Kim Taehyung.

Kittenfishing Masterpost

#bts fanfiction #taehyung #kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #bts smut #taehyung smut #kittenfishing #my fics

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ziracona · 2 years

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So um, What exactly would the ILM gang do if they run into the people of Haddonfield(like Tommy, Lindsey, or Sheriff Brackett) who see the vicious monster who killed several people in 1978 is their friend now? Also i'm not sure Tapp would just be cool letting Michael walk after going through hell to stop the Jigsaw cult. Even in the original film I can't really say Michael is ''less'' responsible than Amanda or John. He's still got a lot to answer for even if he didn't become as bad as other timelines.

As. Per. My. Last. Email!

I’m done answering this stupidass question!

I have been very clear, many times, on my opinion here. If you’ve actually read all of ILM and paid attention, you’ll see what goes on with Tapp and what he does. And OG 1978 Michael being ‘just as’ responsible as human adults raised in normal society making their own choices of their own free will Amanda Young and fucking JOHN KRAMER is the most laughable opinion I’ve heard all year!!! And I don’t mean since Jan I mean the full last 365 days!

He was a six year old child with a mental illness he tried to get help for, at an age /scientifically/ too young to have a complete grasp of mortality—let alone ethics, was ignored by his family, and killed once. He was then abandoned by his parents and left in the solo care of a man who, in canon, decided within the first six months of knowing him that he was the personification of evil in a human body, and for those religious reasons ignored the diagnosis of, in canon, every other doctor at Smith’s Grove, kept him in solitary confinement in a tiny room aside from himself, threatened him constantly, gaslit him about his illness, and accused and insisted he was evil and dying to kill again for the next Fifteen. FUCKING. YEARS. That’s almost his /entire/ childhood development. You don’t even retain that many memories before age 6. I’m not saying he hasn’t done bad stuff, he has, but he was almost literally grown in a test tube by Doctor Loomis to be a thing with the sole purpose of breaking out and killing his sister. He didn’t have a chance. He had no access to other information, to other choices. He was overdosed on a level that worsens psychosis symptoms and can cause permanent brain damage. He isn’t ‘as accountable’ as actual human scum fucking JOHN KRAMER, who was a pissbaby so mad his life didn’t turn out like he wanted that he kidnapped every vulnerable person he could find that needed help, and every person who’d ever sneezed in his direction in a way he considered somehow rude, and tortured them to death under the completely false guise of ‘getting them to value their lives.’

If you don’t like me and my opinions, go away! But you’re wrong, I’m right, and I’m sick of this dumbass conversation. Tapp didn’t give a shit about Michael ‘paying’ at the end of ILM, like he didn’t care about Legion being given clemency. He cared more about Laurie getting what she needed to be okay, and felt sympathy over the whole situation. Plus, in a very real way, he served 40 years of very torturous jail time in the realm. ALSO, to compare Tapp’s pain over betrayal from friends like Hoffman, loss of Kerry and Eric and Sing, and the entire state of New Jersey’s incredibly horrific losses to years of kidnappings terrorism and torture for the most selfish and sadistic of reasons, and his struggle to push back against that all, to Michael Myers stabbing four people to death one night in 1978, is ridiculous and high key gross. Calling what Michael did remotely comparable to Jigsaw’s crimes horrifically diminishes the incredible awfulness of it and what everyone exposed to it went through!

Stop asking me this fucking question I’ve answered it before, and it’s really, really annoying, especially if you won’t even do it nicely or out of good faith curiosity like the first asker so politely did.

‘Vicious Monster’ my ass—he was just some 21 year old with atrophied leg muscles and superhuman strength trying to get the voices in his head to shut up for the first time in 18 years.

#ask #anonymous #Michael Myers #I have been so clear how sick I am of this STOP. ASKING. something I’ve ANSWERED. TEN. TIMES. BEFORE #HALLOWEEN 1978 #dead by daylight #in living memory (spoilers)#in living memory (fic)#in living memory #ilm spoilers #you don’t have to agree with me! but I’m sure not FUCKINNNGD gonna agree with you!!#disclaimer since apparently no one READS my answers: this is about OG/H20/DbD Michael. not all timelines have the same version of the man #like I love to talk about my thoughts on stuff and I’m happy to elaborate on details of stuff I haven’t covered in general or to talk about #my interpretations and reasons but STOP coming in here like little bitches going ‘Uhm Actually Michael Myers is Awful & I don’t get why u #don’t think so’ it’s rude annoying and OVERBEARING. piss off

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silverarmedassassin · 3 years

Text

Clandestine Meetings - One

Actor!Bucky x Reader | Word Count: 2488 | Warnings: None

A/N: Listen, I know I said this would be posted in "about an hour," but I have no self-control and it must be posted NOW.

Sorry for the delay in getting this out! I was having a bit of block. Thank you for reading and, if you feel so inclined, please let me know what you think!❤️ If you want to be tagged, please send me a message or enter your url here!

Dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

[ Previous | Masterlist | Next ]

It’s 10:30 by the time your boss stumbles into the office. Pepper Potts is usually the embodiment of poised and put together - sleek strawberry blonde hair either falling over her shoulders in beautiful waves or tied in a high ponytail; black pencil skirts and white blouses tucked neatly inside. But not today.

While the ponytail still sits high on her head, dark circles taint her usually smooth, pristine complexion. She’s fisting a to-go mug in one hand and her office mug in the other, already steaming with a fresh round of caffeine.

You hated days like these; mornings after Tony keeps her out late - either business or pleasure, you never know as you prefer not to pry into your bosses’ personal lives - were always interesting, to say the least. Pepper was never mean, and you were almost positive there wasn’t an unkind bone in her body. She was just off. And if she was off, it means you were off, resulting in your job being about one hundred times harder as you often had to play the roles of both assistant and editor.

“Good morning, Ms. Potts,” you finally greet as she sits down at her desk. She’s rummaging through her bag, growing more irritable as the seconds pass. She sighs before stopping to look up at you.

“Y/N, please. It’s been six months. Just call me Pepper.” You internally scoff at the insistence of being anything less than professional towards one of the smartest women you’ve ever encountered in your life, and she turns back to her treasure hunt. “Don’t tell me I left my laptop at home,” she whines to herself as she slumps down into her large executive chair.

You clear your throat as you shuffle forward, computer in hand. “You had me take down to IT to get your files backed up, remember?” you smile as you deposit the device on the cherry-oak desk.

Pepper returns the smile and shakes her head. “Honestly, I don’t understand how I functioned before you.” She slides the laptop across the desk and opens it. While she waits for the software to boot up, she starts her typical morning rapid-fire session. “Did I miss any calls before I came in?”

“No, it’s been pretty q-word this morning.” You vowed never to say “quiet” while in the office. It somehow always jinxed your days, resulting in everyone and their mother calling within twenty minutes.

“E-mails?”

“The chef you’ve been in contact with sent over his schedule for the next few months. It’s looking like the best time to meet is early next month if you want to get the feature done in time for the winter edition.” Pepper opens her mouth to fire another question, but you’re one step ahead of her. “I’ve already blocked out a date in your calendar and sent the invite to his team.”

A soft smile graces the woman’s face as she scribbles notes in her daybook. “And what does my schedule look like for today?”

You sort through the mental files that contain minute-to-minute information regarding your boss’s workday. “You’re pretty booked. You have that photoshop with James Barnes at noon, and after-”

“Shit,” Pepper mummers, cutting you off. Panic quickly settles into her features. “Why does Tony do this? Barnes is impossible to book for anything. I can’t miss this….”

“Uh, no, you can’t,” you practically screech as you fix your boss with a wild look. “This photoshoot has been on your schedule since before I even started. And the time you have set up with him next week doesn’t allow for a full interview, photoshoot, and get material for the short online feature.” You try not to let the panic come out in your voice, but this is precisely the kind of incident you were hired to prevent.

Pepper gently closes her laptop and sets her features in a serious look. “Listen, I think you’re doing a great job here, and you’ve grown so much within the few months you’ve been on the team.” You eye her suspiciously, wondering if this was your ‘you’re fired’ speech. If so, it was definitely coming out of left field. “Why don’t you take my place at the shoot today? If Tony hadn’t promised I’d be in attendance for this investor meeting today, I’d have you go to that instead. But,” the blonde sighs deeply before continuing, “Tony has no regard for anyone’s schedule, and this is an important meeting.”

Your stomach drops from the 44th floor you’re currently on down to ground level. You’d never been on a set before, let alone one with someone as big as James. Plus, you’d only been on a handful of mid-sized interviews. How did she expect you to do this by yourself?

“Pepper, I…”

“I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to try and tell me that you’re not ready and that you can’t possibly clear your schedule for the afternoon. But if I didn’t think you were capable of holding your own, you wouldn’t even be sitting here with ‘assistant editor’ in front of your name. You have the skillset; you just need to show that you can use it. I know you don’t want to be an assistant forever.”

You anxiously bite your lip, feelings of inadequacy and anxiousness filling your senses.

“I don’t even know this James guy…” you say, defeated.

“Well, the car doesn’t arrive for another,” she looks down at her phone, “forty-five minutes. You better get reading.”

“We really need to bring you into the twenty-first century,” Natasha, Bucky’s manager, says as the first notes of My Funny Valentine start dancing through today’s set.

Following the too-bright flash of the camera, Bucky blinks the starbursts out of his eyes and tries to set the redhead with as stern of a look as possible. “Don’t you dare diss Mr. Sinatra. He’s a classic. A legend!” He watches as a stylist runs up and begins fussing with his hair.

Natasha just rolls her eyes and goes back to scrolling through her phone. As much as she acts annoyed with him - and his insistence of having at least two dozen 40’s songs on every photoshoot playlist - he knew she wouldn’t trade him for the world. They had a long history pre-dating the entertainment industry, and she was damn good at her job. If it wasn’t for Nat, Bucky’s not sure his current agency would have even signed him.

As the stylist finishes up her poking and prodding, the photographer - who Bucky has already forgotten the name of - begins shouting out directions from behind the camera. Pose this way. Turn that way. Make it look like you want to be here. It takes everything in Bucky not to grimace - both at the consistent reconfiguring he has to do to his body and the loud rumble that echoes through his stomach. The shirtless pictures they were shooting today caused him - against his better judgment - to forgo breakfast and, with nothing but too-weak black coffee in his system, Bucky couldn’t help but feel a little agitated.

“Just a few more shots, and then we can break for lunch,” he hears the man behind the camera shout before dragging the camera back up to his face.

Bucky contorts himself into a position that shows off the abs he’s worked incredibly hard to achieve and maintain and masks his face in the perfect moody smolder these magazines love so much. Three more pops of the shutter, some grumbling and direction by the photographer, and one more position change, and he’s finally free.

As he’s looking at the pictures and throwing a robe over his bare torso and boxer-clad bottom, Bucky’s attention is pulled from the camera’s tiny screen to the back of the spacious room by Natasha’s stern, Russian-lilted voice. The accent only came out when she was agitated, so the sound alone is often used as a warning sign to those closest to her to stay away.

“How did you even get up here? Is there no security in place? I swear-”

Bucky turns to find his manager - all five-foot-three inches of her - standing defensively in front of whomever she’s cornered by the elevator.

“As I said, I’m here in place of Ms. Potts.” Bucky perks up at the second voice; is almost positive he recognizes the sweet melody despite having only encountered it once several months before. “Here, look, I have my badge.”

Sure enough, as Bucky scurries over to the duo, he sees a familiar face anxiously looking at his manager. He might be terrible with names, but Bucky Barnes rarely forgets a face.

“Natasha, why do you insist on harassing every person who sets foot within a five-foot radius of me while on the job?” Bucky jokes as he approaches the women.

He watches as your attention shifts from the annoyed redhead to him; a look of shock and maybe a hint of mortification flashes across your face.

“I wasn’t harassing. This is a closed set, and randos from the street can’t just walk on up,” Natasha rolls her eyes. “And it’s not you I’m worried about. It’s...you. But you know what I mean!”

He does. After all, protecting his privacy and work is one of Bucky’s most significant concerns. That doesn't mean he isn’t going to tease Natasha any chance he gets. He playfully scoffs and turns his attention to you. “I see you got the job. I told you everything was going to work out.”

Bucky can’t help but preen at the way you anxiously tuck a non-existent stray hair behind your ear and bite your lip. “You were right. Mr. Stark isn’t as intimidating as I thought. Although,” you playfully roll your eyes, “he is a menace. He promised Pepper’s attendance at a meeting, so now you’re stuck with an inexperienced interviewer rather than the queen of journalism.”

“Bah!” Bucky exclaims. “I’m sure you’ll do great. Plus, you’re not the one half-naked in the situation. If anyone embarrasses themselves, it’ll be me.”

Natasha chortles at the comment, mumbling something the sounds a lot like, “ever the charmer,” before walking away. At the same time, Bucky doesn’t miss the way your gaze slowly skims down his cotton-clade body before snapping back up to his face.

“Come on. We just broke for lunch, and Stark spares no expense when it comes to the spreads.”

It’s well past six-thirty in the evening when you finally make it back to your building. Despite the exhaustion flowing through your veins and the grumble in your stomach reminding you every five minutes that you haven’t eaten since lunchtime, there’s a festive air to your being, a proverbial pep to your step that could only be the result of a successful first interview experience.

Yeah, you were a nervous wreck before and during the interview, but you walked away feeling amazing about yourself - and with three pages worth of phenomenal, touching, and personal quotes from the one and only Bucky Barnes.

You try to ignore the butterflies that erupt low in your belly at the thought of the blue-eyed god of a man. Despite having no other experience interviewing someone with as large of a celebrity as he, you’ve concluded that Bucky is an angel of an interviewee. He was polite, answered all of your questions, and flirted just a little. Or, at least that’s what you would call it if you were anyone but a lowly editorial assistant who still purchased from bargain bins because that’s all you could afford. In all reality, Bucky was a very smooth talker with the confidence to back it up. It explained the incomprehensible hype surrounding the man you had no idea was such a big deal less than twelve hours prior.

The rumble of your stomach pulls you back to reality as you unlock your apartment door. You push the thoughts of Bucky to the back of your mind, settle for finishing unpacking the day for when you’re unwinding for bed. Right now, all you want to focus on is fo-

“Uh, hello!” your roommate Wanda screeches as you push open the door. The redhead is standing, arms crossed, in your entry, a look of disdain on her face. “When were you going to tell me, your best friend and roommate, who pays half the rent and utilities, mind you, that Bucky Barnes followed you on Instagram. James Bucky Barnes, Y/N!”

You freeze at the mention of the man who has taken up every inch of your mind since you left the shoot earlier that day. You deposit your keys onto the small table next to the door and try to act as nonchalant as possible. “What are you talking about, Wanda?”

Your roommate starts wagging her phone in front of your face before pulling it back so she can read off her screen. “Well, I follow these gossip blogs - just for fun, of course. I like to stay up-to-date with all the celebrity goings-on.” You fix Wanda with an unamused look as you pass by on the way to the kitchen. “And I was scrolling through, catching up on today’s gossip, and all of a sudden, I see a screenshot of your Instagram account!”

You freeze mid-reach for a saucepan and turn to look at her. “What?”

“Yea, see,” Wanda holds her phone out so you can see the screen. Low and behold, there your account is; questionably composed landscape shots of the city and poorly-lit food pics in all their glory. “It started to circulate this afternoon after someone saw he followed you! Why did he follow you?”

You slowly resume your task of reheating last night’s spaghetti as you answer her. “I...I don’t know? I met him at work this afternoon. He probably just followed me because of Stark.” You shrug despite the thrill that runs through your body.

You halfheartedly listen as Wanda blabs on about the crush she’s apparently had for years despite never having once mentioned it to you, too focused on running through the day’s events to care much about how she’s seen every single one of his films at least a dozen times.

Maybe he had been flirting with you? His manager did mention he flirts with anything with a heartbeat, so it was most likely just part of his personality. Or at least the role he played in public. You weren’t naive enough to think that who Bucky presented himself as to the media, fans, and others not in his inner circle was the real Bucky. After all, he was likely just trying to win you over so you’d write something good about him.

Still, you can’t help the giddy smile that creeps across your face as, when you finally lie down for the night, you open the Instagram app to find Bucky’s name and verified status among the several notifications awaiting you.

@redbarn1995 @juenenfeu

#bucky x reader #actor!bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #actor au #bucky barnes au #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfic

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