#the oasis of barg | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bumblebwii · 9 months

Text

BTS X THE WALKING DEAD C3

Jungkook centric! Please read the previous two parts before this one aha :)

6K word count

Summary:

He was left alone for a while, he fell asleep quickly, discarded bits of twine close by to kill off any threats. His dreams were plagued by his parents, by Jimin, by all of those awful kids at school and Jungkook felt weak in his dreams for a while, cowering away from their attacks in the corner, until his tears solidified into a weapon and his sadness solidified into anger and he used it to fuel his thirst for blood, picking them off one by one in a little game of hide and seek. Jungkook won.

CONTENT WARNINGS

depictions of murder, cannibalism, blood, gore, bad people, bad parents and trauma.

Jungkook let out a gentle breath, a long exhale that barely made a noise as he used it to carry away the day’s intensity. Corrupt bosses meant that the company was beginning to crumble and sink, they didn’t care for the little people and that was the first fault in the company’s structure. The company was on its knees and going under; it would take Jungkook down with it if he didn’t get out soon. He was turning twenty two, his birthday was sneaking up on him like a horror movie plot line and he could not help but feel overwhelmed by it.

The first year of university had been just as bad as his high school friends had prophesied it would be, as bad as Jimin had warned him about, but it had been fun, and had brought him to an oasis in a desert that was shaped like a twenty-three year old Min Yoongi. The boy who had pulled Jungkook out of the lifeless cycle he was sticking himself in. The door of the small house jammed as Jungkook tried to push it open, like it usually did, and Jungkook groaned as he barged it with his shoulder to get it open. His house was a little house share situation, there were six of them in the three bedroom house, two in each room; it was how he and Yoongi got together, they shared the same room and grew inseparable. Their other flatmates were like ghosts and they barely saw each other; it was ideal for the young couple.

Yoongi was standing at the stove, cooking something that smelled divine and Jungkook could not hold back the smile that spread over his face. “Hi.” Yoongi smiled, stirring something happily, “dinner’s nearly done I’ve just-,” Jungkook shuffled over and wrapped his arms around Yoongi’s waist and let his head rest against Yoongi’s shoulders, it was a back hug sent from heaven after the day from hell that Jungkook had gone through. Yoongi patted Jungkook’s hands lovingly, letting the younger boy simply rest there for a second, “I’ve missed you too. Now, go wash up and get comfy then I’ll bring dinner up to our room, okay?” Jungkook nodded, detaching himself from Yoongi before dragging his body up for a shower. Getting into his pyjamas had always been Jungkook’s favourite part of the day.

Yoongi came in with their food just as Jungkook was changing and whistled playfully over Jungkook’s half naked, damp appearance and Jungkook stuck his tongue out, “please, I look like a zombie. Work was dreadful and I’m either gonna quit tomorrow or just hold off until I get another job.”

“If this is what zombies are gonna look like then I can’t wait for the apocalypse. If you need to quit then quit, we’ll be alright. I’m working and I can always take on a few more shifts until you can find another job. My parents are happy to help us with shopping money too.” Yoongi reassured him, setting out the food along the floor, they could not afford a little table, then again, the house was too small to fit one, even if they could afford one. “You’re too young to worry about stuff like this, honey. You’ll be grey by twenty seven.”

“I think I’d look sexy with grey hair. At least I’d not have to worry about buying bleach if I wanted to go pink again.”

Yoongi chucked to himself and took a bite of food, watching as Jungkook shimmied on a pair of pyjama bottoms. Life was stressful but it was dinners spent with the love of his life after an awful day that made Jungkook’s heart feel fully content. Jungkook wanted to spend the rest of his life doing this, eating and laughing with Yoongi, watching some sci-fi comedy on their shared laptop, or scrolling through social media and laughing at the memes that shaped the pair’s humour.

Yoongi was a great cook, although that was to be expected of a culinary student who dreamed of opening his own restaurant. Jungkook supported him all the way, Yoongi’s restaurant would be out of this world. Yoongi was teaching Jungkook to cook, ever patient and caring. He was like that only for Jungkook though, because from talking with Yoongi’s peers, the older boy gives Gordon Ramsey a run for his money. Darling-boy Yoongi with his soft smile and benevolent habits was a terrifying man in the kitchen, he ran a tight ship and had a commanding aura. One that he threw in the bin when it came to Jungkook and he helped Jungkook with anything; piano, cooking, building, budgeting, all of it rolled with gentle chuckles and careful, wonderful hands.

Their food had long been finished, crusted onto the plates before Jungkook huffed out a little squeeze of air and took them into the kitchen to be washed. It was no surprise when Yoongi trailed after Jungkook with a small blurt of information about the show and actors they were watching. It was a little habit of Yoongi’s to know the who, what, where and when’s of films and series and Jungkook could listen to the man talk for hours, which Yoongi often did, little tangents here and there about whatever thoughts Yoongi had cropped up mid sentence. Yoongi could be a whirlwind when he felt comfortable enough with you; a little goofball and Jungkook’s beaming ray of sunshine.

Love felt good to Jungkook, like sitting on the world’s comfiest settee after being on your feet for hours, like submerging yourself in a pool of perfectly cold water on those humid summer days. Yoongi had quickly become an important cog in Jungkook’s life, he had crept in and captured Jungkook’s innocent heart in a short span of half a year and Yoongi had pulled Jungkook up into feeling like a functional member of society after a lifetime of feeling like an outcast in his own home.

“Jimin-ah called me earlier, Jungkook.” Yoongi said softly, a wary tone sewing itself into Yoongi’s voice. Jungkook and Jimin had a weird relationship to say the least. Jungkook both loved and hated his older brother for being the only person before Yoongi to actually give half a shit about Jungkook, but Jungkook also hated Jimin for being the poster child for everything in their parent’s eyes and unintentionally being the reason for all of Jungkook’s anguish. Jimin was the sweetest person alive, so full of love and grace and all things lovely, always had been, he had been graced with perfect features, perfect nature, perfect everything. That’s something their parent’s would rub in like some lemon and salt concoction onto a gaping wound as they pointed out all of the features Jungkook still needed to grow into or change; the nature he needed to alter. It drove Jungkook crazy.

Jungkook nodded gently and smiled tightly, “oh.” He took a sip of his drink and Yoongi let out a slow sigh.

“He was asking all about you.” Yoongi and Jimin were close friends, quickly forming a bond that Jungkook was both endeared and apprehensive about. They would talk often, much more often than Jungkook and Jimin would. “He misses you, Jk. He wants you to call at some point so that you can decide when to have that coffee with him like you promised.”

“Ugh, he never forgets anything. That was an empty promise. I don’t even like coffee.” Jungkook huffed into his glass like he did not want Yoongi to hear and scold him.

“He loves you. You forget that.” Yoongi said lightly with a disapproving shake of his head, “so call him and go buy a smoothie instead. Anyway, he called to tell you that your parents are coming tomorrow at noon and they’re taking us to lunch.”

Jungkook chugged the rest of his drink and groaned loudly. There was no escaping his parents grilling him half to death tomorrow at lunch. Jimin most definitely will be there too, gleaming and innocently stomping Jungkook into the asphalt. “I honestly think that being shot in the leg would be far less painful than sitting around a dinner table with my family.”

—

When Jungkook awoke, it was to the feeling of cold metal against his chest and a dead feeling in his limbs, “fuck.” He mumbled, voice clogged with sleep.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would have said that was attractive.” Taehyung sighed, pinching Jungkook’s face in between his fingers and thumb, moving Jungkook’s face side to side and checking Jungkook’s pupil reaction. “I remember you that day. You saved me. Us. Thank you.” Taehyung said, “it’s a shame you turned out like this. We could’ve been great friends, your brother is the greatest.”

It was a knee-jerk reaction to let out an annoyed snarl of a sound, old cauterised wounds reopening at the remark about the two brothers, a constant thorn in Jungkook’s childhood of everyone preferring Jimin to him, of their parents asking Jungkook why he could not be more like their oldest son.

“Hit a nerve, did we?” Taehyung laughed softly, “Yoongi’s told me all about your little childhood trauma and as someone who took a great liking to neurology, I can’t help but see why you’re the way that you are.” Taehyung had a sweetness about him, but it was boxed away and hidden away beneath a mound of post-apocalyptic ice-heartedness. “Jimin wants to see you.” Taehyung said and cut some of the twine to free Jungkook up a little bit, pulling him into a wheelchair. “You can try to run, but I’ll put a bullet in your other leg and leave it there.” He offered as he pushed Jungkook out of the cell and into another one, They were on a top floor, the stairs not too far away, Jungkook’s leg was in agony, he chose to hold off on the running, it was in his best interest to stay in the wheelchair for now. He’ll run when he’s more healed and better equipped.

Jimin’s cell was glowing with the light of a yellow-bulb lamp and Jungkook scoffed quietly, typical, it was alive with gentle murmurs and his older brother’s light laughter. “Googie!” Jimin smiled, leaning out of his bed to hug Jungkook, swatting away Namjoon’s worrying hands before engulfing Jungkook in a tight hug. “You’re okay!” There were tears in his voice and Jungkook tried not to shove the other brother away, he tried to collect the good memories together just so he didn’t cause more harm than good; Jungkook took a deep breath.

“Jimin.” Jungkook patted his back. When Jimin pulled away from the hug, he held Jungkook’s face in his hands and inspected him closely. Jungkook found it infuriating how light and baby-faced Jimin still looked. The apocalypse had taken no physical toll on his older brother, he was still as gorgeous and perfect as ever and their parents would be proud, boastful. The apocalypse had not been so kind to Jungkook, who developed scars and sharper, uninviting features; his skin wrinkled in certain places and in the quick reflections he caught of himself, Jungkook looked old, older than he truly was. Thankfully though, no grey hair.

“Thirty four looks good on you little bro!” Jimin smiled, it was odd, as if they weren’t surviving an apocalypse, as if Jungkook had immigrated somewhere far for a few years. As if Jungkook had not nearly killed Jimin and felt no remorse in doing so.

“Does it?” Jungkook asked, eyebrow raised, “I would say thirty eight looks good on you, but I’d be a liar. You look half dead. Or maybe a quarter dead would be more fitting considering our current society.” Jungkook shrugged, half a dead laugh edging at his lips.

“Oh, come on, he looks fine, even you can see that!” Taehyung huffed, pushing all of Jungkook’s buttons, “couldn’t even tell you almost died, Jimin.” Taehyung lightly hit Jungkook’s shoulder and Jungkook glared up at him. “You should compliment your brother, it's the least you could do. He looks far better than you do and we only took the bullet from your leg.”

Jimin mumbled something that Jungkook did not bother to listen to and he pushed himself up off the wheelchair, he was much taller than Taehyung, who honestly was so beautiful Jungkook felt bad for cursing him mentally. Taehyung looked tired and prematurely aged by his profession, but he managed to pull it off and look like he had never faced a day of trauma in his life. Jungkook hated it, hated him. Everyone in the cell rose to alert at Jungkook standing, ready to shoot to kill, but Jungkook rolled his eyes and limped away, ignoring whatever they were saying to him and he shut the door to his cell and laid on the top bunk.

Jungkook awoke naturally to an unnatural atmosphere. It was silent, deadly so. He got down from the top bunk clumsily on the count of his damaged thigh and observed the open cell door and wondered if this was a test where he would be shot the moment he dared darken the threshold with his feet. He stared at it for a while until the sound of quiet cries stole his attention, Jimin was in floods of tears, tied to the bed much like Jungkook had been and the older one of the pair looked at Jungkook with wide, pleading eyes.

“You’re awake! Untie me.” Jungkook stayed unmoving and he continued to watch his brother. He could kill him. “Please, Jungkook. This is important! They went to go and talk with these people who we’ve been having trouble with and it’s gone quiet. I need to go.” Jungkook nodded once and walked towards his older brother, who watched him with a hopeful gleam, puppy-dog eyes that lured most people in and tricked them into giving Jimin all that he demanded. Not Jungkook.

He leaned in closer to Jimin and placed one final kiss to the forehead. It was a venture that soothed the inner part of himself that rejoiced in his brother’s survival, it entertained the scattered part of himself that he was tricking his brother and kissing him goodbye to either let him starve or become some other fucked up person’s toy for a while, it lessened his sane-self’s unwillingness to procrastinate death and made him want to live more alongside his only living friend and brother.

“Fuck it.” Jungkook huffed and ran over the threshold. Still not dead. Jimin was smarter than to make a ruckus, there were outsiders here and shouting would only lead them to where he is incapacitated. Jungkook took a little stroll through the block, taking his weapons back. Guns. Knife. Bat. Crossbow. The crossbow had been a little treat for himself from one of the rooms and it hung over his shoulders and across his chest like it was some festival bag.

Walking up to what used to be some sort of communal room, Jungkook did not anticipate hearing familiar voices, assuming everyone would be dead. He approached silently and waited in the dark doorway, unseen, unheard, armed. It was a circular room with two floors, donut-shaped top floor that allowed a circle of dim light in the centre bottom floor and almost pitch shadows, perfect shadows for hiding, around the edge beneath the flooring of the top floor. He watched on as Namjoon, Hoseok and Yoongi tried to bargain the survival of Seokjin and Taehyung, who had been grabbed by two ugly, beer-bellied men looking to get their dicks sucked and blood thirst quenched. Jungkook ate these kinds of people; did not even bother in hearing them out. What surprised Jungkook, however, were the two girls and a nimble looking boy sneaking around the shadows, knives ready to attack the three in the middle, unseen, unheard. Fun. A level playing field.

This little band of six were his to kill and his only. Jungkook was a possessive man. Sue him.

Jungkook took a calculated step into the shadows, the smallest girl, early twenties, was closest and henceforth, Jungkook’s first victim. He had perfected silent killings, the apocalypse called for silence and Jungkook steeled himself to be at her almighty, beaconing call. He grabbed her quickly and pushed the knife into the base of her jaw below the ear and pulled quickly across before jabbing it into the base of her skull so that she did not turn, then he lowered her to the floor with ease, despite the hot blood that cascaded over his hands. Jungkook missed that feeling, someone else’s blood coating his hand, another last breath stolen by his god-awful presence.

The boy was next, running right into Jungkook’s little trap and finding himself slaughtered like the first girl, bleeding and dead on the floor, Jungkook loved the sight of blood, loved the feeling of stepping in the viscous, sticky liquid, but right now, Jungkook had to avoid it because sticky boots were noisy and Jungkook needed to stay unheard. The third girl was unaware of the fate of her companions, so did not bat an eyelid when someone stood behind her as she readied herself to attack, motioning something that must have meant something to the dead ones. Her attack would never happen though as Jungkook beat her to it, acting quickly and uncaring, he cut her throat and her brain stem and dropped her to the floor.

Whoever these men were, they were foolish. It was three of them, slow and fat and they stunk of rancid body odour. Jungkook hated body odour. He hated people like this, who did things without poise and common sense. What Jungkook hated the most, however, was the bargaining, the talking, dragging this whole thing out by its old, wrinkly balls; these were the creeps that had been causing their little group of six problems? Pathetic. Kill first, think later. Realistically, Jungkook knew there could possibly be more than the sorry saps that just so happened to be present and dying today and that their deaths could cause some reality tv drama Jungkook was too disconnected to truly care about, but if Jungkook was going to exploit and farm these people for his own greedy benefit, then he wanted them to at least go down with a little bit of a fight and preparation. Jungkook wanted it to be fun; so he’d guide them, teach them how to have apocalyptic brains, rather than diplomatic brains, herd them right into their own pens and then the moment it all clicks together for them, it’s too late. Just the thought of it makes Jungkook’s fucked little mind feel some kind of satisfaction.

“It doesn’t have to be like this, we can work together. There’s safety in numbers.” Namjoon spoke loudly and Jungkook held everything he possibly could in just to keep himself from gagging. Idiot. There was so much potential for serious danger in bigger numbers. Plus, it was such a cliche move, the peaceful, rough around the edges leader just trying to restart the world one little piece at a time.

Jungkook raised his crossbow, new and shiny; something he could experiment with quietly and took aim at the man standing with Seokjin in his arms, the tall surgeon had been forced awkwardly to his knees and held by the head against the man’s protruding stomach, his filthy, stained hand against Seokjin’s mouth and Jungkook dreaded knowing what it smelled like. Shit, probably.

The release of the crossbow whistled with a satisfying speed and lodged itself into the inner corner of the man’s right eye and through the back of his nose’s bridge and out the other side of his temple. “Nice.” Jungkook smiled to himself before turning the crossbow to the other man holding a very alarmed Taehyung and released the arrow, this one jammed into the hinge of the man’s jaw and disappeared into his head somewhere. The two surgeons let out screams of horror and Jungkook rolled his eyes. You’re welcome.

Namjoon and Hoseok jumped forward and grabbed for them to return to safety, looking around for whoever had killed the two oafs. Jungkook slung the crossbow back over his shoulder with a huff and watched for a moment as the final remaining pig of a man - an insult to pigs, Jungkook thought - looked around for the attacker and called for the three, very dead, hidden ones to come out. It was pathetic really, sad and pathetic to watch him grasp at nothing. They were standing right by the northern end of the light area

“Show yourself! Who are you?” Namjoon spat and Jungkook turned his glare to the leader. Idiot.

“All this diplomatic talking shit is gonna get you killed, dickhead.” Jungkook said harshly. “Whilst you were trading peace talks, this fucker had three toddlers getting ready to rock your shit and that’s only fun when I’m the one doing the rocking. Trust me.” Jungkook walked silently so that he was in the shadows right behind the guy. “What happened to the guy who shot me before actually checking for bites?” Jungkook laughed, cocking his gun, “what, my brother let you get your dick wet and you change your morals for killing his little brother?” Jungkook almost laughed at the feeling of the gun almost against the guy’s head. He was slipping, quickly.

“Jk-ah that’s-,” Yoongi started but was cut off by the oaf grabbing his hair and holding Yoongi right beside his head. There was something inside of Jungkook’s head that appeared like the conscience did in cartoons, screaming and begging for Jungkook to save the only man that had always made sure to keep Jungkook safe and loved, that part made Jungkook angry and defensive over Yoongi and someone grabbing at his first and only love. There was another angry voice in Jungkook’s head that reminded him that this was the end of the world, their old lives no longer mattered, Yoongi no longer mattered; Jungkook wanted to kill him anyway, get revenge for being abandoned in that alleyway after risking his life to save them.

Jungkook watched in annoyance as the man stumbled and fumbled for safety with a feisty Yoongi fighting to get out of his arms.

“I got your brother. Kill me and I’ll kill him. I just want the pretty doctors. They’re useful in more than one way.” He was waving a knife around, threatening the wrong side of the shadows.

“That’s not my brother, that’s my husband. Grabbing him is worse than my brother. I need the doctors. You can’t have them.” Jungkook took silent steps toward the man, gun in hand and murder on his mind, and he pulled the trigger without a second thought. The man’s head threw itself in the direction of the bullet and his brain matter painted Yoongi and his body slumped like a sack of potatoes. The gunshot made Jungkook’s ears ring as the sound of it bounced around the room in awful echos and Yoongi catapulted himself out of the dead-man’s grip and towards Hoseok, who pulled Yoongi in with a worried kiss to the top of his head; something about it did not sit right in Jungkook’s stomach, but the adrenaline of the killing was still pumping through him and he could not concentrate on it for too long. Too many voices ringing in his head.

Jungkook’s tongue poked the sides of his cheek and he grabbed at the ankles of the dead man in front of him, pulling him along the floor so that Jungkook could begin to prepare their meat to use. He needed food and lots of it after the ordeal of the past few days. There was a big pool of blood spilling out from the men with arrows in their head and Jungkook only smiled to himself as he pulled the arrows free and watched as the blood splashed at his feet. He stomped his foot lightly in the puddle like a child and then purposefully stomped it on a dry patch, leaning down to messily write ‘Jeon Jungkook. Still not dead.’ Beside his boot print in the semi-warm liquid with his finger. He grabbed at another one of the men and began pulling them toward the open space, a chopping line, with shallow huffs.

“What’re you doing? We put the dead bodies outside.” Seokjin said quietly, shaken up by what had happened and probably half deafened by the gunshot.

“You shouldn’t have killed them. I had it handled.” Namjoon spat, turning to glare at Jungkook, who dropped the body to laugh heartily at Namjoon.

“Handled. Sure. Not how I would have put it, but if that’s what helps you sleep at night.” Jungkook moved onto the next one, huffing, “I just saved your behinds.” Once he had successfully moved all six bodies into the open space and stripped them of their clothes, he took the large axe that one of the dead had dropped and Jungkook twirled it in his hands; he took a moment to admire the blade.

“They were kids!” Namjoon yelled at Jungkook, “how do you have no remorse - no, how the fuck do you kill with no question, it’s-, what are you doing?!” The leader startled as Jungkook brought the axe into position and brought it down onto a shoulder joint with a thunk; someone to the left gagged at the pop of the joint as Jungkook grabbed the limp hand and twisted it with a ruthless pull and it jaggedly came away at the opening.

“Dismembering a body, what does it look like I’m doing?” Jungkook scoffed, bringing the axe down again on the other shoulder joint before he picked the large arm up, the tendons and strings of muscle and veins reached out in a ghostly attempt to pull the limb back together. “Oh, gross.” Jungkook laughed boyishly and it was accompanied by someone retching loudly and vomit splashing onto the floor. “As for those ‘kids’ you speak of, Namjoon-ssi, they were gonna get you before you could talk your way out of it and you would have had no idea about it. We’re at the end of the world, wake up. Kill or be killed; there’s nothing to think about.”

Blood kissed at Jungkook’s cheeks and the surrounding area as he started hacking at more limbs. They shot at him first, how could they be high and mighty about compassion and letting people live. Jeongguk scoffed to himself, pulling more and more limbs into a little pile. He was willing to share, there was a lot of meat here; a lot of organs to burn and bones to whittle at.

Yoongi straightened himself out from his vomiting, each of them somewhat transfixed in horror and unable to look away. “Jungkook-ah, why are you- why, just why?”

It was a loaded question and Jungkook thought for a moment, he was a ticking time bomb and deadly, but he refused to be stupid or walked over. “Gotta survive somehow. I told you all, I’ve had to figure out the best uses for bodies.” Jungkook said slowly, bringing the axe down onto a blood stained neck “It was sunshine and rainbows for you lot, being in a group from the beginning, you’re all in it for each other. Outsiders, as you can see, have ulterior motives. Dangerous.” Everyone listened closely, silently horrified and getting semi-answers they’ve all wanted to ask, “You have to go insane to stay sane, but when someone’s ‘sane’ is a superiority complex, the normal people have to get the upper hand if you want to survive, which naturally - Taehyung will vouch for this with his brain stuff - humans have survival instincts that go haywire in dire situations.”

Jungkook leaned down to pick up the head of the person, looking at it for a moment in it’s greying, ugly glory, half open eyes and blueish lips, hollow cheeks from lack of food and deep, deep bags.

“Survival instincts of other people, animals, viruses and plants will be the reason you die in an apocalypse. That and lack of resources. People are deadly.”

“Are you deadly?” Hoseok dared ask. “You must be to make it this far alone.”

“Yah, Jung Hoseok, are you missing the part where he just silently assassinated six people and is now dismembering their corpses?!” Seokjin snapped, glaring up at Hoseok from where he was sprawled on the floor, “obviously he’s deadly.”

“Are you a threat?” Namjoon challenged, arms crossed and eyes flickering over the dead bodies, to Yoongi, then back to Jungkook. Yoongi looked several ways devastated, a little green in colour and he was doing all he could to not look at Jungkook.

“Push my buttons like you did last night with that bullet wound and I might be.” Jungkook shrugged, the head still in his hand, blood dripping from the slice quickly into a large puddle at Jungkook’s feet, “so much blood in such a tiny person.” He marvelled softly, before throwing the head toward Taehyung who squealed in surprise, “a brain for you to look at and poke.” Jungkook laughed heartily, the sound only growing when Taehyung picked the head up and kicked it away from himself like a football.

“So you-,”

“Do you know how hard it is to survive alone?” Jungkook asked, mood switching quickly and the others seemed to notice the darkness in his voice because even Seokjin sat up to look at him. “Forget the walkers and the adults being dangers to your very existence, but to be that hungry, that alone, to see literal children die or fight or beg for food you could never give them?” Jungkook glared at Namjoon, the direct cause of his anguish, “do you know how soul destroying it is to put a six year old out of their misery? Or to ignore their cries to help them because you can barely keep yourself alive, adding another the mix is asking for something bad to happen.”

Jungkook looked over at Yoongi, who had begun crying, mumbling that he couldn’t stomach listening to more. He needed to hear more.

“You said to me, Yoongi, I’d understand if I’d been through what you guys had, so you’re gonna understand what I’ve had to go through and then I can hear what you’ve had to fucking go through.” Jungkook hissed, “because I am not going to be this nasty little villain for surviving; I will not let any of you sit there and pity me or look down on me just because I’ve had to change because all six of you left me for dead.”

“I went back!” Yoongi hollered, crying and shaking, “I went back! It took all five of them to pull me away from you. You were so fucking still and covered in blood and we thought you were bitten and-,”

“I already told you, I don’t want to fucking hear it! Too little too late.” Jungkook shouted back, axe pointed toward Yoongi, “not a force on earth would have pulled me away from you! I certainly wouldn’t have just left you to fucking turn!”

“And you think I was in any fit state to put a knife in your head or let one of them do it?! I loved you more than life itself, you were the only thing that ever pulled me through life, especially after my parents died!” Yoongi slammed his hand on the table in frustration, “you still had a pulse and I had plans to come and rescue you but you had gone when I got there!”

Jungkook turned away from Yoongi, “whatever. It doesn’t matter anymore, the damage has already been done.”

Jungkook heard the clunk of Yoongi’s boots along the floor, away from him, “stop blaming me for leaving when you left first. Playing the hero when you were nothing but an idiot who had no idea what the new world was. Seriously, what did you expect Namjoon to do after you ran head first into a hoard of zombies, Jungkook?!”

Jungkook brought the axe down hard onto the hip joint, slicing it clean off with a shout of fury. “You’re supposed to check! You were supposed to see if I was okay before shooting me! You were supposed to pull me out of the fucking rubble and wait to see if I was coming to! I saved your lives and you tried to kill me.” Jungkook swung the axe down again, “there were two fucking doctors present!” Jungkook shouted, throwing the axe down to use his bat to smash the skulls of the dead, watching them cave in like rotten pumpkins, taking in deep lungfuls of the stench their blood and brains gave off. He took one last swing before he steeled his emotions and threw his bat down and stretched. “Hoseok-ssi.” Jungkook said quietly, “take these and put them wherever you store your food, I’ll finish sorting the rest out.” He pointed at the limbs to his left.

“F-food?” Hoseok asked, leaning down to grab the limbs.

“Yes, food. Gotta eat something.” Jungkook frowned, “Seokjin-ssi. Go and get a bucket or something to put the organs in. Taehyung. Do what you want with the heads, look at the brain and try to find a cure, throw them away, use them for football, I don’t really give a shit.” Jungkook puffed out a little bit of air. “Namjoon-ssi, Yoongi-ssi, take their bags and clothes and sort through them into what’s needed and what can be burned or thrown.”

Nobody really gave any objections, but everyone moved with slow and confused movements, unsure if Jungkook was serious or not. “Food.” Hoseok said disgruntled and visibly disgusted. “They’re humans.” He was talking to himself, subtly addressing Jungkook but attempting to avoid confrontation.

“Like I said, flying solo is hard. Gotta eat whatever you can get your hands on.” Jungkook shrugged, examining what he had cut off. “I’d much rather eat cake or a salad but it’s tough shit. There’s a lot of you, surely food is hard to share sufficiently?” Jungkook turned to a pale looking Namjoon.

“We adapt.”

“That’s…” Jungkook scratched his stomach, his shirt coming up over his hand. “So you’re all used to eating like... snakes?”

“That’s not what I said. We adapt. Took the ‘sane’ route and went hunting animals, not people. That’s twisted.”

“Oh so you’re used to eating snakes, not like them.” Jungkook laughed to himself and lugged up a torso, “more for me I guess. Where do I store this? Show me.”

Hoseok nodded and scurried out in front. Jungkook thought fleetingly that he should probably mention that Jimin was freaking out and probably tearing his stitching but he chose not to say anything. They’d find him eventually.

Hoseok was talking about something rather animatedly; Jungkook had never paid attention to what he was saying, he did not care enough but he thought that had their paths crossed in their lives before, the pair would have been inseparable. Hoseok gave off that sort of energy. Jungkook hated it. Nobody should be like that through the end of the world.

Jungkook stopped walking as he stood beside a door that read ‘infirmary’ on a faded sign and then underneath, in some kind of paint, read ‘dead inside’ and he huffed out an eye roll and turned to Hoseok, who was still blabbering on. “Aye, has anyone looked behind the relatable door?”

“Oh, uh, no. We looked through the windows on the outside and it’s like sardines in there. Seems like everyone went to the doctor with the flu.” Hoseok motioned horizontally across his neck with a flattened hand and a grimace, “Seokjin hyung said that any medical stuff in there will be redundant because it’s all infected with blood and gunk and stuff, so we all voted to save our resources and leave it.”

“How stupid.” Jungkook scoffed. Medical supplies were vital, even if it was just one small thing, it was needed.

“Come off your high horse. We’ve raided about fourteen different pharmacies and everyone’s medicine cabinet. Your brother remembers his way around.” Jungkook side eyed Hoseok, who was readjusting the limbs in his arms. There was a switch in his demeanour, like the atmosphere around him had fallen from soft shades of purple to the separated elements of pink, red and blue. “There’s also more than one infirmary in places like this, we’re not completely hopeless. You forget that we’ve also had to do shit to survive. It’s not been some kind of peaceful journey, don’t forget that. We know danger when we see it and we are not afraid to do what it takes to stay safe.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Guess we shall have to wait and see.” Hoseok huffed and came to a stop in front of an old freezer. He heaved it open and stood proudly before the open space and that switch had been tampered with again, “jajang!” He cheered sweetly, “a solar powered freezer, courtesy of Namjoon’s sexy brain. Wanna know how he did it?” The man looked as hopeful and excited as Jungkook get about shutting him down and the fact made Jungkook mentally laugh; he remained stoic and silent as he regarded Hoseok.

“No. I’d rather stick my own fingers in my bullet wound again.” Jungkook neatly placed his meat pieces in there and then turned away so that he could fetch the remaining pieces.

He entered the canteen area again, Hoseok stropily following behind. “What the fuck are you all on?! My Jungkookie wouldn’t do that!” Jimin’s frustrated voice echoed through the room and Namjoon’s deeper, calmer yet stressed voice followed.

“Hey, calm down, you’re gonna pull your stitches. He can explain.” Namjoon pointed to Jungkook, who looked between them both and shrugged.

“Probably could but I don’t want to so I won’t.” Jungkook shrugged and heaved up some more body pieces, there was a twinge of pain in his leg but he did his best to not address it. No weaknesses. “Did you get me a bucket, Seokjin? They burn better when they’re fresh.”

“Told you, Minnie. Your little bro is a few tools short of a whole toolbox.” Taehyung muttered to Jimin and Jungkook halted in his movements, dropping the body parts like they were hot and he turned to Taehyung with a nasty glare.

“You’re really getting on my last fucking nerve.” Taehyung looked unphased, entertained if anything, he was doing this on purpose; Taehyung would be the crack in the floor of Jungkook’s plans. Taehyung was a neurologist, he knew all the ways he could manipulate someone’s brain. Jungkook would have to take their trust in him first. “I’m trying to help you, I just saved you, I’m not trying to make enemies with any of you.” Jungkook lied, pointing an accusing finger at Taehyung, “but you’re really testing my patience, Taehyung. Stop running to my brother like some child trying to ‘tell on me’ it’s pathetic.”

“Koo, lets just ca-,”

Jungkook turned his glare to Jimin and his brother went quiet. “Tell me to calm down Jimin, I dare you.”

“Hey, one of those kids had an Iphone in their bag! It works and everything! Oh, JK, they even have your favourite song!” Yoongi cheered, walking into the tense atmosphere obliviously, the beginning trill of a song Jungkook had only dreamed of hearing again and he soothed instantly. Yoongi was semi-cleaner, no more smatterings of brain.

Hoseok burst into small twinklings of laughter, “you listened to Mang?”

“Seokie, he had the biggest crush on this guy and he had never even seen whoever it is-, was-, whatever.” Yoongi chuckled and cuddled up to Hoseok, showing him the phone. There was that twist in Jungkook’s heart again at seeing Yoongi so close, so soft with someone else, but he ignored it and huffed his way over to the body parts and lugged them back up and limped away.

“Go back to bed, Jimin. Stop following me.”

“Jeon Jungkook.” Jimin was firm and tearful. It was just them in the hallway. “You’re different. Where’s my Jungkook? There’s no spark in your eyes anymore.”

Jungkook huffed and stopped for a minute, “I’m sorry that not everyone can be as untouchable as you. Get over it. People change, life goes on.”

“But this is a scary change. You’re the thing they fear. Tread carefully because they shoot to kill and I can’t lose you twice.”

#bts angst #bts fic #bts seokjin #bts hosoek #bts zombie au #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #yoonkook #jungkook centric #villain jungkook #is he a villain or is he just trying to survive???#bts x twd #jungkook #bts yoongi #bts taehyung #bts jimin #bts namjoon #bts horror au #chapter 3

9 notes · View notes

yostresswritinggirl · 1 year

Note

Okay seeing Lovebot go on about this my mind always wanders to reverse! Scenarios cuz it's just so funny? Can u imagine Cyno doing something dumb and completely out of character just to see if reader will show up?

Technically cyno wouldn't do that but idk it was something funny I thought of haha.

Cyno: *Jumps off a cliff* Oh no, in seconds I'll fall to my death, I hope the person who was kinda the love of my life saves me.

Reader: Damn AGAIN? THIS IS THE 3RD TIME TODAY I AM GOING TO LET U DIE

Actually how would the scenario go? I'm genuinely curious what you think<3

-borg

BORG GODDAMNIT HAHAHAHAHA THIS IS HOW YOU COME BACK TO MY INBOX OF COURSE

How would the scenario go?! That's already perfect HAHAHHAA but okay, okaaaay, on a more serious note (but also because I've been thinking about reverse!heart ever since you gave me that idea)

It would most likely be something related to his Matra work instead (because in this alternate universe, in my imagination anyways, Cyno still became the General Mahamatra) so the near death situations alarm happens daily to reader oh gosh poor them

It came down to the point that they would usually follow him around on dangerous missions and come to the rescue when the need absolutely arises, like a knight in shining armor (*barges into the fight unannounced* *saves Cyno* *doesn't explain when asked how they got there* *leaves*)

So when Cyno made a hypothesis, he set out to the desert to test his limits, no dangerous mission this time and he made sure that they REALLY weren't following him as he pretty much does this survival test. When he either passes out before he reaches an oasis/gets caught in a dangerous sandstorm/falls off the cliffside, he wakes up to a a set up camp near an oasis with all his wounds tended and a very disappointed reader looking down at him

"Am I seeing things?"

"The only thing I'm seeing right now is your sheer stupidity"

So no, he won't haphazardly throw himself off a cliff, he'll STRATEGICALLY throw himself off a cliff not to check if reader is always there but to TEST their LIMIT (soulmates hate him!!¡?)

#exile.goblet #borg #heart!cyno #exile.reader #cyno lovebot anon #you guys are so wack for all these ideas

25 notes · View notes

thepaladincosplays · 4 months

Note

Been a while but do you have anything more to share from your original story?

No art as of yet, but I do! Here’s a quick list of character fun facts for ya!

While Lotho isn’t as staunchly faithful as many others in Lunaria are, he will pray to Liba, the Goddess of Love, Lust, Beauty, and Marriage, before seeing his lover at her brothel. He always says a prayer at the statue outside of the Temple of Liba outside the Heart of Lunaria, the castle of the Heart family.

Lotho comes from the sea side country of Oasis, and grew up around fisherfolk and learned to sail and swim before learning to farm and fight. His family worked for trappers on a shellfish barge before they immigrated to Lunaria to start a farm.

Despite also coming from Oasis, Serena’s journey to Lunaria was nowhere near as pleasant or smooth sailing as Lotho’s. No one really knows what happened to her before she joined the Adventurer’s Guild, and that’s how she keeps it.

Kaizu, the King of Hearts’ court wizard, was once a student at the Arcane University in Khóndur, the home of the Arcana Elves (the true name of the Crimson Elves), and that was where the two met. Sandor had traveled to the Arcane University to study and master the magical arts and trained alongside Kaizu for a time before being crowned the King of Lunaria.

M’ara grew up in a village near the border Lunaria shares with the Great Plains, a cliffside village known as Ridge Town.

The King of Hearts’ father is a mystery, but many who had theories believe his father to be a member of his mother’s court when she sat the throne and ruled Lunaria.

#thepaladinrambles #the heartland heroes #my fantasy universe #lotho #serena #kaizu #m’ara #the king of hearts

4 notes · View notes

lonely-soul-02 · 9 months

Note

Do you think it's possible that mother Peggy never said anything to Noel about making up with Liam because she knows they were "too close" to each other, so she just lets them be and maybe even thinks it's better if they stay apart? I find it weird that she would never say anything to them. I know they're adults and all that but after a few years at the latest a mother would surely say something? I mean she wouldn't even have to make a big deal about it. She could say something to them in a very casual way and just in passing. Or maybe Noel was exaggerating when he claimed she never said anything about that to him? But if it's really true that she never barged in, do you think it could be because she figured out Gcest? 😳 Although their family members are the closest to them, I always thought they would be the last to think there's something "suspicious" between Liam and Noel, because who the fuck would put the pieces together when it concerns their own sons or siblings? But when Noel basically said "I never tell her to get back together with her ex, so she doesn't tell me that either" (I'm paraphrasing), it really got me thinking 😳

It’s a possibility. She knows; it goes unspoken; best let them remain apart. It gets internally rationalised as ancient history, a consequence of the madness of those early Oasis days, too many drugs, too much alcohol, too much fame. A brief chapter in their lives that is now firmly closed thank you very much. That’s a theory. The truth, of course, we will never know.

To be clear [tin hat off] Peggy has said something about the feud. Over the years, both Liam and Noel have mentioned their mother saying something to them about the situation, but they just take no notice of her. Peggy herself made a reference to reconciliation in As It Was and Liam made a joke of it. Now to what extent Peggy has intervened, is anyone’s guess. Liam and Noel give the impression it’s merely in passing over the phone, but who knows. Maybe she has tried harder than that. They’d never let on. For one thing, it wouldn’t make them look very good if she has been trying - they’d look like right selfish bastards if they’ve knowingly caused their mother grief for the past 14 years, so they pass it off as oh she doesn’t say much, she keeps out of it. Or they could be telling the truth and she really does keep out of it…in which case I’ll be reaching for my tin hat.

Noel's bit about him not telling her to get back with her ex...was a very strange analogy. I really struggled to process it at the time. But I suspect that he didn't mean the abuse aspect, and it was just another example of Noel comparing his brother to an ex.

#gallagher relationship ask #gcest

4 notes · View notes

zuko-always-lies · 2 years

Note

May I ask what you think of the "That's rough, buddy." line and the fandom's obsession of it?

Zuko kidnapped the Aang just as the North Pole was being besieged. If he hadn't done that, the Avatar would've woken up in the Spirit Oasis a few feet away from the koi fish just before Zhao barged in. Things might have gone differently. Who knows, maybe Princess Yue wouldn't have died.

And yet, it's never held against him. Not in the show, not in the fandom. Not only that…

In TCoD, he says two lines about his mother and his destiny and Katara offers to heal his scar with the water that's from the Spirit Oasis where he knocked her out and took her friend right out from under her. (Oh, and it's supposed to be a great moment for Katara; Zutara shippers especially like it. Zuko can take seasons to figure things out and that's the way his character arc should be. But if a flip switches in Katara's brain, that's a great character moment too, because…? it's about Zuko?)

And of course he and Sokka joke about it. "My first girlfriend turned into the moon." Did Sokka forget about the events that lead up to that?

Zuko's actions at the North Pole and its consequences are glossed over and made a joke out of. And the fandom is fine with that for some reason. I've seen people say that '"That's rough buddy" is the greatest line in television history.'.

So, anyways, what do you think of the "That's rough, buddy." line and the fandom's obsession of it?

I think these are all great points. And yeah, Katara even offered to heal Iroh in "The Chase," so her being sympathetic to Zuko wasn't some sort of great change for her. Meanwhile, that scene is honestly maybe the best evidence for the idea that Zuko weaponizes sympathy. He manages to take Katara's very reasonable anger at him and make it all about himself and his pain.

And I agree that Zuko is arguably indirectly responsible for Yue's death, but no one ever holds him responsible for that, and it seems jarring that Sokka and Katara seem to forget that.

As for the "that's rough, buddy," it's a moderately funny line, and one of the very few times that the first and second most popular male characters in the series connect with each other, so it's perhaps natural that it sticks in people's minds. But honestly the whole situation doesn't necessarily reflect positively on either Sokka or Zuko. Sokka is not only completely forgetting about Zuko's role in Yue's death, but he's also forgetting about his replacement goldfish girlfriend Suki, who he knows the Fire Nation has captured. Meanwhile, Zuko is kind of ignoring the fact that he hurt Mai badly and that he kind of threw her under the bus with the whole "going traitor" thing.

Anyways, this is a great point, and I don't think I can add much to what you've already pointed out.

#Zuko #zuko-critical #Suki #Yue #Sokka #Katara

56 notes · View notes

blackberry-gingham · 2 years

Text

Cardinal Rule | Oswald Cobblepot x Fem!Reader

(The Batman 2022)

Chpt 1 | next...>

A working girl at Gotham's iceberg lounge, a club in town shot through with crime. One of the shining examples of what's wrong with this place. You're no stranger to hardship... But that doesn't mean you have to live your life in the gutter. You only need to be willing to get dirty.

You're more then fine working your way out of this place, but when the Penguin himself takes a shine to you... Is it a way out? Or just another run of trouble.

Tag list: @greenheart99 @smokeywhalee @samatedeansbroccoli @tolovaj (list open to additions or reductions, whichever you prefer!)

tags: idk, swearing. non graphic sexual themes.

---

Gotham City. The Iceberg lounge. Two places you never thought you’d come to call home. You never knew your parents… A couple of Drop heads is all the social workers told you. Once you were old enough to know, you never bothered to try and find them. Why should you? Clearly they never gave much of a fuck about you.

The city gave birth to you. Raised you. Taught you everything you know.

You don’t need to know anything more than that.

And in a place like this… There’s only one kind of job for a pretty girl with no family. Not smart enough to win a grant for school. Too good for something like waitressing. No… The way you see it, if you’re going to get groped for your tips, then you're gonna make sure you get compensated properly for it.

A couple hundred a night isn't too bad of a start.

Thunder rips through the sky overhead. Summer has just come to a close, meaning all the young bucks with their daddy’s money are long gone for college. They’ll be back next summer. In the meantime, you’ll settle for the old money. It’s just as green, if only a little crisper.

The second you key into the back of the club, a wall of sound and smells meets you in the threshold. This place… It’s an oasis. An escape. Anyone who wants to leave behind this hell hole city, their shitty life, or maybe just themselves… They’ll find whatever they need to do it, right here.

Booze, drugs, girls, lights, noise. The building itself is a drug.

What does that make you?

None of the girls ever really talk to each other. You're all here to do a job, get paid, and go back to dull reality. You’ve known some of them for nearly a year now, without having ever caught their names. Maybe that’s how they like it. The anonymity. It’s definitely what you prefer.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

You’d be surprised how much that little mantra has gotten you through.

This job pays, sure, but… God, it sucks the fucking soul out of you. You always say one day you’ll get out. Maybe even find a respectable desk job. It’s a story you’ve been telling yourself for years.

So for now, you put on your makeup. The glitter and paint. Strip down to your working clothes. And you look in the mirror. Yeah… One day.

“Hey!”, a sharp and heavy pounding shakes the walls. One of the many, many bouncers barges into the dressing room, looking pissed as hell. He points aggressively at you and two others, “You, you, and you- Downstairs! I’m sick of you whores not showing up to your fucking job!”

“Ay ay ay!”, a second voice follows quickly behind the bouncer. Strange, because you don’t recognize this one. You know for certain that you don’t, because that accent stands out like no other… “What the hell are you yellin’ at my girls for, huh? What are you, an animal? Get the fuck outta here”

Oswald Cobblepot, better known in the criminal world as “The Penguin”, does not stop to make conversation. He keeps walking through as he rebukes his employee, as though he has other, more important matters to attend to then to pause for this. The bouncer mutters something with a bowed head, then a pointed glance at you and the others he selected.

The dressing room is little more then a hallway itself, making it feel like a surprising after thought in the grand scheme of the club proper.

You’ve bounced around from club to club over the course of your “career”. The Iceberg is your most recent stop, but certainly not your longest tenure. And yet… For all the many months you’ve been here, it strikes you so odd that this is the first you’ve ever heard the voice of your boss. The boss, at that.

Penguin is broad and stout as brick house. Perhaps he was impressive looking, once. Balding, with a large, hooked nose and terrible scars along his face. Completing the look of his namesake, he’s never without a suit and a bowtie. Usually not the best fashion choice for a man of his build, but somehow he manages to pull it off well.

He’s quite hard to miss, which means business must keep him busy for how little you’ve seen of him. At most, perhaps you’ve caught a glance of him at a distance. Usually while he’s up in that glass box of an office. But never much more than that.

“Excuse me, ladies”, The Penguin angles his body a bit to slip through the throng of dancers on his way to wherever it is he’s going. You politely move back to hug your ass to the vanity behind you. His front faces yours as he shuffles past, meaning you think little to nothing of the brief moment of eye contact he gives you.

That is, until you notice the second take.

You roll your shoulder and brush it off. In this line of work, a man staring at you has long since lost its excitement. For now, you scurry off down the hall and stairs, surrounded by an array of women around your age in exactly similar costumes. Glittering, skin tight leotards, sky high heels to show some ass, sheer mesh sections to show a little skin…Everything you’d need to show a good time.

This makes your first time down in the 44.

There’s not much you know about it. It’s a mob hangout. Full of drops and shady dealings and scary, powerful figures. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t just a little nervous. You take a look around you. The other women seem so confident… That, or they’re damn good at pretending.

Yet another bouncer checks all your IDs at the elevator. One at a time, you file in, like lambs for the slaughter. The doors shut quietly, bringing a whole other shush to the space in their wake. Suddenly, the lights and deafening noise of the Iceberg are gone. Not just muted and muffled, but… Completely silent. It lasts a good minute, just enough for you to think, before the doors ding once more, opening up to a whole different scene.

The lights are dim, but still possess that same neon, LED glow as above. Thank God that down here they’re not flashing at least. The music is quieter too. Slower, and more relaxed. Something for the oldsters, no doubt. But then again… aren’t you too?

You sigh quietly, not a clue what to do next.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

For a moment, you hang back and watch the other girls. A couple mill about, looking for another table to schmooze. Or rob. A few more look for places to dance and poles to hit. You’ve never been much of a “hospitality” girl. To tell the truth, you really couldn’t give a fuck about all these rich assholes and their poor, busy lives as they make millions a year and spend just a fraction of a fraction of it all down here. Buying drops. Buying girls.

Besides, getting paid for a quick, rough, and far too often, shitty fuck, never appealed to you. Whatever lines your pockets you suppose, but still... Not for you.

You give a forlorn look at the poles off in the back. They’re occupied right now. Not a surprise considering that’s where all the real money is made, but you’ll get your chance later. With one more weary sigh, you look out across the room of degenerates and criminals. If you must play hostess… Here’s to hoping it pays.

So, you make your rounds. You do your schmoozing. And you make a pretty decent cut already. You’ve turned down a couple would be Romeos, and still made your bank regardless. Then finally, finally the pole you’ve been working towards opens up.

The lights go up on the little platform and you can feel yourself pulled into auto pilot. You’ve practiced this dance so many times, it’s like second nature by now. And so you dance. You parade around, covered in glitter and somehow managing to not break your neck in these heels while you roll your hips and shake your ass for some drunk old men with all the other women beside you doing just the same.

Somewhere, way way up on the top floor, Oswald Cobblepot, owner of the whole joint, takes a rest in his office. It’s been a long night already, and it feels like the shit’s just started. With a weary sigh, he dips into a side room within the office space behind a covertly placed door into a soundproof room. Fully sound proof, that is. Don’t get him wrong, the glass office is nice, but damn. All that racket, even muffled as it is… It gets to ya.

He switches on the lights and pours himself a glass of whiskey, as he takes a seat in a fine leather armchair. This room has no desk. Just a chair, a couch, a nice little hosting table, some secure old filing cabinets, a small tv, and a select few refined decorations. That painting over there is straight from the homeland, you know. This rug… Not so much, but it sure as hell is as comfortable as it is stylish.

The room is silent except for the occasional clink of ice in his drink. Oz takes one more sip, then lowers his glass to his knee. You know, there is one particular piece in here that he’s really proud of… He’s not one for glitz and garish glamour mind you, but he’s thinking of upgrading his wardrobe a little. Just something to accentuate with.

In a subtle little box, there on the table, lays a neat little thing. Just a normal, black umbrella with a fine, silver handle fashioned in the shape of a penguin’s head. Clever, he knows. The neat thing about it? It’s reinforced to be a proper cane, rather then just some flimsy old umbrella. He hasn’t quite broken it out for a debut yet, but… It’s there. And more and more as the days go by, he starts to question how long he can afford to be without it.

Being in this line of work ain’t easy. How do you think he got these scars, ya know? God, he did some hard shit when he was younger. Maybe he don’t look it as much now, but he was one hell of a bruiser back in the day. Course, one day all the jobs catch up with ya. You’re bound to get hit back eventually… And damn, if he ain’t had his fair share of getting hit.

The scars are nearly as fucking old as he is… and he ain’t young, heh. They don’t bother him none. Nah, it’s his hip that’s been off lately. An old wound from so long ago, he barely remembers. Never bothered him much before. Can't say that now, though.

He’s trying to hide the limp, but on rainy, freezing ass nights like this… Fuck, it’s hard.

It’s bad enough he’s stuck as the underdog… Having Falcone question his capability is the last thing he needs. There’s only one way out of a life like this, and God knows he ain’t done kicking yet.

Oz sighs and drags his knuckles up and down along the joint, only to dig a little harder. Damn, he ain't sure if he should be rubbing out all the muscle, or the bone itself. He’s been making rounds all night. Shit hurts. After hardly a second of giving the sore spot some attention, he stops.

God, he's tired. He sighs and takes another sip of whiskey. It's a better shot at helping the pain then anything he could do.

Ey, maybe he should lose some weight, huh? Take some pressure off the joint or some shit. Might help, sure. but, will he do it? He swallows down the last of the whiskey and huffs a bemused smile. Probably not, damn him. He laughs.

The monitor in front of him flickers to another feed. Security. He’s got half the place wired up for him to keep an eye on. Even Falcone don’t know about this. Neat, huh?

He skips past a couple cameras, all boring. Booths, bar, more booths. Who gives a shit, huh? He’s looking for- There we go… He pours another drink, and watches the girls swing the poles. Usually he likes to regard himself as a gentleman, but… Damn. These girls can really dance.

Besides, what kind of proprietor would he be without enforcing a bit of uh… Quality control. Yeah, that’s it.

One girl stumbles a bit, right there on stage. In the fucking 44 too? Oh, she’s out. Where the fuck are his people getting these girls from, huh?

He takes note of the ones he wants gone, but doesn’t let it interrupt his enjoyment. The feed switches to another angle of the same scene. He sits up a little to get a closer look and takes another sip of his drink. If he looks close… There. He’s got a pretty good view of your pole tonight.

It would be… unbecoming, to go hit up one of the dancing girls in his own club he thinks. One of the many, many cardinal rules in this line of work, in fact. But... there’s no question, he’s had his eye on you for quite some time now. Fuck, you can dance. He’s familiar with your routine enough to know that you ain’t much for working hospitality, but God- When you do though…

Sometimes he catches himself wondering if it would be all that bad, hiring one of his own girls for a night. You ain’t gotta do nothin’ you don’t want to. Hell, he’d be glad just to have a little gentle company up here. All these hard nosed guards ain’t much for personality, you know? Like… a buncha robots or something, yesh.

The feed tries to move on to the next camera, but he skips it back to you.. He follows your every step and leap. Watching every move, studying every turn…Perfect, throughout the whole routine. Beautiful. Mesmerizing.

Maybe…

Penguin hobbles up from his chair and back out to the pounding, main office. He’s stiff as hell… Damn, sitting back down at that raggedy old desk is a fucking relief. He gets some papers together and jots sloppily along a couple lines and boxes. Only takes a moment, and the work is done. Now, just a moment more to warm up his bad hip...

He walks just fine coming out of the office and on his way up to one of his floor managers, “Here, take care of this”, he shoves the papers off for the employee to deal with. Pointing to names scribbled on the document lines, he says, “Get her and her and, Jesus, her outta here. But this one”, he taps your name twice, “keep her in the 44. She’s got talent”

#oh boy #here we go lol #the penguin x reader #oswald cobblepot x reader #the batman

50 notes · View notes

dancingdanvers · 11 months

Text

Where: Oasis Who: @joeyxmadani

Of everyone in Aurora Bay there was only one person who’d known the real reason behind Caroline leaving just over two years ago. Well, they’d known more than most everyone else, she’d neglected to mention the father of her child was also her best friend and crushes older brother, but that was hardly important right this second. The two women couldn’t be more opposite at face value but working at the same club for a couple of years had brought them closer until their relationship was almost like that of an older and younger sister. When her mom had died Caroline went back to work earlier than she probably should have because it meant she got to be around Joey, who by that point was kind of like her found family. Just being in her presence felt more … grounded. The woman was so sure of herself, how could being near her not feel like it was rubbing off on someone? Especially someone as unsure so much as Carrie.

Knowing the bar didn’t open for another couple of hours she held onto her bag strap tightly as she pushed into the building, relief when she found the code to the back door was still the same as when she’d left. One of the bonuses of having a pretty much photographic memory. Even through everything she’d been through the last couple of years the four numbers needed for that specific keypad stayed locked in her brain, muscle memory along with that. “Joey?” The girl called out as she took a few steps into Oasis, knowing she was there because she had been watching to see her arrive from a cafe across the road…in a totally not weird way…obviously. She’d just not wanted to barge in when her friend wasn’t even there, that felt even weirder. “When you said the door would always be open for me when I came back, I didn’t know you meant you’d literally keep the code the same…” She tried to joke lightly, her voice shaking a little with anticipation of seeing the other.

#convo: joey

4 notes · View notes

wordsintimeandspace · 2 years

Text

build me up, buttercup

Ever since their disastrous first meeting that Martin later titled 'The Dog Incident', his neighbour Jon has made it very clear that he does not like him. Martin would have an easier time dealing with that if Jon wouldn't be so outrageously sweet whenever he walks his cat Buttercup around the neighbourhood.

Jon/Martin, rated G, around 3700 words. Read on AO3! Written for @jonsimsandcats day :)

In the weeks following the event, Martin sometimes refers to the first time he met his new neighbour as ‘The Dog Incident’. The name doesn’t feel quite right though - it sounds too much like a meet-cute. Like he’d met the man who just moved into the flat above him while he was walking his dog, and the dog had happily wagged its tail at Martin, and Martin had met the stranger’s beautiful brown eyes with a smile and they’d fallen madly in love.

Unfortunately for him, it didn’t go down like that at all. The man doesn’t even own the dog in question - he has a cat instead, which is exactly why all this went so poorly.

It starts harmless enough on a Tuesday evening. Martin is walking home after his shift in the library and a quick trip to the store, crossing through the small park opposite from his block of flats. The park isn’t much more than a lawn with some bushes and trees, but it’s still a welcome oasis in the concrete jungle that is London. He’s nearly at the exit of the park when he first sees the dog.

It’s a yellow labrador mix, currently unleashed and sniffing around one of the bushes next to the sidewalk. It curiously looks up as Martin approaches and trots towards him, tail wagging. Martin stops for a moment and looks around for the owner. There’s a bored looking man a few meters down the path with a leash in his hands, staring down at his phone. And then, since the man doesn’t seem to care and the dog looks friendly enough, Martin shifts his grocery bags into one hand and scratches the dog behind the ears. The dog wiggles happily, enjoys the scritches, and after a moment Martin is on his way again. The whole interaction is so short that he doesn’t really think about any possible ramifications.

It’s only after Martin crosses the street towards his block of flats, manages to get his keys out of his pockets and into the lock while balancing his grocery bags that he realises his mistake. As soon as the door is open just a gap, the dog slips past Martin into the house. Martin blinks, his brain slow to catch up with the fact that the dog followed him, when the barking starts.

Martin curses and follows the dog into the house, but by then it’s already racing up the stairs. “Wait!” Martin calls out and rushes after it. He follows the echoing barks up to the third floor and barges into the corridor, a bit out of breath. There, he suddenly stops in his tracks.

In front of him is a man he hasn’t seen around the house before. ‘Oh, he's pretty’ is Martin's first thought as he takes in his delicate face and his long brown hair, quickly followed by ‘oh shit’ as he registers the hissing cat in the man's arms and the dog, still barking, trying to jump up the man's body.

“Sorry!” Martin calls out. He immediately drops his grocery bags and rushes forward to grab the dog’s collar. He manages to pull it away from the man, even as the dog is straining against his grip.

Wide-eyed, the man looks at Martin.

In Martin’s fantasies, this would be the moment where the stranger would smile and thank him profusely for rescuing him and his cat. Instead, the panicked look in his eyes immediately turns absolutely scathing.

“Keep your dog away,” the man snaps, and Martin can’t help but flinch. The cat, a gorgeous ginger tabby, still wriggles and hisses in the man’s arms. By now, it has left a deep scratch on the man’s cheek, so Martin can’t really blame him for being a bit on edge.

“S-sorry! I’m really sorry, it just- it just slipped inside with me,” Martin says. “It’s- it’s not even my dog!”

The man’s scowl doesn’t soften, not even a little bit. “Well, then pay better attention next time,” he barks, and with one last glare over his shoulder, he strides down the corridor and disappears into one of the flats. The door slams shut behind him.

Finally, the dog stops barking. It lets out a whimper and gives Martin its best puppy dog eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Martin complains, and leads the dog outside to reunite it with the owner.

Martin goes back up to the third floor afterwards to collect his grocery bags. Once he’s picked them up he hesitates for a moment, biting his lip as he watches the door of the man’s flat. Maybe he should knock and apologise again. But the man’s scathing look has burned itself into Martin’s memory, and he’s not keen on a repeat performance. Better to give him some space for now and try again later. With a sigh, Martin turns away and trudges back down towards his own flat.

So much for a meet-cute with his gorgeous new neighbour.

~~~

The neighbour’s name is Jon, Martin learns two days later from the old lady who lives across the hall. It takes another week until Martin runs into him again. They meet in the staircase, and Martin is just about ready to launch into an apology when Jon sees him and his expression turns absolutely furious. Confronted with that scowl once again, Martin doesn’t bring it over his lips. Instead he stutters a nervous greeting that Jon doesn’t bother to reciprocate. Martin sighs, and can’t help but roll his eyes as soon as Jon brushes past him without any acknowledgement whatsoever.

To Martin’s dismay, things continue exactly like that. Jon mostly ignores him, even when Martin is starting to get petty and greets him extra friendly each time. If it wasn’t for the scowl Jon is constantly directing at him, Martin would think he was invisible.

He’s about ready to dismiss Jon as just another asshole living in his block of flats when he first meets Jon in the park. Unfortunately for him and his traitorous heart, that moment changes everything.

It’s a sunny and warm Sunday afternoon, and Martin is sitting beneath a tree in the shade. He has a notebook open in his lap to dabble at his poetry, and is just turning a phrase around in his head when he hears a quiet meow. Across the lawn, a ginger tabby jumps out from behind one of the bushes, ferociously attacking a leaf.

Martin blinks. The cat is wearing a harness and a leash, which is already unusual enough, but when Jon appears behind it, wearing a fond smile on his lips instead of the scowl that Martin is so familiar with, Martin can only stare in stunned silence.

“Excellent catch,” Jon says as the cat throws itself down into the grass and whacks at the leaf. “Now, don’t eat it, or you’ll spoil your appetite for supper.”

The tabby is clearly not listening and instead gnaws on the leaf until Jon crouches down to pull it away. “Buttercup, no.”

Martin suddenly feels very warm. Even now, there is no real irritation in Jon’s voice. Instead he sounds all soft and adoring, and it makes Martin’s heart skip a beat. Jon looks different than usual as well, happy and relaxed instead of furious or annoyed. Just the fact that Jon has named his cat Buttercup and is walking her on a leash would've been enough for Martin to admit that maybe he has misjudged Jon, but seeing him like this… Martin isn’t sure how to deal with the sudden surge of emotion. His grumpy asshole neighbour is sweet. Adorable, even.

He must make some kind of sound, because suddenly Jon’s head snaps up and his eyes meet Martin’s. Just like that, the illusion shatters like glass. Jon’s smile slips off his lips, and the gleam in his eyes is replaced by his usual frown.

For a few seconds, they silently stare at each other. Just as Martin finally opens his mouth to speak, Buttercup decides she’s done playing with the leaf and leaps towards Martin in a few long strides. Jon, who must have let go of the leash for a second in favour of scowling at Martin, looks horrified as Buttercup approaches him, bumping her head against Martin’s outstretched hand in greeting. Martin can’t help but snicker at the look of betrayal on Jon’s face before turning his attention towards the cat.

“Hello there,” he says quietly and scratches Buttercup behind the ears. She leans into his touch, purring loudly, looking utterly content with getting pets from her owner’s arch nemesis.

Just as she tries to climb into Martin’s lap, Jon suddenly appears at his side. He quickly scoops the cat up into his arms, even as she meows in protest.

Martin lets out a breath and looks up at Jon. His scowl has lost a bit of its sting. Now, he mainly looks confused, and more than a little offended.

“Sorry,” Martin hastily says, although he isn’t sure what he’s apologising for. “She’s very sweet.”

Jon nods. “She is. Although a bit too curious for her own good.”

Martin can’t help but laugh. “Are you mad that your cat likes me?”

“No,” Jon protests, in what is clearly a lie. “Besides, she likes most people. It’s not personal.”

“Right. Of course not,” Martin sighs.

Jon clears his throat, suddenly looking distinctly uncomfortable. “I- I’ll just, um. I need to go,” he stutters before turning on his heels.

“Bye, Buttercup,” Martin calls after him. Jon nearly trips over his own feet, shooting one last frazzled look over his shoulder before he disappears down the path.

Martin sighs. That could have gone better, although it wasn’t quite the disaster he expected. He goes back to his poetry, and if he somehow writes about beautiful brown eyes and yellow flowers braided into long hair - well, that’s no one’s business but his own.

~~~

From there on, Martin spends a lot more time in the park. It turns out that Jon walking his cat is a regular occurance, and Martin likes to watch him from afar, heart jumping at the fond look on Jon’s face whenever he talks to Buttercup. Most of the time though, Jon doesn’t stray too far into the corner where Martin usually sits. Maybe he’s avoiding him. It stings, just a little bit, but at least Martin can safely pine from a distance. And he’s never written more poetry before, so he counts that as a win.

It isn’t until summer passes and the first wet autumn day arrives that Martin directly runs into Jon again.

He’s coming home after an early shift in the library when he sees Jon standing in front of their building, holding his phone to his ear. Martin’s heart skips a beat, like it does every time when he catches a glimpse of Jon, but it becomes immediately apparent that something is wrong. Martin has never seen Jon in such a state of disarray - hair messily poking out from what was once a braid, dirt smudged on his usually pristine white shirt, a desperate look in his eyes. Martin stops dead in his tracks.

“What- what are you doing in Brighton?” Jon asks. He listens for a moment before his shoulders sag in defeat. “No… it’s- it’s fine, Georgie. It’s- yes. Of course. I’ll let you know when I find her.” With that, Jon hangs up. He lets out a pitiful groan, running a hand down his face. Then he turns, and freezes when he spots Martin.

“Um,” Martin starts dumbly, not quite able to tear his eyes away from Jon’s frazzled state. “Is- is everything okay?”

“It’s- it’s my cat,” Jon starts. “I- I was walking her, and there was a sudden noise that scared her, an engine backfiring I think. She tried to run off, and somehow the hook of the leash broke.” Jon lets out a shuddering breath, running a hand through his hair once again. “I can’t find her. And- and I just called a friend to help but she’s out of town and-” Abruptly, Jon stops himself, grimacing. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t dump all this on you.”

“It’s fine,” Martin says quickly. “Um. Have you asked any of the neighbours? You said she likes people, maybe she walked up to someone.”

“What- oh.” Jon’s frown suddenly turns into a sheepish expression. “Um. That’s, well. That wasn’t quite- it wasn’t quite true. She’s usually a bit skittish around new people.”

Martin stares at him. Somehow, he manages not to roll his eyes, but only because Jon looks so utterly miserable. “Right,” he says, letting out a long breath. “Er. I- I could help you look then?”

Jon’s eyes widen in surprise. “I- I really couldn’t- I can’t ask that of you.”

“You’re not asking, I’m offering.” Martin sighs. “Look, I know we didn’t really start off on the right foot, but you know it was an accident and I did apologise and I- I just want to help.”

Jon bites his lip, hesitating for a moment, but finally he nods. “Thank you,” he says softly. “That- that would be great. I really appreciate it.”

“”Course.” Martin gives him a smile. “Now, where do you want to start?”

“Um. I- I searched the park for her already, but I think she may have wandered off towards the buildings around it. I don’t think she would stray far, but, well. There’s still a lot of houses and backyards and cellars.”

“Okay. We can maybe split up, and I take one side of the neighbourhood and you the other?”

Jon nods. “Yes. That- that sounds reasonable. Um.” He hesitates for a moment before pulling his phone from his pocket, holding it out to Martin. “Maybe you can give me your number? So we can coordinate.”

Martin’s eyebrows shoot up, but he has to admit it’s a good idea. He types in his name and number before handing the phone back to Jon.

Jon glances down at the screen, reading what Martin has entered. “Thank you, Martin.”

Martin's heart skips a beat at the sound of his name from Jon’s lips, but he tries to brush the giddy feeling aside. This is hardly the time for it. “No problem,” he finally says, giving Jon an encouraging smile. “Let’s go find your cat.”

Several hours later, Martin silently curses his inability to say no to pretty men, even after said pretty men have been running a personal vendetta against him right from the moment they met. It started drizzling a while ago, and Martin is wet and cold, tired and hungry. But they still haven’t found Buttercup. He’s checked in with Jon several times, who didn’t have any more luck than Martin did and is getting increasingly more desperate. Last time they spoke on the phone Jon sounded close to crying. So no, giving up is not an option. Martin’s heart can’t take it. And he worries for Buttercup too, of course. London really isn’t an ideal place for outdoor cats, even if they are on the outskirts.

When he finally hears the meow, it’s so faint that he isn’t sure if he’s imagined it. Martin stops, listening for any sound over the wind and rain. Finally, it comes again: a quiet, pitiful cry coming from the direction of the nearest block of flats. Martin follows the sound, and after a few long moments of searching he finds an open window leading into a basement. When he shines the torch of his phone into the darkness, a pair of yellow eyes reflects back at him. Buttercup lets out another whine.

“It’s alright, sweetie,” Martin says. “Are you stuck?”

For a moment, Martin contemplates his options. But when Buttercup cries again and still doesn’t budge, he unceremoniously climbs through the window to go after her. It’s a bit of a tight fit - Martin isn’t a particularly small man - but he does manage to squeeze through, even though he tumbles ungracefully to the floor on the other side. Martin curses and brushes spiderwebs out of his hair as he pushes himself upright. Who would have thought that his silly little crush would lead to breaking and entering?

Shining the way with his phone, Martins makes it to the other end of the room where he finds Buttercup crouching beneath a shelf. Martin’s heart softens at the sight. She looks about as bedraggled as Jon did when Martin last saw him - fur wet and dirty, eyes wide and cautious.

Slowly, Buttercup relaxes at Martin’s soothing voice, and hesitantly comes out from under the shelf. Letting out a breath of relief, Martin scoops her up into his arms. He shoots Jon a quick text and makes his way outside. Thankfully the door to the basement is unlocked, and Martin manages to tiptoe up the stairs and out of the front door without any neighbours calling the police on him.

Jon is already waiting for him in front of their building when Martin makes it back. As soon as Jon spots him, cat still held in his arms, his shoulders sag in relief and a slow smile spreads on his lips. Martin’s heart skips a beat. He saw this smile on Jon before, but always from a distance, and certainly not directed at him. Seeing Jon like this up close is a whole different experience. There’s something genuine in it, something unrestrained that Martin didn’t see before beneath his usual layers of irritation. He desperately wishes he could experience more of it.

“Oh,” Jon finally says, sounding a little choked up. “You- you found her.”

“Yeah.” Martin smiles and hands Buttercup to Jon, who immediately cradles her close, closing his eyes in relief as he presses a kiss to the top of her head. Buttercup purrs, bumping her head against Jon’s chin. “She was stuck in a basement. Probably tried to find some shelter from the rain.”

“I- thank you,” Jon says, looking up at him. The expression in his eyes is so soft that it punches the air out of Martin’s lungs. “I- I realise you had no reason to help me, so I- I really don’t take this for granted. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Martin smiles. “It’s fine, really,” he says. “Happy to help. I’m glad she’s okay.”

Jon lets out a long breath and nods. “Yes,” he says quietly. “Me too.”

~~~

Martin doesn’t really expect Jon to go back to his usual scowling after this. Still, he can’t help but be surprised when, just a week later while he’s sitting on a bench in the park to write, Jon sits down next to him and greets him with an uncertain smile. Buttercup jumps up on the bench between them, sporting a brand new harness and leash in a deep forest green.

“Hello there,” Martin says, holding out his hand for Buttercup to sniff. She immediately forgoes it in favour of climbing into his lap. “Um, okay, hi.”

Nervously, Martin shoots a glance at Jon, but there is no sign of the previous offence that his cat likes Martin. There’s only a fond, albeit exasperated look on his face.

“I see she’s recovered well from her little outing?” Martin asks, scratching the purring cat behind her ears.

“Yes. She was a little grumpy for being hungry and cold, but that was nothing the heated blanket and some salmon couldn’t fix.”

Martin laughs. “You’re spoiling her.”

“Oh, I’m aware.” Jon grins, but suddenly turns serious. “I’m-” he starts before cutting himself off with a grimace. “I wanted to say thank you again. And… I’m sorry.”

Martin blinks at him in surprise. “Oh?”

“I- I realise I treated you rather unfairly, these last few months. What happened with the dog, it scared me, but- but that’s no excuse to take it out on you. I wasn’t very kind. And I- I apologise.”

“I- well, yeah. You weren’t,” Martin says, his voice a little hoarse. He isn’t quite used to sincere apologies like this. “But… thank you, Jon. That means a lot. Apology accepted.”

Some of the tension floods out of Jon. “Thank you,” he says quietly, looking at Buttercup curling up on Martin’s lap. A small smile appears on his lips. “I should have realised earlier that I was wrong about you. Buttercup does not like too many people, but when she does… she’s usually an excellent judge of character.”

“I passed the cat test, then?”

“You did.” Jon laughs. “Congratulations. That’s a lot further than a lot of people come, even if they are around her a lot. She always hissed at my ex-boyfriend. She was right to do so in the end, but, well.”

Martin can’t help but grin. “What a good girl,” he says, scratching Buttercup beneath the chin.

Jon huffs. “She also does that to the old woman who lives on your floor, so I don’t know about that.”

“Maybe she picked that up from you,” Martin teases without thinking. “Being mean to your neighbours without reason.”

He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. Jon flinches, guilt flashing across his face. “I’m sorry-” he starts, but Martin interrupts before he can apologise again.

“No, no, don’t be.” Martin grimaces. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I said I accept your apology and I mean it, so it’s not fair to bring it up again.”

Jon hesitates for a moment before letting out a long breath. “Alright. Thank you.”

“Look, maybe we can just… pretend it didn’t happen. You just moved here last week, and while walking your cat she decided that she likes me, and that’s how we met.”

Jon lets out a surprised laugh. “I- well, yes. That sounds nice, actually.” His smile widens, his eyes softening as he looks into Martin’s eyes. “It’s nice to meet you, Martin.”

Martin smiles back, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. “It’s nice to meet you too,” he says softly. Maybe, he thinks as Jon’s shoulder brushes against his and Buttercup stretches languidly in his lap, he gets to have his meet-cute after all.

#JonSimsandCats2022 #the magnus archives #tma #tma fic #my fic #jon and cats

35 notes · View notes