Kristen Stewart, who it turns out is an INCREDIBLE Saturday Night Live host, just told Donald Trump off in the most wonderfully gay way

Kristen Stewart handed in THE strongest hosting job on Saturday Night Live for the season — scratch that, for about the last five seasons. In her monologue she addressed those times Donald Trump tweeted about her and then accidentally dropped an f-bomb on live TV in true dangerous queer lady style.

Gifs: Saturday Night Live


(Also, this quote is the ideal response to just about everything so we isolated it for your repeated viewing pleasure)


everyone always talks about ty lee turning on azula in book 3 and that being the catalyst for azula’s downfall but look at their first interaction in the show months earlier. ty lee is happy to see her friend for the first time in years but when azula tries to recruit her ty lee nervously she tells azula she’s happy where she is and is genuinely relieved when azula seems to respect that. then azula says she’s gonna come to ty lee’s show that night and look how ty lee’s expression changes (the last four frames in the photoset). i feel like this is such a significant moment in the series that is completely overlooked. we all know what happens at the show– azula sets the net on fire to threaten ty lee. she coerces ty lee into joining her, which is like, sad, i mean that azula has to force her friend to pretend to want to come, and they both just pretend it’s ok later. i’m not saying ty lee is completely faking their friendship the whole time they’re together for the rest of the series but this moment really shows that their foundation was based on a lie and that ty lee was at some level always unnerved by azula and there against her will. or rather she was recruited against her will and later she probably slips into the role in the team with azula and mai genuinely, they do seem to be real friends, but when the betrayal comes at the boiling rock, that was always there from the beginning. essentially in her very first scene we see the “true” ty lee who is then put away for most of the series until she comes back in her very last scene when she breaks from azula


Pairing: Barry Allen x reader

Warnings: Cursing, inappropriate themes

Prompt: “I platonically want to have sex with you—no big deal.”

“Hey, could you run these up to Barry for me?” Joe, your partner of 5 months asked. You were a transferred detective from Keystone who came to Central City looking for adventure. Boy, did you get one. After accidentally walking in on Barry using his powers you found out he was not only super attractive but also a superhero. You may have a crush on him.

“Yeah, sure.” You take the files and run up the stairs to his lab. You knock on the door frame which draws his attention to you. When he sees you his face lights up as you start to saunter over to him. You hand him the file and he thanks you. You sit on his desk with your feet swinging down. “How’d your date with that one chick go?”

“Fine, I guess.” You squint your eyes skeptically.

“Okay so you called a date fine, then added I guess, indicating it was not fine.” He sighs.

“I just— I mean not to be conceited, I just feel like all she wanted me for was my looks.”

“Ooh. What’d she say to indicate this?”

“Just— she um, she kept on making references to, uh, doing the deed?” You started laughing. You couldn’t help it. Barry Allen was the only man to ever pass up a purely platonic sexual relationship. “What’s so funny?”

“She wanted to bang you dude, you gave that up because she liked the way you looked?”

“Well— when you put it like that.” He huffed and slumped in his chair. “I just wanted something more with her than just… Sex. But clearly that’s all she wanted.”

“You know, you are the only man I have met to pass up sex. I mean there have to be hundreds of girls who want to fuck you cuz your hot and you pass it up because you want a relationship. I just find that hard to believe.” You shrug your shoulders and hop off the desk, fully prepared to go back to work.

“(Y/n).” You turn around as acknowledgment. “Did you just call me hot?” He’s smirking as he says it.

“Mhm. Hell, I’d bang you.” He looked surprised.


“I platonically want to have sex with you—no big deal.” Then you turned and walked out leaving him confused on what your friendship really was.


Five days later, you haven’t talked to Barry. You and Joe got swamped with CCPD work, and Barry with Flash work. Things started to slow down so Joe invited you to dinner with Iris and Barry to thank you for the hard work. Of course you said yes.

You weren’t really worried about seeing Barry after your confession. He could ignore it completely, or he could pick up the subtle-not so subtle- offer.

You walked up the sidewalk to Joe and Barry’s house and rang the doorbell. When the door opened you were greeted by the West daughter, who had seen you less than Barry had.

When you walked in you noticed Barry on the couch chewing nervously on his lip.

“Hey, Iris.” You whispered to the brunette. “What’s up with Sonic?”

“He’s been super nervous ever since this morning. I dunno why though. He won’t budge when I ask.” She shrugs her shoulders and walks to the kitchen to help her dad. You decide to follow.


Later, after Barry sets up the table you all sit down and start eating. You, Iris, and Joe make polite conversation, while Barry stays quite and picks at his food.

“Hey Barr. What’s up with you? Why are you so quiet?” Iris asks.

“Huh? N-nothing’s up, I mean it’s not like anything happened— pfft what happened? Nothing.” He’s looking around frantically while talking and then when done he stuffs his face. Iris huffs with annoyance and Joe is on the break of laughing.

“Barry. Why are you acting weird?” Joe asks smiling and chuckling.

“What–I always act weird.”

“Weirder than usual.” You say trying to help. He looks at you and opens his mouth and closes it quickly then goes back to eating his food fast so he didn’t have to talk. “Okay, weirdo. So, Iris, how’s work?”


Later on in the dinner, you suddenly feel a hand on your inner thigh. You look at the source of the hand, whom was Barry, quietly eating his food. Acting like he’s not touching dangerously close to your lady parts. You put your hand over his and start to move it a little bit closer but stop when it’s just before your hip. You see him smirk out of the corner of your eye.


“Hey Joe, where’s your restroom?” You ask Joe close to the end of the night.

“Upstairs, second door to the right.” You mumble a thank you and stand to go to the restroom.

Once out of the bathroom, you see Barry resting against the opposite wall, resting. You smile then smirk.

“I think you and I both know, that I know the reason you’re acting weird.” He chuckles lightly then pushes himself off the wall, slowly walking over to you looking at you like you’re his prey.

“Oh really? Maybe because you confessed you thought I was hot. Maybe because you said you want to have sex with me. Maybe because ever since I’ve been having dreams about you and me… together. Maybe because all I can think about is you.” He’s now so close to you he’s trapped you between him and the wall. He tilts his head to hover over your lips and then grabs your hips and pulls you close. You put your hands on his arms and close your eyes, waiting. When still nothing happens you nudge his nose with yours. “Or… Maybe it’s something entirely different.” He walks away, leaving you breathless.


Later you take all the dishes into the kitchen alone. You start to wash when you hear footsteps.

“You wash, I dry?” Barry asks you innocently.

“No. I’m mad at you.” He smirks smugly and dries the dishes you hand him.

“And whys that?”

“You know exactly why.” He puts down the dishes then looks at you. You’ve already dropped everything and you’re looking at him.

“Maybe because—”

“Don’t start.” You grab a fistful of his shirt and forcefully kiss him. He returns with exactly the same force. You only break away when you hear a loud crash In the doorway.


jon stares at the red eyes of the weirwood tree, his hand resting in ghost’s fur.  it isn’t snowing, and there is still some light in the sky, though not much.  

his–his uncle used to pray here.  he’d played with his–his cousins here.  swords with robb, and hide and seek with the younger ones.  bran had always been so good at hiding because up he’d go into the branches and everyone knew he wasn’t supposed to climb and would look up there anyway but he’d still manage to find the one branch none of them would look.  

his fingers tighten in ghost’s fur.  he’d found this direwolf–found him in the snow.  the sigil of his house, he’d told lord stark.  the runt of the litter, and oddly colored, and mute but his all the same because even if he wasn’t a stark, he was ned stark’s son.

except he wasn’t.  isn’t.  never had been.  

he stares at the bleeding eyes of the weirwood tree.  bran says that he can see the past through the weirwood.  had his uncle ever prayed here? ever whispered the nature of his truth to the trees where he dared not mention it to his children, his lady wife, who’d not called jon by his name so angry was she that he was there.  

she needn’t have been.  i wasn’t his.

he feels a boy again, and part of him wants to turn his face into his direwolf’s fur and weep.  what did he know of rhaegar targaryen? only what he’d heard growing up in winterfell, that he had raped and abducted lady lyanna, that he had forsaken his dornish wife and that–

i had a brother and a sister, jon thinks.  it shouldn’t hurt him the way it does.  aegon and rhaenys had been their names–dead before he was born.  dead, and brutalized he’d heard.  he did not know what they’d looked like, but in his mind’s eyes his brother has robb’s face and his sister’s face is long and frightened and looks like arya.  dead before she knew who i was.  dead for what?  for having a father named rhaegar targaryen?

that was why lord stark had lied.  of course it was.  to protect him from robert, to send him north to the wall to keep peace for the realm.  that’s what fathers were supposed to do–protect their children.  that was what lord stark had tried to do in king’s landing before joffrey had taken his head.  and what had rhaegar done to his children?  had he assumed they’d be safe?  that robert would be defeated?  my existence threw them into danger.  lady catelyn knew the dangers of a bastard.  that’s part of why she hated me so.  had my father no sense?

bran had told him he was the true heir to the iron throne, that his true name was targaryen, and that he was by blood a king and not just by declaration.  

they’d laid the bodies of aegon and rhaenys at robert’s feet.  he’d heard the girl had been stabbed half a hundred times and she was only three.  he remembered arya at that age and his blood boils.  aegon’s head had been smashed by the mountain–everyone knew that.  robb’s had been taken at the twins, and grey wind’s sewn onto his corpse.  aegon could have been robb to me–trueborn where i was his bastard brother.  if he’d been a prince i’d have loved him as much as i loved robb, though he was to be lord of winterfell and i never could be.

the true heir to the iron throne.  he spits.  he doesn’t want that chair–daenerys can have it–should have it.  she’s proven she deserves it how many times.  he doesn’t want the seat of a father who’d destroy his children–and what for?  that jon might exist?  that’s no birthright.

jon wants only what he’s earned.


“Harley Quinn?” Jughead read aloud, raising a brow and turning to look at his gang.

“That’s not even the worse one, this ones named poison ivy.” Reggie laughed pointing to the name on the screen.

“Cat woman, no ones gonna mention cat woman?” The redheaded boy barked out, laughing. “So this is what we got? These three are the most dangerous villains in Riverdale City? They all sound like women?”

Jughead, Archie and Reggie were on the hunt, there was trouble in their city. A rival gang was taking territory that did not belong to them and it needed to be stopped, they couldn’t afford to lose key business spots and one of the territories they were losing was the main drug distribution center. That would just not do.

So that brought the three boys here, checking databases and searching for the most dangerous groups to team up with, they could use all the help they could get.
“Being in charge sucks.” Reggie grunted dropping onto the couch “I wish we could just send Chuck and moose or even Adam.”

Archie shook his head “no. This needs to be done right, so we’ll do it.” Jughead nodded in agreement, as Reggie hugged again “whatever, it’s a bunch of girls, how bad could it be.”

Archie entered something into the computer before reading it over, turning to the boys

“I don’t know, but I looked up Harley Quinn, they say she’s crazy, absolutely nuts. Did you know she was the jokers girl before he died?”

Jughead stiffened, he remembered the stories now. Harley Quinn, loyal to a fault, reckless, the definition of crazy, lost her mind when batman killed her boyfriend.

Reggie seemed to come to that realization too and hopped up “that’s right! Poison ivy recruited her right after joker hit the bucket, cat woman joined after. How did we forget about that?”
Archie shook his head “more important things on our mind” he slammed his laptop shut, “well what are we waiting for? Let’s go talk to these girls.”
Jughead had an odd feeling in his stomach, choosing to keep it to himself, he followed after their fearless leader.
It was an odd place, dark and wet, hidden underneath the city, the doors were heavy metal and they were locked.

“Dude, what are you waiting for? Knock.” Reggie nudged him into the door. Rolling his eyes, he tapped the gun attached to his hip, just in case. He knocked.

Almost instantly the doors swung open, revealing an Asian women dressed in a mask covering her face.
“What’s your business here?” She was sharp, almost painful to hear

“We need to speak to poison ivy.” Jughead said, keeping his back straight.

“No.” just as the woman was about to close the door another voice was heard

“Oh, katana is that anyway to talk to our guests?” A woman dressed in what appeared to be vines and sporting the brightest red hair he had ever seen, appeared in the door way. He heard Reggie practically gulp from his side.

“How can I help you boys today?”

Archie stepped forward now,
“We need to speak to your gang, we would like to ask for your assistance.” He was determined and unphased by her sexy demeanor and intense green eyes. Jughead was uncomfortable, who the hell was this poison ivy?

“ hmm a proposition I suppose? Why don’t you come inside? I’ll grab the girls.” She turned and they followed.

It wasn’t nearly as scary on the inside, there were pinks and purples covering the walls, next to pictures of flowers were machetes and saws, hung in the wall next to cages and guns. Okay maybe it was a little scary.

“Harley! Kitty! Get on out here, we have company. Why don’t you sit?” Ivy motioned to the couch beside them. As soon as they sat, they heard the familiar tick of high heels and a wicked giggle. They all turned their heads and Archie’s jaw dropped while Jughead felt his eyes go wide.

While Archie stared at the raven haired beauty in the skin tight cat suit, Jughead couldn’t keep his eyes off of the blonde with the red and blue tips. She was beautiful in the scariest way possible , her pale skin marred with scars and tattoos, hearts and words, her hauntingly light blue eyes were covered in red and blue eyeshadow and her lipstick was smudged nearly down her chin. Her body was perfect, squeezed Tight into a tiny little tshirt and shorts, her long legs were covered in fishnets and accentuated by the heeled boots she had on. She was dirty, in a positively sinful way, smudges of black and brown covering her exposed skin. He watched as she smiled and her pigtails swung.

She had a bat in her hands, and was swinging it in time to her hair, “well hey there sugar, it’s nice to meet you!” It took him a second before he realized she was standing in front of him, looking him in the eyes.
He quickly looked up “nice to meet you too.” He mumbled out, she just giggled, and hopped over the couch to sit beside poison ivy.

The dark haired girl that had Archie drooling, was much more graceful, she sat delicately on the couch and crossed her legs while Harley sat criss crossed on the couch, leaning her head against the baseball bat and smiling. “What’s up?” She giggled, poison ivy patted her gently on the knee and smiled

“It seems these fine gentlemen have a question for us? You have the floor.” She nudged her head.

Archie finally tore his eyes away from the cat and sat up straight “we need help. There is a gang coming from over in pembrooke city, they’re big and they’re monopolizing all of our ports, we can take on most of them, but we need the extra help, we know how… dangerous you ladies are and we would like to ask for your assistance.”

Cat woman laughed “you want us to risk put lives for you? What would we get out of it?” She practically purred. Reggie answered now “we’ll pay you, good money. It’ll be worth your while.”

Harley was giggling now her eyes still on Jughead “we don’t need money silly, we’re bad guys, what do we need with money?” She was still smiling when poison ivy nodded

“I agree, we need something with more incentive, perhaps you’d be willing to give up one of your hide outs? We’ve been thinking of opening another lair, as soon as the pussycats break out of jail, they’ll need something inconspicuous”

Jughead stared at Archie, they did have the spare hide out in central, looking at him he nodded

“Deal. We have to warn you, this is not a typical gang they’re dangerous and they won’t hesitate because you’re females.” Archie added

Suddenly Harley was sitting next to Jughead, clutching his arm “ you don’t have to worry about us, we’re crazy! that’s what everyone says ya know?” She smiled and as he stared into her eyes, he couldn’t help but see the sadness seeping through. He placed a hand over her tiny bruised one, and smiled gently.

Veronica nodded “you have a deal, do we get to know your names atleast?” She was eyeing the redhead and he wiggled a little under her stare.

“Of course, I’m Archie and this is Reggie.” He pointed to the cocky boy who took Ivy’s hand in his own, “the pleasure is mine.” The redhead actually giggled. “And that there is jughead”
He motioned to him.

Veronica snorted, “what a group of names you all have.”

Archie smiled as they walked to the door
“Please like cat woman, poison ivy and Harley Quinn are any better?”

Harley who was clutching onto Jugheads arm, she giggled wildly. “Those aren’t our real names silly, there are nicknames.”

The three boys stopped and turned to the girls

Poison ivy smiled “Cheryl. Cheryl blossom.”

Cat woman rolled her eyes “Veronica lodge.”

And the infamous Harley Quinn just beamed
“I’m Betty. Betty Cooper!”

Imagine Fili’s and Kili’s reaction when they hear that you will join them on their journey. They would first be a bit concerned that this would be too much of danger for a lady, but then come to the conclusion that Gandalf wouldn’t have invited you, if he wasn’t sure that you could do this.
“So, you are our number 16, lass?”
“I think so. I’m Y/n”
*under his breath* “Well, I guess I have a new lucky number”

Just Happened to Be (1)

Summary: Jimin was an asshole, yes. And you were supposed to be nice, meek, and afraid of people like him. But you weren’t; even with a knife at your throat you stayed quiet and unforgiving–and he wasn’t allowed to like it.

Based off this request:

Anonymous said:So how about bad boy Jimin I mean that’s cool I guess cause I mean who need bad boy jimin right pft not me.”

Usual warnings . This is a drug gang fic so naturally there’s gonna be a lotta shit. 

Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven

From the moment Park Jimin came in to find you at his work–a tattoo shop in the center of his group’s territory–he decided that he hated you.

He was stepping through the front door, ready to go prep his station for a client coming in later today, only to find you and your best friend waiting in his lobby. Apparently your bombshell of a BFF was waiting to get a piercing done by Namjoon and was perfectly fine with Jimin’s eyes raking down her form and to the curve of her ass (barely covered by frayed shorts). Compared to you, Yoorin–Jimin only knew her name because Namjoon referenced it as he called her back to his chair–was far more Jimin’s type of girl.

He loved skin-tight clothing on a perfect frame and flawless skin. Plus, if the girl looked like the poster image for the definition of Wild Child, then she was given bonus points for attraction. Yoorin fit the bill perfectly–the whole good girl by day, bad girl by night lit a fire underneath Jimin that had him winking at her as he moved towards Namjoon’s station.

But he couldn’t ignore you. Because there you were, standing next to that beautiful piece of work like an absolute monstrosity of a prude.

It was evident that you had never once stepped foot into a tattoo shop–hell, it looked like you hadn’t even sipped a drink before 21, or kept your cell phone on during a movie. You stood with your head ducked forward, wearing a long-sleeved cardigan and a flowery, floor-length skirt that reminded him of grandmothers’ church dresses. Even the damn buttons on your sweater were clasped all the way to your fucking collar bone. You refused to look up or remove your hands from their white-knuckled grasp on the straps of your purse; you staid nothing at all–not even to your friend.

While Jimin found the wicked smile your friend gave Namjoon incredibly hot, your blasé appearance and attitude annoyed the fuck out of him to the point that he wanted you both gone.

With his lip curled, Jimin slapped his stencils on his desk. “Yoongi–what’s with the prude? I thought this was a tattoo & piercing shop, not some strip mall for Sunday school mothers.”

Said older male, at the shop’s customer service desk, only rolled his eyes so far back in his head that Jimin swore he was about to be possessed by some she-devil.  Probably you, but maybe it could be Yoorin–a girl with a rack like that had to be from hell.

“You know, if you don’t start accepting more clients then I don’t know how you’re going to afford your 33rd tattoo, you asshole.” Namjoon shouted from his corner, slipping on his rubber gloves to prepare the equipment needed for Yoorin’s bellybutton piercing.

“Ay, I’m fine–my clientele at least understands what kind of shop we’re running. If the girl wants to follow her friend then she should at least dress like a normal human being.”

You said nothing to defend yourself against the onslaught of Jimin. Instead, Yoorin snapped her head to meet Jimin’s glower with her own fiery glare. Jimin couldn’t help but smirk at her anger. “Hey douchebag, your boss is right–shut the fuck up and leave her alone. If you have clientele that want to deal with your bullshit then great–go find one of them. We clear?” You shifted to give Yoorin this relieved, thankful look that had Jimin’s inner bitch gears grinding.

“Well, unlike your prude friend, you seem to be the perfect clientele for this place so I guess you get to deal with me, huh babe?” Jimin winked at Yoorin, causing her to curl her lip in utter disgust. Before she could give him a snappy retort that would further infatuate Jimin, you grabbed her hand and squeezed tightly. She looked up at you, her eyes softening.

“I’m fine. I’ve got you here, right?”  Yoorin chuckled before her eyes suddenly bugged out; she gripped onto you for dear life as Namjoon slipped the needle through her skin. Jimin didn’t know what telepathic connection the two of you had, but when you looked up to stare at Jimin, it made him want to force you to speak. He wanted some sheepish smile, some old woman apology or a prudish version of contempt.

Instead, you gave him a curt nod and went back to rooting your gaze to the floor as if Jimin got all the answers he needed from that one glance.


After that first meeting in his shop, he never expected to see you again–nevertheless in the same day. That should have been his first inkling that fate was playing a cruel, cruel trick on the both of you.

But he was still stupid then, and his eyes landed on your form as you poured yourself a cup of coffee from the machine at the only convenience store within three blocks of his place–the only shop still open so late at night. Jimin’s eyes locked with yours as you jolted from the sound of the bell announcing his entrance into the store.

The look you gave him made him want to torment you. It made him want to smother that spirit out of you–after all, with the way your eyes met his, it seemed that there was little fight in you.

He liked it when his victims bit back.

He wanted to see what it would take to get you to do so.

“You live close by, Prude?” Jimin raised an eyebrow, stepping close to you to grab a paper cup from the stack by the self-serve machines. “It’s dangerous for a lady to walk out at night by herself, you know–especially one just begging for it.”

You said nothing to him, only turned your back to him to address the syrups in a row next to the coffee.

“I know you’re not deaf, Prude; so how’s about you say a couple sweet words for me? That pretty friend of yours isn’t around to defend you, so get the damn guts to do it yourself.” He hissed, purposefully bumping into your shoulder so your coffee spilled onto your sweater.

You stared down at the stain in your sweater, your lips pursed at it before you lifted your gaze to meet his, one eyebrow raised incredulously.

“What?” He smirked at you from the corner of his eye. “It was an accident.”

The look on your face was perhaps the largest display of emotion Jimin had seen from you yet.

He chuckled, leaning against the stainless steel ledge to fill his cup up with steaming coffee. “If you’re going to be such a bitch about a little stain then how about you make me apologize? Or can you? Remember, Prude, this isn’t the place or time for you to be picking fights with angry men. What would happen if one followed you out the store?” He started towards you predatorily, moving towards the lids you seemed to be guarding behind you. Jimin’s stare engulfed you, swallowing you whole as he invaded you personal space.

And then, before he could grab his lid, you did something unexpected.

You upturned your entire cup of–steaming, mind you; burning actually–coffee all over his shoe. His sock quickly turned into a rag of fire that seared into his skin and caused him to shout in pain, dropping his own coffee to the floor.

“Shit! Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!” He hissed, his gaze flickering up as he pulled his hand back to smack whatever stupid expression awaited him–instead, he found you with your hand over your mouth as if to say ‘oops, sorry’.

But he saw the hints of a smile on your face and if he listened closely past the bland elevator music of the convenience store, he swore he could hear soft laughter.

“You bitch.” He curled his lip at you, “you want me to kill you? You have a fucking death wish?”

You shrugged and strode past him to grab a fresh cup to fill with coffee.

“Hey!” He shouted, reaching out to grab your shoulder. “I’m talking to you, you fucking–”

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” The forgotten clerk stepped between him and you, name badge glinting under the fluorescent lights as if the fucker thought he was a damn sheriff at a fucking 7 eleven.

“And not the bitch who spilled coffee on me?” Jimin snarled, squaring up to the guy.

“Not unless you want to still be here when the cops get here.” Sheriffeleven grinned, knowing he’d won.  Jimin clucked his tongue and threw a handful of eye daggers at your back before jogging out of the convenience store.

Now where the fuck was he going to go for coffee?


The third flip of fate happened weeks later, as if life had planned to consistently throw you in Jimin’s face. Whatever bullshit powers were up in the sky or down below, it seemed like the world was conspiring to throw the two of you together until something either stuck or died. Jimin was betting on the latter and that the ghost-to-be loser would be you.

This guess was probably due to the fact that you had Taehyung’s knife against your throat despite the earlier struggle of your attempted escape.

Well, Taehyung really wasn’t after you to begin with, it was Jimin’s mobile group that captured his interest–you just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It seemed that “just happened to be” was a phrase that suited your existence. You were unaware of it–up until the moment Taehyung’s hand had snaked around your waist when Jimin snarled “Prude” to the streets–but Jimin’s tattoo shop was a front for a major drug business in the surrounding territory.  Unfortunately for you, you were caught between Jimin’s and the neighboring territory: Taehyung’s.  Taehyung, and most of his crowd, were knife wielding crazies never content with what they had; there was always more–the grass was always greener.

But then again, people in Jimin’s line of business tended to be greedy to the point of self-destruction.

Jimin stared over you, knowing full well that he was the cause for you being trapped. The old Jimin would be pissed; the current Jimin gave no fucks. “Tch, Taehyung. What the hell are you doing here?” Yoongi rolled his eyes as he stuffed his hands in his pockets, stopping his gang in their tracks to create a strip of no man’s land between Taehyung’s side and his own. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Say…I don’t know…your bar or something? Isn’t 10 the start of the weekend boom?”

“We close at 10 on Sundays.” Taehyung let out a wicked smile.

“It’s Friday.” Namjoon raised an eyebrow.

Jungkook stuck out his jaw, narrowing his eyes on the older man from across the way. “We have our connections. We know when you’re coming and when you’re leaving from our territory. Especially when you all move at once.”

Taehyung jostled his shoulder into the youngest’s. “Now now, let’s be polite to our guests. Shouldn’t we offer them some dinner?” Taehyung stared down at you. “How about you, sweetie? Want something from our cook? Big Mama Jin’s got the best stuff across five different cities.” It felt like the man was talking through you more than he was to you.

The fear was evident in your eyes, but Jimin couldn’t find it anywhere else in your expression or mannerisms. He almost wanted to see Taehyung cut you just to see something he hadn’t from you before.

“We were going to a restaurant in your territory. It’s nothing that concerns you, Taetae.” Jimin winked, causing the knee-jerk reaction in Taehyung that he loved more than anything else. It was a flick of salt in a wound that gave Jimin the coppery aftertaste of revenge on his tongue.

“Say that again.” Taehyung threatened you instead of Jimin, playing the only card easily available in his deck.

Jimin locked eyes with you, sensing your pleading fear as your lips parted. But you said nothing. “Taetae.” Jimin growled.

“Taetae! Ah! There’s my little bro!” Taehyung’s older brother rubbed his hand into his hair until the prettyboy’s locks entangled themselves into a nest. “How’ve you been?”

Jimin hated that man; he hated the man that took his best friend away from him.

“Shut up, Jimin.” Taehyung shouted, the vein in his neck popping. He was building up to an edge that would probably take you down with him, but Jimin was more than willing to shove his once-friend over that cliffside. Even if the world burned, Taehyung had to pay for his sins as much as Jimin had for his. “Do you want me to hurt this girl here?”

Jimin raised an eyebrow, unable to help the sputter of laughter that had him half folded with laughter. “Do you mistake me for the Jimin I was years back? You’d be doing me a favor if you took her out–the prude’s been annoying me the moment I met her.” Jimin’s cold gaze met yours. “Get rid of it, take it out for dinner, kill it–I don’t care.”

“She’s one of your clients, no?” Jungkook shouted. “I saw her walk out of your shop!”

Jimin let out another bark of laughter that seemed to pierce across the bubble of no man’s land. “Yeah no; does she look like she’s got any tattoos or would be willing to put up with my shit? Hell, she’s about to piss herself right now. She’s weak and the weak die. Your brother should know that, shouldn’t he Taetae?”

The knife twitched dangerously in Taehyung’s hands as he glowered at Jimin with the intent to murder–kill who was another story, but the concept of death was apparent. Your chin had to dart up to avoid the sharp edge of his blade as it came frightfully close to the thin skin of your neck; the movement brought Taehyung’s attention from Jimin to you. “Oh babygirl,” Taehyung chuckled as you shivered in his grasp–even unintentional on your part; it was the exact wrong move if you wanted to escape. Taehyung fed on fear. “You better calm down or else an accident might occur–I really don’t want to kill you before desert.”

Even you could see the tension between the two in particular, despite the fear in your eyes, you stared between Jimin and Taehyung. But you did not speak; not even with a knife at your throat did you open your damn mouth.

It was something that increased Taehyung’s interest in you, causing him to let out a cackle more monster than human. “Come on baby–you gotta speak up. I need some of that vocal material to work with later on.” When you pursed your lips tight together it only enticed Taehyung. “Cat got your tongue, eh? You know I could give you a reason to speak–or at least make more noise than you are now.” He chuckled, causing Jimin’s hands to curl at his sides.

That crude attitude was the main difference between Jimin’s group and Taehyung’s–Taehyung was ready to be predatory, they were ready to attack, kill, hurt, maim, and assault innocents; namely innocent females. Jimin’s group was only ever interested in the drug money; if they had to kill and torture to obtain the cash then that was what they’d do. This fact alone was one of the reasons Jimin joined Yoongi’s tattoo shop–that and Taehyung’s pack was the main rival in the underground business.

When Taehyung’s eyes lifted to meet Jimin’s, a horrible flash of a smirk lit up his face as the crazed man tilted his head to hover his lips dangerously close to your skin. “You know,” Taehyung’s eyes never left Jimin’s, “I bet you could make far better noises than Sooyoung.”

“Leave her out of this, Taehyung.” Jimin snarled, his anger barely wrangled in by the skeletons of his closet. “She was never yours to begin with.” Jimin could feel his neck pop; if it weren’t for Yoongi holding his arm out to stop the younger from lurching forward, Jimin would have been beating the shit out of his once friend.

“You’re just angry because she liked me better.” Taehyung chuckled.

“And she died for it, you fucker.” Jimin hissed, savoring the idea of having Taehyung’s neck under his tightening thumbs. And then your gaze pierced through that hopeful satisfaction; there was something about the glitter in your eyes in that moment that had him reeling back in Yoongi’s grip.

“Jimin,” She giggled, even trapped in an idyllic memory, he could feel the goosebumps rise up his skin, “What’re you thinking about?”

He could almost feel the grass again, that one spot that he enjoyed lying in more than any other; he could almost feel the sun on his face–before Sooyoung blocked it out with her shadow. “Taehyung.” He murmured, squinting to see past her halo. Yoongi always told him memories were skewed; the way that we see people we lost is always a bit crooked.

We forget the bad.

Her fingers were in his hair and he savored that feeling over the tightening knot of worry in his chest. “You need to relax.” She whispered, her fingers soothing his scalp. “You’ll get wrinkles early and then you won’t be handsome anymore.” She chuckled when he opened one eye to glare at her.

“You know what that part of the city means, Sooyoung. You know what he’s going to get himself into–you know–”

She gently flicked his forehead, pouting at him. “You worry too much, dummy.” But he could never tell if she was joking; she never let anything real pass through her eyes. “You’re too nice for your own good sometimes.”

He grinned up at her, pretending like there wasn’t more to her words. “But that’s what you like about me, right?”

Taehyung cut him from his memory trap.

“Aren’t you going to go get food, Jiminnie?”

“Jiminnie!” She shouted, her arms wrapping around his waist so she could bury her face between his shoulder blades.

Yoongi couldn’t stop Jimin this time; instead, the younger was lunging past his groups’ grasps to bolt out into the no man’s land between the warring gangs.

Instead of clashing with Taehyung like he oh so wanted to, Jungkook–the youngest and toughest of both sides–rammed into Jimin.

The moment Jungkook’s forearm hit Jimin’s chest (though he did manage to land a hard kick to the youngest’s shin), the street broke out into chaos. It was the first shot–the first bullet to start a war. It became a haphazard mess of limbs and metallic flashes of hidden blades. No one brought a gun this time–a plus in the unexpected expected fight. In the cacophony that was a gang fight, Jimin lost sight of both you and Namjoon; he could still catch glimpses of Yoongi attempting to get to him through the battling limbs of snarling men. And then Seokjin appeared behind Yoongi and Jimin’s efforts to escape Jungkook’s grasp intensified.

Honestly though, Jimin had just wanted some fucking noodles and instead he was getting punched across the face so hard that fell backwards and crashed back first, crashing back first into the ground.  Through the flurries of pain that erupted up his spine, Jimin grabbed Jungkook’s ankle, yanking the younger to the asphalt.

In the distance, he could here sirens–though they might have been closer than he thought; Jimin really couldn’t hear much past the blood rushing in his ears and the pain of his skin scraping on the busted road.

Jimin threw Jungkook off of him and rammed his boot into the younger’s chest to keep him down enough to throw a hard punch to his jaw. It was in that moment, when Jimin was going to hunt down Taehyung, that he felt the sharp pain of cold metal slipping deep into his skin.

Sharp pain wasn’t the correct term for it either–it was more like an agonizing stab that tore through his entire body and made it hard for him to get air to his lungs. He turned, as the steel left him, catching sight of Taehyung’s favorite knife sparkling with blood–Jimin’s blood. He stared at his once friend, remembering them pinkie promising as children that they would be best friends forever.

Jimin crashed to the ground on his knees, clutching at his side only to find it slippery as blood gushed between his fingers. His arms quickly went weak and he smashed his shoulder into the asphalt, rolling onto his good side in an attempt to find Namjoon or Yoongi. All he could see was running footfalls, sirens and lights blurring his vision as people shouted and ran away from whatever doom was about to befall upon Jimin. He couldn’t even lift his head off the asphalt, nevertheless get up and run from the cops. For once, his group was nowhere to be found. Was this what happened when you were about to die?

Everyone that you believe cared about you left you to bleed out?

“Shit.” He cursed, trying to scream for someone–anyone–but he was unable to raise his voice above a low whine. Jimin’s vision spun, a whirlwind of a muddled mess that blurred the feet coming to and away from him. Suddenly, he realized that there were shoes before him and a hand on his arm, lifting him up. The person slung one of his arms over their shoulders, their free hand pressing his tighter against his wounded side. With huge, quick, and limping steps, they pushed him toward and into the blurriest blob of a car.

“Yoongi?” He croaked out.

“No.” It was a voice he didn’t recognize; he couldn’t care less, he just wanted out of there, away from the cops. If he was to die it wasn’t going to be in chains.

So, for the time being, he trusted the person buckling him into their car enough to allow himself to pass out from the pain.

The last thing he remembered from that moment was that his savior had soft and gentle hands.

Almost like they cared about a lowlife loser like him.


When Jimin finally awoke, he found himself in a bathroom–specifically in the bathtub of a bathroom that appeared to belong to a female. He eyed the organized chaos that was the rows of makeup, hair and other beauty products that he was unfamiliar with.

He tried to sit up to get a better picture of where the fuck he was and who the hell had nabbed him from the street, only to be met with a spike of agony that pulled at his side the second he shifted. He hissed in pain, his hand flying to the wound. Somewhere along the way he removed his shirt and threw it into a puddle on the floor, revealing tight stitches pulling at raw skin dried with blood. Homemade–he’d recognize the sight anywhere; though these are far more even than any he’d done himself.  

Jimin threw a glance over his shoulder, staring at the pillow, the rosy pink comforter now stained with red, the rags crusted with dried blood lined on the edge of the tub–he saw the whole story in the mess. This person knew what they were doing. He forced himself up into a sitting position, gritting his teeth as his gripped the edges of the tub to aid him. The pain was an intense heat wave that bloomed beads of sweat across his forehead and neck.

It was when he was catching his breath that the bathroom door opened and you walked in–walked in nothing but a sleep tank and pair of shorts.

Jimin was unable to turn his eyes away from you; his gaze was rooted to your previously covered expanses of skin. Shocked that he was awake and staring, you hurriedly snatched a robe from the back of your bathroom door to hastily cover up. But it was already too late; Jimin had seen them.

He had openly stared at the scars that covered every inch of your normally hidden skin. Jimin couldn’t tear his eyes from the robe, as if he had x-ray vision that would allow him to go back to unashamedly uncovering all of your secrets.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Instead, you wound up smacking your lips shut together, squeezing the ice pack that you had brought in with you.

“That for me?” He hooked a lazy finger to the ice, waiting until you nodded before stretching his arm out to grab it from you. You clung to your robe, stretching your upper body across the void between him and you without moving your feet. Jimin took the pack, laying it across the back of his neck to cool down his fevered skin. He wouldn’t show you, but even the simple movement tugged at his stitches and had him inwardly groaning in pain.

You flipped your thumb up and then down, your eyebrows furrowed on Jimin. He gave you a thumbs up accompanied by a dramatic eyeroll.

“Are you capable of speech, Prude?”

You nodded, your fingers digging into the plush fabric of your robe.

“But there’s something stopping you–or are you just choosing not to speak.”

You held up one finger, nodding fervently as if he would just drop the topic entirely.

He pursed his lips, staring at a section of your bathroom tile instead of at you. He tried to imagine the girl who was willing to pour hot coffee on him saving him from his death–but the pieces wouldn’t click in his black and white brain. “Why…I’m assuming it was you–why did you save me?” He shifted his gaze back to you at the end of his words, unsurprised to find you bold enough to keep your eyes level with his.

You only gave him a curt nod.

“Why?” He hissed with the sudden pain of shifting, of trying to stand up to shake the stupid out of you. Suddenly, you were there before him, offering your arms as support–the robe dropping to your feet, forgotten with your determination to help him.

“You know, Jimin, nice people like you always get taken advantage of; yet you’re never the winners.”

“Karma will come around.” He chuckled, trying to drag her out of her moment of seriousness. He didn’t like it when she got serious; it felt like he lost her when she got serious, like she was out on a raft in the middle of an ocean and he didn’t know how to swim.

“Do you believe in karma?” She whispered.

He didn’t know what to say; so instead he did the only thing he could do–he put his hand on hers with the hope that the pressure of his skin could pull her back. “I have to.”

“Well I don’t.” She retaliated quickly; her eyes lost somewhere he couldn’t reach. “Bad things happen to good people all the time, if there was karma then such instances wouldn’t exist.”

“Don’t touch me.” He shoved you away, grabbing his head from the sudden pressures of his memory. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

You jerked back from him, your hands still poised to assist him if need be.

“You’re stupid you know? I should just kill you right here and take everything away from you. Maybe then you’d finally learn something or get the courage to open your stupid mouth. Hey, then I’d be doing us all a favor, wouldn’t I? Because who in the hell would want to look at your scarred, ugly skin–”

You slapped him, staring down at him with a fury in your gaze that reminded him of his own.

Back when he was younger and still gave a damn.

But you didn’t leave; despite all his shit you crouched near him, flicked his forehead and forced him to sit back so you could clean the dried blood off his stitches.

“You’re stupid.” He groaned, resting his head against the pillow. “So fucking stupid.”

You raised both eyebrows at him as if to say ‘I know, and?’

“I should kill you, honestly. You’re more trouble to yourself anyways.”

You pinched his stitches and he let out a yelp of pain, your face splitting into a grin as his head snapped up to glare at you.

“For a bitch who can’t speak you’re pretty damn ruthless.”

You slapped a fresh gauze pad to his stitches with no mercy, grabbing your robe off the ground to pull over your shoulders and hide your exposed scars. Without another word or glance, you closed the bathroom door behind you as you left.