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@tloujgk-blog
ā£ plot call.
hello! most of you probably haven't noticed, but i finally managed to get my plots page up!! and well.. you all know what that means. you can feel free to check it out if you'd like ;v; please send me a quick message if you're interested at all, or you can like this post and i'll get to you instead.
ā£ tracker: 010916
yes, hello, it is i, jungkookās slug of a mun! first of all, i would like to apologize for being such a slug in the first place, and secondly, youāre all very precious, i love you all, and iād like to thank you for your patience.
OWED:
@tlouxtaehyung
+ ok honestly, tumblr has been screwing up my notifications, so if i missed you, please let me know!!
WAITING:
@tloujin
@jihyextlou
@tloumsoo
@jeonghanxtlou
@tlouxhoseok
PLOTTING:
@tlouxjungwheein
@tlouxfaith
+ youĀ !?!?!! come love my little babu jungkook i promise heās not as dramatic and rude once you get to know him <3.
ā£ just a kid; jk & hs
[...] āDonāt move kid, otherwise Iāll put this arrow between your god damn eyes.ā
One moment heās gladly taking in his fill of water, and the next thereās a damn arrow in his sleeve, opened canteen falling from his hold and clashing against a root (and if heās honest, heās more disappointed in wasting good water than having to witness what was to become of his sweater). Without a moment to waste, heās tearing his arm free as a hand naturally darts upwards to grasp firmly at the worn strap of the bag. Then heās confronted with an arrow pointed to his face.
It seemed there was no easy way of getting out of this situation. What this guy probably doesnāt know is that the hand that isnāt clutching to the fabric is laid ever so delicately and discreetly upon the holster which bore his pistol (which was conveniently concealed beneath his shirt). Sure, he could spare a few bullets and runāwhich in all honesty, would only get him killed or seriously injured if there was a chance that he hadnāt properly killed the guy, seeing that this man had a particularly good aim since he had managed to restrain his arm against a tree with a single arrow even if just for a few seconds. Or, he can make use of his words in an attempt to convince him to beat it; though that wouldnāt exactly work too well either as Jungkook has really only been one to spit snarky comments and such.
But heās gone through enough of this to know what to expect and, more importantly, what his assailant should be expecting, especially from someone who looked the way he did. What he needed to do was to catch this guy off guard and hope for an escape.
He feigns this expression of pure, āauthenticā fear, similar to that of a deer caught in the headlightsāeyes going wide with lips parted just the slightest. He even makes sure to falter in his speech just to enhance the effect of the little charade he was playing.
āIāuhāā
Internally, he could say he wasnāt exactly feeling the bravest, and claiming his heart wasnāt beating out of his chest would certainly be a lie. One wrong move and heās a goner.
ā£ throne; jk & jh
He could have sworn he locked the door before he left.
After a brief encounter with a group of bandits the other day, all he had managed to bring home was a torn, blood-stained shirt and a fresh batch of the black and blues. The worst part was having to go through patrol as they were, if ever conceivable, even more inconsiderate and forceful due to the condition he had arrived in, and seemed to harbor no pity in their act of āpatting him down.ā And today especially, he was just not in the mood to venture out into the free district.
For now, heās at home, buried beneath a mountain of blankets as he lazily eyes dusty wooden joints and cobwebbed beams. Itās nice and cozy, but even he knows that he canāt just bum around all day. There was plenty he could do: perhaps visit his old man or gather materials for assembling his weapons. He could make a really quick run of the latter and use it as his excuse to stay in bed for the rest of the day since he did something in the least. Call it a day and just wake up never.
Without a moment to waste, heās forcing himself up, lacing up his boots and sliding into the first jacket he sees because clothes are clothes, and heās never really cared too much about appearances.
Then heās out, prowling the likes of the Firefly District for parts from cars abolished long beyond means of restoration (only because heād rather not risk the chance of taking from what someone else might have claimed for his or herself, and he what use would anyone else make of this hideous hunk of rubbish?) and whatever else he might find useful in crafting his weapons. It had become rather routine for him on days such as theseātaking what he needs and booking it before anyone can even get the chance to see him.
Now, Jungkook has this system. His place is practically rigged top and bottom, so that any intruder should be welcomed with a lovely surprise. That is, if he had remembered to lock up properly.
Which, of course, happens to be all of which he hadnāt done, seeing that the door was wide open. Heās mentally ripping the hairs off of his head because today was supposed to be a rest day, but instead he has yet to deal with either another curious soul or a thief. With a resigned sigh, he inches his way towards the door, free hand placed over the pistol resting in its holster.
So much for sleep.
ā£Ā repetition; jk & ms
[...] ākid, i know everyone can pull the trigger, i didnāt say otherwise. iām just curious as to why youād shoot someone who happens to go the same way as youāre going. mind to enlighten me?āĀ
A retort was everything that he wasnāt hoping for the moment he walked away. But alas, a response is all that he gets.
Heād rather not waste time in having a nice little conversation, but heās not going to be a complete dick by simply ignoring him either, and he feels this need to rationalize his actions. After all, if some kid was to just point a pistol to your face, he should in the least provide some reason as to why. He spares a glance back before gradually slowing his pace, but he doesnāt stop in his tracks.
āSee this case?ā
He gestures to the soft gun case that was practically loaded to capacity to the point where he couldnāt even shut the zipper properlyāit wasnāt hard to miss. Guns were his specialty (not that his skills were only limited to just guns, of course), and those who typically dealt with him were well aware. Itās the reason they keep coming back.
āItās simple. I work my ass off making these weapons for my own survival, people buy them. Then there are those who tend to see me as some kid just walking around with a huge bag of guns. For those few, thieves especially, Iām a constant target.
āI canāt afford to lose these guns. Not only would making the weapons in the first place be a complete waste of my time, Ā but it would also take ages to recreate them, and by then itās likely Iād be all out of food and necessities.ā
His fingers wrap firmly around the tattered sling of the bag, readjusting the pressure of its weight with a roll of his shoulders and a strong tug at the fabric. He wonders to himself if the male is still even listening, and the fact that he had been blabbering on is bound to drive him away eventually. Not that he was complaining though.
āPlus, how was I supposed to know who or what you were? For all I know you could have been one of the infected.ā
the long way home // th + jk
[...] āI . . hi! I justā well, I kind of go lost, and I thought if I followed you, Iād find my way back home! Sorry . . maybe I shouldāve just said something at first.ā
Heās not sure he appreciates the way his āstalkerā had been staring at his outer appearance the moment he had properly come into view (he could assume the other liked what he was seeing, but he really shouldnāt be wasting time in such pointless ideas). He could be flattered or displeasedāperhapsābut as of yet, he was probably more flustered than anything. If it wasnāt already evident in the slight falter in his stance, his bewilderment was certainly apparent in the furrow of his brows.
It seems like theyāre just standing there for a whole minute (which, in reality, turned out to be precisely eighteen seconds), and itās in that time that Jungkook actually acknowledges the smile the male before him wore. Heās good looking, Jungkook could admit, and the glimmer in his eyes is something unlike anything he had witnessed before. The corner of his lips twitch just the slightestāalmost as if the otherās smile was contagiousābefore he reminds himself that this could, in fact, be some creep heās dealing with or even worse; that he canāt forget to keep his guard up. Itās then that he forces a composed expression, clearing his throat since it seems the other wouldnāt be snapping out of his daze any time soon.
His silence is almost an indirect demand for an explanation, and conveniently, the stranger managed to catch on rather quickly as he was already opening his mouth to justify his actions.
Jungkook is relieved the maleās clarification was short and to the point, but itās the response itself that baffles him further. The two were complete strangersāor rather he strongly believes they are despite his certainty that heās seen the face beforeābut maybe heās mistaking him for someone else. And how would the other find his way home by pursuing a male heās probably never seen in his life? He takes a moment, perhaps even a moment too long, to process the idea and to allow the thought to sink in.
āOh.ā
He now recalls why the male had seemed inexplicably familiar. He definitelyĀ has seen him around before. And within the walls of the Firefly district too. And though heās never really been able to trust the Fireflies (which is rather ironic, considering the fact that he currently resides in the Firefly district, but then again, Jungkook has never really been able to trust just anyone), he finds his hand falling back to his side without a moment to waste as he releases the tension in his grip.
Then a wry smile finds its way onto his lips as he runs his free hand through tangled locks, and heās feelingĀ almost sorry for the fellow for he had been straggling along in the wrong direction for God knows how long.
āHey, uhā¦ guy. I suppose you live in the Firefly district, right? Lookā¦ I hate to break it to you, but with the direction youāve been heading in for however long youāve beenāletās sayāātagging along,ā youāre en route to anywhere but home.ā
Ā© little golden | Do not edit.
ā£ just a kid; jk & hs
The case was heavier than usual today; which, in fact, served as both an advantage and a disadvantage on Jungkook's partāthat advantage being the more he traded, the greater his profit, and the latter being that he was travelling at a much slower pace. And if anyone would decide to try anything on him, his only alternatives would be to drop the case and pursue or waste a shit ton of bullets in attempt to stop the individual in his or her tracks. Nevertheless, this was his try at an "improved" tactic. An "experiment," he insisted.
Being that the bag could be easily snatched from his back, he'd typically ensure its safety by securely grasping to the frayed nylon strap with both hands. Nothing much was different today (other than the relentless aching of his back since guns, particularly long guns, were never light-weight).
As a result of his slowed pace, he's taking longer than usual, and those who often stop by to make deals probably grew tired of waiting. Or so he's assumed since it seems that not a single soul besides his own had decided to wander the thriving thickets that afternoon.
And he silently hoped the extensive machete hiding in it's sheath was enough to scare thieves away. Let alone, his appearance wasn't exactly intimidating, being that he had a baby faceādoe-eyed and allāand people didn't always take him seriously. He can't express how often he's been mocked or turned away simply because he's "just a kid," and his guns are probably assembled all in the wrong places.
So he opts to settle beneath the shade of emerald crowns in the meantime for a brief rest period, back leaned against a wide, wooden trunk. Reaching for the canteen in one of the pouches of his case, he takes a tiny sip before screwing the cap shut. Then it's silence. As if time had been put on a pause, the world around him seemed still, unmoving.
The lull is foreign. Something was amiss.
the long way home // th + jk
[...] Itās foolproof, really.
Heās been running a little low on supplies, and all anyone ever seems to offer him anymore, at least where heās typically wandering, is artificial or canned foods (a growing boy, technically man, does need his proper nutrition, after all). And he would hunt for his own food, but heās literally encountered one squirrel out of all seven days of the week. So here he is, venturing a bit farther than heād usually travel on a normal daily basis. Heād surely have a better chance of finding actual meat elsewhere, right?
Well, not right. He does manage to bump into a few people, though isnāt exactly offered the deal he seeks. That, or his attempts are instantly given the cold shoulder. And he canāt even recall how many bastards had crossed his path whose gazes lingered upon him as if he was some type of preyāonly did they dare to form these sick fantasies in their heads simply because he was masked with distinct features that screamed āinnocence.ā Wasnāt the first time thatās happened. Disgusting.
But there was no use in stopping now. With a machete in hand (because why carry a hunting knife when you can wield a machete instead?), he continues along, making sure to mark every fifth tree he crosses to ensure a hassle-free passage back home once he decides heās lost all hope.
He assumes itās around midday due to the positioning of the sun, and heās growing antsy. After wandering about for so long, he concludes that heās probably fated to a sad life of spam and canned pork brains. Once again, disgusting.
But in the midst of his internal moping, he catches a figure in his peripheral vision. Impulsively, he turns and manages to capture a glimpse of his countenance before the individual disappears into the underbrush. The male; heās young and oddly familiar, and based off of the way he was progressing in his path, it was evident Jungkook was being followed. With narrowed eyes, he sheathes his machete and wraps his fingers firmly around the grip of his pistol, weapon pointed in the direction he had last seen the other.
āShow yourself.ā
Sticks and Stones
[...] āWhat happened to your leg?ā
This is it. This is how heās going to just disappear from this world, and in his opinion, this was the better alternative. He preferred to follow this route rather than to be mangled by those monsters or become one of them. But he didnāt plan on giving up just yet. With blood profusely spilling from the gunshot wound in his leg, his stability was giving in as he fell to the ground with a feeble grunt, using what power remained in his arms to drag his weight to a nearby tree.
He isnāt certain as to how the hell heās supposed to tend to a gunshot wound. Stop the bleeding, is all heās thinking.Ā
āIā I just need to apply pressure, right?ā
And thatās exactly what he did (or rather, attempted to do). With hands shakily pressing against the wound, heās only left to cry out in anguish as a constant stream of tears glide down his cheeks. The bulletās still lodged into his leg, and he can just say that this has been one of the worst pains heās felt in his eighteen years of living. And Jungkookās never been able to properly cope with physical pain.
And so he just lies there, writhing in utmost pain. The bleak winter air provided no aid. It was cold, and his hands were shoved into his jacket in a quest to salvage some form of warmth from the inner lining of the clothing. At most, the cold induced a certain numbness that was, nevertheless, unpleasant.
Thereās still that loud ringing in his ear, but he doesnāt miss the faint sound of someone or somethingĀ shuffling along the accumulation of fallen leaves. He reminds himself to keep quiet, but with the incessant and sudden peaks of pain surging through his leg, heās unable to control the muffled groan that manages to seep past clenched teeth and tightly drawn lips.
He almost doesnāt notice the male approach him until heās crouching down beside him. How long it had been since he had been shot in the first place was something he was unsure of as of yet, but he assumed itās been some time as he had managed to lose quite a bit of blood. Right now, his mind is anywhere but present, and his vision is faltering just the slightest; but the impending question doesnāt go unheard.
āItās just aā a gunshot.ā
"Stop with the bullshit."
( the last of us - sentence starters | status: not accepting )
āIām telling you, itāsjust a minor burn. I work around fire quite a bit you know.ā
So maybe it wasnāt justa minor burn, but it was nothing too serious, or so Jungkook would like toinsist. It hurt like hell though, and heād be lying if he said he didnāt shed afew tears when it all happened. Ā Okay, maybe he might have been bawling like anewborn child, but thatās not important. He cursed himself for possessing sucha poor tolerance for pain, but the last thing he needed was for someone to bughim and overreact about a mere burn like a mother to her three-year-old son.
āJust continue onwith your business as I will mine.ā
Jungkook tugged at an end of one the sleeves of his jacketin an attempt to conceal the wound before turning to escape possibleconfrontation. Itās too late when a hand wraps around his forearm, and a painedcry dares to leave his lips, unwelcomed tears pricking at the corners of hiseyes. He retracts his hand as his teeth sink into his bottom lip so hard thatheās certain heās drawn blood. He grasps to his wrist as he attempts to controlthe indomitable trembling of his hand.
āFor fuckās sake, Jungkook, just show me the damn burn.ā
Though reluctant at first, he lifts his sleeve to reveal asecond-degree burn to put the least. He could admit he had fumbled withscalding hot metal more than once, but never had he injured himself to such anextent.
Heās expecting a lecture, especially from the likes of themale and his distinct maternal nature. Instead the man takes his hand and urgeshim to sit before taking a closer look at the burn.
āLetās fix up that wound, yeah?ā
"Do you even realize what your life means? Huh? Running off like that, putting yourself at risk ā it's pretty goddamn stupid".
( the last of us - sentence starters | status: not accepting )
āWho the fuck are youto tell me what and what not to doāā
His dispute is put to an abrupt haltāthough heās notultimately certain as to whyāand heās only to resort to silence. He could neverseem to look the male in the eye when it came to matters like these, his gazeburning holes into the undergrowth. The maleās fists clutched to bunches of hisplain white shirtānot so purely tinted as it once was as it was currentlystained in crimson. It was his fault. It was always his fault. He alwayshad to be the burden. As if he was a fucking DAMSEL IN DISTRESS. He had no clueas to why the other even stuck around; why he continued to venture that sameroute upon knowing heād happen to come across the same boy he always had been:reclusive, untrusting, ill-tempered.
But Jungkook had seemed to develop some peculiar sense of trusttowards the other.
His gaze lands upon the lifeless bodies sprawled out aboutthe two. A deal gone wrong once again. The guyās an asshole for thinking he andhis buddies could just run off with the products of his hard work withoutgiving him what they had agreed upon. No idiot wouldāor rather shouldājust standthere and allow himself to be scammed. His response was reckless, of course.Thinking he could take all of them down. Well, he did. Until more showed up,and the number only seemed to continue to grow; he was easily outnumbered.
āSorry.ā
He knows āsorryā isnāt going to change a thing. But thereaction he receives in return is nothing as he expected. The older male slowlybut surely releases his grip only to reach up to pat down the mess of Jungkookāsjet black locks before bending over to gather the several guns. He hands themover to their rightful owner before continuing in his pace.
āCome on.ā
āWhere? I alreadyfinished my deal.ā
āJust come, you idiot.ā
ā£Ā repetition; jk & ms
[...]Ā āyou seem a little too weak for someone like me to hurt you.ā
Weak. The word leaves an awful aftertaste in his mouth. He's fuming at first. If he was anything at all in this world, it was most certainly not weak. Physically, he was well tonedānot bulky nor "ripped" as many might describe, but somewhat muscular in generalāand he's got quite the talent with guns. He's managed to survive on his own for three years after a sudden disappearance of the only individual he had ever so cherished (to whom he was gladly reunited with after the male managed to find him in the end). How could he of all people, be weak?
His rage dissipates into silence as sudden realization washes over him, and he finds himself clutching ever so tightly to the gun's grip that the tips of his fingers go white. He constantly allowed fear to overcome his judgment, even in this moment. Fear has always been a perpetual factor in his life, eating away at what reason he boreāfearful of an infection that had managed to wipe out an entire majority of the human race, fearful of those monsters it had created, fearful of losing people, fearful of people themselves. He had every right to be, particularly in a world deteriorating before his very eyes. Ā Fear is what made him weak.
āIt wouldnāt take much strength to pull this trigger and blow your brains out. Anyone can do it. Even someone asĀ āweakā as I am.ā But poison is left at the tip of his tongueĀ as his arm falls back to his side. He avoids all eye contact as he turns to continue in his previous stride, boots dragging along the array of dead leaves.
"Let's just keep going."
( the last of us - sentence starters | status:Ā not acceptingĀ )
How he had managed to get stuck with the older male in the first place remained a mystery he could only continue to guess. Heād encountered the other a few times beforeāquite particularly as heād constantly leave the protection of the walls to go off and do deliveries and such. Though his whereabouts were conspicuously dubious (at least in Jungkookās eyes), the patrol seemed to allow him in each time. At the rate his departures from the district were going at, he was unsure whether they were plainly stupid, simply didnāt give two shits about their job, or deemed him guileless a while ago.
Oxygen remained encased within his chest. His lungs cried out and tormented him for a breathāeven just a short one. The rotting wooden planks their backs were pressed against were beginning to splinter through the exposed fabric of his shirt beneath his jacket and through the calloused skin of his palms.Ā
Clickers. Not just one or two, but several.Ā Who knew what else could be tagging along or hiding among the thickets of flourishing bushes?Ā Itād be no real task to outrun the group. They needed a lead, and theyād need to do it quietly.
āLetās just keep going.ā
Responding with a simple nod of his head, he presses his index finger to the center of his lips before pursuing soundlessly along the fence. All the while keeping his eye on the group, he caught sight of a pair of runners following not too far behind the congregation. It wasnāt too difficult to guess what would come next. Crunch!
A few twigs snapped beneath the weight of the other maleās shoes, and immediately, the groupās attention was brought to the pair. The moment the beings came hurtling towards the two, he pointed his pistol and took out the two runners. Itās not like he had a choice since heād rather not carry the burden of allowing the man or himself to be injured through close combat. The roaring bangs that followed shortly after only sent the clickers bustling towards them. The two were easily outnumbered, and all that was left to do was run. Urging the man forward with the flats of his palms, he sprinted, eventually tugging the other along by the wrist.
āJust fucking run!ā
"Nothing, it's just... I've never seen anything like this, that's all"
( the last of us - sentence starters | status: not accepting )
It was his fault for forgetting to close the door all the way as he had journeyed away from his place of residence briefly to gather scrap metal and other useful materials from forsaken cars left totaled beyond repair. He shouldn't have been surprised, really, to find the female standing front and center before his presence with an expression similar to that of a deer caught in the headlights upon his return. She seemed harmless enough. Short and thin; her physique overall could be simply characterized as petite. Shutting the door behind him, his gaze lands upon her countenance, completely unmoving as if he was expecting a thorough explanation. Upon receiving nothing but mere fidgeting and soundless attempts of clarification, he clicks his tongue before scoffing and dumping what he had managed to acquire on his search along in its rightful pile. "You come into my home and you can't bother to even say hello? An explanation would be nice too, you knowāwhy you're here and all."
"Nothing, it's just... I've never seen anything like this, that's all."
He almost bursts into a laughing fit as he can't seem to fathom the idea that luck was actually on his side for a change. He very much preferred her over an infected or a thief, and nevertheless, a series of low chuckles bubble over from deep within his chest, solemnity gradually retaking its place upon his features as the moment dies down. "Listen. You tell a single soul about this place, and I will find you. You could go if you want. It's not like I have much to offer here."
"Stop with the bullshit".
( the last of us - sentence starters | status: not accepting )
Long days typically ended around the early evening. He found great pleasure in being able to return to his "home" by then. After all, even he couldn't accurately determine what was waiting for him in the shadows. Step by step, he pursues towards home until he's met with a weapon to his face. Cautiously lifting his gaze to glimpse at the individual, he's only greeted with a constant litany of questions to which he interrupted plainly before continuing on. Seemed he had ventured a bit too close to the walls of the military district. "Put down your weapon. I'm just trying to get home."
Wait. Is she actually following me? For what seemed hoursāwhich in fact, equated to be an exact sum of seven whole minutesāof incessant interrogations, Jungkook could swear he was on the verge of ripping his hair out with his own bare hands. In through one ear and out through the other, he'd try. His strategy was carried out successfully for some time, but he could only sustain what patience he had left for so long. "It's none of your business."
The moment the female had dared to allow those words to leave her lips, blistering exasperation boiled beneath his skin as an agitated growl rumbled between chapped lips. "My god, don't you ever shut up? There is no 'bullshit' going on here. I said it already: I'm trying to get home." His tongue was sharp like fractured glass; his gaze piercing through her like pointed daggers. It almost seemed as if she had intended to pester him to a breaking point and he had simply had enough of it.
ā£Ā repetition; jk & ms
He stuffed his arms into the oversized sleeves of a faux leather jacket he had managed to acquire from one of his deals, free hand tugging at the ends of the garment as he clung to the strap of his gun case with the other. Following the status quo, as per usual. "Off hunting," he'd lie. Though the air was crisp and fresh, the cold dared to nip at exposed skin till his fingertips grew numb. He typically observed as he went. The way vines embraced brick buildings and trees which grew out from centers of what used to be schools. Each crunch resonating from wilted leaves beneath his boots left him breathless. This was his home; where he'd return to eventually.
He pursued the footsteps he presumably had left there the previous morning and the morning before that. Not much has changed over the past three years: still dealing with death in the form of arms in order to survive in a world where clothes didn't come easy, food didn't come easy. Life was a constant merry-go-round, but it was anything but merry; every day was a survival. And in order to survive he's got to sacrifice, even if that did mean invariably risking his life in order to sustain it.
He broke away from his thoughts upon hearing footsteps that weren't his own, and suddenly the crunching of leaves and the crisp winter air were like fluid rushing into his lungs, only suffocating him as he stopped in his tracks. As if automatically, his pistol maneuvered its way to be pointed directly at the male's face, the tip of his index finger dangerously resting on the trigger.
"Who are you?"
