#listen there is queer coding there is queer reading and then there’s this

[maybeitsalive]

First Time reading The Long Goodbye and by extension Chandler: It is a tragic love story between two men separated by their core values (or the absence of them), and if you can’t see that you can’t read.

Second Time reading The Long Goodbye, armed with the knowledge of the other books and some research: It is a tragic love story between two men separated by their core values (or the absence of them). One is the main character and the other one of the two Chandler self-inserts.

Meanwhile, the second self-insert Roger (a popular author even if his books are not really Literary, with alcoholism issues and a few slight mental health problems: it's not subtle) gets heroically rescued from a bad man by Marlowe. Minutes after meeting him, he complains that Marlowe doesn’t love him, tries to or lets his wife force him to be his personal nurse like it’s his own hurt/comfort sickfic, complete with Marlowe carrying him into bed and watching over him in his sleep all night. He doesn’t care that there might be something between his wife and Marlowe as long as the latter keeps coming around. At every visit Marlowe is extremely uncomfortable and is painfully aware that most of the self insert’s drama queen moments are staged to make him stay.

At some point, Roger goes on a random tangent telling that if he’d kept his male secretary, people might have thought he was gay and it would have been better because these guys are “the top guys” now aha, *coughs* even if they always were there since “thousands of years”, “especially in all the great ages of art” and “proves our sexual habits are pure conventions.” *coughs*

Damn.

[psilliguykai]

Happy pride month shoutout to “romance agnostic” king Georgie

[aroaessidhe]

2025 reads / storygraph

Vagabonds!

contemporary fantasy (with some horror, scifi)

many lightly interconnected stories about various queer/trans people in Lagos who are considered vagabonds/outsiders

a fashion designer and her magical daughter, a driver for a powerful corrupt politician, the romance of two lesbian sex workers, fairygodgirls who deliver books to people who need them, a spirit of the city observing it all (and many more)

explores the rich world of queer life and resilience and existence in Nigeria

[wow-an-unfunny-joke]

Silly Game Time: Open Youtube. What's the title of the 3rd video recommended to you, and what's your interest in it on a scale of 1 to 10?

(Mine's: "Blastoise Is My Dad MBMBAM Animatic" and the interest is 8. Clicked it and am watching it and everything.)

Mine is “Honey I’m Home - The Magnus Archives” it looks to be an Amv or something of the sort, I might watch it. Tho- currently I have 7 separate YouTube tabs open (relistening to tma in one, listening to the mechanisms in another, a live performance of the mechanisms in the third, a different mechs live performance????? In the fourth, CaFae latte, and Epic the Musical) plus, I’m on the wrong YouTube account. I’ve got one for fun the other for work (I like to watch/listen to video essays and audio books and stuff while o work, I just pick something that seems interesting and then leave autoplay on and see where the rabbit hole takes me. I love long videos- hours long videos diving into the depths of some niche topic are my FAVORITE) so whole interest level is high- like an 8- I likely won’t watch it

[krenenbaker]

...

Cater.

[echo-s-land]

Reading Gargantua while listening to GARGÄNTUA

Call that Gangantuaception

[himbosandhardwear]

Steddie I pre-S4 I secret relationship AU I rated M I 3.9 k I angst I S4 fix-it I time skips

This was going to be a fully fleshed out story but I lost the umpf to finish, it just felt unnecessary to commit to an entire fic, so here's the rough draft for anyone interested.

July 10th, 1985

Eddie answered the door to find Steve Harrington standing off the porch, one foot on the bottom step, looking a bit like mangled raccoon roadkill, with somehow still an immaculate head of hair.

“Whoa, man, who'd you piss off this time?”

Steve slow blinked up at him. “I don't wanna talk about it. You open for business?”

He didn't normally take house calls but they weren't in school right now - Steve never would be again, the lucky bastard - and Eddie was saving up for a new amp, so yeah, he was open for business today.

“For you, Moneybags, always.” He held the door open wide.

Steve walked in, mumbling, “Not sure Moneybags is accurate now that I'm unemployed.”

“Well, then your money is even more precious. You could've spent it all on Budweiser but you chose me.” He fluttered his eyelashes at Steve.

“Don't know any other drug dealers,” he pointed out.

Eddie scowled. “C'mon, man, give me the illusion of being special.”

Steve's lips quirked, playful, even though it must've been stretching that cut painfully. “Oh, Munson, only your steller ditch weed can save me!”

Eddie would never admit it but the fact that he played along, albeit sarcastically, made him give Steve an extra pre-roll for free.

***

Aug 16th 1985

“And I said to her, ‘You can't expect me to tell you that. It's against the bro code or something,’ not that we were ever actually bros, it's the principle, right? But then she gives me the fuckin’ wet eyes, like I'm killing her-”

Eddie wasn't really listening, he was more focused on the task at hand, but Steve was a talker and Eddie had made peace with that weeks ago, so he politely hummed and nodded as needed to keep him going.

“Shit.”

“What?” Steve stopped monologuing to ask.

“Nothin’, just didn't have as much in this bag as I thought.” He put the tray aside and got up to grab another sack. There should be enough to round out Steve's usual six joints in his dresser stash.

“Anyway,” Steve continued on, unperturbed by the interruption, “I said to her-” He continued to wax about Nancy fucking Wheeler while Eddie dug through his top drawer. Ridiculous man couldn't wait thirty seconds, no, had to follow Eddie into his room. “Like Byers has the balls to cheat on her, ya know? And what the fuck am I supposed to do about it if he did? Fly to California and… Huh.”

“What?”

He was so wrapped up in looking for the right strain, he didn't turn to look until Steve's continued silence became weird.

He should've just given Steve five joints and charged him less.

“Uhhh. I can explain?”

Steve looked up from the skinmag on Eddie's side table and laughed. Actually laughed. “Oh yeah? I'd love to hear it.”

Why did he look so happy about it? Christ, he was literally bouncing on his toes.

“You're being weirdly chill about this,” he pointed out when Steve continued to grin.

“It's just funny, I guess. I have that same one.”

Time stopped. It started back up of course but not in any way that made sense. Because Steve was giving him that look, that open faced ‘See anything you like?’ look, with the steely eyed determination of a man who knew what he was doing. He'd seen that look before, in clubs, on the street. The problem Eddie was trying to work out wasn't so much ‘Could Steve Harrington really be queer?’, it was ‘Could Steve Harrington really want to fuck around with me?’

“What the fuck does that mean?” He asked, sure he was reading this wrong.

Steve cocked his head. “It means exactly what it sounds like.”

He turned to give Steve his full attention. “You, Steve Harrington, own the August edition of Drummer magazine.”

“Yes.”

“The gay porn mag.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He watched as Steve's face turned a lovely shade of pink. “To look at pictures of naked men and jerk off,” he said calmly, despite the blush. “Also the articles are well written and informative.”

That shocked a laugh out of Eddie. He crossed his arms and leaned up against the dresser. “Uh huh. What was your favorite one?”

“That story about the military rites of passage. Something about being told what to do gets me going.”

It could've just been a good guess, Eddie supposed, but he didn't think so.

“Oh yeah, private?” He said, all bravado. “Drop and give me twenty.”

The bravado died a soldier's death as he watched Steve hit the floor, on his knees, and then begin doing actual pushups. He watched up until twelve or so - the play of muscle under that blue and white polo was really something - before stopping him with a laugh.

“Get up, you fuckin' jock. We get it, you're in great shape.”

Steve did stop but only so he could sit back on his heels, hands placed firmly on his thighs, to look up at Eddie as though awaiting further instructions.

He gulped.

***

Sept 28th 1985

Eddie had his hand down Steve's pants, sucking a sizable hickey on his neck, when Steve blurted out, “Teen Wolf is playing at the Drive-In in Shelbyville.”

He backed away slowly, swimming through a haze of horny confusion to mumble, “The fuck?”

“Um. Just sayin'.”

“‘Just sayin'?’ Why are you ‘just sayin'’ right now?” He articulated this with a heavy squeeze to Steve's dick.

“Ha!” Steve arched toward him while also wincing in embarrassment. “I just wanted to ask before I forgot.”

A drop of cold lead sank Eddie's stomach. “Ask…what?”

He blinked at Eddie in the dark. “Do you wanna go? To the movies? With me?”

Heat washed out the cold feeling and replaced it with mounting anger; Eddie slowly pulled his hand from Steve's pants. He watched Eddie back away with wide-eyed confusion, going to ask what was wrong probably, but Eddie beat him to it, unwilling to hear the concern in his voice.

“I thought you understood what this was, Harrington. We don't do dates,” he spit the word like a curse. “That's something you do with the nice girls from your daddy's country club. We get each other off in the back of my van, where no one can see it rocking. Right? That's what this is.”

Steve's whole face shut down, giving nothing away. He gave Eddie a small nod, doing his pants back up. That was probably for the best, he was too rattled to get off now anyway.

“Yeah, I think we're done for today. Come see me when you remember what it is I'm good for.”

Steve didn't respond, just kicked open Eddie's back doors and hopped out. The beemer started a second later, not peeling out angrily, not kicking up gravel and dust in its wake, just drifted off into the night.

Eddie's hand shook as he tried to light a cigarette, flame winking in and out as his fingers slipped, another thing Steve had ruined. What an asshole, he thought, still furious. What the fuck was he thinking, asking Eddie out? That they'd just go to the movies together? Like a couple of regular people? Didn't he know that's not how things worked? If you're lucky, which Eddie was, you find a mentor to teach you the rules of staying safe. If you're not lucky, you learn the hard way.

Going steady with rich, popular boys was not on the list of approved activities.

Eddie snapped his cigarette in half and chucked it out the back door. The black of the lake beyond the trees, near invisible under a waxing moon, left him feeling sick to his stomach and lonely. The nights were getting too chilly to sit with the doors open anyway. He swung them shut and shrugged his flannel back on. The memory of Steve running his warm hands over Eddie's shoulders, slipping it off as he ran them down his back, struck Eddie like a slap to the face.

He shouldn't have freaked out. He could've handled it better. It wasn't Steve's fault he didn't know the rules. He didn't have someone like Gil to warn him about how dangerous it was out there. Oh well, it was too late to take it back now. He'd apologize when Steve came around again.

***

Oct 10th 1985

“I just don't get why he won't talk to me. I tried to see him at Family Video and he ran into the back office and locked the door. Buckley just stared at me until I was sure my hair would catch fire. Like I ever did anything to her,” he grumbled.

“Ed,” Gil sighed over the phone like Eddie was being particularly stupid, “he wanted to take you out and you yelled at him.”

When he said it like that it sounded reasonable. “Yeah, except we don't do that! You taught me that! That's not safe!”

“Oh, no. Oh, Eddie,” he sighed again. It was really starting to piss him off. “I didn't mean for you to take that to heart. You can't shut out everyone who might love you-”

“Love me?!” He screeched. “Are you insane? He didn't love me!”

“I'm not saying he did, I just mean you can't expect everyone you sleep with is going to agree no strings attached forever. Eventually you're going to fall for someone, and then all the bullshit running around in secret, that shit becomes worth it. I wasn't trying to stop you from falling in love, I was just trying to teach you how to get around safely.”

Eddie sputtered. He was so confused. Where was the burly, son of a bitch, leather vest wearing, biker bear who once told Eddie where to find the best glory holes in a new town? What the fuck was the shit about falling in love? That wasn't supposed to be in the cards for him. And certainly not with Steve Harrington. That was never going to be a thing. Not in the cards, not in the casino, not in Las Vegas itself! But all of a sudden he was allowed to date if he was sure the other person was worthy? Since when?!

Gil, instead of taking pity on him, doubled down. “I think it's probably too late with this Steve fella, but Eddie, don't push away the next one who takes an interest in you. Okay? It's still rough out there, it's still dangerous, but, god, what is any of this for if we aren't allowed to be in love?”

“You asshole,” he sniffed, “where was all this lovely advice two years ago?”

“You were a kid, dumb ass. If I'd told you to run off with the first guy who gave you butterflies, you'd be dead already. I was trying to keep you safe first, cut me some slack!”

“Fine! But I still blame you for fucking me on the Harrington thing. You have no idea what you cost me. Literally and figuratively. The wallet and the ass on that man.” He wasn't going to admit to missing the man attached to the wallet and the ass. It was too fresh of a realization.

“I'm sorry, kid. Seems like you really liked him.”

“What? No I didn't.”

“That why you called me and ranted about him for a half hour straight? Because you don't like him?”

Eddie scowled at the sink. “Shut up.”

Gil sighed at him again.

***

March 29th, 1986

A car had pulled up.

His blood was rushing in his ears, nothing but the sound of the ocean in a giant seashell, like the one his mom had kept on her dresser, so he didn't hear the voice at first. It wormed its way into his understanding slowly, a male voice, low, calling his name.

He grasped the bottle tighter, waited until the voice got closer, and then sprang out from under the tarp. His senses grew sharp, focusing on the dark shape in front of him. They came together hard, fell into the wall with a jarring crash. All thoughts went into stopping the body against him from hurting him first.

Hands grasped his wrist to keep the bottle from finding its mark. Strong hands, with wide knuckles, ones that Eddie hadn't seen in six months but still, unbidden, saw in his dreams.

He finally looked up and found Steve Harrington at the end of his makeshift knife.

“It's me, Eds, it's me” he was panting. “You're safe. I promise. It's okay.” He kept repeating it until Eddie finally let go of the bottle. Let go and then buried his face into Steve's neck and wept. He couldn't stop it, it just came out of him, everything, all the terror and confusion and guilt.

“I didn't do it, I didn't hurt her, it wasn't me,” he kept repeating.

“I know. I know, Eds, I know you didn't,” Steve answered, hand still running over the back of his head. Like the last six months were just a terrible dream.

He didn't even notice Steve wasn't alone, not until Henderson clasped him around the shoulder and told him there were things living under Hawkins, things that would make a horde of Beholders turn tail and run.

And they'd been dealing with it all since ‘83?

Which meant Steve was already a hardened veteran when he was goofing off in Eddie's trailer, making tusks out of pretzel rods and calling Ewoks by the wrong name.

“Jesus Christ.” He put his head between his knees and did his best to ignore Steve's hand rubbing up and down his back. He didn't want the comfort but he took it anyway.

***

March 31st 1986

“Hey, Eddie,” Steve pulled up next to him, skipping over the slimy Devil Roots with ease, “I just wanted to say thanks for savin’ my ass back there.”

Eddie chuckled lowly, not ready to say, ‘You know what you did, you macho asshole.’ “Pretty sure Wheeler saved your ass but you're welcome.”

“You definitely helped. I mean, you didn't have to swim through a portal to hell after me but you did.”

The shame of Steve giving him even an ounce of credit crept up his throat and started to choke him. Steve had been getting drug to hell by some unknown force and still Eddie had hesitated. He was a coward.

“Man, I just didn't want to be the asshole who stayed behind.”

The silence felt damning, like he should've just kept his mouth shut.

Steve jammed his hands into his ratty sweatpants. “Right.”

Now he thought Eddie didn't care at all.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he whispered, “You know that's not the whole truth, right? I know things are weird between us but I don't want you dead.”

He had to keep his eyes on the ground as they walked but out of his periphery he could see Steve nod.

“Yeah. I get it.”

He didn't but Eddie didn't know what else to say. He hadn't let himself think about what they were to each other now. Not friends, not ex’s, not strangers. He’d tried not to think about Steve at all - except what he couldn't avoid, like Henderson’s obsession with him and things his brain forced him to remember at night - since whatever they were doing ended. Since Steve left and never came back.

He opened his mouth to soften the moment, tell Steve how Henderson would've killed him in a more creative way than Vecna if he'd let Steve die, but Steve cut him off.

“I should thank you for that too.”

Eddie chanced looking over.

“For what?”

“For ending things when you did.”

The squirm in his gut worsened. They hadn't talked about it. He didn't want to talk about it. “Oh?” He choked out.

“Yeah, I was, uh, making a bigger thing out of what we, what we were doing, than I should've. I blame Robin for enabling me, she's the one who said to just ask you out like a normal person. Sorry for making it weird and ruining it. Always trying to give my heart to people who don't want it.” He chuckled morosely. “Anyway, thanks, I guess. You probably saved me from a lot more heartache later down the line.” He slapped Eddie on the back, like they were old chums, and then he skipped up to the girls without a backwards glance.

Eddie stood there, alone, gaping at his retreating back.

***

April 1st, 1986

Eddie had always been good at compartmentalizing. When his mom got sick, he got really into Tolkien, let that be his focal point in a storm of hospital visits and missed days at school. When his dad got picked up and sent to prison, he let Wayne teach him how to play guitar, which he spent most of his waking hours on. When Steve made it clear he was done with Eddie, he packed up the little pocket of time they had, the enjoyment he'd found in Steve's company, and folded it under the recesses of his mind, told himself it was all for the best, to not think of it again, and then he threw himself into Hellfire.

So, now that he’d found himself in another untenable situation, clarity struck Eddie like lightning as he thrashed on the ground - Hey, dumbass, Steve Harrington actually liked you, wanted to date you, would've fallen for you, and you fucking blew it. Not only did you blow it, you broke his fucking heart.

It was an asinine thought to have while he was actively dying but considering the alternative was acknowledging that he was being eaten alive by demon bats, he welcomed thoughts of Steve.

Steve, who Eddie had convinced himself was just scratching an itch with someone who wouldn't tell, but who had actually been telling his best friend the whole time.

Steve, who came over for weed but stayed to hang out, sometimes for hours, well before they were fooling around.

Steve, who wasn't anything like Eddie had assumed he would be, was exactly the kinda guy Eddie would've fallen for. If he was allowed.

But he had been allowed, the whole time apparently, and was too stupid to notice.

Henderson showed up a minute later, just as the bats collapsed around him, thank god. If he'd gotten the asshole killed he was fairly certain Steve would've brought him back somehow just to kill him again.

He wasted a lot of breath apologizing to Dustin, agreeing that he was totally gonna make it. Wasted some more trying to bequeath Hellfire to him. Wasted his last breath to say, “Tell Steve I'm sorry.”

Dustin wouldn't understand what for but maybe Steve would.

Just before he lost consciousness he caught Dustin saying, “Tell him yourself,” and then something that sounded suspiciously like, “Eddie! No.”

But by then he was gone.

***

Date unknown, 1986

He was never sure if what he was experiencing was real or not. Since the pain had stopped everything had a surreal quality, mostly flashes of light, some sound trickled in, shouting and crying and tires squealing; all of it was fleeting and seemed unimportant.

The first thing that felt real was Wayne's voice. Gruff and short and so, so familiar. It brought tears to his eyes. He was pretty sure anyway, hard to tell when he couldn't open them yet.

“Get your boy, Fletch, or I'm gonna break his arm.”

“Now, Wayne, we're just doin’ our job,” Chief Powell said in a softer tone than Wayne's snarl or Callahan's offense.

“Either one of you touch a hair on his head, I'll-”

“Have Steve call his famous lawyer dad,” Robin piped up from somewhere in the room, thankfully stopping Wayne from further incriminating himself.

“He's a divorce attorney,” Steve mumbled. “But he knows people!” He rallied after what Eddie imagined was a look from Robin.

A beat went by, Eddie almost slipped away in the quiet, before Chief Powell spoke up again. “You're all gonna go to bat for this kid?”

Steve responded first. “He's a hero.”

Eddie didn't get to enjoy that for long, a nurse came in to shuffle them all out of the room so they could re-up his pain meds and then it was nighty-night again.

***

Date Unknown, 1986

The next time Eddie woke, it was dark in the room, only a bit of light coming in from under the door and from the parking lot lights outside. His eyes felt gritty, heavy with sleep, but he could make out the shape of Steve in the chair beside his bed.

He was awake, staring down at the side of Eddie's mattress.

No.

Eddie followed his gaze and found Steve staring at his hand where it laid across his own forearm, careful of the tubes they were both hooked to. As soon as he saw it, he became aware of the warmth of it, Steve's huge hand draped over his cold skin.

“Feels nice,” he tried to say but it came out more garbled mess than actual words.

It was enough to get Steve's attention though.

“Eddie!” He said with excitement, relief. “What do you need? I should get the nurse.”

Eddie forced his arm to respond, to turn over and clasp Steve where he was about to remove himself. His grasp wasn't near enough to keep Steve in place but the fact that he tried kept Steve where he was.

His voice refused to cooperate, felt like coughing up glass, but he tried to communicate that Steve should stay.

“Okay, okay, I'm here. Not going anywhere. Do you need anything? Water? Pain meds?”

Eddie could definitely use both of those things but the most pressing thing, the only thing he could really think of was…

Lifting his hand to point as steadily as he could at Steve's chest.

He chuckled. “Why do you keep trying to take my shirt?”

The question made little sense. For one thing, this was the first he remembered being coherent enough to demand anything, and second, Steve wasn't wearing a shirt, he was in a hospital gown, same as Eddie.

He shook his head as best he could, a frustrated frown and a grunt to indicate that wasn't what he meant at all.

Steve leaned closer. “What is it? I don't know what you need, Eddie.”

Now that he was closer, Eddie reached out as best he could and pressed his palm to the left side of Steve's chest.

They stared at each other. Eddie could feel the tears slipping down his face but he didn't dare move his hand to wipe them away.

Slowly, like he was scared, Steve's hand came up to press Eddie's hand closer. Big and warm and missed to the point of aching, though Eddie had been loath to admit it to himself.

“You’re serious?” Steve whispered. “You want...this?”

Eddie nodded frantically.

“If you mean my tit I'm going to be so pissed at you.”

Eddie choked on a laugh. He did his very best to mouth, “That too.”

That got him a laugh, a soft one. "Some things don't change." He looked away, shy. Or not shy exactly, cautious. "I hope you remember you said all this when you wake up again. You're pretty doped up."

That was an easy fix. The drugs probably made it easier to admit but he was tired of pretending it wasn't true.

He pulled Steve's hand until it settled over his own chest, stitches and all, and forced himself to croak, "I already tried to forget, sweetheart. It didn't work."

Steve's answering smile rivaled the dawn.

[jungkoode]

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 20

˗ˏˋ DIY bracelets ˎˊ˗

"You were not expecting to really enjoy the MoMA exhibition, but Jungkook looks so interested and in his element that his energy is contagious. Even with a IUD in your uterus staging mutiny, and him trying to evade your questions throguh a DIY bracelet shop."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 10,4k

content: working hours at B&N, books, jk being goofy as usual, subway touches (what was that?), jk's genuine interest in photography, uterus pain, kids asking questions (lmao), jk being bff w boundaries as usual, soft conversations, avoiding certain topics, and making friendship bracelets (ew gay???) (p.s. i'm literally queer, shush it.)

✧ author's note ✧

*descends from the sky on a sparkly cloud of serotonin and unresolved sexual tension* GREETINGS, MY LITTLE PSYCHOTIC DAFFODILS. *ducks the knife thrown at my head* RUDE. *throws it back, it lands in someone’s thigh, probably Jungkook’s*

Okay okay okay okay. *deep breath.*

Hello, my beloved kikizens. If you’re reading this… I’m most likely abroad, roaming the earth like the girlboss nomad I pretend to be on Instagram, while in reality I’m crying over the outline of chapter 23 in the Notes app and eating overpriced airport pastries. Yes. I wrote this ahead of time. Yes. I am the most responsible irresponsible person you’ve ever met. Time traveling author note from Past!Kiki, sending love and ibuprofen to Future!You. Let’s hope the plane didn’t crash because, if so, Fuck Me Up Jungkook is now your responsibility. Please keep him fed and slightly emotionally constipated, just as I left him.

NOW. LET'S TALK. This chapter. THIS CHAPTER. We are entering the land of slow burn intimacy and micro-shifts in character dynamics that make me froth at the mouth. I need to scream about it. I am screaming about it. Nix at Barnes & Noble? A concept. Her choosing a retail job because she wants to save someone the way books saved her??? Yeah okay I'm totally fine, I'm just on the floor sobbing about it in a public bathroom.

AND JUNGKOOK. THAT BASTARD. Being respectful?? Giving her space while still being present?? Letting her lead and following her cues like a man who understands autonomy and emotional nuance??? Jail. Absolute jail. He’s so annoying and so HOT about it. I love writing him because he’s cocky and feral and dumb, but also deeply perceptive and compassionate when it counts. Like okay yes he's a little insufferable, but also, he's the kind of man who listens when you talk about your reproductive health without flinching and I think that's worth something.

Also. Let’s talk about the bracelets. Phoenix and Rogue. Fire-coded losers who pretend they don’t care while making color-coded matching jewelry??? WHO SAID YOU COULD BE CUTE. WHO SAID.

Anyway. This chapter is the beginning of a shift. A very soft shift. We’re not in love yet. We’re not even close. We are in that horrible, confusing, liminal space where friendship might be possible eventually but everyone’s still too scared and too stupid to say it out loud. They’re not friends yet. But they’re getting there. We’re watching in real time as they learn each other’s pressure points—what to push, when to pull back. It’s very ugh my chest hurts but also my heart is fluttering kind of vibe. Which is my favorite thing to write. Obviously.

Now. To talk about me, because I love attention: I’ve only been posting for a few months and I’m already overrun with WIPs like some kind of literary hoarder. It’s a problem. I start stories, then my ADHD bitchass brain says “new shiny idea???” and next thing I know I’m drowning in three AUs, an enemies-to-lovers high school AU I wrote at 3AM, and a secret smutty one-shot I can’t stop thinking about. It’s a whole ecosystem of chaos. But I do want to write them all. I do. I just also want to nap. And read. And rot.

So yeah. I think about y’all waiting for updates more than you know. I stress about it. I chew on it like emotional gum. My Spirk fic hasn’t updated in two months and it haunts me in my sleep. But I’m trying to accept that writing is better done when it feels good, not when I’m spiraling in guilt. So. If I ever start something and it takes me ages to finish, just know I do want to get there. I just move at the speed of depression and distraction.

AND A GENTLE REMINDER: this is a slow burn. A SLOW slow burn. Not the kind where they kiss in chapter 5 and you pretend it’s slow because they didn’t bang yet. No. I mean they will not start catching actual feelings for a while. There will be distractions. Other people, love interests. Awkwardness. Denial. You will watch them flounder. You will scream at your phone. You will think “surely they must realize it now,” and I will look you in the eyes and say, “no. no they do not.” Because the point is the journey. The point is the becoming. Not the kissing. (Okay fine also the kissing. But later.)

We are 20 chapters in, and I am being so serious when I say we are maybe… 20% into the full story. If that. I want to go all the way. From strangers to roommates to fuckbuddies to friends to best friends to oh my god it was you all along. I want to write every beat. Every change. Every stupid, messy, human moment. And yes. We will suffer. You, me, Nix, Jungkook, Yeji, Taehyung, everyone.

So I'd say sorry, but let's be honest, if you’re here right now—chapter 20, still with me—I know what kind of sick little freak you are. Masochist. You're not fooling anyone.

And I adore you for it. Thank you for choosing violence with me. Thank you for loving these two idiots. Thank you for reading. I mean it. So much.

Okay. Enough rambling. Go read. Go cry. Go scream. Tell your friends. Tattoo “Phoenix x Rogue” on your ass if you feel so inclined.

Mwah.

(Shameless reminder to support me on Ko-fi if you like my unhinged writing mess).

Edit because apparently I need to make this clear; my stories are extremely slow paced. This is STATED in the author’s INTRO I EXPLICITLY mention you must READ before delving into any of my works. I am tired of messages complaining about the pacing. You are warned beforehand. You chose to read this knowing it’s going to be slow as hell. Nobody is holding you hostage. If you’re bored, you can leave. I seriously don’t care. I am writing my stories because I crave this type of storytelling where everything is narrated in detail and nothing is glossed over. My readers know that and they choose to stay because they want the same thing. 80% of stories out there are fast-paced. I am catering to the people who want this type of organic development. If that’s not your thing, that’s absolutely fine. But you don’t get to complain and whine about something when there’s 100 fanfics out there you can read instead. You don’t get to come for me or my writing—lest of all my readers. I said what I said.

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

Books have always been your lifeline in a world that feels like it's trying to drown you.

You've loved them for as long as you can remember, though you can't pinpoint the exact moment they became your refuge. It wasn't a dramatic epiphany or a life-changing event. Just a gradual realization that between the pages of a book, you could breathe easier. 

Kafka speaks to the part of you that feels constantly out of step with the world (though you'd never admit that to Taehyung—his smug "I told you so" would be unbearable). 

Murakami paints surreal landscapes that make your own reality feel a little less suffocating. 

And now Donna Tartt, because you're tired of Jimin's scandalized gasps every time you confess to not having read her yet.

You weren't the stereotypical bookworm growing up. No thick glasses perched on your nose, no disdainful sniffs at the mention of pop culture. You didn't turn your nose up at Harry Styles concerts or roll your eyes at school dances. 

But even as you navigated the treacherous waters of adolescence—first periods and friendship fallouts, the constant drama of simply existing as a teenager—books were always there. 

A constant, even if sometimes pushed to the background.

They became your armor when the weight of expectations threatened to crush you. When disappointment hung heavy in the air, threatening to send you away in a chokehold, you'd retreat into worlds made of paper and ink. 

It was easier to face fictional monsters than the very real ones lurking in parent-teacher conferences and college application deadlines.

Now, standing amidst the shelves of Barnes & Noble, surrounded by the comforting smell of new books and possibility, you can't help but feel a sense of belonging. Like you've come full circle. From the little girl who used to hide under her covers with a flashlight, devouring stories long past bedtime, to the woman who's made words her life's work.

It's not always easy. 

Sometimes the words on the page blur together, your mind too full of real-world worries to lose yourself in fiction. 

But even then, the weight of a book in your hands is grounding. 

A reminder that there are always other worlds to explore, other lives to live, if only for a few hundred pages.

Maybe that's why you're here, arranging displays and recommending titles to strangers. 

Because somewhere out there is another person drowning in expectations, desperate for a lifeline. 

And maybe, just maybe, you can be the one to hand them the right book at the right moment—help them with their very own small act of rebellion against a world that sometimes feels too heavy to bear.

Mark hovers nearby as you arrange a new display of bestsellers, lanky frame, loose shirt and baggy pants. He's the one who picked up your application when you and Yeji came in last week—the one with the kind eyes and the nervous habit of clutching his hands together every five seconds.

Blonde, blue-eyed. You’d dare say he’s not bad-looking. For a man.

"So basically," he explains, voice pitched low like he's sharing state secrets instead of retail procedures, "most days you'll either be on register, floor assistance, or shelving. Today you're just shadowing me on the floor."

Floor assistance, as it turns out, is mostly wandering around looking approachable (but not too approachable) and occasionally directing lost souls to the bathroom or the manga section. You're also expected to straighten displays, check for misplaced books, and maintain what Mark calls "the Barnes & Noble aesthetic."

"Which means?" you ask, adjusting a copy of the latest Sally Rooney that's slightly out of alignment with its siblings.

"You know," he shrugs, hands doing that awkward hovering thing again, "like... cozy but sophisticated. Inviting but not cluttered."

You nod like this makes perfect sense, though privately you think it sounds like the kind of bullshit corporate memo someone got paid way too much to write.

"What about recommendations?" you ask. "Do we have any input on displays or—"

"Oh, totally!" His face brightens. "We each get to curate an employee picks shelf. You can start working on yours next week."

That, at least, sounds promising. 

Already your mind is cataloging possibilities—perhaps a mix of classics and contemporary, maybe something unexpected thrown in. Definitely not the usual suspects everyone claims to have read but hasn't.

And just like that, the morning quickly blurs into afternoon. 

Your tasks are the same all day: shelving, straightening, and following Mark around as he points out the minutiae of bookselling. It's mindless work, but not unpleasant. There's something soothing about putting things in order, about knowing exactly where everything belongs.

By the time your lunch break rolls around, you've settled into a comfortable groove. The break room is empty except for you and your sad turkey sandwich, the ancient TV in the corner playing a rerun of The Office. One where Jim is pulling some elaborate prank on Dwight. You find yourself smiling despite the mediocrity of your lunch.

The afternoon passes in much the same way—quiet, uneventful, almost peaceful. You help an elderly woman find the latest Louise Penny mystery. You alphabetize a section of poetry that looks like it's been hit by a tornado. You dust shelves that probably haven't seen a feather duster since Obama was president.

And then, suddenly, it's 5 PM.

You glance at your phone, mildly surprised that eight hours have passed without a single customer meltdown or retail horror story. No one has asked to speak to your manager. No one has tried to return a clearly read book with coffee stains on page 47. No one has even approached you with one of those vague "I'm looking for a book with a blue cover about a thing that happens" requests.

In fact, you've barely interacted with customers at all. It wasn't your turn on register, and most browsers seemed content to wander without assistance. 

It's been... nice. 

Quiet. 

The kind of job where you can disappear into your own thoughts for stretches at a time.

You could get used to this, you think, clocking out and grabbing your bag from the locker. 

Maybe it won't be the soul-crushing retail experience Yeji warned you about. Maybe you've lucked into the unicorn of part-time jobs—one that pays the bills without completely draining your will to live.

Or maybe it's just the first-day honeymoon period, and next week you'll be dealing with entitled parents who think the children's section is a free daycare.

Either way, as you push through the employee exit into the early evening air, you feel a strange sense of… accomplishment? 

Surely, it's not saving lives or changing the world, but you can’t deny it’s satisfying; a day spent surrounded by books, putting things in order, creating small pockets of calm in a chaotic world.

And now, apparently (because God forbid the universe lets you forget) you have plans. 

With Jungkook, of all people. 

The thought should make you anxious.

It doesn’t.

You check your phone and see his text:

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚊? 𝚊𝚖 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 

You scan the street and spot him leaning against a lamppost, scrolling through his phone, looking unfairly good in a simple black t-shirt and jeans. Your roommate. Your sometimes-hookup. Your... friend?

The word still feels strange, but maybe it's time to try it on for size.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑 𝚒'𝚖 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚠

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚞

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚊𝚜 1𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚙𝚙𝚕

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚗𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚒𝚏𝚝�� 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚢 𝚜𝚘 𝚒'𝚖 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚠𝚒𝚗

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚠𝚘𝚠 𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚋𝚊𝚛 𝚗𝚒𝚡

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚕𝚞𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚝𝚠

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚊 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝 𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚛 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚒'𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚞𝚛𝚜

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚐 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 🙄

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚎'𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚌

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚞 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚎'𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚕 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛?

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛?

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚟

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚑𝚝𝚘

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚍?

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚕

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚒 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚞 𝚋𝚝𝚠 𝚒𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒'𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚠

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚡 

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒'𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚘 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚗𝚘 𝚞 𝚠𝚘𝚗𝚝

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚖𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚞 𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚝𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚢 𝚊𝚏

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚢 

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚑𝚝𝚘

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚐 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚑𝚑𝚑𝚑𝚑

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚒 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚞 𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗 𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒'𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚘𝚔 𝚋𝚢𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚞 𝚒𝚗 𝟹𝟸𝟷

You spot him leaning against the lamppost, scrolling on his phone like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders relaxed, black t-shirt fitting just right—not too tight, not too loose. It’s casual. Effortless. 

And yeah, you’ve seen him in casual before—sweats, pajamas, even that stupid hoodie he refuses to throw out—but this is different. This is casual street Jungkook in the wild, outside the apartment. 

Casual street Jungkook who’s here with you to do something normal and non-sexual and… friendly.

He looks good. But then again, you already knew that. There’s a reason you fuck him despite his infuriating personality. 

Even when he says things that make you want to strangle him with his own belt.

He catches sight of you approaching and grins, that stupid lopsided grin that’s all teeth and confidence. 

“Hey,” he says, voice light like this is just another day.

You don’t respond. Don’t even look up from your phone as your thumb swipes through apps in search of Maps. 

“We have a twenty-minute ride from Union Square to the MoMA,” you say flatly. “The exhibit starts in thirty-five, so let’s go.”

“Sure,” he says easily, pushing off the lamppost with a lazy shrug. “What line?”

“N, Q, R—whichever comes first.” You finally glance up at him as you say it, but only briefly. Just long enough to catch the slight raise of his eyebrows before he nods.

“Okay.”

And then you’re walking side by side toward the subway entrance like this is normal. Like this isn’t the first time you’ve agreed to spend time together without sex as the unspoken endgame.

The stairs down to the subway are crowded—typical for a weekday evening—and you both swipe your cards at the turnstile without a word. There’s a guy pissing in one corner of the station (because of course there is), and Jungkook widens his eyes in a grimace like he’s trying to wipe away the sight of it. You don’t comment, just keep moving toward the platform like nothing happened.

It shouldn’t feel awkward. It’s never been awkward with him before—not even when things got messy or complicated or downright stupid between you two. 

But now? 

Now it feels like there’s this invisible weight hanging between you, pressing down on every step you take together.

Maybe it’s because he brought up that whole “trying to be friends” thing this morning—friends who have expectations, and expectations lead to disappointment, and disappointment leads to losing control.

Or maybe it’s because now that he said it out loud—now that he put friendship on the table—you can’t stop overthinking every little thing about this outing. 

What does he expect from you? Does he want small talk? Does he want silence? Is this supposed to feel casual or meaningful or something else entirely?

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye as you both stop near the edge of the platform. He’s standing close but not too close—hands still in his pockets, gaze fixed on some ad plastered across the opposite wall. He doesn’t look uncomfortable or tense or anything remotely resembling how you feel right now.

Which makes sense because Jungkook never overthinks anything. He just does whatever feels right in the moment and deals with the consequences later (if at all). 

It’s one of the things that drives you crazy about him—and maybe one of the things you secretly envy.

The train isn’t here yet, so now what? Do you say something? Ask him about his day? Pretend this is normal and fine and not at all weird for you?

“So…” Your voice comes out hesitant—too hesitant—and you immediately hate yourself for it. 

Nice going, stupid bitch.

He glances at you but doesn’t say anything right away, waiting for you to finish whatever thought you’re trying (and failing) to articulate.

“What did… what did you do?” You clear your throat awkwardly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as if that’ll somehow make this less painful for both of you. “Until… y’know… five?”

His lips twitch like he’s fighting back a smirk—like he knows exactly how much effort it took for you to ask such a simple question—and for some reason that makes you want to shove his head against the next train.

“Not much,” he says finally, his tone casual but not dismissive. “Watched some YouTube tutorials. Tried making sourdough again.”

You blink at him. “Sourdough?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, like baking bread is just a totally normal thing for someone like him to do in their free time. “Didn’t come out great though.”

“Oh.” 

You don’t know what else to say to that—to him—so instead you just nod and glance down at your phone again like there’s something urgent demanding your attention.

But then, as if destiny decided (for once) to make things easier for you, the train arrives with its usual screech of brakes and rush of stale air, saving you from having to come up with any more awkward small talk on the platform.

So you step onto the train together—side by side but not touching—and you can’t help but wonder if this whole ‘trying to be friends’ thing is going to be harder than either of you realized.

Inside Jungkook moves instinctively to the metal bar overhead, reaching up to steady himself as the train lurches forward. You follow suit, your fingers wrapping around the same bar just a few inches away from his.

It’s fine. It’s normal. People share subway bars all the time. Nothing weird about it.

Except your hand shifts slightly as the train rounds a corner, and suddenly your pinky brushes against his. Just barely—a fleeting touch—but it’s enough to make you freeze for half a second.

And… 

You don’t look at him. 

You refuse to look at him. 

Because if you do, you’ll see that stupid smirk he always gets when he knows he’s gotten under your skin, and you’re not sure you can handle that right now.

But then his hand shifts too—like, on purpose?—and his pinky brushes yours again. 

Softer this time. 

Lingering.

Your stomach twists in a way that feels equal parts annoying and… something else you don’t want to name. You glance up at him despite yourself, ready to snap something sarcastic or dismissive or whatever it takes to make this moment feel less charged than it suddenly does.

But he’s not smirking. He’s just… looking at you. Calmly. Quietly. Like this is nothing more than two people sharing a subway bar in a crowded train.

And maybe it is nothing. Maybe you’re just overthinking it because that’s what you do—because every little thing with him feels like it carries more weight than it should.

Still, when his fingers shift again—this time curling slightly so the side of his hand presses against yours—you don’t pull away. 

You don’t say anything either, just let your fingers relax against the bar as the train rattles onward.

It’s small. Subtle. Barely even noticeable in the grand scheme of things.

But somehow, in the cramped chaos of the subway car—with strangers pressed against you on all sides—it feels like the quietest moment you’ve had all day.

You don’t look at him again—not directly—but out of the corner of your eye, you catch the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Not cocky or teasing or anything remotely resembling his usual expressions.

Just soft.

And for some reason, that makes your throat tighten all over again.

You never expected to find Jungkook beautiful.

He stands in front of a massive black and white photograph with his head tilted slightly and dark brown eyes narrowed in concentration.

The lightning inside the space makes everything feel way more thought-provoking than it actually is. All you notice, really, is how it deepens the line of his jaw, the slight furrow between his eyebrows. His lips, and how they move silently, like he's having some private conversation with the image before him.

Stupid, handsome motherfucker. Why does he exist in your space?

You've seen him naked. You've seen him laughing so hard he nearly falls off the couch. You've seen him half-asleep and grumpy at 6 AM.

But you've never seen him like this—completely absorbed, genuinely focused on something that isn't getting laid or annoying the shit out of you.

"The composition is fucking incredible," he says without looking at you, gesturing at the photograph. "See how they've used negative space to draw your eye to the subject? And the depth of field is so deliberate—keeps you just slightly off-balance."

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden technical analysis. Since when does Jungkook know smart words?

"You actually know about photography?" It comes out more surprised than you intended.

He turns to you then, one eyebrow raised. "Film major, Nix. Kind of comes with the territory."

"Yeah, but—" You stop yourself, not sure how to articulate that you assumed his interest in film was mostly about looking cool and impressing girls.

"But what?"

"Nothing," you mutter, moving closer to the photograph. "Just didn't realize you paid attention in class."

He snorts. "I maintain my GPA through pure charm and good looks alone. No actual knowledge required."

You roll your eyes, but there's no real annoyance behind it. "Seriously though, you seem like you actually know what you're talking about. It's... weird."

"Weird that I'm not a complete idiot?" He steps back from the photograph, hands sliding into his pockets. "Gee, thanks."

"That's not what I meant."

He shrugs, already moving toward the next piece—a series of distorted portraits that seem to melt into one another.

"I just like this stuff. Always have."

You follow him, curiosity getting the better of you.

"Since when?"

"Since forever," he says, stopping in front of the portraits. "My mom was into photography. Had this old Pentax she used to carry everywhere. Taught me how to develop film in our bathroom when I was like, eight."

His voice always turns weirdly soft when his mom is involved. It makes you pause.

This is the most he's ever shared about his family, you realize.

You're not sure whether to press further or let it go.

Before you can decide, he continues, "These portraits are using multiple exposure. See how the faces blend together? It's like—when you overlay two negatives, you get this ghost effect. The new digital stuff makes it easier, but there's something about doing it on actual film that hits different."

His enthusiasm is... surprising. And weirdly contagious. You find yourself leaning in closer to see what he's pointing out, actually interested in the technical explanation.

"The photographer probably used a really slow shutter speed too," he adds, gesturing at the blurred edges of the subjects' features. "Makes movement look like this—sort of ethereal, you know?"

You don't know, not really, but you nod anyway.

Because his voice picks up speed when he talks about this, his hands do slightly more animated movements as he explains, and there’s genuine passion coloring his words and it’s…

It's... different. Seeing him care about something so much.

"What?" he asks suddenly, catching you staring at him.

You hadn't realized you were. Heat creeps up your neck, and you look away quickly.

"Nothing."

"Nah, you were looking at me weird."

"Just..." You shrug, aiming for casual. "You're a huge nerd, that's all."

He blinks at you, then barks out a laugh. "Wow. I share my vast knowledge and expertise, and that's what I get?"

"Vast knowledge? Your head barely fits in the room as it is."

"That's it," he declares, turning away dramatically. "I'm not explaining anything else. Figure it out yourself, philistine."

You swat at his arm, fighting a smile. "Oh come on, I was joking. Keep nerding out. It's..." Cute? Interesting? Surprisingly not annoying? "...Educational."

He gives you a suspicious look but seems mollified. "Fine. But only because I'm generous with my brilliance."

You snort, following him to the next piece. "So generous."

And it's strange, this feeling—this easy back-and-forth that doesn't have the usual sharp edges.

For a moment, it almost feels like you could be friends. Real friends, not just roommates who occasionally fuck and mostly argue.

The thought is so unexpected that it—

Pain.

Sharp and sudden, like someone stabbing a hot poker into your lower abdomen. Your breath catches, body instinctively curling in on itself.

Your hand flies to your stomach as another wave hits, this one even more intense than the first.

It's the IUD again—has to be. But this is worse than before. Much worse.

You stop walking, one hand gripping the nearby wall for support as you try to breathe through it.

Just breathe. It'll pass. It has to.

It doesn't.

The third wave nearly brings you to your knees, a cold sweat breaking out across your forehead.

Jungkook makes it several steps before realizing you're no longer beside him. He turns back, eyes falling on your hunched form, and his expression shifts instantly from relaxed to concerned.

"Yo, what's wrong?" He's back at your side in three quick strides, voice pitched low but urgent.

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak yet. Just need a minute. Just need to breathe.

"Phoenix?" His hand hovers near your elbow, not quite touching. "Hey, talk to me. What's happening?"

"It's—" Another stab of pain cuts you off, and you bite down hard on your lip to keep from making a sound. "It's nothing. Just—cramps."

His frown deepens, eyes scanning your face.

"Bullshit. You look like you're about to pass out."

"I'm fine," you insist. "Just give me a second."

The lie tastes bitter on your tongue, but the alternative is worse.

Admitting weakness? Letting him see you crumble?

Absolutely fucking not.

Your uterus twists again—sadistic little organ—and you clench your jaw so hard you're surprised your teeth don't crack.

Breathe. Just breathe. You've handled worse.

(Have you, though?)

He's hovering now, that frown cutting deeper between his eyebrows, and you hate it.

Hate how his eyes flick over your face, cataloging symptoms.

Hate how his hand lifts halfway toward you before dropping back to his side, like he's afraid to touch you without permission.

"Ibuprofen," you manage, the word strained but determined. "I just need some ibuprofen."

"Nix, you seriously look like you're about to pass out—"

"Ibuprofen," you cut him off, sharper this time. "Seriously. I'll be okay. Just need. Ibuprofen."

You're not going home. Not happening.

You just got this fucking copper IUD on Wednesday—of course it's being a bitch. Three days of cramping is normal, right? Has to be.

And this is your first real attempt at being normal humans together, plus it's his birthday and Yoongi's expecting you to keep him out until eight. Your goddamn uterus is not ruining this.

A particularly vicious cramp rips through you, and you have to bite down on your lip to keep from making a sound. Jungkook notices, because of course he does. His eyes narrow, jaw working like he's physically biting back whatever argument he wants to make.

Finally, he sighs—loud, frustrated, dramatic in that way only he can be.

"Okay."

The surrender in his voice shouldn't feel like a victory, but it does. Even as another cramp threatens to fold you in half.

"Okay," he repeats, softer. "Let me see if I can get you one. Just—wait here, alright?"

He wraps his fingers around your elbow, not gripping, just guiding, and you let him because walking feels like a monumental task right now. .

Focus. One foot, then the other.

There's a cushioned bench a few feet away. A kid sits at one end, maybe seven or eight, swinging his legs and staring at the floor with the bored expression of someone dragged to a museum against his will.

Jungkook walks you toward it, his hand steady on your arm.

"Hello," he says to the boy, voice gentler than you've ever heard from him. "Sorry, my friend over here is in pain and really needs to sit down."

The kid looks up—first at Jungkook, then at you—eyes widening slightly. He doesn't say anything, just scoots over, fingers drifting to his mouth as he continues to stare.

"Thanks, buddy," Jungkook says, helping you sit.

You sink onto the bench, the relief immediate but not enough. It still feels like someone's playing Operation with your insides, fishing out organs with a pair of rusty pliers.

Jungkook lingers for a second, hesitant.

"You sure you'll be okay if I—"

"Go," you grit out, not trusting yourself to say more.

He gives you one last look—concerned, frustrated, something else you can't name—before turning and striding away with purpose, disappearing around a corner.

And then it's just you, the kid, and the agony twisting through your abdomen.

Great. Fantastic. You can't even make it through one normal human interaction without your body staging a fucking rebellion.

Every time you try to—what? Be a decent person? Spend time with someone who isn't Yeji? The universe laughs in your face.

The kid is still staring at you, blue eyes huge in his small face. You force what you hope is a reassuring smile but suspect looks more like a grimace.

"Your face is becoming white," he says matter-of-factly.

"Thanks," you mutter. "I'm aware."

"Like a ghost," he adds helpfully. "Are you gonna throw up?"

Jesus Christ. This is your life now. Being assessed by a tiny human while your reproductive system wages war against the rest of your organs.

"No," you say, though you're not entirely sure that's true. "Just need some medicine."

"My mom says medicine is for when you're really sick," he informs you, kicking his heels against the bench. "Are you really sick?"

Another twist of pain, and you have to close your eyes for a second.

"Something like that."

"Is that man your boyfriend?"

God, children and their questions. No filter, just an endless stream of curiosity with no regard for social niceties.

You should lie.

Should say yes, it would be simpler than explaining the complicated mess that is you and Jungkook.

"No," you say instead. "Just a... friend."

The word still feels strange. Foreign. Like you're saying it in a language you barely speak.

"Oh." The kid looks disappointed. "He looks like a superhero."

Despite everything—the pain, the frustration, the growing concern that the gyno didn't warn you about this level of copper IUD hell—you almost laugh.

Because Jungkook? Oh he would fucking love that. His ego is already the size of Manhattan; the last thing he needs is child-based validation of his supposed heroism.

"More like a supervillain," you mutter.

The boy's eyes widen further. "Really?"

"No, not really. Just a regular person who's..." You pause, not sure how to finish that sentence.

Annoying? Complicated? Stupidly attractive even when he's being insufferable?

"...helping me out."

You press your palm harder against your abdomen, hoping the pressure will somehow counteract the pain. But truthfully, it doesn't. If anything, it's getting worse, spreading from your core outward until your lower back aches and your thighs feel weak.

This can't be normal.

Well, maybe it is.

You've never had an IUD before—what the hell do you know?

Clearly should've read beyond the first page of that pamphlet they gave you, but you were too busy trying not to think about the actual insertion part.

"I have lots of friends," the kid announces proudly. "But none of them are girls."

He wrinkles his nose like this is the most disgusting concept imaginable.

Despite everything—the pain, the frustration, the knowledge that this day is slowly derailing—you almost smile.

"Girls aren't so bad."

He shrugs, unconvinced. "They like stupid stuff."

"So do boys."

"Nuh-uh. Boys like cool things. Like dinosaurs."

"Girls can like dinosaurs too."

He considers this, head tilted.

"I guess. My sister doesn't though. She just likes her stupid boyfriend." The contempt in his voice is impressive for someone whose feet don't touch the floor.

You're saved from further insights into his sister's love life by Jungkook's return. He's walking toward you with a small paper cup in one hand and a bottle of water in the other, his expression still caught between concern and that strange new softness.

"Got you covered," he says, dropping into a crouch in front of you. "They had a first aid station. Ibuprofen and water."

You take the pills and water with hands that shake slightly, downing them quickly.

"Thanks."

He sits beside you on the bench, close but not touching—some sort of distance that feels both considerate and maddening.

You realize now Jungkook is not one to push boundaries. Not when they’re firm, not when you’ve made them clear. Like when you told him this thing between you two stayed between you two and he just accepted it.

"Should take about twenty minutes to kick in," he says, voice low and even.

You nod, focusing on your breathing.

In and out. Slow and steady. Just get through this. You've handled worse.

(Have you, though? Because right now it feels like your insides are trying to claw their way out.)

"We can go home," he offers, so subsided it's almost comical coming from him. "If you want."

"No." The word comes out sharper than intended, and you soften it with, "No, I'm fine. Just need a minute."

He doesn't argue, just nods like he expected this answer.

Of course he did.

He knows you're stubborn, knows you hate showing weakness, knows you'll suffer through just about anything to avoid admitting you can't handle it.

The silence stretches between you, but it's not uncomfortable. Not exactly. It's... waiting. Patient. And you note how his knee bounces slightly, the only sign of restless energy in his otherwise still form.

"Thanks," you say again, quieter this time.

He glances at you, surprise flitting across his features.

"For what?"

"For not..." You gesture vaguely, searching for the right words. "Making it a thing."

His lips twitch, almost a smile but not quite.

"It's your body, Nix. Your call."

Something warm and unexpected unfurls in your chest at that—at the simple acknowledgment of your autonomy, your right to decide how to handle your own pain.

He could push. Could insist on taking you home, on calling a doctor, on making decisions for you "for your own good."

It's what most people would do, have always done, their concern overriding your independence.

But he doesn't.

Just sits beside you, a quiet presence in the middle of this mess, respecting your boundaries even as his knee keeps bouncing with what you suspect is concern he's trying not to voice.

It's... nice. Weird, but nice.

The kid on the bench has gone quiet, watching both of you with curious eyes. His mother appears suddenly, a harried-looking woman with a museum map clutched in one hand.

"Aiden, there you are! I told you not to wander off." She gives you and Jungkook an apologetic smile. "Sorry if he bothered you."

"He's fine," Jungkook says, easy and casual. "Just keeping us company."

Aiden slides off the bench, taking his mother's outstretched hand.

“They're friends," he informs her solemnly. "But not boyfriend and girlfriend."

His mother looks mortified. "Aiden!"

"It's okay," you manage, fighting back a laugh that would probably hurt like hell. "He's just observant."

Aiden's mother drags him away, his sneakers squeaking against the polished floor as he waves one last time.

And then it's just the two of you, sitting in silence on a bench in the middle of the MoMA like you belong there. Like this is normal.

All the while, the pain persists, still twisting through your abdomen.

Jungkook hums quietly—something soft and melodic that takes you a moment to recognize.

John Mayer. Of course it's fucking John Mayer.

Your gaze drifts to the floor, tracing the patterns in the polished concrete as another thought forms, heavy and insistent.

Should you tell him? About the IUD?

He's worried. You can see it in his eyes, the way his fingers tap restlessly against his thigh, the occasional glance he throws your way when he thinks you're not looking.

But he's not pushing. Not demanding explanations or insisting on taking you home.

Because that's not what he does.

He suggests, offers, hints... but never forces. Never demands.

Just accepts whatever you're willing to give, even when it's clear he wants more.

This morning he talked about being friends. About sharing things. About being more than just roommates who occasionally fuck and mostly argue.

Maybe this could be a first step. A tiny gesture toward whatever it is he's proposing.

But also...

Also what if you tell him and he smirks? Makes some stupid joke about how you wanted him raw that badly?

You know how quickly he covers discomfort with humor, how reliably he turns to sexual innuendo when a moment gets too real or too heavy.

And this moment is nothing if not heavy.

But overthinking it is getting you nowhere, and the silence is stretching too long, becoming its own kind of weight.

So you take a breath, summon what little courage the pain hasn't eaten away, and speak.

"I got an IUD." The words come out soft, hushed, almost hoping he won't hear them. "Wednesday."

His head tilts toward you, and you brace yourself. Wait for the snort, the smirk, the inevitable sexual commentary that will make you regret this tiny moment of trust.

But it never comes.

He just sighs softly, a small shrug lifting his shoulders.

"That's good."

Your eyes drift to him, confusion replacing the defensive tension you were building, because what does he mean?

He meets your gaze, then looks back at the photograph on the wall.

“I mean, it's good you're taking care of yourself. Your sexual health." Another shrug, this one smaller. "That's good, Nix."

Something in your chest loosens—a knot you didn't realize you were holding tight.

It's... not what you expected. Not from him.

Not from anyone, really.

"Yeah, well." You shift on the bench, wincing as the movement sends a dull throb through your lower abdomen. "Not feeling particularly great about it at the moment."

His lips quirk, not quite a smile.

"Pain that bad?"

"Like someone's playing Operation with my insides, but they're losing."

A soft laugh escapes him. "Fucking brutal."

"Pretty much."

Another stretch of silence, but this one feels different. Lighter, somehow. The pain is still there, but it's muted now, less all-consuming.

"Copper or hormonal?" he asks, voice casual like he's asking about the weather, not your reproductive choices.

You blink at him, genuinely surprised.

"You know the difference?"

"I do actually pay attention in health class, Phoenix. Plus, you know. Been with people who've had them."

"Copper," you answer, focusing on the question instead of whatever that feeling was. "I had a feeling hormones would mess with me."

He nods like this makes perfect sense. "Those are the ones that hurt more at first, right? Take longer to settle?"

Again, that surprise. "Yeah. How do you know that?"

"My ex." He shifts slightly on the bench, angling more toward you without actually moving closer. "She had one. Copper. Cramped like hell the first few months."

"Months?" The word comes out more alarmed than you intended.

His eyes widen slightly. "Not like, continuously. Just periodically. Mostly when she got her period. It got better though. Less intense over time."

"Great," you mutter. "Something to look forward to."

"Sorry." He winces. "Not helping, am I?"

"Not really, no."

"Do you..." He hesitates, eyes scanning your face like he's checking for warning signs. "Do you regret getting it?"

The question catches you off guard. Not because it's invasive—it's actually pretty reasonable given the context—but because of how genuinely he asks it. Like he really wants to know what you think. Not to judge, just to understand.

"No," you say after a moment. "No, I don't regret it. I wanted it. Chose it. This—This is just the shitty part. It'll pass."

"And this is something you want? Long-term?"

You nod, a little less certain than before but still sure enough.

"Yeah. I like not having to worry about it. Worth some pain now."

"Make sense. That's... smart." He tilts his head, that thoughtful look you rarely see crossing his features. "Planning ahead."

"One of us has to," you say without thinking.

His eyebrows shoot up. "Ouch. Direct hit, Nix."

"Sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Nah, it's fair." He cuts you off with a small laugh. "I'm not exactly Mr. Responsibility."

The self-awareness surprises you.

"You're not that bad."

"I’m not?”

“Okay I take it back.”

He chuckles.

The pain stabs again, sharper this time, and you can't quite hide the wince. His expression shifts immediately.

"Need to move around? Sometimes that helps."

You consider it. Sitting here isn't doing much except letting you focus on how much it hurts.

“Maybe."

"Think the ibuprofen's kicking in at all?"

His eyes scan your face, and you wonder what he sees there. Probably not the composed, controlled person you're trying to project.

"A little. It's not as bad as before."

"That's something." He stands, offering a hand but not insisting when you ignore it and push yourself up on your own. "We could head to the next gallery? Or go back to the one with that series you liked—the urban decay stuff."

The fact that he noticed which photographs caught your interest earlier shouldn't feel significant. It's just basic observation. Nothing special.

But it does. Feel significant, that is.

"Let's try the next one," you say, taking a tentative step. The pain doesn't immediately floor you, which is an improvement. "Slowly, though."

"No rush." He falls into step beside you, hands shoved in his pockets in that casual way he has, like he's completely at ease no matter where he is.

You nod, trying not to think about the surprise dinner. Trying even harder not to think about the stupid Mayer vinyl you bought him and the fact that all his film bros will be there.

"Thanks," you say after a few steps. "For not being weird about the IUD thing."

He glances at you, something almost like surprise flickering across his features before settling into a small smile.

“Nothing to be weird about. It's your body, Nix. Your choice."

"Yeah, but." You struggle to articulate what you mean. "Most guys would make some gross joke or get all squirmy talking about it."

"I'm not most guys."

"Okay pick me boy."

“And here we go again.” He snorts.

“Hey, you’re the one who said that generic ass shit.”

"Uh-uh, so," he says, deliberately casual as you round the corner into the next gallery space. "How do you feel about Mayer?"

You groan, shoving him lightly.

"I knew it. I fucking knew you were humming that shit on purpose."

He laughs, the sound warm and surprisingly genuine.

"Gravity is a classic! You can hate on the man all you want, but you can't deny the music."

"Watch me."

And just like that, you're arguing about John Mayer in the middle of the MoMA, the pain still there but somehow less important than this stupid debate about whether "Your Body Is A Wonderland" is the worst song ever written or just mostly terrible.

It's strange. Unexpected. Almost... nice

Maybe this friend thing isn't completely impossible after all.

New York smells different right before sunset.

The city air mellows somehow. Still dirty, still chaotic, but softer now. Like the golden hour light filtering through the buildings is actually changing the molecular structure of everything it touches.

Or maybe that's just the ibuprofen finally kicking in and making life worth living again. Hard to say.

Your phone pings as you walk beside Jungkook, the busy street full of that weird liminal energy between work day and evening. People rushing home, people headed out, everyone caught in that transitional space of not-quite-done and not-quite-started.

It's Yoongi, his message simple and direct:

𝐘𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬🎧: 𝙷𝚘𝚠’𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐? 𝚂𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚔?

You glance at Jungkook, who's completely absorbed in his own phone, thumbs tapping absently against the screen.

Focused. Unaware.

Perfect.

You send back a quick thumbs up emoji, ignoring the follow-up questions Yoongi's already typing. The less you engage, the less likely you are to give something away.

6:30 PM.

Just over an hour until you need to steer Jungkook to the ramen place for his surprise. An hour to fill without either dying from secret uterine rebellion or accidentally revealing the plan.

You slide your phone back into your pocket and lean slightly to see what's so captivating on Jungkook's screen.

Not that you care. Just curious. Normal curious, not weird curious.

Instagram?

He's editing a photo—one of the abstract architectural shots he took at the museum when you weren't paying attention.

It's actually... pretty good.

The photo highlights the sharp angles of the stairwell, light cutting through the space in a way that transforms something mundane into something almost ethereal.

"You have a photography Instagram?"

He startles, immediately angling the phone away from you with the guilty reflex of someone caught looking at porn in public.

"Yeah, but it's nothing important. Just, you know. Silly stuff."

That's... suspicious. Jungkook doesn't do self-deprecation, not about things he's clearly good at.

He's the first person to brag about his skills, his looks, his whatever. The fact that he's downplaying this is weird.

"What silly stuff?" You raise an eyebrow, trying to peer around his shoulder at the now-hidden screen. "Show me."

"No, seriously, it's no big deal." He actually puts his phone in his pocket, which is basically equivalent to locking it in a vault given how attached he usually is to the thing. "Just a hobby."

"Since when are you shy about anything?" You nudge his arm with your elbow, oddly intrigued by this sudden reluctance. "Come on, I’ll show you mine, you show me yours."

"Not everything has to be an innuendo, Phoenix."

"That wasn't—" You stop yourself, because okay, that did sound suggestive. "Come on, I let you drag me through an entire photography exhibition. The least you could do is let me see your supposed 'silly' photography Instagram."

He's not looking at you now, eyes fixed somewhere to the left, scanning the street like he's searching for an escape route.

Then his face changes, relief washing over his features as he spots something across the way.

"Hey, wanna check that out?"

He points toward a small storefront wedged between a vintage clothing shop and a bubble tea place. The sign reads 'String Theory: DIY Jewelry & Crafts' in quirky hand-painted letters.

"A bracelet shop?" You follow his gaze, genuinely confused by the abrupt change of subject. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, why not?" He's already moving toward the crosswalk, clearly eager to leave the Instagram conversation behind. "Could be fun."

"Since when do you care about DIY bracelets?"

He shrugs, the movement a little too casual to be genuine. "Since right now. Come on, Nix. Live a little."

You narrow your eyes, suspicious of this sudden interest in arts and crafts, but follow him anyway.

 Because in all honesty… The distraction isn't unwelcome—you've still got an hour to kill, and arguing about his secret Instagram account wasn't exactly on your agenda for the day.

Plus, whatever he's hiding must be good if he's willing to make friendship bracelets to avoid talking about it.

You approach the shop, and it is small but bright, walls lined with colorful spools of thread, beads in every imaginable shape and size, and an assortment of charms that range from the typical (hearts, stars, moons) to the bizarre (tiny plastic dinosaurs, miniature food items, and what appears to be a collection of famous dictators' faces).

A twenty-something with purple hair and more piercings than you can count greets you from behind the counter.

"Welcome to String Theory! Let me know if you need help finding anything."

Jungkook nods in acknowledgement, already wandering toward a display of leather cords and metal clasps. You follow, still puzzled by this whole detour.

"So this is what we're doing now? Making friendship bracelets?" You pick up a spool of neon green thread, turning it over in your fingers. "Is this your way of making our friendship official? Should we be getting cards and flowers too?"

He snorts, examining a tray of silver charms with unexpected interest.

"If anyone's getting flowers in this scenario, it's me. I'm high maintenance."

"Yeah, no shit."

He glances at you, that familiar half-smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“We don't have to stay if you don't want to. Just thought it might be..." He trails off, shrugging again in that way he does when he's trying to seem indifferent.

"What? Entertaining? A good way to avoid showing me your Instagram?"

"Both." He picks up a small wolf charm, turning it over in his fingers. "But mostly I thought it might be fun. You know, do something with our hands that isn't..."

He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

"And there's the innuendo. I was wondering how long you could go without making it weird."

"About thirty seconds, apparently." He sets the charm down, moving on to a collection of colored stones. "So, you want to make something or not?"

You consider it.

On one hand, making bracelets seems like a throwback to summer camp or middle school sleepovers—not exactly your usual Saturday night activity.

On the other hand, you've got time to kill, and it's oddly... refreshing to see Jungkook interested in something so innocuous.

Plus, you're still curious about that Instagram account, and maybe if you play along with this diversion, he'll eventually let his guard down enough to show you.

"Fine." You grab a small plastic basket from a stack near the entrance. "But I'm not making anything with your name on it, so don't get any ideas."

"Wouldn't dream of it." His smile widens into something more genuine. "Though I bet you'd rock a ‘Kuko 4-Ever' bracelet."

"I'd rather die, thanks."

You move along the wall, selecting threads in deep blues and purples because they're pretty, not because they remind you of the way Jungkook's hair sometimes looks in certain light. That would be stupid.

"So," you say casually, examining a tray of small metallic beads, "are you going to tell me about this secret Instagram account or what?"

He sighs, the sound more resigned than annoyed. "It's not secret. It's just... separate."

"Separate from what?"

"From me. From Jungkook. It's just a creative outlet, okay? Nothing special."

"But good enough that you don't want to show me."

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and there's something unexpectedly vulnerable in his expression.

"It's not that I don't want to show you. It's just... people get weird about it."

"Weird how?"

"They either think it's pretentious or they make too big a deal out of it." He moves to another display, this one filled with various charms. "It's easier to just keep it separate."

You follow him, curiosity piqued even further.

 Jungkook, who walks around the apartment half-naked without a second thought, who leaves his dirty laundry in the most inconvenient places possible, who has absolutely no qualms about sharing the explicit details of his sex life—this same Jungkook is suddenly shy about his photography?

"I won't make it weird," you offer, surprising yourself with the sincerity in your voice. "Promise."

He looks skeptical. "You make everything weird, Nix. It's your special talent."

"Fuck off." You snatch a small charm from the tray without really looking at it—something circular with delicate metalwork. "I can appreciate art without being weird about it."

"It's not really art. Just photos."

"Of what?"

He hesitates, fingers tracing the edge of a tray.

 "Mostly urban stuff. Architecture. Shadows. Light. Some nature." A shrug. "Just things I find interesting."

"That actually sounds cool."

He glances at you like he's checking for signs of mockery, then seems to decide you're being genuine.

"Yeah, well. Maybe I'll show you. Someday."

It's not a yes, but it's not a hard no either.

You'll take it.

"Cool." You move to the register, where the purple-haired employee is arranging a display of finished samples. "So how do we actually do this bracelet thing? I haven't made one since I was like, twelve."

"You think I have?" Jungkook laughs, setting his basket beside yours on the counter. "I'm flying blind here too."

The employee—Ash, according to their name tag—smiles.

“That's what I'm here for. What kind of bracelet are you thinking? We've got traditional friendship styles, leather wraps, beaded, charm..."

"Whatever's easiest," you say at the same time Jungkook says, "The coolest one."

Ash's smile widens. "How about a leather cord with beads? Simple but looks great."

"Sounds good," Jungkook agrees, emptying his basket on the counter. "Can we work on them here?"

"Absolutely. Let me set you up at the table in the back."

As you follow Ash toward a small workshop area in the rear of the store, your phone buzzes again. You check it discreetly.

𝐓𝐚𝐞🎨: 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢. 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚢 𝟾. 𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚒’𝚜  𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜.

You glance at the time.

6:45 PM.

Just over an hour left of... this. This strange, not entirely unpleasant detour into something that feels almost like friendship.

You slip your phone away before Jungkook can see, ignoring the small voice in the back of your mind that wonders what other secrets he might be keeping, and why you suddenly care so much about finding them out.

Ash sets you up at a small wooden table pressed right against the front window.

"So, what are we making?" Jungkook asks, already rummaging through his selection of beads like a kid sorting Halloween candy.

You don't answer immediately, an idea taking shape as you run your fingers over the threads and beads scattered across the table. Your eyes catch on the small containers of alphabet beads near the edge of the table, then drift to the vibrant collection of orange, red, and yellow beads in various shapes and finishes.

Perfect.

You pull the alphabet containers closer, fishing out specific letters: P, H, O, E, N, I, X. Setting them in a neat line in front of you, you reach for more: R, O, G, U, E.

Jungkook watches, brows drawing closer together as he pieces together what you're doing.

When recognition hits, he laughs—short and surprised.

"Okay, seriously? You're making Phoenix and Rogue bracelets now?"

You shrug, reaching for the orange, red, and yellow beads, arranging them between the letters.

"What? Hell yeah. We already branded each other, might as well make it something to remember each other by."

"You think I want to walk around with a bracelet that says 'Rogue' on my wrist?"

He looks genuinely baffled, like you've suggested he tattoo your face on his ass.

"I don't care what you do with it." You roll your eyes, already threading through the first bead. "I'm making mine."

He snorts, but instead of arguing further, he actually helps you sort through the letter beads, pushing the ones you need closer. Then, to your surprise, he reaches for the same fiery-colored beads you've been using.

"What?" he says, catching your look. "If we're doing this ridiculous twin bracelet thing, they might as well match."

"I thought you'd go for all black or something."

He shrugs, picking out a particularly vibrant red bead.

"Rogues can be fiery too. Besides," he adds with a half-smile, "these are my colors."

"Your colors?"

"Yeah." He lays out a pattern—red, orange, yellow, just like yours. "Warm tones. Bold. Kind of obnoxious if you use too many at once."

"Sounds like someone I know," you mutter, and he chuckles.

Your fingers work almost automatically, threading beads onto the leather cord. You're not being symbolic on purpose. It just looks nice.

When you glance up, Jungkook is staring at his own pile of beads, expression oddly distant.

He's rolling a small sun charm between his fingers, back and forth, like he's trying to make a decision.

"What?" you ask, because his silence feels weird.

He shrugs, the motion feeling slightly too forced on him.

"Nothing. Just..." He sets the charm down, picks up a red bead instead. "I actually had one of these. A bracelet. When I was a kid."

This feels like something—a small piece of himself he's offering without being pushed.

So you keep your tone light when you ask.

"Yeah? What kind?"

"Leather, like this." He picks up one of the cords, wrapping it around his wrist to measure before cutting it. "With these bright beads my mom found at some market. Reds and oranges, kind of like these. I wore it until it literally fell apart."

"How old were you?"

"I don't know. Ten? Eleven?" He shrugs again. "Young enough that it was still cool, not lame."

"And now?"

His eyes flick up to yours, then away. "Now what?"

"Is it lame now?"

His expression wavers, tightening around the mouth.

"Nah, it's whatever." He starts threading red and orange beads onto his cord, precise and quick. "Just not something guys usually wear, you know? Unless they're trying to be edgy or something."

"Since when do you care about what's 'usually' done?"

He laughs, but it sounds different than his normal laugh—a little hollow, a little forced.

"Fair point."

You work in silence for a few minutes, with some accompanying sounds; like the soft click of beads and the occasional muttered curse when you drop one.

A yellow bead rolls across the table toward Jungkook, who catches it easily.

"Thanks," you mutter as he hands it back.

"No problem." He pauses, looking at the half-finished bracelet in his hands. "I lied, by the way."

"About what?"

"My mom didn't find the beads." He keeps his eyes on his work, not looking at you. "I did. She just helped me put it together because I was too small to handle the clasps."

Something about the way he says it makes your chest tighten—like this isn't just a random childhood memory but something… soft.

Something he doesn't share often.

"That's sweet," you say, matching his tone. "You don't talk about your mom much."

He tenses, and you inwardly curse yourself.

"Not much to say."

That's a lie if you've ever heard one, but you don't push. Whatever this is—this small opening, it feels fragile. Like pressing too hard would make him shut down completely.

"Mine would've hated this place," you offer instead. "Too messy. Too handmade. Not enough structure."

His lips twitch, almost a smile.

"Mine would've loved it. She was always into this crafty shit. Had a whole room full of art supplies back when..." He trails off, shakes his head. "Anyway. How's yours coming?"

The abrupt subject change is obvious, but you let it slide.

"Almost done. Just need the clasp."

You hold up your creation for inspection. It's nothing fancy—just a simple leather cord with 'PHOENIX' spelled out in silver letter beads, filled with the fiery colored ones you picked.

But it looks kind of cool, in a childish, summer-camp sort of way.

Jungkook leans forward to look, his expression warming.

"Not bad, Nix. Very on-brand."

"Let me see yours."

He hesitates, then holds out his own bracelet. It's just like yours to match, with 'ROGUE' spelled out in metal letter beads. But he’s added a small sun charm that catches the light when he moves.

"Shit," you say, genuinely impressed. "Yours is way better than mine."

He shrugs, but you can tell he's pleased by the compliment.

“I have an eye for design. Part of my many talents."

"And so humble, too."

"Humility is overrated." He sets his bracelet down, reaching for the clasps Ash left for you. "Here, let me help you finish yours."

His fingers brush against yours as he takes your bracelet, the touch brief but somehow startling.

You watch as he attaches the clasp with surprising dexterity, tattooed fingers moving deftly, and it’s kind of attractive, really.

How good he is with his hands when he wants to be.

"There," he says, holding it out to you. "All set."

“Wait,” you announce, searching through the charms box.

You swear you had seen a rain charm earlier, and you had briefly snickered at it. But now that he’s wearing the sun charm it feels oddly… like yours needs to have the rain one, just to contrary him.

So you pick it up, add it to your bracelet.

And then you smile at him, show him.

He snorts.

You turn it in your hand. It feels solid, real. A physical manifestation of the nickname he gave you—the one that used to annoy you but now feels almost like a strange term of endearment.

Ash then approaches your table, a small fabric-lined box in her hands.

"All finished? Those look great!"

You both nod, holding up your creations for inspection.

"Phoenix and Rogue," she reads, smiling. "And they match! The fire colors work perfectly for both."

"Yeah," Jungkook says, and you're surprised by the hint of pride in his voice. "Kind of the point."

"Perfect timing, then," Ash says, setting the box on the table. "We're actually starting a new community art project. Would you be interested in contributing your bracelets?"

You frown, confused.

"Contributing how?"

"We're collecting handmade bracelets from customers to create a wall installation," she explains, gesturing toward a corner of the shop where several bracelets are already displayed on a corkboard. "It's part of our five-year anniversary celebration. Everyone who contributes gets a polaroid of their bracelet and a discount on their next visit."

"Oh." You look down at your bracelet, feeling an unexpected reluctance to part with it.

Which is stupid, because what were you going to do with it anyway?

Wear it?

That would be weird.

"You don't have to," Ash adds quickly, picking up on your hesitation. "It's totally optional."

"No, it's cool," Jungkook says, already placing his bracelet in the box. "I like the idea."

You glance at him, surprised again.

"You do?"

"Yeah. Creating something that stays here, becomes part of the place." He shrugs. "Better than it ending up in a drawer somewhere, right?"

There's something about the way he says it—like he's not just talking about the bracelet anymore—that makes you pause.

But then he's looking at you expectantly, waiting for your decision, and you place your bracelet in the box beside his, the matching colors side by side.

"For the record," you say as Ash takes a polaroid of your creations side by side, "I would've worn mine."

Jungkook's smile is slow and surprisingly gentle.

“Yeah?"

"Maybe not in public," you clarify quickly. "But yeah."

"Me too," he admits quietly, and it feels like he's sharing another secret—small but somehow significant. "Don't tell anyone, though. Ruins my image."

"What image? The one where you pretend to be cool but actually know an alarming amount about John Mayer's discography?"

"Exactly that one." He grins, the most genuine expression you've seen from him all day. "It's carefully curated."

Ash returns with your polaroid and receipt, both bracelets now part of the store's growing collection.

"Come back anytime to see them. They'll be here as long as we are."

"Thanks," Jungkook says, taking the polaroid and tucking it carefully into his wallet.

As you step back out onto the sidewalk, the city bathed in the deepening gold of late afternoon, you feel strangely light despite the lingering pain in your abdomen.

You reach for your phone to check the time, only to find your pocket empty.

"Shit," you mutter, patting your other pockets frantically. "My phone."

Jungkook stops mid-stretch.

"You lose it?"

"Must have left it in the shop." You're already turning back toward the door. "Wait here, I'll be quick."

"Want me to—"

"No, it's fine," you say, perhaps too quickly. "Just give me a second."

The bell chimes as you push back into the store, Ash looking up from behind the counter, eyebrows raised in question.

"Forgot my phone," you explain, gesturing vaguely toward the table where you were sitting.

"No problem. Take your time."

You move quickly to the table, eyes already scanning for your missing device.

Three minutes later, you're back outside, phone safely in hand. Jungkook's leaning against a lamppost, scrolling through something on his own phone.

"Got it?" he asks without looking up.

"Yeah."

You slip it into your pocket without checking the time.

"Ready?"

He pushes off the lamppost.

"Lead the way."

You start walking toward the subway entrance, mentally calculating the time. It must be around 7:20 now. Perfect timing to get to the restaurant by 8.

"Hungry?" you ask, as casually as you can manage.

Jungkook stretches again, arms reaching skyward in a motion that draws your eyes despite yourself.

"Starving. What did you have in mind?"

"I know a place," you say, already angling toward the stairs. "Trust me."

And the weird thing is, from the way he falls into step beside you without question, it seems like he actually does.

goal: 550 notes

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© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[crazy-pages]

I'm going to throw my two cents in to the conversation about why James Somerton didn't get caught earlier. Part of the answer is of course that he did get caught, he just bullied and lied to get away with it for a while, but I know a lot of people still express confusion. And of course he went out of his way to make sure his audience didn't know about other queer history sources other than himself. But still. How could he have so many viewers of his videos and none of them had seen X source material?

Well. To be blunt, most of his videos were pretty basic. He tended to copy the highlights of what he was plagiarizing, not the really advanced stuff. And insofar as he copied the advanced stuff, he had a tendency to chop it up and serve it out of context alongside other plagiarized work. The material he was presenting was revolutionary to an audience unfamiliar with queer history, but like. I'm guessing 'Disney villains are queer coded' is not exactly a new concept to the kind of people who read multiple books about queer coding in film.

Now I'm not a film studies person, I'm a physicist. But you know what I do when I get a video in my YouTube recommendations about some fairly basic physics concept?

I skip it. No shade to the creator, but like. I hit that topic a decade ago and I've added literally thousands of hours of studying and research to my brain since. I'm just going to give it a pass, all right?

These kinds of videos self-select for an audience which isn't going to be familiar with the source material. The people who know it are unlikely to keep listening after the first minute or so.

And you've got to remember how much of this content the experts have consumed! With very few exceptions for weird little things that stuck in my head after all these years, I would probably not notice a physics explanation plagiarized from one of my textbooks! Not because I wasn't intimately acquainted with the textbook, but because I was intimately acquainted with many such textbooks. Spend enough time learning this stuff and it all blurs together a little bit. Does this explanation sound familiar because you've heard it before, or because you've just read books which cover this specific topic seven different times? And does that wording or that example ring a bell because it's plagiarized, or because it's common to the field?

Catching this kind of plagiarism requires having the kind of people who are already familiar with these sources, and therefore uninterested in video summaries on the topic, to watch the video. And among those people who do, it requires them to match Somerton's words to one specific source on the topic out of many, that they probably read quite some time ago. And then you have the filter of how many of those subject matter experts have the source on hand to check, to turn a vague "...hmm" into something solid.

If you know enough about queer history to say that some of his plagiarism was obvious, now that you've watched the video, then you should remember that there is a reason you probably weren't one of the people watching his videos! And because YouTube promotes videos through algorithmic engagement, none of this stuff has to pass the sniff test for any other expert in the field before it gets released. No experts have to like it for it to get published or for it to get good reviews or for it to get a recommendation in, I don't know, the New York Times.

The only people who have to like the videos for them to get traction are people who are just trying to learn introductory queer history and film theory. The exact people who aren't going to notice this. And for those of you who to whom it is obvious, ask yourself. When was the last time you watched a basic level queer history introduction on YouTube?

[zaebeecee]

No, you don't want the Hays Code to come back.

Listen, I get it. I'm aroace. I don't like sitting through gratuitous sex scenes that do nothing for the plot and exist solely for the purpose of "being a sex scene in the movie". It's lazy writing and a cheap marketing ploy, to be sure, but don't try to fool yourself into believing that a return of the Hays Code will somehow only change this particular aspect of film, and that everything else will be allowed to flourish as a result.

Let's pretend that the Hays Code did come back. If that ever happened, what kinds of things could you expect from all film, going forward? Well, we're going to go on a journey. I'm going to go through the Hays Code (which you can find here in its entirety if you'd like to read it) point by point, and the following list is just what immediately comes to mind while doing that. I promise you, the full list is much, much longer.

Things you could look forward to if the Code came back:

You don't get any more sympathetic villains. The very first rule of the Hays Code is "the sympathy of the audience should never be thrown to the side of crime, wrongdoing, evil or sin".

There will be no more characters who are happily allowed to live any lifestyle alternative to the Average American Nuclear Family With Dad And Mom And 2.5 Kids And A Dog. This includes everything from queer representation to just having a woman who doesn't want to get married (or, Heaven forfend, wants a divorce). Any characters who are living lives like this will either 1) have this rectified by the end of the story, usually by falling in love with the promise of marriage and a family, or 2) die.

There won't be any more criticism of the police or the government unless it comes from villains, at which point the criticism will be so cartoonishly over the top and miss the point so hard it isn't even criticism anymore. If a protagonist holds any of these views, they will very quickly be "set straight".

You won't have any more horror movies with any part of the horror coming from the portrayal of a character's death, because the Code prohibits murder shown in any context that people might theoretically be able to imitate or with any brutality whatsoever. The shower scene in Psycho pushed this rule almost to its breaking point.

All crime procedurals will be barebones by necessity, because even crime on property or non-violent crime (theft/robbery, arson, smuggling, etc) will not be allowed to be presented with any level of detail. Any sort of heist story will not exist for the same reason.

There will be no more action movies with guns in them, as the only presentation of firearms allowed will be "restricted to the essentials".

Not only can smuggling not be portrayed, basically everything about illegal drugs will be banned from film.

Characters will only drink alcohol in any form at all if it's critical to the plot.

No romantic affairs unless they're a vital plot point.

The ban on sex will not be limited to on-scene sex. There will be no kissing or even embracing that could be construed as "lustful", as well as no characters allowed to even hold themselves in a vaguely provocative manner. Also, the very act of seduction is banned, even if it's in a positive light.

Oh, hey, look, a good one: any rape must be essential to the plot, non-explicit in any capacity, and never used for comedy. You get one, Hays.

No more queer people. At all.

The Code explicitly bans the portrayal of "White slavery" and "miscegenation". Know what those are? "A white woman traveling in any capacity with a black man" and "any marriage between a white person and a black person".

No stories of anyone suffering from an STD.

No childbirth. You can't even say the word 'pregnant', and showing a woman who is pregnant is pushing your luck.

Good one number two: no depicting children in an even vaguely suggestive manner. So that's two, Hays.

The points on 'vulgarity' and 'obscenity' are so incredibly vague that basically anything objectionable is subject to being banned depending on the personal opinion of the person making the judgment. Also, no more jokes for parents in kid's movies, and that's not limited to sexual innuendo, because the obscenity clause forbids even the possible suggestion of something that might be considered objectionable even if only a small portion of the audience will understand it.

No profanity, for any reason.

There won't be any costumes that are considered immodest according to the standards of 1930. Also, you can't portray anyone undressing or being exposed to the point of indecency according to the standards of 1930.

No one will be allowed to dance in any way that isn't your basic Jr. High slow "save room for Jesus" type dancing. This includes, but isn't limited to, dances with any sort of sexually provocative moves. For context, it was this restriction that had people calling for Elvis Presley to be arrested and burning his records, because of that basic little back and forth hip movement he did. It wasn't even thrusting, it was mostly side to side.

There will be zero critique of religion. Doesn't matter why. On this note, the only acceptable portrayal of religious figures will be as wise, caring espousers of good advice and wisdom. No religious figures as villains or presented in a comedic light. Also, all religious ceremonies are to be respectful if portrayed and cannot be used for negative plot reasons.

If they show a married couple's bedroom, the couple must have separate beds, because you can't even suggest that a married couple are sleeping together.

Anything relating to the flag of the USA or patriotism will be required to be shown in a positive light. The same can be said of representations of other countries and cultures... according to the standards of 1930.

Good point three: no animal or child cruelty.

"Oh but isn't the next point good" no because "the sale of women" just means prostitution, so yeah, no more sex workers. And not just them actively working, you can't portray them at all.

Medical dramas and war dramas won't be able to portray surgery.

Now, yes, it's true that the Code goes on to clarify points, with things like "it's okay to sympathize with the person committing the crime, just not the crime itself", but these clarifications are always just there to make the Code seem less like a totalitarian dictatorship. Also, do you really think people are going to push their luck and possibly have their work subjected to severe third-party editing or, worse, flat out banned? Of course not. Filmmakers are going to err on the side of caution and not push anything.

You might be looking at this list and thinking, "but I know a lot of characters from the Code era that did all this stuff!" Right. I'm sure you did. And they were villains, by and large. And if they weren't, they were either fixed because it was a dramatic plot point, or they were punished with death.

I'm sure there are things on this list that you think are fine. But I'm just as positive that there's at least one thing that bans something you personally like. And I suggest you just stop for a second and think about all the media you like, and how many of them—under strict adherence to this code—would be banned.

Being in my 30s, some of these might be old or outdated enough to be obscure, but this would ban (or change past the point of recognition) things like Breaking Bad, NBC's Hannibal, Monty Python anything, V for Vendetta, James Bond, everything MCU and DCU, Ocean's 11, The Big Lebowski, The Boondock Saints, The Walking Dead, most every reality show in existence, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, The Substance, Straight Outta Compton, Heretic, Nosferatu, The Hunger Games, Percy Jackson, Salem's Lot, Boardwalk Empire, Wicked, The Passenger, Glass Onion and Knives Out, half of everything the Muppets have ever done, Smile, Skinamarink, The Babadook, Sister Act, The Blues Brothers, Gone Girl, X, Jurassic Park, Death Becomes Her, The Birdcage, Cabaret, Repo! The Genetic Opera, Mrs. Doubtfire, Smokey and the Bandit, Jaws, The Nun, The Amityville Horror, Reefer Madness, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, Little Shop of Horrors, Moulin Rouge!, Les Miserables, Chicago, Hamilton, Adventure Time, The Menu, To Wong Foo, Paris is Burning, Priscilla Queen of the Desert, It, The Godfather trilogy, The Thing, Shakespeare in Love, Pirates of the Caribbean, Wilde, To Kill a Mockingbird, Fried Green Tomatoes, Murder She Wrote, and this is just what I can think of at the moment.

Even if you don't like or don't care about most of this list, you can't deny that this is a lot of things from a lot of different genres, many of which have almost nothing sexually provocative in them at all.

The Hays Code didn't make movies better. It isn't the kind of limitation that breeds creativity. The Hays Code existed explicitly to silence absolutely everyone that the Moral Majority didn't like, and I'm sorry to tell you this, but if you're on tumblr then there is a 98% chance that you are one of those people the Code sought to silence. It wasn't made for anyone's benefit except the people who made it and wanted to control as much of the culture as they could.

Things like the Code do not help people, and they do not only hurt people who aren't you. Ultimately, it does nothing except make art unilaterally worse.

[myheadsgonenumb]

I know a lot of people accuse the marauders fandom of being misogynistic because of the way they pair male characters together and sideline female characters to do it. And maybe there is an element of truth in that for some people.

But I see wolfstar and remadora being used as an example of this - as if the wolfstar ship hadn't existed for four years before Tonks was introduced to the readership, as if it wasn't six years old before remadora was introduced, as if it isn't perfectly reasonable that readers read Tonks as queer coded before she was straight jacketed into being a stepford wife and as if remadora was a well seeded and compelling relationship that anyone might feasibly have any interest in.

I don't like Tonks - not because she's a woman, but because she knocks things over and says "wotcher", and there is no excuse for that. She is an irritating character that adds nothing to the narrative. But even so, if Remadora had played out differently, I could have got on board with it. I want Remus to be happy - and if Tonks is what makes him happy, so be it. I like Romione and Hinny, after all. I'm fine with canon ships where it's clear the characters like each other. But married Remus isn't happy, and it is not clear that he and Tonks like each other at all.

I am a wolfstar shipper, but even if I wasn't, I wouldn't like Remadora. I unashamedly love the HP books and there is very little that I will criticise them over, but Remadora is one of those things, and this is why.

Remadora is a hot, toxic and abusive mess but it's her not him.

Whether she likes his reasons or not, whether the readers or the fucking Weasleys like his reasons or not, Remus is entitled to his boundaries. He does not want to be in a relationship with her because he believes it is a bad idea. He knows, better than any of them, what his life is really like; the toll the prejudice he faces takes on him and how this will impact Tonks' life. And he doesn't want to be responsible for that - and that's fair enough.  

So he says "no" a million times (actual quote) and removes himself from the situation. Which is the mature and sensible thing to do.

She doesn't accept it. For a start - he shouldn't have had to keep repeating his "no", that is enough to tell us she is repeatedly forcing the issue, that she doesn't respect his answer or his feelings and is not listening to him. She thinks that because she loves him despite his condition that that is enough. He is old enough to know the reality of their life together will be far more complicated than that and recognises that he does not want it (and fears that eventually neither will she).    

But she won’t listen and she won't respect his decision and so she goes around airing their dirty laundry in public, getting his friends to side with her and agree he is being "ridiculous" (again - actual quote). She is losing her powers over him and no - that is not him draining the life out of her, as I have seen said - that is her being a melodramatic twat. She is not the first person to be unlucky in love, her reaction is what is ridiculous. Meanwhile, Remus is being the grown up and getting on with his life. Yes he's going out of his way to avoid her (which is proving necessary as she won't let their relationship lie) but it's still necessary work and it’s work only he can do. The fact that he might be relieved to have an excuse to get away from her speaks to her bad behaviour not his.  

She changes her patronus to match his and this is just so... everything that is wrong with them and with her encapsulated.  For a start, we only see two sets of exactly matching patronuses in HP - Remadora and Snily, both examples of unrequited, thwarted love. Healthy relationships might have complementary patronuses, but relationships where one person's patronus assumes the shape of another's suggests that one person is being subsumed by the other. And yet this is not a relationship or level of control that either Remus or Lily are interested in having, so it is a sign - not of control or abuse from them - but of how obsession is eroding Tonks' and Snape's core selves. But that isn't the fault of the person they are obsessed with.

The remadora example is far far worse though, because a doe doesn't have any special significance to Lily, that is just the shape her patronus is. Remus's is a wolf. He hates that, and chooses to cast an incorporeal patronus when he can. Being a werewolf is his greatest source of pain and shame, and he sees his patronus as an extension of that, almost of it outing his condition. Tonks - the absolutely fuckwitted stalker that she is - bears absolutely none of that in mind, changes her patronus and blithely casts it around to all and sundry to deliver messages. She is taking Remus's darkest, most shameful, most secret part of himself and using it to wizard text. And she doesn't even get why that's a problem. It just shows that he is correct in believing that she doesn't understand the reality of his situation and is not ready for it; she doesn't appreciate or respect the toll it takes on his life and frankly she doesn't respect his feelings (which we already knew from her not accepting his "no").         

It all comes to a head when Dumbledore dies. Remus loses control of his emotions at this point, and Harry is so startled that he thinks of it being "indecent" to see Remus vulnerable like this. Remus is not just grieving Dumbledore, he is processing the fact that without Dumbledore the war is lost; Voldemort will win; everything has been vain and the whole world is going to tumble into darkness. Every sacrifice he has made, Sirius, Lily, James - it's all been for nothing. That is where he is at that moment.

And fucking Tonks - fucking Tonks -  makes it about her and their relationship. And it’s not just that she corners him when he is at his most vulnerable. But she does it publicly, in front of their friends, in front of the kids. She grabs hold of his robes and physically shakes him. She physically shakes him . If he had physically shaken her we would not be having a discussion on if she was unreasonable to not want to marry him.

Even at this moment, he tries to stand his ground, He knows what is right. He knows getting married is the wrong thing for them to do. But she won't back down and all their friends back her. It's unbelievable.

And he is a weak man. He knows it, we know it, and he never claimed to be anything else.  Under this much pressure, he gives in. But he later says it was done very much "against {his} better judgement". He was co-erced into marriage- both emotionally and eventually physically.

So - yeah - Tonks gets pregnant. There are many clues throughout the books that the wizarding world is a no sex before marriage society and that they don't have contraception. Babies often follow hot on the heels of marriage. Should Remus have refused to consumate the marriage he entered against his will? Probably. Would Tonks have accepted that? Hell no! She'd have been back round Molly Weasley's for "tea and sympathy", telling the whole Weasley clan he won't shag her.  Having gone through with marriage, despite his misgivings, he gives in and goes through with it all. And Tonks gets pregnant.

And she is delighted. Because despite his fears of what this will mean for the child - Tonks couldn't care less. Remus says they don't know if the baby will be a werewolf or not. werewolves don't have kids. She is bringing a child into the world who could have a chronic, debilitating illness that will make them a pariah, and she doesn't even care. She doesn't think it's a problem. She thinks love will be enough, because she has no actual understanding of what she is dealing with, and shows no interest in gaining that understanding. She thinks "I don’t care” (about her family being werewolves) is the answer to the problem.

Meanwhile, Remus is spiralling into depression because he is facing the reality of the prejudice his condition is now forcing on his wife and child, He cannot take the guilt of how he is going to negatively impact their lives. And while Tonks is within her rights to say she doesn't care about that, Remus is within his rights to say the guilt is too much for him and he doesn't want that. He is entitled to his boundaries and his feelings as well, but Tonks, the other characters and a hefty portion of the readership don't seem to recognise this.

So Remus is now trapped. He admits it was a mistake to marry Tonks and he knows he shouldn't have - but he was pursued until he couldn't stand against it any longer, and the depression and guilt is killing him. Harry is worrying about him, he is so clearly miserable. AND TONKS DOESN'T EVEN SEEM TO NOTICE! She is described as being "radiant", she is blissfully happy. She has what she wants and she can't even spot what the teenage boy whose only spent a couple of minutes with them since they got married can see is glaringly obvious.

And this leads back to her being obsessive about Remus, but actually seeming to know or care about him very little. She doesn't respect or understand his feelings and has no interest in doing so. She wants him. She has him. The end.

So - unable to cope with the guilt of what he has done, the societal stigma he is inflicting on his own family, the coldness of now having to deal with that prejudice in his own home via his in laws (and I've seen people try and gaslight him by saying he is imagining that, Ron and Molly spout anti-werewolf rhetoric, no Andromeda is not chill about her only daughter being married to one) and having no one on his side who will even listen to his fears - he suffers a total mental breakdown and runs away.

And is told to go back.

Fuck that. Anyone is entitled to leave a marriage they are unhappy in. Yes, he can't leave in such a way that he is not around to support the child and it was wrong of him to try (though understandable that he did not think that through in the circumstances) but he does not have to stay with Tonks, if he thinks it is for the best that he leaves. Especially when the impact the marriage is having on his mental health is taken into account. 

Harry is a teenager, who is seeing the situation through his own lens of being orphaned. And he is absolutely right to refuse to be Remus’s cover here. Remus is doing the mental gymnastics that if he leaves his child to protect James’ child then it’s all OK, and Harry is right not to be OK with that.   But he is wrong to unequivocally think Remus should go back to Tonks. This is an adult relationship that Harry is not yet old enough to understand, which took place under duress, and Remus is miserable in it. Why should he stay? 

They get lucky, and Teddy is not a werewolf, but that does not mean his fear around that was not reasonable. And he dies before they ever have to face up to the reality of life together for any length of time.

He is not proven wrong just because he does not live long enough to be proven right.

He just goes back, because there is nowhere else for him to go and no one willing to help him. and buries his head in the sand. But he is the expert in the experience of life as a werewolf. If he says it’s awful, if he says Tonks is going to face mistreatment and stigma because of it, then he is right. And it is all very well for a young and in love Tonks to say that doesn't matter, but he is older and wiser and knows how prejudice wears you down through the years. He knows reality will get the better of them in the end. And even if it doesn't - even if Tonks was to remain cheerful in the face of blatant discrimination for her and her child for the rest of her life - Remus is not unreasonable to say he is not willing to be the cause of that, that he can't live with that guilt, and to choose to remove himself from the situation so Tonks and Teddy can live normally.

I think the books do Tonks dirty. She is a different character in each of the three books she appears in, and each incarnation is worse than the last. But I can't like her because ultimately her actions are so abusive and she is so oblivious to the pain Remus is in. The only good thing about the ship is that the mental breakdown gives Remus something significant to do in DH, when otherwise he would have been totally sidelined - and the breakdown to coming back with Sirius and James and Lily gives him a nice redemption arc. But in terms of both characters it doesn't make sense and both need to be totally broken to make it work. 

Remadora is one of the best written examples of an abusive relationship I've seen. What's weird about it is a) it’s in a children's series and b) the conclusion is that the victim of abuse is being very silly and should return to his abuser.

So please, stop telling wolfstar shippers that they are misogynistic because they are more interested in the potential of the 40 line stare than they are in this toxic wasteland of romance. It's just bad. And it's OK not to ship it because it is bad.

[mintaikkcorpse]

No, but Deadpool's crush on Spidey is so cute!

Bro out here wanting to be a better person bcuz of Spidey. He really out here stopping Spidey from killing a Itsy Bitsy, despite being a murder himself, bcuz he didn't want Spidey to break his moral code. He canonically gushes about Spidey to his daughter and got all embarrassed when she repeated what he said back to Spidey. He goes out of his way to impress Spidey. He trusts Spidey a lot. He got embarrassed when Spidey saw that he was in Deadpool's free-pass list. He causes problems on purpose to get Spidey's attention. He likes to hold his hand because "it helps him focus." He couldnt focus on wjat Spidey was telling him because Spidey said, "I need you." He likes listening to his voice bcuz he thinks it's calming. He likes to hug Spiderman a lot. He's literally KILLED himself for Peter to save him.

(Love this photo. Bro is down BAD)

I just needed to gush. Deadpool's thing is that he's supposed to be gender blind, but then the comics don't commit to that bcuz they only take his relationship with women seriously, and then treating his attraction to men as a joke bcuz the cishet men reading and writing this cant possibly fathom queerness not being a joke. I love this series bcuz Deadpool's crush on Spidey actually means something, and even if they don't end up together (they are heartmates though and Spiderman is somewhat implied to have at least some feelings for him (read first panels in the reblog)), it's still so nice to see

[rhode-island-empire]

And now, "My DNI List," brought to you by Tumblr user @yakkowarnerskneecaps12345!!!

Zionists, proshitters, MAGA and selfshippers, Bandori players and rude; fascists and minors and angry Rhode Islanders, basic criteria too. Those who didn't vote Kamala, doubles of Monika, pro-endos, anti age-re; dark/com shippers and lolisho, haters of commie bros, if you use ChatGPT! Grape emojis and PDF file (supporters) and straight men right under 5'5, anything ending in -phobe or -ist, really I think you should go unalive!

Potterheads, radicals, self-proclaimed liberals, punks who don't do politics; demonize Cluster B, reading the Odyssey, those who are capitalist. Anti-recovery, hate gender fuckery, anti-objectum, radfem; and if you post any ships that involve Atticus (cause I'm possessive of him). Anti-endos, conservatives, likers of Curious George, Peaky Blinders, and Cheers; Nazis and antis and people named Manny, and homophobes (fuck you I'm queer)!

People on blender and also cisgender and area code 401; Stuart Little and anti-kin, brainrot and Yankee fans, people who e-bike for fun! Support firefighters or terfs, AI writers, and Mori Calliope stans; centrists and moderates, Youtubers, communists; listen to thrash metal bands! Danganronpa, fujoshi, and vocaloid, brony, plus Hazbin, pro-lifers, BOTSWANA!! Adults and pokemon, runners of marathons, I forgot, something, et cetera!

Non-Upstate New Yorkers and $h3d blur (and throw in ol' Reddit as well); Zegler apologists, those anti-socialists, democrats (fuck off to hell)! If you're seeing a solar eclipse with your brother especially when I'm at work; republicans (only on Tuesdays) and Comic-Con, transids and radqueers and jerks! Gacha lifers (so cringey), rich people (so stingy), support the police, and jirais; and Steelers and ableists, people who faking shit. West Pennsylvanians and Transylvanians! No breaking my rules or I will report you. And also I block freely too!

reblogs > likes! (also open to covers)

[plor-bindery]

(Re)bound: Everybody Hates a Tourist by @wolfpants

I whipped up a lil paperback yesterday and today, because it’s always a good day to make myself more copies of Wolf’s lovely words.

If you haven't read this fic, you need to: Wolf has such a way of situating Harry and Draco in the real world, and especially in the queer community. This is a story of self-discovery, evident almost immediately for Harry’s side of things: stuck in a boring job at the Ministry, frozen in an increasingly distant relationship with Ginny, and unable to break away from all the expectations placed on him by the Wixen community. Harry sees Draco's self-assurance, his friends and his community, as an enticing beacon of a life he doesn't feel he can have for himself.

But Draco's parallel journey creeps up on you as the narrative unspools. In time, it becomes clear that Draco's not actually living a carefree and gay seaside life, and that running away from the Wixen world has exacted a price from him.

And, listen: this is wolfpants. So there's also sparkling dialogue, brilliant characterization, adorable sausage dogs, and amazing sex scenes.

The typeset I used here is one I made earlier in my fanbinding journey, with only a handful of tweaks to the layout because I was still learning and there were a couple goofs.

The cover is new, but picks up the texting theme from the hardcover version and lays it over a pebble beach that (I hope) evokes Brighton's seaside vibes.

I feel like I've cracked the code on soft touch lamination, or at least have improved a lot, but I'm still working on the paperback technique in general.

Following tips from the paperback genius @jmbinding, I use my thermal binder to bind the text block into a piece of plain/blank presentation paper (same stuff I print onto for the cover), trim that bound block, and then glue on the laminated cover over the thermal bound plain one. Finally, I trim the cover to fit the trimmed book -- which is the step I'm still not super great at! (Don't look too closely at the edges or you'll spy my mistakes.)

Mandatory flip-through video because the floppy give of a paperback is still incredibly pleasing for me.

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | July 29th-August 4th 2024

Against my best intentions, I've been seduced by the dark side 🙈 (the infideleddie/buckfidelity trend).

Complete

i swear it will get easier by lecornergirl/ @clusterbuck (Post-S7, Chris&Buddie | 1,8K | General): “Chris texted me last night.” Tension slams into Eddie’s body. “Is he okay?” “He’s fine,” Buck says quickly. “There’s nothing wrong. He just—” he looks up, meets Eddie’s eyes. “He asked me how you’re doing.” Eddie’s face falls. “I’ve been texting,” he says, voice small. “Just—checking in, you know? Every day. But yesterday I thought—maybe I should give him some space—” he scrubs a hand across his face. “Did he think—” He doesn’t complete the sentence, but Buck fills in the blanks. Did he think I’d given up on him?

Jeep Talking by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Chim POV | 2K | Teen): A ride in the backseat of Buck's Jeep with Buck and Eddie in the front gives Chim new perspective on his brother-in-law's strange dynamic with his so-called "best friend.' And Chim is sick of them being so oblivious.

I'm falling apart (and all I want is to trust you) by diaz_evan (3x03: The Searchers | 2K | General): OR Eddie and Christopher's reactions to Buck collapsing in 3x03: The Searchers.

unless you're choosing me by bucksclipboard/ @excuseme-greentea (Post-S7, Misunderstandings | 4K | Teen): “Could you check that?”, Eddie called from the kitchen. He had insisted to make something for them tonight instead of ordering their usual pizza and ice cream dinner. “Sure”, Buck replied and snatched the phone off the coffee table. He knew the pass code – it was the day Eddie had started working at the 118. There was no new text, just a message from his phone provider, but an earlier conversation was still opened. Before Buck could place the phone back on the table, something caught his eye. Why was Eddie talking to Hen about him? or: buck reads a text he wasn’t supposed to read

can't ignore the crazy visions of me in la by wafflesofdoom/ @capseycartwright (Post-S7, Getting Together, Pride | 4K | General): Margarita-drunk Buck ruminates on how beautiful Eddie Diaz is while his best friend is dancing to Chappell Roan. That's what LA pride is for, right? - or, alternatively: Eddie spends his first pride as an out queer man in a gay club, and Buck is in love with him about it.

the one where buck finds out by weewooforever (Post-S7, Misunderstandings, Getting Together | 5K | Teen): “You’re — You’re over me?” Buck manages to choke out, looking towards Eddie with wide eyes. “When were you… “ He says, his voice barely above a whisper as he tries to make sense of this whole situation. “When were you under me?” or the one where buck listens to a voicemail that turns his whole life upside down.

nothing wrong with me loving you by cranberrymoons/ @cranberrymoons (Post-S7, Cheating, Sexting | 5K | Explicit): He’s not thinking about it. He’s not. He’s definitely not. Buck leaves for the night, gets in his car and drives away like everything’s normal – normal because it is, it literally is, it’s the most normal night in the world, and Eddie is the most normal he’s ever been, and then maybe an hour later, he gets a text. * buck and eddie watch red white and royal blue together; one thing leads to another (aka: the sexting fic) (Part 1 of 🔥buck and eddie's red hot infidelity summer)

i'll come to you and drop my bags (you'll help me unpack them) by farfromthstars/ @doeeyeseddie (Post-S7, Media fic | 5K | General): eddie has some important conversations via text over the course of the worst(?) summer of his life.

🔥Down to the Bones of Me by giselleslash/ @gigi-gigi (Post-S7, Road Trip | 5K | Teen): The morning after Christopher leaves Eddie gets in his truck and drives. Buck lets him go, and Eddie fights to come back for both of them.

Oopsie Daisy (Never Knew That Was Your Boo, Baby) by ameliahart (Post-S7, Cheating | 5K | Explicit): The first time it happens, it’s Tommy’s fault. Maybe that’s unfair, all things considered, but Eddie certainly isn’t going to blame Buck for it. And Eddie’s single, so it can’t be his fault. But Tommy sent Buck a dick pic while Buck was at Eddie’s house, so Eddie feels secure in blaming Tommy for everything that happened after. * Or, five times Buck cheats on Tommy with Eddie, and one time he doesn't.

I Always Wanted My Own Spark by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Future Fic | 5K | Teen): In 2040, during the midst of a family crisis, Christopher Diaz and his younger brother butt heads. (Part 5 of 🔥Anywhere I Want, Just Not Home)

it's a small crime (i got no excuse) by justhockey (Post-S7, Cheating | 6K | Mature): It’s a dangerous game they’re playing. Buck doesn’t care. He’d like to blame it on the alcohol running through his blood and loosening his inhibitions. On the rough shift, or the even rougher week he’s had. He’d like to blame it on Eddie, or Tommy, or anything at all that could absolve him of what he’s about to do. But the truth is, Buck just wants. He wants, and he wants, and he wants. So he takes.

hang me up on your bedroom wall by hrudayam/ @eddiegettingshot (Post-S7, PWP, Cheating, Breeding kink | 6K | Explicit): “You’re going to be a great father someday,” Eddie says eventually, because he’s worse than he used to be and Buck’s reverent eyes make him feel—they just make him feel. “Eddie, I—” “You are,” he repeats, firm. “Don’t you think I’d know better than anyone?”

drink up (you're wasted on me) by okanus/ @buddieism (7x06: There Goes The Groom, PWP, Cheating | 9K | Explicit): Or: Eddie and Buck hook up at the bachelor party. Difficulties ensue.

close ain't close enough (til we cross the line) by cranberrymoons/ @cranberrymoons (Post-S7, Cheating, Sexting | 10K | Explicit): Eddie thinks about it for a minute. He really does, because he’s more clear-headed now than he was last night, so he thinks better of it for maybe thirty seconds. Remembers the inarguable fact that Buck has a boyfriend and that Eddie is – well. Learning some things about himself, maybe, but is very specifically not Buck’s boyfriend, so. He shouldn’t. Right? Except. (Part 2 of 🔥buck and eddie's red hot infidelity summer)

all my little words by youbetsya/ @maddiebuckettebuckley (Post-S7, Epistolary | 11k | Teen): Eddie: Did you just send me an email? Buck: yeah lol. Eddie: Why… I dont think you’ve ever emailed me actual words before. Just stuff to print when your printer is broken Buck: did you read it? Eddie: Not yet. Too busy trying to figure out why the fuck you’re emailing me. Buck: just read it dude 🙄

🔥treat an opportunity like it's treating you by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, Post-S2 | 12K | Teen): After losing his leg as a result of the fire engine bombing, Buck is presented with the opportunity to have a service dog donated to him.

🔥 Operation: Keep Eddie Diaz Busy and Annoyed by giselleslash/ @gigi-gigi (Post-S7, Getting Together | 15K | General): Or, the one where Buck forces Eddie to keep busy while Chris is gone, but ends up catching a bad case of The Feelings in the middle of Eddie learning to love pickling things to irritate Chim and charming old ladies through square dancing.

🔥I think if you're lucky by colonoscopys/ @colonoscopys (Prince Buck/Firefighter Eddie | 19K | Teen): Evan hits him with his car.

mask over my eyes and an arrow through the heart by youbetsya/ @maddiebuckettebuckley (Post-S7, Cheating | 35K | Explicit): “Look, you’re my family, a-and I want you guys to be on board with this.” Buck is tense, anxious. Eddie should really say something. Be supportive. “But it’s happening either way. So.” Bobby leans over to clap Buck on the shoulder, staring him straight in the eye as he does. “I am happy for you, Buck. As long as you’re sure.” Some of the tension falls away from Buck’s posture. He smiles. “I am. Sure. I’m super sure.” “Alright then.” Bobby pats Buck’s shoulder once more before he pulls away. “Congratulations, kid.” Buck visibly exhales in relief, which Eddie finds solace in despite the fact that he’s currently being stabbed with a thousand tiny knives. Or: Buck is getting married. He is.

drift past the flowers. by dylaesthetics (Post-S6, (Un)requited Love | 45K | Teen): OR Buck and Natalia get engaged, and Eddie flees the state about it. A petty email correspondence ensues.

WIP

Where there's smoke by rainbow_nerds/ @rainbow-nerdss (Multiverses | 4/31 | 5K | Teen): His eyelids are heavy. His lungs ache. The smoke is dense and thick, slowly suffocating him. Eddie feels himself drift as Buck’s voice penetrates the smoke, cuts through the fog in his brain. “Eddie, stay with me. Stay with me, Eds.” Eddie wants to stay. He wants to open his eyes and see Buck. He doesn’t want to leave. But he’s so tired, and sleep is calling him. Maybe it will be okay. Maybe his dreams will be sweet. Maybe there’ll be peace, there. And maybe, if he just rests for a little while, he’ll be able to find his way back.

E & E: A Buddie Drabble Collection by Tizniz (Prompt fic | 108/? | 24K | General): A collection of drabbles for Buck and Eddie.

Best Case Scenario by lesbianrobin/ @lesbianrobin (Podcast, Multimedia fic | 2/? | 4K | Teen): Buck and Eddie start a podcast. a multimedia epistolary fic

🔥 Things We're All Too Young to Know by Daisies_and_Briar / @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon S1-S6, Divergent Post-S6 | 132/? | 419K | Mature): This is a love story. Even if it doesn’t always look like it. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it. A look back on Eddie and Buck's lives up to now, and what led them to each other, interpreted from the current 9-1-1 canon.

[lavendershowcase]

Queer Summer Reading Challenge is Here!

If you're looking for a LGBT reading challenge for the summer, look no further! Text-version of bingo chart below.

These are a combo of prompts of books to read and just new reading habits you can try like reading before bed, outside, etc. From now until August 31st, work through this bingo sheet and see what kind of queer books you can read!

How do I participate? Simply download this image (or track your reading however you prefer) and start reading queer books based on the prompts in the boxes. You can do it on your own, with friends, or send in progress to the blog or our discord (you can find the invite link on our book club posts or ask for in a DM or ask!)

How do I win? Just like any bingo card, you need 5 across, down, or diagonal! If you want a shout-out, you can send your finished card in to me, and I'll put it on the blog!

What do I win? I had initially wanted to have some prizes life a e-gift card to bookshop.org or a partner with a queer artist or two to provide discount codes to an online store. Maybe in the future, I can offer something like that when I have more time and money to spare on a small gift card! This summer, your prize is just reading more queer books!

Free space. You can use this space as either a true free space (you don't have to read anything for it and just mark the spot as soon as you download the card) or as a chance to read a book that doesn't fit in with any other prompts. Or you can even use it as a spot to make your own prompt!

Can one book count for multiple spots? It's up to you! Make this challenge as realistic as possible for yourself. Some of us read slow! Some of us can read a book in a day. Do what you can. It's a challenge for yourself.

Do audiobooks count? Yes. Of course. I even made a special spot for it.

What if I can't find a good book to read or don't know what will fit the prompt? You can come to me! I can recommend queer books for this challenge or direct you to lists of books online. My DMs and inbox are open. You can even mark it down as a spot on the card!

What if I don't get bingo before the end of August? You can keep going! Or you can be done! You can do whatever you want forever. You're always more than welcome to continue to working on this year-round and send in updates to me! What am I going to say? "Oh you're reading books in the wrong season." No!

I'm not queer. Can I still participate? Yes! If you're cishet and want to read more queer books, you're welcome to join us! Everyone is welcome here.

If you have any questions or just wanna chat about books, you can DM or send in an ask to this blog! If you want to post your progress on your own blog, you can @ me, too. The discord will also be open for any convo!

Have a good time reading!

Full list of bingo prompts under cut:

Column one from top down:

A Classic, Adult Fiction, Horror, Recommendation from @lavendershowcase, Young Adult, Fantasy

Column two from top down:

Set in a city you've never visited, Author from your home state, Historical-Fiction, Indie, Read on lunch break, Read outside,

Column three from top down:

A book you've left unfinished, Juvenile Fiction, Has been adapted into a movie, Free Space, Science-Fiction, Short Story

Column four from top down:

Banned book, Read before bed, Graphic Novel, Set before you were born, Non-fiction, Neurodivergent Main Character

Column Five from top down:

Romance, Trans Main Character, Check it out from the library, Picture book, Listen to an audiobook, BIPOC Main Character