#scaffolding projects
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now that we got Lissa in S6 and the full(ish) backstory there, did we ever revisit Lissa's complete absence from Viren's dreams in 5x02-5x03 or??
#viren x lissa#mine#s5#arc 2#tag ramble#like she's there obviously Haunting him. the unconditional acceptance he wanted scaffolded onto harrow#(that he also wanted from harrow but. also from lissa bc harrow was doing so much load bearing for him)#the realities he didn't want to face involving his behaviour with lissa explicitly from kpp'ar#(with the dissolution of his bond with kpp'ar and then with lissa going hand in hand timeline wise)#same with the child story dream/flashback redo. and yet no actual lissa. hm#i think perhaps while viren was changing (and acknowledging he was free) he wasn't ready to face his Ultimate Truth#with his projections of kpp'ar and harrow he could prop them up as obscured mirrors.#but any form of lissa would've been too Truthful perhaps?#'you made the same choice you've always made: the one that gives you power' 'you're wrong'#vs 'and i knew she was right [in the moment after the assault]. i had become a monster'#tdp#the dragon prince#tdp viren
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on one hand, I can recognize that not everyone loves methodically logging changes on 100+ pages into a spreadsheet, and failure to document is a human condition so fundamental that calling it a failure feels kind of weird, 'cause I certainly can't begrudge anyone for it on a personal level
on the other hand, I fucking told y'all future steps are contingent on logging these changes and I've already minimized the entries you needed to log why didn't you log the fucking changes aaaaaaaarrrggghhhhh
#i'm. so mad.#but whatever miscommunication happens at work all the time#and hey i'm just getting paid for more project management stuff#but jesus christ i literally said this would make our lives harder so let's not make our lives harder TTTT#best case scenario most of them are just on somebody's private sheet somewhere#and everyone on PTO will send it to me when they're back#whyyyy is it so hard to have a centralized database#data's great data's so fucking good guys#we can be so efficient about so much stuff#in the future#if we build up the scaffolding now#aaaarrrgggghhhhhh#personal#vent#god this is stupid i hate being mad about work lmao
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GAMES I PLAYED IN 2024: A LIST
Went looking through my Steam Replay thingy, and decided to type up some thoughts on my favorite games I played this year! Here they are in roughly chronological order:
Helldivers 2 rules. It nails the tone and atmosphere of its inspiration (the Paul Verhoeven masterwork Starship Troopers) so well that it renders me almost totally uninterested in the officially licensed and apparently quite good Starship Troopers games that came out recently! It's a perfectly absurdist, hilarious satire that's played so straight it almost becomes cool! Right up until you get into the game. Because yeah, when things go well, you can feel really cool and badass and like you're in an intense sci-fi war movie... but the real strength of Helldivers is its comedy, and I don't mean the writing. I mean the ragdolling, the constant, impossibly big explosions, the deaths that come fast and furious and reduce you to giblet gravy, and the respawn being a whole new, fresh Helldiver that airdrops in to replace the dead one. It either feels incredibly tense and tactical, or it feels like cartoon slapstick comedy, and there's almost no middle ground. It threads both needles simultaneously like no other game before.
Now, some folks might be mad when, say, the Democracy Space Station the entire community contributed to building does nothing but shell the shit out of whatever planet its orbiting, to the point that most missions on said planet become suicide runs that result in dozens of dead Helldivers. They might also be mad when the devs add mines with blast zones so large they kill Helldivers as much as enemies, or rocket launchers that airburst almost immediately and teamkill constantly, or a car with a manual transmission that handles like a drunk walrus when its tires get popped. But I think these things rule, because these things contribute to Helldivers greatest strengths: comedy and chaos.
I did fall off it for a few months, when it got a bit stale. There was a period where they nerfed a bunch of guns, and frankly I understand why they did, and equally understand why they rolled it back. The game has had controversies, live service problems, Sony-driven publisher nonsense and recently some microtransactions I thought were poorly priced, but on the whole? The galactic warfront has kept me in their discord just to know how things are going even when I'm not playing, and that's not something I do for basically any other game!
If you want a good time in co-op, and you like third-person shooting and some crackerjack production values, and you like to laugh (sometimes at yourself), you will love Helldivers 2!
Dragon's Dogma 2 is not a perfect game. It's not even close. It has a ton of issues with a lack of variety in its content, a story that struggles with pacing issues and maintaining interest, and some awkward AI that renders a number of skills less useful than they should be.
That being said, there is no other game like Dragon's Dogma. It is tactile and mechanically deep, with class customization built around a combat system that feels exceptionally satisfying to use. It has a genuine sense of multiplayer shenanigans and camaraderie in a single-player game, through its customizable NPCs that you summon from other players. It creates stories about being dragged away by wolves or carried away on the back of a griffon and ending up in another part of the world, encountering monsters fighting each other or attacking caravans... and there's truly nothing like emerging into a canyon, seeing a troll fighting a dragon, running down and climbing all over the beastie and stabbing it until it dies. The vibes are immaculate, and that carried me through most of the game on its own.
I still need to get through the ending (that's not an ending) and the new game plus (that's not a new game plus) but even without completing it, I have a lot of fondness for this weird, weird game. I wish parts of it were better -- like a LOT better -- and I still think it has content issues that could have been solved by another year or two in the oven... but god (and Capcom) willing, some DLC or an expansion will get us there. I'd purchase it in a heartbeat!
Halls of Torment and Death Must Die are two "bullet heaven" games I played this year! Halls of Torment is aping the aesthetic of Diablo 1 and 2, while Death Must Die (pictured above) is doing more of a pixelart, Hades-like kind of thing with its buffs and boons. They both have a heavy loot focus, and a lot of progression, but they're both satisfying in different ways. They're both in early access, but content-rich, and I'd recommend them both -- that is, if you've already played Vampire Survivors and exhausted it and wanted more. Vampire Survivors is, of course, still king of its genre.
Homeworld 3 is the most disappointed I've been by a game in years. Blackbird Interactive have done good work in the past, helped put together the excellent Homeworld Remastered Collection, made Homeworld: Deserts of Kharak which for my money still has immaculate vibes and an excellent aesthetic, and also put out Hardspace: Shipbreaker! They've made great games in the past! So how this game turned out the way it did... I can only blame Gearbox and their meddling, because holy god.
There are mechanical issues like ships not following orders correctly, the pathfinding being kind of nightmarish, and the gimmick of superstructures and cover almost never mattering outside of a handful of campaign moments. The season pass (because of course it had one) had a bizarre focus on a very odd co-op multiplayer run-based mode, for some reason, rather than skirmish multiplayer -- which also had a dearth of maps and modes at launch.
But all of that doesn't matter so much to me, because what matters to me when it comes to Homeworld is the vibes. The aesthetic. The ice-cool, clinical, sweeping sci-fi space opera. Less a focus on named characters and more a focus on grander civilizations, politics, or enemies. Even Deserts of Kharak, set on a single planet, captured these vibes. And instead we got... some of the most awkwardly animated, ham-handedly written, and cartoonish cutscenes I've seen in a game in a good while. When the villain shows up in a main character's dream sequence and vamps around like a Dreamworks villain about to break into song, that's when I put the game down. I still haven't gone back.
I preordered the goddamn collector's edition of this. I never do that! I should know better! But I made the mistake of thinking a pedigree and proven track record are enough to bet on. Frankly, I think they should be -- maybe Gearbox and their story consultants and brand managers are just poisonous. Regardless, this was a real king-size bummer for me this year. Homeworld is dead now -- I can't imagine it getting another swing after this. But believe me when I say it deserved better.
The Dead Space remake is, against all expectations, absolutely fantastic. There are some quibbles I have here and there; I think the new performances from the supporting cast are a little flat. I think Kyne in particular loses a lot of ambiguity. The story and characterization elsewhere has been made less cartoonish or obvious, but given that Dead Space is a pretty corny horror yarn, it loses some charm as a result. But other characters like Isaac and especially Nicole benefit tremendously from a rewrite, giving them agency and likability they did not have before, and the wrinkles they add in their relationship are fantastic.
And mechanically? Wow. The game has never played better, moved better, been structured better. Some areas feel different, more a sidegrade than an upgrade, but others, especially in the new dark sections? Awesomely spooky. I happily started a new game plus of this and I fully intend to go back to it every October like I do Dead Space 2. It's SO good. That we were denied a new sequel is proof positive that EA sucks eggs.
Space Marine 2 is a 7/10 action game from the Xbox 360 era, shined up and given some quality multiplayer features. I mean that as the highest compliment; we don't get many of those these days! It is one of the best representations of Warhammer as an aesthetic and a vibe, and mechanically it is incredibly satisfying. I don't think a parry and riposte has felt this good since Sifu or Sekiro, at least in terms of sound design and impact. And the multiplayer! Simple, effective, an satisfying, with fun separate progressions for co-op and PvP. Every part of this package is far better than it has any right to be, at every level. You don't need to be a Warhammer nerd to like this game, in fact it's a pretty neat introduction, but for super nerds or just sometimes fans like me? Certain setpieces are absolute cinema. Can't wait for that horde mode to hit next year!
If Homeworld 3 is the most I've been disappointed by a game, the Silent Hill 2 remake might be the most I've been surprised by one. I had zero expectations for this thing, given the developer's previous output, and Silent Hill 2 itself is one of those games that is genuinely Important Art. Not just on its own merits, but in how it influenced creatives in basically every other form of art there is. There's an argument to be made that Silent Hill 2 has quietly influenced more horror media than damn near anything else since 2002. And it earned that.
So when this remake turned out to be... like, actually great? And not just great, but restrained? Thoughtful, even? That's amazing. The core story remains the same, whole cutscenes lifted almost word for word, but the changes they do make are not made solely to be different or justify its existence; they're done purposefully, because time has passed, because the game now flows from its scenes and environments more fluidly. Because they wanted to add (or emphasize) certain aspects of characterization. And the scenes they do add are so in keeping with the rest that it's hard to tell where the new stuff begins and ends. Heck, even the new endings they added are kind of amazing!
This is the remake that Silent Hill 2 deserved. The original is still exceptional, and should be preserved, but if this is the only way someone can experience this story? That's okay. This has single-handedly made me interested in whatever Bloober Team makes next, and I hope that whatever it is, they can channel the talent that made this, rather than their previous output.
I have not yet completed Dragon Age: The Veilguard, but I can tell you now that it is good. Maybe not great! But good. Solid. It has mechanically dense and interesting combat, an exceptionally cool skill tree and class customization system, accessibility options out the wazoo, and some really great production values. It has fun characters (some more than others) and a really fun protagonist. Some of the writing can be... heavy-handed, I'll say. And some of it is obvious, or hammy, or kind of pat. It feels very different than past Dragon Age games, for better AND for worse. I'm gonna have a bunch of thoughts on it when I'm done, I can tell!
But as a showing for BioWare, to prove that they're still capable of putting out RPGs that matter? That their formula, as old as it is, still works? That they still belong in the conversation after Larian's Baldur's Gate 3? I think this is a tremendous success.
Maybe the ending will fumble the bag really badly. That's been known to happen in BioWare games! But even then, I'd still have had a lot of fun playing this thing.
And if nothing else? Man, the next Mass Effect is gonna be AWESOME. (If they're allowed to make it...)

I Am Your Beast is the latest game from Strange Scaffold, the folks what made El Paso, Elsewhere, Clickolding, Space Warlord Organ Trading Simulator, and An Airport For Aliens Currently Run By Dogs. If nothing else, their title game is on point. My only experience with them was El Paso, a game written and performed by one of the main leads, Xalavier Nelson Jr. And let me tell you, that game put them on my radar.
And while El Paso, Elsewhere was a Max Payne pastiche, a game about relationships and a breakup and addiction and emotional catharsis filtered through slow-mo dives through windows shooting shotguns at werewolves, I Am Your Beast is a smaller, leaner production. It is about a guy who killed for the government, who doesn't wanna kill for the government anymore, and when they send men to make him do that, he kills them all. That's it, basically -- and yet the narrative, told entirely through voice acting and typography without a single animated cutscene or face in the entire game, is one of the most quietly confident and cathartic I've seen in a while. It's a revenge thriller, of the John Wick sort, but the simple humanity and humor that Xalavier and his fellow voice actors imbue into the characters in such a series of short scenes is really incredible. It's the sort of game I've kind of always wanted; a stylish riff on a popular subgenre of film that makes you feel like you're in it. Because for as much as video games ape movies, there's surprisingly few games that really do what this game does, or feel like how this game feels!
And mechanically? The game is a just a bit stiff, such that you can tell it didn't have as much money or time as maybe it could have used. But even with that, it is still fast and smooth and extremely satisfying. The game loads as fast as it moves, so when you fuck up, you can reset in less than a second and start right over, Super Meat Boy style. This is necessary, as it is a fast, score-based shooter that can demand a lot of you if you want to complete all the optional objectives, let alone S-rank everything. But really, the action IS the juice, the raw lizardbrain satisfaction of nailing headshot after headshot, running a route through a map that you've planned after numerous attempts and getting it just right, just perfect, with a little room for improvisation along the way. And your reward? Another great little bit of voice acting, some characterization, and another killer tune to vibe to as you shoot your way through another army of goons.
I Am Your Beast is very close to being the best possible version of itself, but even falling just short of that, it's still one of the absolute best games I've played this year, or any year. It's short, it's sweet, it's cathartic as hell, and it has one of the best final levels of any game I've played. I'm a sucker for when a song drops into gameplay, especially with lyrics, and boy they save that for a final level that's more a celebration than a challenge. This game kicks ass, and if you get anything from this list? I'd say get this one, for real.

Karate Survivor is another in the burgeoning subgenre of "bullet heaven," aka Vampire Survivors-clones. But this one is different, because it requires actual gameplay!
I jest, but this game does feel more active and more involving in terms of positioning than most games in this genre. Instead of building a suite of weapons that autofire, you're building a combo string that auto fires, and each attack goes in a specific direction with a specific arc of damage, and they're each part of different styles and different sequences that boost damage and add bonus effects when linked together and... you can see how there's some juice here!
But more importantly, Karate Survivor does something I did not expect: it made me feel like Jackie Chan. There are games that let you do a fight scene -- Sifu is one of my all-time favorite games, and that has some environmental stuff you can do, ottomans you can kick and bottles you can throw and tables to dive over, but it's all just a bit self-serious, a bit too cool. And that's good! I like those vibes! But a Jackie Chan movie, a good one? That has something different. There's an element of danger, of threat, of physicality and pain for sure, but there's also a distinct element throughout the choreography of slapstick comedy, of using the environment in creative ways.
And that's what this game does -- you have environmental interactions. You direct your karate man over to some bottles, and he'll automatically chuck them at the nearest enemy. He'll kick chairs and buckets, he'll pick up brooms and shovels and ladders, he'll kick out a support and send a shack tumbling down on his attackers. You can run up walls, you can throw open doors to smack dudes in the face (a move lifted directly from Rumble in the Bronx) and you can pole vault into locked rooms or across rooftops. The act of moving, of positioning yourself to funnel attackers and utilize the environment and grab whatever is laying around? That's Jackie Chan, baby. And no other game has really captured that feeling like this one has!
Karate Survivor fully justifies itself not as a clone of Vampire Survivors, but as its own game. It is unique, it has some excellent pixel art, it kicks ass, and best of all, it is very cheap. Absolutely check it out if you can!
Balatro is my game of the year. It kind of has to be. Yeah, I'm sure Astro Bot is incredible, I'll play it someday and love it death I'm sure. I hear that Indiana Jones game is shockingly excellent too! And Shadow of the Erdtree? I mean come on!
But you don't understand. You don't get it. I didn't either -- I thought I was over deckbuilding roguelikes, and the poker aesthetic? Who could care! I mean I like poker and all, but as a video game? Meh.
Then I watched someone play it for just a few minutes, and I knew I had to try it. Then I got it on mobile, and it was all over.
Balatro is a dopamine factory. Not in the same way that Vampire Survivors is, where it's all in the presentation and after a certain point the game sort of falls away and it's just flashing lights making brain chemicals happen. Balatro is a thinker. You gotta plan, you gotta react. You gotta play the right hands, get your cards in the proper order to maximize score. You gotta build your run on the fly, depending on the jokers you find. There is not a moment in Balatro that you are not making some meaningful decision, no matter how small or short. It has one of the best UI designs in games, with some really smart flourishes that make my pleasure centers light up like a Christmas tree. It is a game that you can break such that your high score is in scientific notation, but luck is also a factor, and you'll rarely see this unless you dig into seed science. It has a bunch of different decks that all radically change how you play, and a bunch of challenge modes that demand you play a certain way, and you're always unlocking one of the 150 jokers in the game that each completely change how you build your strategy.
Balatro is available on PC and mobile. Get it on both. You pay like fifteen bucks, and you get everything. No DLC, no microtransactions, no actual gambling, ever. The whole game. I've put at least fifty hours into this thing, probably more, and I'll put more into it in 2025. If I get the PC version, I might investigate the mod scene! People are adding new jokers that break the game even more! One-man developer LocalThunk is a baller, and I can't wait to see what he makes next, but if all he ever does is this? He's earned a spot in the history of this medium.
Balatro is the closest to a perfect game I've seen since Vampire Survivors. That two games this monumental by solo devs have come out so close together is proof enough to me that, for all its many MANY problems, we are in a golden age of video games. I sincerely hope it inspires tons of folks to make their own! So I can lose hundreds of hours to those, too.
#video games#year in review#dang this is long#sorry#but also not sorry#because games are cool#except when they're bad#(please let them make a new mass effect please god)#also throw one up for xalavier nelson jr.! dude's having a great run#can't wait for strange scaffold's next project
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The only advice I have is if you're feeling lonely, work on a creative project
#advice for myself#if you're an isolator like me#trying to solve the loneliness by reaching out often makes it worse#if you get rejected (even for reasonable cause. like it's 2 am and everyone's asleep. or 2 pm and everyone's working)#it exacerbates the loneliness and makes you feel like dying#maybe the big solution to loneliness is community but I feel like that takes scaffolding that you haven't done#by the time you actually feel lonely it's too late#so don't work against the coping skills you're relying on right now#if you find yourself refreshing notifications or scrolling and scrolling and wishing someone would interact with you#if nothing is working to distract you#turn to a creative project#any at all#i think this works#i think it makes me happy and fulfilled#i think it makes me feel less lonely#i'll keep trying. and we'll find out
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Asexual!Viktor Headcanons/Thoughts/Rambles
(Hi Jayvik nation. Yes, I know. But I'm ace and these are my headcanons (and my self-projecting on the blorbo). I'm not against the ship at all. I just want to ramble about my various ace shipping ideas.)
Also, i'll be upfront and say I don't want perfect "good representation." My fave romantic relationships in fiction tend to be ones where everybody has something wrong with them and is a little fucked up and things are sometimes messy and weird. Sometimes they are messy and weird on the way to everyone figuring their shit out. Sometimes they just stay messy and weird because that works, more or less, for these characters. So, jsyk, I am not looking for or trying to create Good Ace Rep here.
If any of this bothers you, please move on. I'm just chatting to find like-minded folks in fandom, not trying to convert anyone to my ways, yanno?
Asexual, not necessarily aromantic, but rather oblivious to it. I think he knows he's not really sexually attracted to anyone and finds this a relief because he'd much rather focus on science and has assumed that he also doesn't do romance. Compartmentalized other feelings or perhaps attributes them to admiration of a person. Romantic feelings steal in on the back of appreciation for competency.
I'd also say some internalized ableism is a part of it. It's hard to recognize and accept that other people may find you interesting or desirable when you resent your own body or are dealing with pain and other complications. (There's a whole side-talk to have about S2's "you don't need to fix yourself" bit but it's complex enough that it would derail this list.) Being ace can sometimes feel a little like another way to be a little broken.
Viktor seems a little touch-averse, which isn't necessarily an ace thing but sometimes goes hand in hand. Again, pain and disability can contribute to that. But even when he's fairly healthy he tends to have a little moment of like "what are- why are you doing that?" whenever he is touched. (Which. Relatable. As someone whose brain briefly turns to static when ppl touch me unexpectedly. Jayce is BIG on casual touch tho. Like, "Jayce reaches out to touch" should be on your drinking game lists.) There can be an interesting internal tug-of-war between not really desiring touch yet having some touch hunger. You might not be hungry for hugs and kisses or sexual acts and if that was the only menu you've ever been shown, you've never known how to get your touch hunger sated. The slow discovery that you would like to be touched by someone actually if they can cater to your tastes. The exploration and negotiation of how you'd like to be touched, in the hands of someone who cares enough to listen and follow your lead, and who you trust enough to stop when you need them to stop. I don't know if it's "sexy" really, but there can be a potent fantasy in bodily autonomy when you have a body where being touched at all is Complicated.
The man is oblivious to the idea that anyone would be attracted to him or interested in him. Pretty normal for aces. I've been on at least one date without realizing it was a date until someone pointed that out to me. Yes, I think this is great fanfic fodder and more people should write about aces being absolute dumbasses and failing their perception rolls when it comes to people trying to date them.
Speaking of dumbass asexual moments. The "bedroom door" line. This is 100% the sort of thing that would come out of my mouth without a thought regularly when I was in my twenties. (and sometimes now....). Like "night + door = bedroom" clearly that is the most natural explanation with zero thought about the implications that he is ostensibly taking an attractive man to his room in the middle of the night because that is not a thought at the forefront of his mind. (certainly not when he's thinking about science!). Please imagine someone having to explain the impression he may have made on Mel if she read a sexual implication he did not mean into that. (or Jayce)
Asexual-romantic yearning. Sometimes, when you're ace but not entirely aromantic, you still get crushes on people. Sometimes you don't entirely figure that out until you find yourself resenting your best friend's new romantic partner for taking up all their time (away from you.) TBH, I don't think Viktor would mind Mel that much if she wasn't dragging Jayce into politics that are interfering with the sciencebro goals. But it's fun to add a soupçon of romantic jealousy to that. A "hey how dare you get between me and my Best Friend and our special something I haven't examined too closely but oops it's load-bearing!"
Also, like, after being the focus of someone who you Admire, with your life entwined with theirs, your goals aligned, feeling like a partner in more ways than just work....and then they go off and fall in love with someone else? Someone who can satisfy their sexual needs? Well. He knows he can't do that. Time to double down on science time! Not just because of the, yanno, rapidly imminent death thing. That's a big part of it, of course. But also, there are feelings here that make no logical sense. What better way to tune them than delving into work! The work you SHOULD be doing with your PARTNER! It's fine! (It is not fine.)
(That said. I'm totally here for some sort of Viktor-Jayce-Mel poly thing. Mostly for fluff and fun reasons, but I think it's just barely workable in more canonical works too, fwiw)
Pining. Imagine. Viktor is asexual and full of complicated feelings about his own self-worth and desirability, but he's got this Partner situation pretty locked down and that's great and then in comes this gorgeous, intelligent, powerful woman who seems to effortlessly entice his partner away and can offer him so many things he can't or doesn't want to offer Jayce. Imagine belatedly figuring out that some of his feelings are romantic but not being sure that matters if Jayce has found someone who can fulfill him, mentally, emotionally and sexually. And Jayce is his friend and, as annoying as the politics are, he knows bringing these raw untested emotions into the light isn't going to help anyone and anyway Jayce is happy. Right? But he has to sit there. With those feelings. Pining for an idea of the future that slipped out of his grasp even before he realized he wanted it.
Again, the "you didn't need to fix yourself" bit at the end of S2 has problems, but boy howdy, if you're ace there's definitely a fear that an allosexual partner would always choose someone they can have sex with over you. That scene hit like a truck for me. Seeing an allosexual character choose a partner I had categorized as ace over his allosexual lover? BAM! And it looked like it hit Viktor that way too. Being SEEN. On so many levels!
#long post#arcane#arcane viktor#arcane jayce#arcane jayvik#arcane s1#arcane s2#arcane spoilers#(mostly s2 big spoiler)#my autism also probably colors a lot of thoughts about emotional and sensory processing here lmao#but fuck it i'll project that onto the blorbo too#what is fanon if not the place where we look for reflections of ourselves in the other? and build them onto scaffolds of dreams#and yes I know one of the showrunners/writers said viktor is asexual in part to justify a non-romantic read of the relationship#that was shitty of him#and really showed a poor understanding of asexuality#because I read viktor as ace long before I read that statement and I still thought that jayvik works as a ship#and frankly it's more fun and meaningful to me an actual asexual if he is ace and jayce respects that#more rep of close relationships that don't fit into tidy molds pls#please do not discourse at me ahahaha#it's been so long since I've tried to be in a fandom and i'm scared lol
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"It took me a long time to realize that home is where you make it.
With some time and effort this place can be home for you too."
-Nick Valentine with the lore drops and encouragement 🤗
and he did it at Graygarden too which I appreciate~
(pls don't mind the night mode😴)
#Fallout#Fallout 4#FO4#Funny#Gaming#Video#Video Games#Games#SciFi#RPG#Role Playing Games#Minutemen#BoS#Brotherhood of Steel#Railroad#Institute#Post Apocalyptic#FalloutsGraygarden#Graygarden is only scaffolding and workbenches and a bed right now#It's Survival and I don't have the materials to make what I want but I have a lot of ideas and it's a nice slow zen project for Princess#The reason for the URL is I got attached to my settlements in a previous playthrough#So I knew wherever my main base was created would be really important in the long run#I made a “Survival highway” of safe outposts from Sanctuary to Somerville#but Graygarden was where I felt a sense of home#the Robots aren't as annoying as people and they don't care about morale. It's just bots Heather and some pet dogs there- paradise right~#It's pretty central and in the shadow of Corvega so no matter where I am I can see the way back easily#Oberland is pretty much attached by a cool bridge so that's a freebie Companion Hub#It has a high ground with beautiful vistas and feels properly epic#It's fairly huge and has natural vertibird landing pad right by the crops
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Worst thing about having taken business classes is that I see people complain about bullshit companies are pulling and a part of my brain goes "Oh, that's an effective tactic for cost reduction" or something around those lines. And then the part of my brain that is Not a wannabe businessman is just like "Bro."
#speculation nation#or anything on data management or anything like that. bfkshfmsbd#been learning about company perspectives and what have you. unfortunately i understand businesses more than i ever planned to.#such is the IT major at my school </3 i did already finish my business classes already#but im in data governance class now which deals a lot with the ways companies handle their data.#learning about policies and harm reduction tactics and data lifecycles and what have you#looking at the scaffolding of a company's data system and recognizing just how fragile it all is.#a side effect of all this is me feeling less angry about websites trying to make money.#advertisements and subscription services are aggravating. but hosting a website is *expensive*.#if they cant at least break even then the website is a resource drain and isnt sustainable in the long run.#not unless it's a damned passion project of a bigger conglomerate. and you'll find those are exceedingly rare.#so im annoyed by advertisements as much as the next person. but if theyre kept relatively unobtrusive then i dont mind them too much.#now ads that pop up to cover the whole screen. or god forbid youtube's unskippable 30+ second ads#THOSE are so obnoxious. the youtube ads especially.#had a few of those some weeks back when prepping my presentation that had me wanting to tear my hair out.#30+ seconds and NO SOUND EITHER. literally ridiculous.#anyways im definitely not a business sympathizer Especially when it comes to predatory practices#but for those more daily functions kinds of things... idk man sometimes these things just gotta happen.
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Now that we have Aisle Q back, we now have to prepare for "that time of the year" it comes with upsides and downsides Upsides: -We can purge out those 'phobic bastards from the company -Use our customized uniforms without being judged by the passangers (they told me that the purples in mine really matches my hair) -Some of our seniors will bring us matching stuff depending on our orientation -The food, you should see the food, while is a shame that is only for the month, the food in the other districts cafes is wort it, wont say more but with any luck you can get a good cup with your flag Downsides: -We don't get to vote this year's logo, this is due to a past incident where they sabotaged the votes and choose one that went against the company policies. -Too many posters to change in the station, this is why we are being told beforehand to start preparing everything, the station is too big and sometimes we aren't enought people. -Despise having custom uniforms we still have to use our basic vests due to the materials used on them being hard to dye, annd the part that they're expensive too. -Nest-dwellers aren't fun to deal with, specially if they are on the extremist side of that ancient ideology.
I could list more on the downsides but that can take the entire day, but you know the drill, there is never enougth time.
#w corp clerk rambling#w corp#project moon#pray for those in charge of the scaffolding#the walls are tall. that's why#At least we arent K corp#All they do is to paint a gray stripe on their logo and call it a day#((i need to put on a proper character list#((do not fret in asking btw
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#shuttering material on rent#shuttering material#shuttering#construction#scaffolding on rent#construction projects
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i love the theory that fallout didn't just stagnate in the 1950s, it returned to it. not just out of nostalgia, but desperation.
as the world fell apart, oil drying up, war time anxiety piling on and trust eroding, the government needed something familiar to sell.
and what better tool for control than the most sanitized, era of “american values” they could find?
aesthetics of nationalism, conformity, mccarthyist paranoia, all dressed up in chrome and smiles. it wasn't a freeze in culture, it was a calculated reversion.
the mythologization of a golden past becomes the scaffolding for fascist ideology. not because that past was ever real, but because it can be weaponized
myth, dressed up as memory.
in fallout's case, that myth is the 1950s. not the messy, violent, contradictory 50s that actually existed, but a state-manufactured fantasy of chrome smiles, and "american values." a world where conformity is virtue, fear is patriotism, and war is just another product.
because when people are scared, you don't give them answers:
you give them slogans. mascots. marching tunes.
you roll out project brainstorm, an actual pre-war initiative, and start pushing "covert and overt messages of extreme patriotism" into every corner of pop culture. comics. toys. music. sports.
whatever it takes to wrap the war machine in a smile.
prewar's retrofuturism isn't just for the vibes. it's state-sanctioned denial. it was a tight wrap around a dying empire, and the more things fell apart, the more they clung to that futile image.
like if they smiled big enough and said “apple pie” enough times, the oil crisis and global collapse would just blink away while the world burns behind it.
it's the same old rot, lacquered in vintage.
a country that chose the past over the future, and got exactly what it asked for.
not progress. not reform. just reruns of a dream that never existed.
and then it ended, the only way it could end:
with a country so in love with its own mythos it pressed the button waving a flag in one hand and a nuka-cola in the other.
#fallout#rewriting my most controversial post from my ghc days#cultural stagnation for 120 years is so fucking boring to me bro#fallout drabbles
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Aftershock
Main masterlist | The Rookie masterlist
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Tim Bradford x younger!reader
Fandom: The Rookie
Summary: You’re a bold, confident civil engineering student, used to taking control on construction sites. But when an earthquake hits while you're in charge of your father’s site, you meet LAPD Sergeant Tim Bradford. You clash, you work together, and slowly, something deeper begins to spark.
A/N: I have the second part almost ready so it'll be here soon!! Also is you have some ideas for this mini series, feel free to drop it in my box! Feedback is always appreciated!! I hope you like it! Lots of love, bubs! Stay safe! 🫶🏻🫶🏻
Warnings: Earthquake/emergency scenario, mild injury, panic attack (comfort follows), age gap, not proofread
Word Count: 4k+
It starts like a whisper—barely-there tremors under your steel-toes as you walk the perimeter of the new mixed-use high-rise downtown. You've spent the last half-hour barking into your phone, coordinating crane placement and checking load-bearing support numbers. You’re dusty, focused, and completely in your element.
Until the earth moves for real.
You don’t hear it before you feel it. The tremor roars upward through your boots like a live wire. The scaffolding groans. A metallic shriek pierces the air. Then it happens.
The world shudders. A cacophony of screams. Cement rains down. You drop to your knees and roll, instincts kicking in, sheltering beneath a shipping container propped on steel beams.
Earthquake.
It only lasts seconds—long ones—but the aftermath feels like a war zone. You crawl out coughing, your lungs filling with grit and fear, but your brain is firing on pure adrenaline. You're not just some student or supervisor. You’re the boss’s daughter. And he’s out of town, which makes this your site.
Your chest heaves, but your eyes are already scanning. Where's the crew? Who’s accounted for?
“Luis!” you shout, dodging fallen equipment. “Jen! Mateo!”
Two workers emerge from a cloud of dust, one limping, another coughing blood into his glove. You guide them to the open lot beyond the scaffolding, mentally mapping the layout. Six missing. Maybe more.
And then, over the scream of sirens, two figures cut through the dust—uniformed.
The man in front moves like he was born in boots. Tall, broad shoulders, determined jaw. There’s something sharp and no-nonsense about him, like he’s the human equivalent of a battering ram. Behind him, a quick-footed brunette surveys the site with wide, alert eyes.
“LAPD!” the man shouts. “Is anyone hurt?”
“I’m fine!” you yell back over the noise. “There are still people inside!”
He reaches you in seconds. “You need to move—this whole site could still collapse.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” you snap. “This is my father’s project. He’s out of town. I’m responsible for everyone here.”
“Name?”
“Y/n Y/l/n. Civil engineering student. Site lead for the day.”
“Sergeant Tim Bradford,” he grunts, scanning you. “This is Officer Lucy Chen.”
Chen gives a small nod and immediately moves to triage the injured worker. Bradford, however, keeps his full attention on you.
You don’t miss the way his eyes rake over you—not in a creepy way. He’s taking stock. Assessing damage. Dirt on your face, small gash on your arm. His brows tighten.
“You were inside?”
“Under that scaffolding.”
“You shouldn’t be standing.”
You fold your arms. “Well, I am.”
“You need to let us handle this.”
“No. I know this site better than anyone. I helped design the layout. There’s a crawlspace beneath the west scaffolding that no one else knows about. If anyone’s still in there—”
“You’re not trained for rescue ops.”
“I’m trained to know what’s safe and what’s about to fall on your head.”
His jaw ticks. “I don’t have time to babysit you.”
“Then don’t. Keep up.”
You step past him, and for a beat, he just stares.
“Unbelievable,” he mutters. “You’re like if a Barbie Doll had a death wish.”
You toss him a grin over your shoulder. “Grumpy and unoriginal. Cute.”
He follows, grumbling something under his breath about stubborn civilians and lawsuits.
The two of you reach the compromised scaffold, and you crouch beside the twisted beams. Bradford stops behind you, way closer than necessary.
“Let me go first,” he says, voice low, eyes scanning overhead.
“I’ll fit through easier. You’re built like a linebacker.”
You feel his breath on the back of your neck as he leans down.
“And you think I’m letting you crawl into a death trap alone?”
You glance at him, only inches away. “So you do care.”
He doesn’t move.
“Protocol,” he says stiffly. “And… you’re bleeding.”
You look down at the gash on your forearm—dirt-caked but shallow.
“Didn’t notice.”
“I did.”
He steps forward and gently takes your wrist. His touch is unexpectedly careful—rough hands, but soft grip. He pulls a cloth from his vest and dabs at the wound. You watch his face as he works. He’s so serious. So guarded.
“I’m going in first,” he says, not giving you a chance to argue.
You don’t push it this time. He’s trying. In his own way.
You both drop into the crawlspace, the air thick with dust and heat. Your shoulder brushes his arm as you squeeze through. Close. Too close.
You hear it before you see it—a cough. Faint, raspy.
“There,” you whisper. “Under that beam.”
Bradford nods. “Stay low.”
The man’s pinned, conscious but trapped under a slab of drywall and steel piping. You approach carefully, testing for weight, and give Tim a look.
“If we shift the load here, I can drag him out.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
His hand grazes your back as he shifts to position. Again, he’s close. Protective. Your skin sparks where his fingers press.
He moves the slab, and you reach under, tugging the worker free with all your strength. It takes effort. You grunt, digging your heels into the ground. Bradford leans forward, adds his strength behind yours. The worker slides out.
You sit back, panting.
“You okay?” Tim asks, wiping sweat from his temple.
You nod, heart pounding—not just from the rescue. From him. From the way his hand didn’t quite leave your lower back.
“Yeah,” you say softly. “Thanks.”
He meets your eyes. For a second, everything around you disappears.
And then his radio crackles. “Bradford, update?”
“We got one out,” he replies. “Sending location for medical. Continuing sweep.”
As you crawl back out, he places a steadying hand at your waist, guiding you up the incline. You feel the heat of it even through your shirt. It lingers. He doesn’t rush the touch. Neither do you.
Once you’re out, the EMTs swarm. The worker is taken. Chen updates the map with accounted-for crew.
You press your hands to your thighs, catching your breath.
“How many are left?” Tim asks.
You scan your clipboard. “Two. Maybe three. Could be hiding in the south exit shaft.”
“Is it stable?”
You pause. “Barely. But I can get us in.”
His eyes narrow. “You’re not invincible, Barbie.”
“And you’re not my boss, Grinch.”
He exhales hard. “Fine. But I go first this time. You stay on my six.”
“Yes, sir.”
He gives you a look. You wink.
You both make your way through the wreckage, ducking twisted rebar and beams. At one point, you trip on a loose plank. His arm shoots out, wraps around your waist.
You freeze.
So does he.
You’re chest to chest, his hand splayed across your back, your fingers gripping his vest.
“You okay?” he asks, voice a touch lower now.
Your throat’s dry. “Yeah. You?”
He doesn’t answer. Just watches you for a moment, then slowly lets you go.
You keep moving, but now every time your fingers graze or your arms brush, it feels intentional. Loaded.
You find the last two workers behind a jammed gate. Tim breaks the lock with a metal pipe, and you help the shaken men out. One thanks you. The other looks at you like you’re a superhero.
But the adrenaline has started to fade.
The full weight of it all—the noise, the near-deaths, the responsibility—presses down.
When you step away from the others, your legs buckle just a little. Bradford is there instantly.
“Sit,” he says, catching you by the arm.
You nod slowly, dropping onto a low wall.
He crouches beside you, reading your face. “It’s catching up to you.”
You swallow. “Yeah.”
“You held it together. You did everything right.”
Your breath hitches. “I didn’t… I didn’t think. I just moved. But what if I missed someone? What if—”
“Stop.”
His voice is gentle but firm. He places his hand on your knee. You flinch—but not from fear. From how it grounds you.
“Look at me.”
You do.
“You saved people. You helped us. You didn’t hide. You ran toward the danger.”
Your lip quivers.
His hand slides to your shoulder. His thumb strokes your collarbone, just once.
“You’re allowed to feel it now.”
And that’s all it takes. The panic hits like a wave—hard and fast. Your chest clenches, eyes burning.
Tim doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you into his chest, wrapping both arms around you. You bury your face in his shoulder, fists curling in his vest.
“It’s over,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re safe.”
His hand slides into your hair, combing gently through it. The motion is soothing. Familiar. Like he’s done it before. Or maybe just dreamed of it.
“You don’t have to be strong right now.”
You tremble in his hold. He doesn’t pull away.
“I’ve got you,” he adds. “Okay?”
You nod against him. When you finally look up, his hand lingers on your cheek.
“Didn’t think you’d be the nurturing type." you say, voice hoarse.
He chuckles, voice rumbling in his chest. “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my brand.”
You lean back just enough to see his face.
And something shifts between you.
A quiet moment in the eye of the storm.
“I still think ‘Grinch’ suits you,” you whisper.
“And I still think you’re high-maintenance.”
“Excuse me?”
“Only a Barbie Doll would coordinate a rescue effort and sass a cop in the same breath.”
You smirk. “Maybe I’m both.”
The moment stretches. You’re both still, holding onto something neither of you fully understands yet.
Then a shout breaks the spell.
“Y/n!”
You turn. “Dad!”
Your father is running across the rubble-strewn pavement, suit jacket flapping, eyes wild.
You stand, and he pulls you into a crushing hug.
“I’m fine,” you gasp. “We’re all fine.”
He cups your face. “I got the alert mid-meeting and left immediately.”
You hug him tighter. “I had to take charge.”
“And you did,” he whispers. “I’m proud of you.”
You feel a shift behind you. Turning, you find Tim standing quietly, watching the scene with a measured expression. Your dad notices him too.
“You,” he says, crossing over. “You pulled her out.”
“Sergeant Bradford,” Tim replies, shaking his hand firmly. “Just doing my job, sir.”
Bradford looks at you. And he gets it.
You’re not just another young woman on-site. You’re his daughter. His pride. His heart. And you’re damn good at what you do.
Daddy’s princess—with steel in your spine.
He watches you hug your dad again, whisper something that makes the older man smile. And Tim’s jaw tightens, just slightly.
Lucy appears beside him, sipping water.
“She’s a powerhouse,” she says.
“Yeah,” Tim replies, watching you like he can’t look away. “She is.”
“You gonna ask for her number?”
He snorts. “She’d probably write it on an OSHA citation and tell me to lighten up.”
“You could use someone who challenges you.” his rookie shrugs.
Tim glances back at you—still in that vest, still a little scraped up, but glowing with that post-adrenaline shine.
Maybe he could.
#tim bradford#tim bradford the rookie#the rookie#tim bradford imagine#tim bradford x reader#tim bradford x you#the rookie imagine#the rookie x reader#tim bradford imagines#tim the rookie#tim bradford fanfic#tim bradford x y/n#tim x y/n#tim x reader#tim one shot#tim imagine#tim the rookie fluff#tim the rookie imagine#aftershock
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Blech. Things are so much simpler when you don't care about efficiency. But caring about efficiency is so much fun! Until it isn't.
The programmer has engineered herself into a corner once again!
#until you've accidentally built towering and elaborate scaffolding that doesn't actually reach where you need it to reach#because you built it preemptively without first scouting out the spaces you need to reach#they tell you that premature optimization is the root of all evil but I thought surely I can get away with it on a solo project ^u^!
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The makings of a library were whirling to life around Zelda. For now, it was filled with the sounds of a construction zone - hammers striking, heavy boots stomping, the rough voices of a dozen men filling their work day with crude jokes and whistled radio tunes. Somehow, even amidst the noise and dusty work, Zelda’s voice was loud enough to be heard.
“Well the collection should be here by the end of the month so proceed with the shelving first. We can retrofit the fixings in the bathroom after that, but that way we won’t have to find a place for the books while it’s being done.”
The foreman nodded his head, mentally adding every word she spoke onto the ever growing to-do list in his hand. “And place an order for the wallpaper in the children’s room. If we want it done by opening it will need to ship by Monday, and I know their deadline is at the end of the week. We’ll need six rolls if my count is correct.”
The foreman nodded, moving his pen to jot down her order when she noticed Alexander approaching. Seeing him, Zelda gestured back toward the list they had been writing, anticipating that the foreman would want to inquire with Alexander about how to proceed as well. Instead Alexander waved his hand slightly, nodding at her as he spoke. “No, no. Don’t let me interrupt.”
She turned back in the foreman’s direction, his eyebrow still slightly raised and an empty line next to the amount of wallpaper he needed to ordered. For a moment she thought to look back at Alexander, but even with him standing there she realized that the foreman was looking to her for confirmation.
“Yes. It's six rolls. And another quart of adhesion for application.”
His footsteps moved away, joining the noisy hubbub coming from what had once been the silent dining room. Zelda watched as he called out instructions and familiar jokes to the men working there. She had thought that the workers’ presence would disquiet her, disrupting the ghosts and the dust that she had found so mesmerizing when she had first arrived; but with every patched hole and cleaned window, she could feel the life returning to these rooms.
She turned back to Alexander, who had been looking up toward the scaffolding while she was musing. She cleared her throat gently, as they often did to get one another’s attention, and he turned back to her readily. “Oh! Perfect. Will you come with me for a moment? There’s something I’d like to show you.”
She followed him upstairs into the main hall, where work was ongoing for what was to become the children’s room. Layers of old, mildew-worn wallpaper had been stripped to be replaced by new patterns of forest animals and plants, just as her childhood bedroom had once been. They turned just before it, stepping over errant nails and boards as he reached to open the door to a small room. “Your office, Mrs. Duplanchier.”
Her eyes stayed trained on him, somehow a bit in shock after working from whatever clean corner they could find for weeks. “My - my office?”
“Well ours, technically. ‘Library Administration’, but the city has elected for me to keep my space at town hall, so I imagine it shall be mostly yours, if you’re up for the task.”
There wasn’t much to it. A pair of windows, a desk, and a chair that looked like it had been there since 1909. But mostly, it was filled with books that Alexander had transported from town hall one by one, each too rare or old to be moved stacked in boxes or in the back of rented grain trucks.
For no reason in particular, the simplicity of it all gave her confidence.
“I am.”
“Good.” He spoke kindly, walking into the space and absently wiping some dust away from the desk. “It appears that the WPA has taken an interest in the town. They haven’t said anything to the public yet of course, but they’re opening a field office here. They’ve written to me to collect information about potential projects. My primary goal will still be at the library, of course, but there’s alot of good we can do if we direct those federal dollars in the right way.”
The scale of it all suddenly stupefied Zelda. After weeks of sorting through grant money and federal funds she had thought that she understood the purpose of it all, but when she considered it all in its totality - on a national level - it was beyond her. Bridges and dams. Roads and schools. Projects in the arts and culture. So many lives would be changed; and there was so much to it that even the concept of a field office - here - was enough to send her mind into a tizzy. It was hard to even formulate a full question about it.
“Potential projects?”
“Infrastructure, mostly. At least for now. Roadwork, bridge repair, that sort of thing. They want a list of working men as soon as possible. I’m sure they’ll hire more, but at least a starting few so that when the office opens they can begin right away. If you know of anyone it’s the least I can do to repay the trust you had in this project from the start.”
If you know of anyone. “And the project will be moving forward? You’re certain of it?”
“With surety. They begin work on the first of next month. Although I’m sure they’ll want to train a starting crew before that, so get any names you’d like to me as soon as you can.”
If you know of anyone. Her heart sank at the thought, immediately seeing a face in her mind as she turned to look out the window of her new second story office. Because every morning before work she looked out at her own backyard, just hoping that she would see miracle there. But instead, day after day, she only saw a single pair of slumped shoulders standing amidst the withering crops at sunrise.
Previous / Next
#1936#sims 4 historical#ts4 historical#ts4 decades challenge#sims 4 decades challenge#sims 4 legacy#ts4 legacy#the darlingtons#sims 4 story#ts4 story#1930s#Zelda Darlington#Alexander Barnes
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#Scaffolding rental in Ahmedabad#construction projects#scaffolding#building#construction#scaffolding on rent
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Easter put together an amazing flash fiction challenge that I've finally gotten around to attempting incorrectly*:
Genre: crack
Premise: sentenced to community service
Trope: in vino veritas
Subject: paint samples
*it is definitely longer than 1,000 words. my hand slipped.
also on AO3
----------------
Luthor Green
HOUR 1
"This would go a lot faster if someone picked up the tempo a bit," Alex said with a side-eye.
"Superspeed won't teach us any valuable lessons," Kara explained, carrying an armful of painting supplies.
Alex's side-eye became an eye-roll. "Listen, we aren't some rag tag group of teenagers who graffitied the centennial monument-"
"The Tag Teens," Nia whispered.
"-we are superheroes who-"
"Who caused seventy-three million dollars in damages fighting off an illusion," came a stern but familiar voice from behind Alex.
"Lena!" Kara exclaimed. Her hands sent the supplies sprawling across a drop cloth as they lifted toward the LuthorCorp CEO.
"It's Ms. Luthor, Supergirl."
The same hands fell lifelessly back to Kara's sides. Nia grinned mischievously. Alex was already over the entire thing.
"And she's right, Agent Danvers: powers won't teach any valuable lessons nor are they permitted," Lena continued, heels crisply clacking across the empty lobby floor. "Court orders."
"Rich coming from a Luthor," Alex mumbled, knuckles whitening as they tightened a paint roller to a long reach pole.
"But that'll take all weekend," Nia scowled.
"50 hours, actually," Brainy advised.
"Good thing you're getting an early start," Lena offered cooly. "Friday nights tend to be rather quiet around here-"
"I'm sorry, what?" Alex said, eyes fluttering with disbelief. "As in five-zero?"
"Correct," Brainy nodded. "Assuming no breaks except for the advisable pause between paint coats. That, and we should each average 300 square feet an hour for the base layer which is approximately 50% faster than the average professional painter - aggressive, but I have confidence in us. It also requires 20 square feet an hour for the rather intricate mural Ms. Luthor's marketing team has requested; however, I have gone ahead and simplified it to project as a paint-by-number scheme which seems quite popular among-"
"Mural?" Alex gawked. "No, no, we did not agree to a mural-"
"You agreed to paint LuthorCorp's lobby in preparation for the NC Science Summer Camp we are now hosting because a rag tag group of superheroes destroyed its original venue," Lena interrupted, gaze stern and voice in a tone that felt like an undressing. Alex glanced toward Kara whose chest was puffed out like she was jealous it wasn't directed at her.
"But I had plans," Nia huffed, eyeing the red cooler she was sitting on.
"That's hardly my concern and frankly, the task hardly fits the crime," Lena replied, fingers tapping against her crossed forearms. "If it were up to me, you'd be reinstalling the LuthorCorp signage you destroyed as well."
"It wasn't a crime," Kara grumbled. "And you were replacing that anyway."
"There's scaffolding in the corridor," Lena continued, "try not to turn this into a total circus."
HOUR 4
"What are you shaking? Is that spray paint?" Kara asked from the top of a questionably supported ladder.
"We can use spray paint?" Alex called from the other end of the wall.
"Interior use without proper ventilation is frowned upon," Brainy chimed in from his own end of the wall.
"Relax. It's a shaker," Nia answered.
"For what?" Kara asked.
"From what?" Alex added.
"Court orders said nothing about doing this sober."
HOUR 9
"Here champ," Nia said. A hand offered an ice cold beer.
"No thanks; I don't plan on being here that long," Alex replied stubbornly.
Nia examined an imaginary watch and shrugged. "Suit yourself," she continued before turning toward the questionably supported ladder: "Hey red, wanna do shots? I've got rum."
HOUR 10
"I'm telling you, it's the wrong color," Kara repeated.
"And I could care less-"
"Couldn't," Nia corrected. A drop of condensation fell from her latest concoction as the scaffolding creaked under her movements above.
"I don't care," Alex said, eyes narrowed toward the blue-booted feet dangling from overhead. "If they gave us the wrong paint, that's on them."
"But-"
"And it's 2am. Name a paint store that's open at 2am."
"If I just hop over to Europe and-"
"Oh!" Nia exclaimed, head peering out overhead. "That's a great idea. Maybe you could grab some scones-"
"No, nope. No powers," Alex glared at Nia who pouted and retreated from view. "I am not about to get called out on a technicality by a Luthor."
"She's just doing her job," Kara defended with flushed cheeks that screamed Kara was at least two shots deep.
"Are we just ignoring the whole trapped-in-kryptonite bit now?" Alex gawked.
"I just think we need to take a different perspective: new timeline, new me, you know?" Kara offered.
"Perhaps when we're between coats Supergirl can acquire the correct paint," Brainy suggested.
Kara's eyes widened and head nodded like a bobblehead. The only thing missing was a lolling tongue. Alex lungs expelled in a slow, centering sigh Kelly taught her. "Fine. New us, whatever."
HOUR 15
"You missed a spot."
"And you could help," Alex muttered, pressing her forehead to the extension pole dripping SW 6364, Eggwhite. "New us," she whispered until her eyes caught sight of something giant and purple: "Is that a bean bag chair?"
"Can't," Nia explained from within the giant purple bean bag chair that also arrived just as mysteriously as the Mary Poppins cooler offering up an endless stream of drinks. "M'waiting for my section to dry."
"There are other sections."
Nia shook her head. "Uh-uh," she managed between handfuls of popcorn. "Those are Supergirl's."
"She isn't back yet?" Alex balked. "How long does it take to get paint?"
"Maybe she's stopping by Noonan's for some sticky-buns," Nia said dreamily.
Brainy cleared his throat: "Accounting for typical Saturday morning traffic and the quantity of paint to be mixed-"
"And don't forget she'll want to learn how the paint mixer works-" Nia added.
"Fair point," Brainy replied and gave due thought to his recalculation. "With that in mind, my estimates indicate she is twelve minutes overdue."
HOUR 18
"Where the hell are you?" Alex hollered the moment Kara picked up.
"They were insisting it's right," came Kara's voice over speakerphone.
"Which is exactly what I told you eight hours ago. Now get back here-"
"So now I'm trying to get them to tweak the recipe and-"
"Absolutely not, Supergirl."
"But-"
"Get back here. That's an order."
HOUR 23
"Hey, Supergirl, help a girl lift that bean bag chair up here, will ya?" Nia called out.
"You've got paint in your hair," Brainy said from Alex's left.
"Gee, I wonder how that happened," Alex said, glancing up between the slats of scaffolding where Nia was humming the latest pop sensation and taking long sips of her self-named mixed drink.
"Initial deduction would indicate it's coming from-"
"I was being sarcastic."
"Ah, right."
HOUR 34
"Where did you get that?"
"Dreamer," Kara explained after a pull. The bottle sloshed with far too little liquid. A paintbrush lay forgotten on the floor. Paint drops were everywhere but the wall they'd been sentenced to complete. "I wonder if she still has any Red Vines. Ooh, or maybe Goldfish."
Alex's gaze scanned for the youngest superfriend who had most recently been adlibbing science puns about the phallic-looking test tube Brainy had painted. It was purgatory bordering on hell.
"And what if someone sees you? Did you think about that, Supergirl?"
"No one works this late on the weekend, Alex," Kara slurred, rubbing at dripped paint on her cape, "'cept Lena." A hiccup followed. The cape was now stained a moss green. "Lena," she continued in a sing-songy way that made sober Alex want to hurl.
"Dear god," Alex sighed, reaching for the bottle of Alderbaran Rum. "Give me that. You're done-"
"Not unless you admit the color is wrong," Kara pouted. Another hiccup. More spilled paint. Mrs. Fischer was going to be pissed.
"Do you ever think maybe we shouldn't be allowed to operate life-saving missions?" Nia posited from her perch two storeys up.
HOUR 39
"Ok, the Pewter on the beaker and microscope is finished. With any luck we can all be home by dinner. How are we doing with the rest?"
"The Polished Concrete has been applied to the shaded regions," Brainy advised. "I will commence outlining with the Charcoal Dust to the mitochondria and rocketship."
"Beautiful. Dreamer, how is the African Violet and Passionate Purple coming along?"
"Well…" Nia began from the depths of her cooler, "the DNA, bunsen burner, and solar system would be done," she continued, reappearing with a bottle of neon blue liquid.
"Would be? What do you mean 'would be'?" Alex asked, jumping with a thud from the scaffolding to take in the three-storey wall.
"I can't exactly do my portion until someone finishes her part."
"Finishes?" Alex repeated.
"'Start' would be more accurate," Brainy corrected, swirling his own Nia-Nal-authored cocktail.
Alex didn't have time to give that a double-take. Instead she backed up to survey the progress. Sure enough not a single paint stroke of green had been applied. A forefinger and thumb found the bridge of Alex's nose. The slow exhale didn't work as well this time.
"Supergirl?" she called and waited. And waited. "Supergirl? Super- where is she?"
"Follow the paint splotches," Nia answered before the rattle of a shaker interrupted further conversation.
HOUR 45
Alex let her brush drop into the empty pail. She rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck before checking the time and letting out a tired sigh. So much for dinner at home.
"How are we looking?" she called warily. "Any chance we'll be finished before the sun sets?"
"Nearly there," Nia called, somehow uninhibited by the conveyor belt of drinks she'd been knocking back all weekend.
"I've begun disassembling the scaffolding," Brainy affirmed, slightly more inhibited by the string of beverages he'd been knocking back.
"And Supergirl?" Alex asked. It was met with silence. Alex's hope vanished. A grimace took its place. "Supergirl?"
"This still isn't right."
Alex looked upward. To what, Alex wasn't sure - heaven was too far away because this was most definitely the last level of hell. "What isn't?"
Kara waved a handful of paint chips at the group. "This green - the paint sample still isn't right."
"How?" Alex huffed, landing with a thud from the scaffolding. She glanced between the chip and the sample they'd been given. "Looks right to me: foreboding, villainous, manipulative; it's 'Luthor' in color form - it's even written on the can. See? SW-6921, Luthor Green."
"And there's only one?" Kara continued, ignoring Alex's running commentary.
"Maybe it should glow in the dark?" Nia offered through the crunch of a cheese puff.
Kara's frown deepened. "I'm going to mix our own."
"Supergirl, hang on, no; and Dreamer will you please stop mixing drinks and pick up a paintbrush - Brainy, a little help here?"
"Far be it from me to tell Nia Nal what to do," he slurred from what was the vacant bean bag.
"Guys, can we please focus. I want to go home."
"And I want to run…" a hiccup, "run this to a head."
"She means 'ground'," Nia clarified before the sound of ice cubes jingled into an empty glass.
"Is that another bottle of Rum?" Alex asked. "Nia!"
HOUR 53
"Ok, guys, I'm close."
"To finishing?" Alex begged. Her head hadn't left her hands in an hour. "Close to finishing, right?"
"I've narrowed it to four different shades for the left half. I'm working with greys and purples which like, isn't ideal, but I think it's close. Now, the right half will be a bit trickier-"
"It's one color!" Alex erupted. "It's a single green. Why are we talking in multitudes when it is one - one - color," she shouted, stretching one extended finger for emphasis.
"Perhaps Supergirl is simply considering the lack of color neutrality coming through the glazing due to the slight tint of the low-e coating," Brainy postulated.
"Right," Nia snorted. A used lemon wedge sat in one hand and a salt shaker was held in the other. "It's the quality of the Sherwin Williams Luthor Green that Kara's all hung up on."
"What do you mean?" Alex pressed.
"I mean that-"
"I realize your limited competence lies in your powers, but I honestly thought you'd all be further along by now."
Alex looked up to find Lena standing, once again, in the middle of the lobby. "It is midnight on a Sunday, Luthor."
"Precisely. In less than eight hours this lobby will be bustling with children, their parents, and a hoard of my employees. This is what you've got to show for a weekend of work?"
"Look, see?" Kara exclaimed, finger pointing toward Lena. She stumbled to her feet, cape tangled around her and other hand gripping a dozen paint-filled brushes.
"See what?" Alex shouted. Her wits had ended hours earlier.
Kara marched toward Lena who lifted a single eyebrow in silent judgement. "It's not just one!" Kara slurred. "It's… a lot."
Alex looked between Lena and Kara's outstretched hand of brushes with dawning realization.
"Hang on: you thought 'Luthor Green' meant Lena Luthor's eye color?" Alex fumed.
A quiet 'ohh' from Brainy was interrupted by a howl of laughter from Nia.
"Um… yea?" Kara confessed, expression sheepish and confused.
"'Luthor Green' is part of LuthorCorp's marketing color scheme," Lena clarified curtly though her cheeks flushed red.
"Wait, it's not…" Kara started, nose scrunched in thought. "But why not? It'd be so much prettier. See? Lena, don't you think it'd be so much prettier?"
Alex's mouth fell open. "What?"
"I expect this finished before registration opens tomorrow," Lena continued through a crack in her voice.
Kara nodded eagerly. "So does that mean-"
"Use the 'Luthor Green', Supergirl."
#this is basically all dialogue and little descriptor#because for a minute i DID endeavor to meet the 1000 word limit#alas#multi fandom flash fiction challenge#supercorp fic#supercorp#luthor green#supercorp sunday
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Chapter 21
Genre: Mafia!au , Slowburn, Angst, Hurt, eventual smut, TW (it is a mafia!AU, after all)
Pairing: Mafia!Jungkook x reader
Disclaimer: It’s getting hot in here. Also TW violence. English isn’t my native language. Also, don’t come for me over the theme, people. It’s an Alternate Universe, which means the bangtan boys are essentially what I like to call meat puppets to serve the storyline. This is obviously not a projection of their actual real-life personas.
Wordcount: 3.7k
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Chapter 20
—
Y/N could barely hear herself think through the noise.
The pit was a furnace of sound—roaring voices piled over bone-rattling bass, the rattle of metal scaffolding under the weight of bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, screaming for blood. The air reeked of sweat, spilled liquor, gun oil, and blood so old it had long since soaked into the concrete.
They entered from a private side entrance.
Restless men clung to the rails that ringed the cage, barking out bets like curses. Women leaned over balconies in skintight dresses and painted-on smiles, smoke curling from their lips, their eyes dull and hungry. The smell of sweat and cash pressed in from all sides.
And at the center of it all—the ring. Lit like a stage. Steel-meshed. Unforgiving.
It was violent and gloriously alive.
But Y/N was in no mood to indulge.
The last time they’d taken her out in public, it had nearly started a war. Word of her presence at the Rat Hole had spread like gasoline meeting flame.
She knew Namjoon wasn’t about to make that mistake twice.
The pit was controlled territory. Concrete corridors, high walls, sharp-eyed security at every choke point. Here, Namjoon didn’t need an entourage or backup. Just her. Just him. And a crowd too smart to forget whose turf they were standing on.
He walked ahead with unhurried steps, as if guiding her through the jaws of this beast was nothing more than an evening stroll. She followed in silence, jaw tight, ribs still tender where Soyeon’s knee had connected days earlier.
Namjoon hadn’t explained why he wanted her here.
He hadn’t needed to.
It was clear that this was no casual outing.
It was a message.
And it wasn’t subtle.
The Park clan would hear. They always did. And when word reached the mountains—reached him, her brother—he’d remember exactly what Namjoon wanted him to keep in mind.
The Tigers still had his sister. And should they be tempted, they could do to her exactly what the ravens had done to Soyeon’s team.
Their seats were impossible to miss—center, raised just above the cage like a throne overlooking an execution. A velvet-lined bench with guards stationed at both ends, each one armed and unsmiling. The moment they arrived, a woman in a tight black dress appeared and placed a drink in Namjoon’s hand.
Y/N sat beside him, spine straight, boots planted, eyes sweeping the chaos below. The cage loomed beneath them, lit from above, the floor already streaked with blood.
She felt the weight of every eye.
The vast majority of the crowd kept their attention on the ring—screaming, chanting, jostling for better views—but here and there, heads turned. Men paused mid-conversation. Women stared too long. Some with curiosity. Some with suspicion.
Namjoon didn’t seem to notice.
Or maybe he just didn’t care. That was the point, after all.
He leaned back, one ankle resting on his opposite knee, glass balanced lazily in his fingers, gaze fixed on the ring like this was just another Friday night.
“You didn’t bring me here for the ambiance,” Y/N muttered under her breath.
His mouth twitched. Not a smile.
“No,” he stated. “I brought you for a show.”
“To watch,” she said, “or to be?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
The implication hung between them like smoke.
You’re here so they remember who is holding the leash.
You’re here so your brother knows we’re not afraid to pull it.
A roar surged through the pit as one of the fighters was thrown against the cage wall with a sickening crack.
The man bounced off the steel like a ragdoll, blood streaking the mesh, and collapsed in a twisted heap. His opponent didn’t wait for the ref. He lunged—grabbing him by the hair and slamming his face into the floor once, twice, three brutal times until the mat turned red and the man stopped moving.
The crowd lost their minds.
Bets screamed out over the noise. Bottles slammed on tables. Punches thrown amongst the crowd.
Y/N didn’t flinch.
But her eyes narrowed when she looked down at the victor.
A mountain of a man. He looked almost seven feet tall, all bulk and brutality. Bald, his skin was a patchwork of scars, tattoos curling up his back like snakes. He stood in the middle of the cage, chest heaving, sweat glistening under the floodlights. Blood dripped from his elbow. None of it looked like his.
The announcer didn’t even wait for the ref to check a pulse.
He stepped into the cage, mic in hand, voice already booming.
“AND THAT, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, IS WHAT HAPPENS TO ANYONE STUPID ENOUGH TO STAND IN HIS WAY—”
Another cheer, louder this time. The floor practically shook beneath their feet.
“Give it up for the undefeated, the undisputed, the—” he turned in a circle, milking the crowd, “—MONSTER OF ILSAN, YOUR MAINLAND MAULER, THE LAST FUCKING THING YOU’LL EVER SEE—”
The man raised his arms, soaked in blood and victory.
“IM DAE-WON!”
The crowd erupted.
“See, that’s what I don’t get about places like this,” Y/N leaned back, unimpressed. “No one in their right mind would bet against a guy like that.”
Namjoon didn’t look at her. “You’d be surprised.”
Before she could say anything else, two men climbed into the cage and began dragging the loser’s limp body away, leaving a long, red smear in his wake. The Monster didn’t even glance down. Just stood in the center, like a dragon ready for his next meal.
Then, the lights dimmed.
The crowd began to hush—not all at once, but gradually, like instinct.
The announcer stepped back to the center of the cage.
The mic hissed softly in the silence.
“And now…” His voice dropped lower. Slower. Each word like a countdown.
The entire pit seemed to hold its breath.
“You’ve seen strength,” the announcer said, his voice coiling low through the speakers. “You’ve seen fury, blood and a couple vital organs. A casual Tuesday night, am I right?” He chuckled as he turned in place, pacing the circle like a priest before a sacrifice.
“But now…” His grin widened. “Now you’re about to see something that’ll really get your blood pumping.”
The lights dimmed—slow and deliberate—until only a single spotlight remained, burning white-hot over the cage.
“Tonight,” the announcer went on, voice rising, “we give you teeth. We give you shadow. We give you the one thing that even monsters fear—”
He spun to face the entrance tunnel.
The crowd exploded.
The chant caught fire instantly—low, guttural, primal.
Claws out! Claws out! Claws out!.
“Yes, yes—Claws out and fangs always bared. And tonight?” His voice dropped to a snarl. “He’s hungry.”
The chanting grew louder. People were stomping now, metal beneath their boots rattling the scaffolding.
“You’ve guessed it, ladies and gentlemen. TONIGHT—“ the announcer roared. “We give you—the Tiger.”
The crowd chanted. Tiger! Tiger! Tiger!
The spotlight shifted—slicing through the smoke toward the end of the corridor.
And then—
Y/N’s breath hitched.
There he was.
Jungkook. Stepping into the light.
No shirt. No smile. Nothing but black tape on his fingers, sweat on his bare shoulders, and a fire in his eyes that didn’t flicker once.
Y/N didn’t realize she was holding her breath until her lungs began to burn.
He entered the ring like he’d never belonged anywhere else. And the crowd roared for him.
Y/N didn’t move.
Her spine locked, lungs stilled. She watched him enter like the world had tilted slightly sideways.
Namjoon sat forward, ever so slightly, glass still in hand. He didn’t seem the least bit surprised.
And then—
A voice, oily and smug, slid into her ear.
“Care to place a bet, sweetheart?”
Y/N blinked.
A bookie stood beside her like a man who knew exactly when to strike. Clipboard in hand. Eyes glittering.
“She’s got a good seat,” he said to Namjoon, before turning his gaze back on her. “Might as well make it interesting.”
Namjoon didn’t look away from the cage. Just pulled a thick stack of bills from his pocket and dropped them into Y/N’s lap.
“Your move,” he murmured.
Y/N stared down at the money, then back at the cage—at Jungkook—who hadn’t so much as glanced her way, to finally land on the monster of a man he was clearly about to get destroyed by. Something sharp behind her ribs started to stir.
—
The bell rang.
The roar from the crowd drowned it out almost completely, but in the ring—everything sharpened. Dae-Won didn’t wait. He surged forward like a charging bull, all mass and momentum, fists already swinging.
Jungkook barely had time to shift his weight.
The first blow hit square in the ribs. The second caught him across the jaw, snapping his head sideways with a crack so loud it silenced Y/N’s thoughts for half a beat.
He staggered. Caught himself. But the Monster didn’t stop.
Dae-Won came down on him again, fists like sledgehammers, wild but heavy. Jungkook ducked one, but then—
Crack.
A punch landed square against the side of his head, and Jungkook went down.
Not theatrical. Not dramatic.
Just hard.
His knees hit the mat with a sound that snapped straight through the roar of the crowd.
Y/N flinched.
She didn’t mean to. It was barely visible. A twitch of her hand on her thigh. A slight hitch in her breath.
But Namjoon noticed.
He didn’t look at her. Not directly. He just sipped his drink and let the corner of his mouth twitch.
“You seem tense,” he murmured, low enough that only she could hear.
“I’m not.” Her voice came too fast.
“Mh,” he glanced at her sideways. “Didn’t think it’d get to you.”
She kept her eyes on the cage. “This—is a circus show.”
A beat.
Then Namjoon leaned forward slightly, his voice just for her.
“Does it bother you?” He asked, “Watching people bleed for sport?”
“Does it matter?” Y/N’s mouth pressed into a line. “It clearly doesn’t seem to bother you.”
“Why should it?” he murmured.
Below, Jungkook was still on one knee, one palm to the mat, blood trailing from his mouth. The Monster circled behind him like a shark smelling the end.
Namjoon’s voice was soft. Certain. “Only losing dogs stay down.”
Y/N turned to look at him. And right as she did—
Jungkook stood up.
Slow. Deliberate. Spine straightening inch by inch. He didn’t wobble. Didn’t blink. Just rose like something inevitable.
His chest heaved. His jaw bled. His eyes were locked onto the Monster like he’d already counted every weakness and was just deciding which to punish first.
Namjoon didn’t smile. He didn’t need to. His eyes tracked his brother’s steady rise—bloodied, breathless, unshaken.
“Jungkook is no dog,” he said.
A pause, as Jungkook rolled his neck, a predator’s stillness in his gaze.
“He’s a Tiger.”
—
The locker room of the pit still thrummed with aftershock—sweat, blood, adrenaline hanging heavy in the thick, overheated air. You could hear the roar of the crowd still echoing through the walls.
Jungkook stood near the lockers, towel draped around his neck, blood dried in lazy streaks across his ribs. His chest still rose and fell like he hadn’t come down from the fight yet. He wasn’t pacing. Wasn’t shaking. Just standing there, removing the tape around his fingers.
Taehyung was already there, perched on a bench like he owned the place. Shoes off. Hair wild. Shirt damp at the collar like he’d been yelling ringside—which he had. He spotted Namjoon and Y/N walking in and lit up like a devil.
“There they are,” he called, raising both hands in mock reverence. “Welcome to Olympus. Come and witness our freshly crowned god of destruction. Sexy. Scary. Slightly concussed but victorious.”
Jungkook huffed a breath through his nose. No smile. But something loosened at his shoulders.
Namjoon said nothing at first. Just approached with that stillness he carried so well, gaze sweeping over Jungkook’s bruised jaw, the slight swelling under his eye, the red mark slashed across his ribs. He nodded, slow and certain.
“You did good out there,” he said, reached out to clap a hand once to the back of his brother’s neck—brief and solid—and then moved past him without waiting for a reply.
Not soft. Not showy. But warm, and felt.
Jungkook didn’t respond, but the way he stood a little straighter gave him away. His eyes followed Namjoon for half a beat.
Then they found her.
Y/N leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, jacket still on, cool as marble—but her eyes gave her away. They flicked to him and then immediately, sharply, away. A breath too fast.
She avoided looking at his chest. At his sweat-damp skin, still glowing faintly under the locker room fluorescents. The smears of blood, the bruises blooming purple just beneath the surface. She looked instead at the wall beside him. The bench. The floor. Anywhere but him.
But he noticed.
Of course he did.
The faint flush creeping up her throat. The edge in her posture. The way she didn’t let her gaze settle—not once.
He didn’t smile. Not really. But something smug flickered at the edge of his mouth. A ghost of a reaction. Just enough to register.
“Nothing to say?” he said finally, voice low. “I didn’t know that could happen.”
“Cut her some slacks,” Taehyung chimed in with a smirk, “that was a pretty spectacular show, she may need time to recover.”
Y/N rolled her eyes, and while she didn’t intent on rising to the bait, she found herself muttering in spite of herself. “I’ve seen better.”
That made the corner of Jungkook’s mouth twitch. A near-smile. Not full. Just enough.
And then, as if fate had been waiting for the most inopportune moment to kick her in the pride—
“There she is.”
The voice came from the hallway—smug, grating, far too pleased with itself.
The bookie appeared behind them, clipboard swinging at his side, that same shark-like grin plastered across his face. His gaze zeroed in on Y/N.
“The lady’s got sharper instincts than half the men in this building,” he said as he approached. “Nice to see someone still knows how to pick a winner.”
Y/N froze.
Fuck.
Namjoon arched a brow. Slowly.
Taehyung’s head snapped toward her, eyes lighting up like it was Christmas morning.
“Nooooo—would you look at that,” he cackled. “Did our little stormcloud actually win himself a fan? Now be honest, Y/N, was it the abs that sold it?”
Hoping to shake off the growing flush of her skin, she turned to Taehyung with a glare sharp enough to kill a man.
Unfortunately, he was not a man easily killed.
He held up both hands in mock surrender. “Easy there, I’m just saying th—“
“Taehyung,” Namjoon interrupted, voice clipped.
The young man blinked innocently. “Yes, dear boss?”
“Go get the car.”
Before he could complain, the bookie tossed something across the room—a thick wad of folded bills.
Y/N caught it one-handed.
Tae let out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s a lot of money. You know, for that kind of cash…” He looked at Jungkook. “I’d let you beat the shit outta me. Twice.”
“No one would pay to watch that,” Jungkook snorted. “It’d just be sad.”
“Which is why,” Taehyung said without missing a beat, “I’ve wisely diversified my talents.”
He turned back to Y/N, wiggling his eyebrows like a cartoon villain.
“And if you’re throwing that kind of money around, birdie, I’d be more than happy to offer my services. Private performances. Tasteful. Intimate. Some feather-work. A little cabaret if you’re lucky. I’m a man of many gifts.”
She didn’t even blink. “You’ll need to find some other way to pay off your gambling debts.”
Jungkook let out a faint sound—almost a laugh, but not quite.
“Ouch,” Taehyung winced, clutching his imaginary pearls. “Right in the dignity.”
“If you had any,” Jungkook muttered.
Taehyung shot him a glare. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, baby.”
Namjoon cut in like a guillotine. “Taehyung. Car. Now.”
The young man groaned, flopping his arms like a disappointed child. “Fine. But if you change your mind about the lap dance,” he said, pointing dramatically at Y/N, “know that I expect you to make it rain. I’m not cheap.”
She didn’t dignify it with a response.
“Go,” Namjoon said again, flat.
With a final finger-gun salute and a muttered comment on his being criminally underappreciated, Taehyung sauntered out of the room.
Namjoon turned to Y/N next. “Let’s go.”
She didn’t move.
Jungkook was still watching her. Quiet. Unreadable. But there was something in his eyes. She could feel it crawling beneath her skin.
Namjoon’s voice cut through the haze again, dry and clipped. “Unless you’d rather stay and—admire the view.”
Her eyes snapped toward him, sharp as a blade. He didn’t flinch. Just raised a brow—knowing, cool, maddening.
Then he turned back to Jungkook. “Clean up quickly. The car will be waiting outside.”
Another nod. One final glance. And then he was gone, footsteps echoing down the hallway behind him.
Y/N stayed rooted for just a second, before turning on her heels.
She could still feel him.
Jungkook’s presence behind her was a gravitational thing. Quiet, but unrelenting. He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken. And yet she could feel the weight of him like a pressure on the back of her spine.
She didn’t have to turn around to know what was in his expression.
Smugness. The kind that wasn’t loud or obvious—just settled. Deep and satisfied. Like he’d been handed proof of something he’d always suspected.
That she’d bet on him.
That she’d flushed over him.
Arrogant prick.
She would’ve been twice as complacent had she been in his place. But still.
Intent on not giving him the satisfaction of seeing her run away from the crime scene, she walked to the exit with the calm and poise of a queen. Head held high. She was halfway through the door when it came.
“Didn’t know you had that much faith in me.”
She froze.
The words were low. Casual. Barely more than a rumble from across the room. But they hit just the way he intended.
Ugh, she thought, of course he wouldn’t have the brains to simply let it go.
She turned slowly, spine taut, pride prickling hot under her skin.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said, crisp and immediate. “I’ve seen better footwork from Taehyung wearing fluffy slippers. Hungover.”
He didn’t laugh. But the corner of his mouth twitched.
“Maybe,” he shrugged. “But I’m still the one you bet on.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I didn’t bet on you. I bet on your ego. Figured you’d rather drop dead in the ring than lose in front of me.”
He rolled his eyes. “You think too much of yourself.”
“Rich coming from you,” she shot back. “But go off, kettle.”
He stepped forward—not much, just enough to shift the air between them. “You know,” he said, quieter now, “admitting you enjoyed the show won’t kill you.”
She arched a brow. “Enjoyed might be the wrong word. Endured, maybe.”
“And yet you’re still the one walking out of here richer.” He tilted his head, that little smirk tugging again. “Crazy how that works.”
She rolled her eyes and turned to walk away.
“Just saying,” he called behind her. “I’m the one who did all the sweating. Bit of a raw deal, don’t you think?”
She stopped.
Of course he had to keep pushing.
He’d seen her flushed. He’d felt her stare. And now he’d seen her off-balance, he wanted more. Idiot.
Fine.
Two could play that game.
“Well,” she let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “I suppose that’s only fair,” she said, voice light but razor-edged as she turned back toward him.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
One step. Then another.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Just watched her come closer, the towel still slung around his neck, sweat clinging to the cut of his torso, skin flushed and marked and far too solid for someone who’d been in the ring ten minutes prior.
When she stopped, they were close. Close enough that her breath brushed the hollow of his throat.
His jaw ticked. Just slightly.
Slowly, she looked down at the wad of cash still in her hand.
He clocked it.
When she plucked a single bill loose, his hand started to lift—reflexively, like he thought she was handing it over.
She snapped it out of his reach.
A single raised brow. A silent ‘Don’t get ahead of yourself, kookie.’
Then, eyes still locked to his, she reached forward.
Her fingers slipped beneath the edge of the waistband of his shorts—slow and sure—and tucked the bill inside.
Simple yet devastating.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe either.
The tension in his body was a wire pulled tight. Like if she said one more thing, he might snap—or do something much, much worse.
“For the performance,” she finally murmured, fingers grazing the skin of his abdomen as she pulled her hand back.
His eyes—dark, burning, half-lidded—dropped to her mouth.
She smiled.
Just barely. Satisfied at the shade of red that appeared on the tip of his ears.
Then stepped back and turned around.
“Don’t tell Taehyung,” she said as she stood in the doorway. She glanced back, eyes glittering like ice. “He’d be devastated.”
And just like that, she was gone.
And Jungkook?
Jungkook was still standing there.
Stunned.
And brutally aware that he’d just been outplayed.
He looked down, slow and deliberate, like he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d find.
The dollar bill sat snug in the waistband of his shorts, tucked just left of center. His skin burned where her fingers had brushed.
His abs flexed involuntarily.
So did something else.
He exhaled through his nose—a long, low breath that did nothing to cool him down—and ran shaky hand through his damp hair.
Fuck.
He really needed a shower.
A cold one.
And maybe a priest.
—
—
Chapter 22
yay I’m back! what did you all think??
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@jjk970901
@sydneygal3107
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