#still saving the WIP I might work in it in the future

[jungkoode]

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 20

˗ˏˋ DIY bracelets ˎˊ˗

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

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⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 10,4k

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

✧ author's note ✧

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

Okay okay okay okay. *deep breath.*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mwah.

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

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

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A constant, even if sometimes pushed to the background.

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

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

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

It's not always easy. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That, at least, sounds promising. 

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

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

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

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

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

And then, suddenly, it's 5 PM.

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

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

It's been... nice. 

Quiet. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With Jungkook, of all people. 

The thought should make you anxious.

It doesn’t.

You check your phone and see his text:

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚊? 𝚊𝚖 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 

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

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

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑 𝚒'𝚖 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚠

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚞

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

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢

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

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚠𝚘𝚠 𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚋𝚊𝚛 𝚗𝚒𝚡

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

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚊 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝 𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚛 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚒'𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚞𝚛𝚜

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚐 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 🙄

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚎'𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚌

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚞 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎

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

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛?

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

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚑𝚝𝚘

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚍?

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚕

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

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

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚡 

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚎

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

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚗𝚘 𝚞 𝚠𝚘𝚗𝚝

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚖𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚞 𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚝𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚢 ��𝚏

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚢 

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚑𝚝𝚘

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚐 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚑𝚑𝚑𝚑𝚑

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

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒'𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚘𝚔 𝚋𝚢𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚞 𝚒𝚗 𝟹𝟸𝟷

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

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

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

But now? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nice going, stupid bitch.

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

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

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

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

You blink at him. “Sourdough?”

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

“Oh.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

And… 

You don’t look at him. 

You refuse to look at him. 

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

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

Softer this time. 

Lingering.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just soft.

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

You never expected to find Jungkook beautiful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But what?"

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

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

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

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

"That's not what I meant."

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

"I just like this stuff. Always have."

You follow him, curiosity getting the better of you.

"Since when?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nothing."

"Nah, you were looking at me weird."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The thought is so unexpected that it—

Pain.

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

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

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

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

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

It doesn't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

His frown deepens, eyes scanning your face.

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

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

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

Admitting weakness? Letting him see you crumble?

Absolutely fucking not.

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

Breathe. Just breathe. You've handled worse.

(Have you, though?)

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

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

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

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

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

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

You're not going home. Not happening.

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

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

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

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

"Okay."

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

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

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

Focus. One foot, then the other.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook lingers for a second, hesitant.

"You sure you'll be okay if I—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Something like that."

"Is that man your boyfriend?"

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

You should lie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"More like a supervillain," you mutter.

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

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

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

"...helping me out."

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

This can't be normal.

Well, maybe it is.

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

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

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

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

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

"Girls aren't so bad."

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

"So do boys."

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

"Girls can like dinosaurs too."

He considers this, head tilted.

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

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

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

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

"Thanks."

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

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

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

You nod, focusing on your breathing.

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

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

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

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

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

Of course he did.

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

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

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

He glances at you, surprise flitting across his features.

"For what?"

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

His lips twitch, almost a smile but not quite.

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

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

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

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

But he doesn't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His mother looks mortified. "Aiden!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Should you tell him? About the IUD?

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

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

Because that's not what he does.

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

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

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

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

But also...

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

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

And this moment is nothing if not heavy.

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

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

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

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

But it never comes.

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

"That's good."

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

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

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

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

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

Not from anyone, really.

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

His lips quirk, not quite a smile.

"Pain that bad?"

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

A soft laugh escapes him. "Fucking brutal."

"Pretty much."

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

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

You blink at him, genuinely surprised.

"You know the difference?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not really, no."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sorry, I didn't mean—"

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

The self-awareness surprises you.

"You're not that bad."

"I’m not?”

“Okay I take it back.”

He chuckles.

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

"Need to move around? Sometimes that helps."

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

“Maybe."

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

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

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

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

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

But it does. Feel significant, that is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm not most guys."

"Okay pick me boy."

“And here we go again.” He snorts.

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

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

You groan, shoving him lightly.

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

He laughs, the sound warm and surprisingly genuine.

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

"Watch me."

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

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

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

New York smells different right before sunset.

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

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

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

It's Yoongi, his message simple and direct:

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

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

Focused. Unaware.

Perfect.

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

6:30 PM.

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

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

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

Instagram?

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

It's actually... pretty good.

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

"You have a photography Instagram?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey, wanna check that out?"

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

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

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

"Since when do you care about DIY bracelets?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, no shit."

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

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

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

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

He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

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

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

You consider it.

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

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

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

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

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

"I'd rather die, thanks."

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

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

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

"Separate from what?"

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

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

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

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

"Weird how?"

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

You follow him, curiosity piqued even further.

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

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

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

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

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

"Of what?"

He hesitates, fingers tracing the edge of a tray.

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

"That actually sounds cool."

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

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

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

You'll take it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You glance at the time.

6:45 PM.

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

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

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

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

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

Perfect.

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

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

When recognition hits, he laughs—short and surprised.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugs, picking out a particularly vibrant red bead.

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

"Your colors?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you keep your tone light when you ask.

"Yeah? What kind?"

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

"How old were you?"

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

"And now?"

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

"Is it lame now?"

His expression wavers, tightening around the mouth.

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

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

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

"Fair point."

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

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

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

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

"About what?"

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

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

Something he doesn't share often.

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

He tenses, and you inwardly curse yourself.

"Not much to say."

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

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

His lips twitch, almost a smile.

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

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

"Almost done. Just need the clasp."

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

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

Jungkook leans forward to look, his expression warming.

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

"Let me see yours."

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

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

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

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

"And so humble, too."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you smile at him, show him.

He snorts.

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

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

"All finished? Those look great!"

You both nod, holding up your creations for inspection.

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

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

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

You frown, confused.

"Contributing how?"

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

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

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

Wear it?

That would be weird.

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

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

You glance at him, surprised again.

"You do?"

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

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

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

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

Jungkook's smile is slow and surprisingly gentle.

“Yeah?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook stops mid-stretch.

"You lose it?"

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

"Want me to—"

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

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

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

"No problem. Take your time."

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

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

"Got it?" he asks without looking up.

"Yeah."

You slip it into your pocket without checking the time.

"Ready?"

He pushes off the lamppost.

"Lead the way."

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

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

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

"Starving. What did you have in mind?"

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

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

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© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Doing Time 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you try to keep your brother safe in jail but put yourself in danger along the way.

Characters: con/ex-con!Steve Rogers

Note: Happy Tuesday🐵.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“Marta still insists she isn’t responsible for ordering the toner...” you shrug and sigh. You shake your head at the petty office argument. 

Before you can laugh, the guard calls time up. You blink, brought back to the present. Your account of the printer tirade seems even more silly now. 

Your eyes come into focus and you find Steve’s entirely on you. He might not admit it, but you suspect he is lonely. In some way. He’s all but confirmed that he doesn’t get any other visitors. It makes you think of Vaughn. How he must look forward to those days. They might not be the same but they both drew the same lot. 

You go to get up as the guard signals with a tap on his watch. 

“Wait,” he pulls away defiantly, keeping hold of the receiver. You keep yours by your ear. “Will you come back, sweetheart?” 

Your lips part. You’re surprised by the question. The man knows how to keep people off-balance. “What?” 

“You already gotta come all the way here for your brother so why not? I mean, if you really wanna thank me for saving his neck. I’m sure he’ll find a dozen other ways to get himself in a bind,” he shrugs. 

“Rogers,” the guard warns. 

You weigh the hint of a threat in his tone. You don’t think he’s serious but he’ll never say aloud the truth. He’s all by himself in there, even if he moves the rest of them like chess pieces. The urgency of the guard makes you sputter. 

“Sure, uh okay, I’ll try,” you say. 

“Alright,” he surrenders, a glimmer of disappointment, as if he expected more. “See ya next time, then.” 

He hangs up and the guard unhooks his cuffs from the loop. He stands, dwarfing his keeper easily, and follows him away. You’re grateful for the barrier for the first time. 

You get up and you’re led out yourself. What did you just do? You don’t have to see him again. Now you do. You made a promise and a man like that won’t take kindly to breaking it. Shoot. Why did you do this? He’s a criminal and you still have no idea what kind. 

Your heart clenches as you get to the counter and fill out your form. 

“If you really wanna thank me...” his words echo. 

You ask for another form. You don’t want to take the chance that you made things worse for Vaughn. The novelty will wear off. He’ll lose interest and hopefully, he also forgets about your brother. 

You sign the forms and pass them over. It’s a different guard. They don’t react as they read it over. They merely dismiss you as the pit deepens in your stomach. 

⛓️‍💥

You don’t tell Vaughn. If you do, he might be mad. Not just at you, but Steve. If he lashes out at someone like that, you might never see him again. That’s your worst fear. 

The thing about your brother is he might know exactly how things go, what to expect, but it doesn’t keep him from messing up. Even if Steve is watching him back, it wouldn’t stop him from feeling slighted and turning around and breaking his own spine.  

You can only imagine his reaction to your chatting with his fellow inmates. Vaughn only listens to what fits his own narrative. He wouldn’t hear you out, he’d just go off and get himself hurt. 

You attend your usual sibling commiseration. He’s looking better. You’re mostly quiet. You wait for any mention of Steve. Dread it even. He only tells you how the other guys are scared of him. You’re not so sure it’s him making them stay away. 

You say your usual good byes and love yous and you stay put. You wait. Steve appears sooner than the last time. He takes his seat and lifts the receiver. He’s just as stony as before. 

The glimmer in his eye has you reaching for the phone on your side. You gulp. You don’t know anything about him. Only the one thing that should’ve kept you away. He’s a criminal. 

“Hey,” you eke out. 

“Sweetheart,” he greets evenly. 

“It’s... your turn." You state shakily. He lifts a brow and he chuckles. You clear your throat. “I told you about me, now I wanna know about you.” 

“Oh?” He tweaks his head. 

“Look, I’m not going to keep talking to you if--” 

“You’re threatening me?” He challenges. 

“N-no, I just--” 

He laughs again, “oh, sweetheart, you’ve been thinking a lot about this, haven’t you? You miss me already?” 

You frown, “don’t call me that. I didn’t come to be laughed at.” 

“Uh huh, so why did you come?” 

You don’t know how to answer. He knows. He wants to hear you say it. 

“We both know why. That brother of yours is reckless. I can barely keep him on a leash.” He looks you up and down, “does he know you’re here, huh? I don’t think so. Think if he did, he’s be at my cell door getting his neck broke.” 

“Hey, don’t--” 

“No, you don’t, sweetheart. Don’t tell me what to do. And calm down.” He waves away your distress. He glances over towards the guard then back to you. “You’re funny when you get all worked up but don’t go ruining this. For baby brother’s sake and yours.” 

“Please, don’t hurt him,” you murmur softly. “Please.” 

He snickers and rests a hand on the desk, the other on the receiver. He pushes and leans back, his chest puffing out. “Fine, what do you wanna know? I have mess at eight with all the other bums in here and I do about two hundred pushups after dinner.” 

You rub your lips together. His gaze follows the movement. “How long have you been here?” You stare at him, gripping the phone for courage. 

He rolls his tongue against the inside of his lip and shifts the receiver in his hand. He crosses his other arm over his chest, gripping his large bicep. 

“Six years.” 

“How long do you have left?” You follow-up quickly. 

“Ah, is that it? You’re anxious to get rid of all this,” he eyes the glass. “That’s sweet--” 

“I just want to know,” you blurt out. Six years isn’t too much but fifteen or more says it all. 

“A long time. The rest of my life unless the board has a change of heart.” 

You watch him, waiting. For a crack, for a tell. He didn’t flinch at all as he tells you he’s stuck there forever. Whatever he did must be bad. 

“For what?” You breath, running your fingers up and down your throat. He watches the nervous gesture before he meets your eye.  

He prickles and sets his shoulders, “You really wanna know? You gotta do something for me first.” 

You blink, “just tell me.” 

“No, that’s not how it works. You do me a favour and I’ll tell you,” he retorts. 

“What? What could I possibly do for you?” 

“You add your number to my roll on your way out.” 

“My... number?” You echo. 

“Lot of time between visits. I get antsy. When I get antsy, I do stupid things. Start fights... so?” He leans forward. He knows he’s won. 

“Fine, you tell me and I’ll do it.” 

“Deal,” he points at you, his elbow on the table. “And don’t test me. I don’t like people who go back on their word. Not even sweet things like you.” 

“I said yes,” you sniff. 

“I didn’t do anything,” he smirks. “But what they say I did...” he shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “murder. Court’s a joke, you know? Lawyers only steal your money. They’ll make more on the appeal. So they let me go down when the other guys say I killed my wife. The interviews for TV pay them better.” He snorts. “Far be it from me to go against the verdict. Especially in here. Better to let people thing I’m a stone-cold killer.” 

You chew on the answer, mulling it with his expression. You can’t tell if he’s lying. Does it matter? He’s still in this place and according to Vaughn, dangerous regardless. If he wasn’t before, he is now. 

“You believe me?” He asks. You don’t answer. “Ah, don’t worry about it. Doesn’t matter either way. We got lots of time for you to figure it out.” 

A frown tugs at your lips, “yeah...” you rub your neck and once more he stares at the movement of your hand. He’s so stoic, you can’t read whether he’s bored or annoyed. 

“I’ve banked lots of phone time,” he swirls his fingers on the desk. “I look forward to our little chats. Be a nice after dinner treat, won’t it?” 

You bit down and twist the phone cord, “why do you want to talk to me?” 

“I’ve been in here six years with stinky men. A nice little bird like you singing to me, that’s something to wake up for. It'll make the time pass,” he says. “See, I’m being honest.” 

You nod and inhale slowly. You drag your hand off the desk and wipe your sweaty palm on your jeans. You’re too far in now. There’s not going back. 

⛓️‍💥

“...so this guy tells me it’s his turn at the bench but I just got on. He didn’t appreciate me testing his strength when I dropped the weight on his jaw,” Steve laughs as you chop celery, his voice crackling from the speaker of your phone. The prison lines are fuzzy at times. He stops and silence rises. You almost think the call cut off. “Why’re you so quiet, sweetheart?” 

“I’m just making dinner,” you answer. “Listening.” 

You don’t like his stories. They’re always violent and you can’t always tell when he’s telling the truth or just trying to scare you. Vaughn said he has other guys do his dirty work. 

“Oh? What are we having?” Steve asks. 

“Stuffed chicken breast with rice,” you reply as you pour the celery off the cutting board. 

“What’s wrong?” He intones. 

“Nothing,” you lie.” 

“What? You don’t seem impressed.” 

“Well, Steve, I’m not a very violent person. I guess I don’t see much to laugh at.” 

He scoffs, “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I was a bad boy.” 

“Steve,” you say. “I just... I don’t like to hear that stuff.” 

“Oh, you worried about me? I can take care of myself.” 

“It’s just not very nice,” you mutter. 

“Not nice? That’s how the yard works. I can’t help that. I don’t like it either but you gotta do that stuff. To survive.” He explains, “but Vaughn, well, we both know he’s no good with change. That’s why he needs someone like me--” 

“I asked you nicely not to mention him,” you say. “How much time do you have left?” 

“Couple minutes,” he drones. “Didn’t mean to get you worked up.” 

“I’m not worked up. I just... I worry.” 

“I know you do, sweetheart. Look, I’ve been here a while. Don’t you worry about me or the baby boy,” he drawls; you can hear the smirk in his voice. 

“Mm,” you hum. 

He mimics the noise, “you’re not amused? Sweetheart, tell me what you want to hear. How can I make you happy?” 

You cluck, “it’s just... I don’t like it... when you put on a front like that. I’m not an inmate. I... I’d rather you just be honest. I never liked men who can only talk about violence.” 

“Oh, and what kinda man do you like?” 

You look at the phone, “I don’t have a type. Not that it matters.” 

“I can be your type,” he purrs. 

You pause as you reach into the bag of bread. You’re taken aback by his statement. You shake your head. 

“Steve, I should get this in the oven.” 

“Right, time’s running out,” he exhales. “Well, good night sweetheart.” 

“Good night, Steve,” you say pointedly and reach to hang up with your knuckle. 

You sigh and tear up the bread. You can’t believe how far this has gone. He calls every night and you dread it every night. No matter what you do, he doesn’t let up. When you’re quiet, he makes you speak. When you’re curt, he makes you gentle. He demands it and you have no way to deny him. 

It’s hard at times to stomach. He can be patronizing when he wants to. When you don’t perform for him. He always mentions your brother at exactly the right time. To remind you of his power over you or to remind you of your own guilt for lying to your own family. 

Well, he has a whole life sentence ahead of him. He has to get bored eventually. Besides, Vaughn will be out in another two years on good behaviour. 

[pudding-parade]

Here's this lighting mod I cobbled together, up for public consumption for anyone who might want to give it a try. It's a "default" lighting mod, which means it will affect all worlds in all saves that are in the same game folder as the lighting mod, except for the dystopian/utopian futures in Oasis Landing. So, if you use a custom or EA world that includes special lighting that you like, you don't want to use this in that game folder because it will replace that lighting.

Before I start babbling, here's the download link upfront.

There are two versions included in the download. One file includes default replacements for the clouds, sun, sun halo, moon halo, and stars. Then there's a folder that contains two separate files, the lighting mod by itself and the default sky objects by itself, in case you don't want the clouds, stars, etc that you see in the pics and just want the lighting mod. (Or if you don't want the lighting mod but do want the sky objects, I guess!) The pics all use the "combined" version, but you can install only what you want, if that's more your cuppa.

This mod's "base" is Burntwaffles's Dream Dimension lighting mod, specifically version 2.5 with Lucky Palms water and no auroras, except that I changed the sunrise/sunset times back to the standard 6AM/6PM because I use NRaas Retuner to create appropriate seasonal sunrise/sunset offsets instead. It still has Lucky Palms's water, both because it's my favorite and because I don't know how to change it, but pretty much everything else has been altered at least slightly, from slightly brightening and color-adjusting the color ramps to mucking around with light angles and distance fog settings. So, not too much is left of Dream Dimension except the basic colors, but it's still at its core. I also looked at lighting mods made by @boringbones and @gruesim and compared the values they contain to Dream Dimension's values. None of the values I ultimately used are from any of those mods but they were all guidance that helped me to pinpoint values to change to get the look I wanted, so credit to those creators.

My goals for the mod, all of which I more or less accomplished, were:

1) Less-intense shadows, mostly in order to reduce harsh shadows on sims, especially in outdoor lighting, as well as too-dark bits of building exteriors, like covered porches and recessed entryways.

2) Desaturated but bright colors with less contrast, because my old eyes don't tolerate saturated colors and high contrast for long. Somehow, EA's lighting manages to be both very color-saturated and dark and often dismal at the same time. Meanwhile, most lighting mods are too bright and/or too saturated for my likings. I wanted less saturated but brighter, which seems to be a rare combination. Dream Dimension is already desaturated, which is why I like it, but I increased the brightness and warmth a bit on the color ramps because it could also be a bit too dark and "cold," in my opinion.

3) Improved natural-daylight indoor lighting. I somewhat accomplished this one, though there are still issues like too-dark ceilings and some too-bright walls, which I don't think are fixable with just a lighting mod. However, lowering the light angles seems to make the EA windows with fixed lighting (that mod is linked behind the cut) work better and gives pretty good results, which you can especially see in the WIP pics I've posted, since I didn't include a lot of interior pics on this post. I can make no promises about this issue on lots with custom windows, however.

4) Dark but not unrealistically black nights, including darker ground level lighting at night. Dream Dimension already had this, but I lowered the contrast so it's not so hard on the eyes and also made it a little bit brighter so that if you've got your sims in an unlit area far from from any artificial light sources, you can still see what they're doing. It also doesn't have the obnoxious blue tint that EA night lighting has.

Like the WIP pics I posted here, here , here, and here, the above pics have no Reshade or Photoshop editing applied to them at all, other than cropping/resizing in Photoshop. They are all taken in various EA worlds instead of all in my rebuild of Meadow Glen, as all the WIP pics I've posted have been. They are best viewed at full size, and I think they give a good representation of what the thing looks like, including flaws, assuming that you use the same appearance-improving stuff that I use on a decent-enough machine to run all this crap and still be able to play the game. I have tried to be thorough and transparent about my machine's specs and the other mods and stuff that I use that contribute to what my "naked" game looks like. That's all behind the cut.

The WIP pics I've posted have a larger sun and moon than you will get from the mod as uploaded. You can see the "included" sun/moon sizes in the above pics. I like those things to be larger, so my personal copy of the mod has larger sun/moon sizes, but I figured other people mostly wouldn't like that. The mod as uploaded has I believe slightly larger-than-EA values for those things, but not ridiculously-large like I like. As uploaded, there is also no sun halo, which to me results in a sun that looks like a ping-pong ball floating in the sky, but whatever.

I was going to write up and include instructions on how to mess with sun/moon sizes and other things in this post, including how to "reactivate" Burntwaffles's "auroras" if you want them. (Those are really just colored clouds, though; I prefer to use this mod for auroras, and it is shown in one of the pics above.) But I've decided to do all that in a separate post or two at a later time because probably no one will read this massive wall of text as it is. :)

For the sky objects replacement: They began life as parts of @wasset-asekara's "Enchanted Environment" mod, but I have edited them over the years. I don't remember all that I have done, but I do know that I edited @nilxis's clouds a bit and put that in there, and that the stars are an edit of ShojoAngel's starfield because I like its gazillions of tiny stars better than EA's sparse field of large globs that are apparently supposed to be stars. (One day I will make my own starfield from scratch that's more of a "happy medium" between those two, but that day hasn't arrived yet. LOL ) I'm pretty sure I didn't edit Wasset's sun halo, though, and it's included. You can see it in this pic, but as I said the uploaded mod has the sun halo size set to zero, so it will not appear unless you go in and fiddle with the sun and sun halo sizes yourself. As I said, I'll make a separate post about how to do that, if you don't already know.

And now for the section where I'll list my computer's relevant specs, mods that I use, and other stuff I have installed that affect how my game looks, for transparency's sake and so that you can get some of this stuff if you don't already have it…

My computer's relevant specs:

Core i9 "Rocket Lake" processor (The one before the Alder Lake one that requires a patch for TS3 to work right). It runs at 3.5GHz

64GB of RAM

The game and all CC is installed on an M.2 SSD

16GB RTX 4060Ti GPU

So, it's pretty high-spec. If your machine is lower-spec, I can't guarantee that this lighting mod plus all the other crap that most serious TS3 players use will result in a good gameplay experience. On the other hand, lighting mods aren't resource-intensive by themselves. They are literally just numbers and a handful of tiny images. It's just that people, myself included, tend to couple them with resource hogs like Reshade as well as appearance-improving mods and graphics rules and things, plus a mass of gameplay mods, and the cumulative result is one big resource drain. So, bear that in mind.

Mods:

More light through windows This fixes EA windows so that they work better and create more natural lighting. However, if you use a lot of custom windows that clone the unfixed LITE resource from EA windows, it will not help you at all.

Improved EA Lights Similar to the above, this fixes EA lamps and wall/ceiling lights and stuff so that they cast artificial light more realistically. It will also not help you if you use a lot of custom lights that clone the LITE resource of unfixed EA lights.

Fixed tileable item shaders This makes it so that lighting isn't weird on tiled bookshelves and sectional couches and stuff. Alas, it does not seem to fix uneven lighting on tiled windows. :( And, again, it fixes EA stuff, not custom stuff.

LazyDuchess's Sky Banding Fix It used to be that I used Reshade mostly to fix the gradient banding in the sky. With this fix plus this lighting mod, I can completely ditch Reshade, yay! (Of course you don't have to ditch Reshade; I just didn't personally use it much other than to deband and desaturate.)

Default replacement moon shown in the pics I use the Quartz color. You can use any replacement you want, of course. Or you can stick with the ugly EA moon.

NVIDIA Settings

Used for better antialiasing, the addition of ambient occlusion (which affects shadows), and a few other things. I listed the settings I use on this post. I imagine you can alter these settings if you use an AMD card, too, but I'm an NVIDIA girlie, so I don't know how you'd go about doing that. I'm sure there is info out there on the Intertubes, though! Bear in mind that many Reshade presets, if you use them, include better antialiasing and activating ambient occlusion, etc. via the various shaders used in the preset. Generally, you want either/or here, and I personally feel that NVIDIA settings give better results. However, with Reshade presets, you can disable individual shaders used for ambient occlusion and antialiasing and such to make them more compatible with NVIDIA settings.

A so-called "HQ mod."

Which isn't actually a mod at all but just edited graphics rules that change a few numbers so that the game uses higher-resolution images for stuff by default. This is necessary because, generally speaking, the game doesn't "know" that newer graphics cards that it doesn't natively recognize are capable of using larger textures, so it defaults to lower-resolution ones. If you haven't already done so, it's best to edit this yourself because graphics rules are rather machine-specific. General instructions on how to fart around with the graphics rules are here, and if you google around you'll find other tweaks that you can apply or not, as you choose. I personally edited mine for higher-resolution shadows and textures, both of which contribute to the pics of this lighting mod.

In-Game Graphics settings

All of mine are at maximum except for the game's native antialiasing (AKA "Edge Smoothing"), which is turned off since the NVIDIA settings handle that.

Various default-replacements.

The most obvious in the pics of this mod being @asabinsims "Project Renaissance" which default-replaces the textures for many of the game's trees, shrubs, and flowers. The "large" version is used in the pictures, but I use the "small" version for gameplay. Also, the sims in the pictures are using the default skin, eye, hair textures, and brow/facial hair replacements I use, but before the game "updated" them, they were briefly "wearing" the hideous Maxis stuff, and there were still no weird shadows and stuff on them.

Stuff that I don't have/use but that could possibly make this look even better:

LazyDuchess's Shader Framework and Tweaks LazyDuchess's Split-Level Lighting Fix (I don't use these only because, last time I tried to use them, I couldn't get the game to load with the shader framework installed, and the split-level fix just didn't work. But maybe it's time to try getting them to work again…)

And also: @katsujiiccfinds (But feel free NOT to reblog this, because it is a ridiculously massive post because of my thoroughness kink, and I would totally understand not wanting to pass that around. :) )

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for qwertynerd97 behind the cut; “but it’s weird that it happened twice”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“The lab dangerous to use right now?” Tucker asks, because he seriously never knows when the Fentons have put in some new security systems or booby traps, though usually the answer is “always”. Which, welllll . . . 

“The lab is literally always dangerous, man,” Danny says, so yeah, that’s still a thing. “Probably won’t kill us right now, though, so it’s our best option. C’mon, let’s get going, just in case Mom and Dad actually do find something. Like, it’s Amity, I’m not gonna assume they aren’t gonna actually find a ghost out there.” 

“Yeah, point,” Tucker agrees with a grimace, tucking his PDA away again and pushing his glasses up his nose. Badly-timed ghosts are very much a recurring theme in their lives. Actually they’re a major recurring theme in their lives, even these days. Heck, for a while in there, they just were their lives. 

Tucker is so, so glad they’re gotten genre-savvy in their own lives, but man was it a process. 

Jazz leads the way down to the lab while Danny texts Sam and Val, and Tucker brings up the rear just in case Dani stumbles on the steps or anything. Superboy falls in step beside her, his posture lazy and his walk more a saunter than anything else, and Tucker suffers about it. It does not make it easy to concentrate on Dani, is all he’s gonna say. Like, he’s doing it, but it is frankly painful. 

God, why is this dude so pretty. Why is that a thing? Tucker really did not realize he was into dudes, much less this into dudes. 

Okay, well, technically so far it’s just been this one specific dude, and to be fair Superboy is a pretty impressive one specific dude, but seriously, he is this into the guy? Just–seriously? 

Tucker is going to have to reexamine so many things about himself after this bullshit gets fixed. Like, just so, so many. 

“So like what kinda lab we talkin’ here, am I gonna feel right at home or am I gonna feel like I’m there to punch a bad guy?” Superboy asks Dani, cocking an eyebrow curiously. “Which admittedly those lines are a little blurred for me personally, but just like the general vibes.” 

“I dunno, it’s a lab?” Dani wrinkles her nose, then just shrugs. “Lotta chrome, never heard of OSHA, better-lit than Vlad’s.” 

“Who’s Vlad?” Superboy asks. 

“A very punchable dude,” Dani snorts, rolling her eyes, and Superboy laughs. 

“Oh, you the punchin’ type, boo?” he asks, draping an arm across her shoulders and tugging down his glasses to shoot her a flirty leer over the top of them. “‘Cuz I could get behind that, personally, that’s right up my alley.” 

Dani looks briefly bemused, then incredibly delighted, and cackles gleefully. Possibly over the promise of future punching or possibly over getting called “boo”; situation unclear there. Tucker has some maybe-weird feelings about the flirting thing despite being perfectly aware of both who Superboy very unsubtly is as a person and of Dani’s total disinterest in ever developing impulse control and both of their very loud and enthusiastic attention-seeking tendencies.

Maybe it’s just that it might be weird to solve a problem for Danny via bringing over a dude who’s gonna hit on his clone/daughter/sister/cousin while they’re trying to save her life? Because that would maybe be weird, Tucker can admit how that would maybe be weird. 

Though he hasn’t really heard Dani laugh in a while, so . . . yeah, that could be worse, for sure. 

“Like I’m gonna share the punching, please,” Dani scoffs, flipping her mussed ponytail over her shoulder. “Punching’s all mine, Superfly, I got dibs.” 

“I dunno, how fast you get, boo?” Superboy teases, and she laughs again. “We can work it out the old-fashioned way if you wanna just race it.” 

“You can try, if you think you can keep up,” Dani replies smugly, making a show of examining her nails. Superboy laughs too, and she grins up at him, and Tucker maybe feels like–

Then Dani’s mouth tightens, and her eyes flare, and she–flickers. 

Crap, Tucker thinks, and Superboy’s arm sinks a few inches into Dani’s shoulders as her tangibility stutters, and he yanks it back, and her face goes dead-white and her eyes glow, and Tucker curses and Danny whips around and Jazz whips around a beat slower than him as her hand snaps reflexively to the pocket she’s been keeping the Ecto-Dejecto in and–

Dani makes a choking sound, and it’s probably just as reflexive when she reaches out with a fumbling, halfway phased-out hand, and she’s probably meaning to reach for Danny, but her legs and feet go just intangible enough to drop her into the stairs and she goes straight down. Danny lunges down for her, not even taking the instant it’d take him to transform but already phasing to try and match her tangibility. 

And Superboy snaps out his own hand and catches hers, and it–doesn’t slip. 

Tucker–blinks. 

Wait. What–? 

Then Dani’s intangibility phases Superboy, and they both fall straight down. Dani shrieks and Superboy yells, and they both disappear through the steps as Danny throws himself after them. Jazz is already whipping back around to barrel down the stairs, the epi-pen full of Ecto-Dejecto already clutched in her fist. Tucker runs after her so fast he nearly ends up falling down them face-first, his heart in his throat as he thinks–is Dani destabilizing again or was that just a flicker, is she already melting, is she already melted, is she– 

And he thinks, in a more pragmatic and matter-of-fact and genre-savvy part of his brain: how the frick did Superboy catch Dani’s hand? 

He also has some really complicated and unnecessary feelings about how Superboy didn’t let go of Dani’s hand when she phased him out and dragged him down with her. Like–that is standard superhero shit, Tucker reminds himself. Like–yeah. That’s standard. Fully normal and typical. 

But he’s definitely still having some weird feelings about watching the guy go right through the stairs with Dani without knowing jack shit about what was happening and not even hesitating. 

Okay, well . . . at least he picked a real ride-or-die type for this, Tucker guesses.

[metalbvcky]

There's No Cure for Love

Stucky • Doctor Steve + Patient Bucky • Modern AU • Longfic WIP

The day has finally, finally come. I set out to start this fic after finishing Aster last year, and I brainstormed all summer and into the fall. I've never planned harder for a single story, but what's even crazier is I originally had ideas for this in 2022 and expanded that in 2023. Currently, I have 12k worth of notes alone, which means there's no telling how long this will end up. It'll be a WIP for the foreseeable future and my #1 priority because it's overtaken my brain tenfold.

Now, I am not a medical professional. I've done countless medical research for this (still am) but there will be some levels of fiction because of the doctor/patient relationship. Bucky's disease/illness is made up, and obviously we're gonna have him and Steve making out in a hospital room at some point and more, so... 😘

🩺 Summary 🩺

Bucky leads a luxurious but troubled lifestyle. Despite the wealth and power of a state senator and a real estate billionaire, Bucky is always one hospital stay away from death. Doctors are evil. Hospitals send him into a panic attack. Nobody knows what might be wrong with him. His body is broken.

Former emergency physician turned pulmonologist, Steve spends his days between the hospital and the assisted-living facility where his Ma resides. He has a network of work colleges, countless lives to save, and enough nightmares to keep him awake at night. One lapse of concentration, one false decision, can mean the difference between life and death.

Little do they know, their paths will soon cross.

But will Steve be able to save Bucky from his unexplainable illnesses?

TAGLIST: @kingofsorrow20, @bonkybornes, @vintagebuckybarnes, @late-to-the-party-81, @chiseplushie, @stuckydrewx, @controlofwhatido, @sparkagrace, @hannahshattuck, @lavenderbuckyy, @ghostoffiction, @realmamabear79

Read on AO3

[fantastic-nonsense]

im soso curious, i need to know... why is tim a child of apollo? bless u for not going with fanon<3

[referencing how I decided who the Batfam's godly parents were in my PJO AU WIP]

People like to sort him into Athena because DC has spent the last few years emphasizing how smart he is and how he's better at the more “cerebral” and detective aspects of the job. But Tim’s most prominent pre-reboot traits are not actually his detective or tech skills: they’re his reckless, impulsive bravery, his ability to analyze and think very quickly on his feet in dangerous situations, and his "power of friendship" idealism.

He's a people person; it's one of his greatest strengths. Tim is like...physically incapable of going somewhere and not making at least one friend while he's there. Hell, when he ran off to travel the world on his "fuck you, I'll find Bruce on my own" trip he still managed to pick up his own little crew of assassin friends along the way. Making connections and talking to people and relying on others for help is how he successfully navigates being a hero, as he himself notes on multiple occasions:

"Did you think I was going to run all around the city, desperately trying to save everyone all by myself? I'm not Batman. I have friends." -Red Robin #12

Tim loves his family and friends, and losing so many people he's close to within such a small timespan sends him off the deep end in multiple ways (trying to clone Kon, fighting Dick to get the Lazarus water, isolating himself from everyone, fighting with Dick and running off to find proof that Bruce was alive on his own, etc).

At his core, Tim is an idealist who becomes a hero for no other reason than a) a broken man needs help and a broken family needs mending and b) if Dick won't go back to being Robin he might as well do it, because someone has to be Robin. He sees what will happen if Bruce stays on the path he's on and says "no. I'm not going to let that happen." He's a hero because someone has to help, and he's able and available to do so. He doesn't work on cold hard logic and facts. He works off of gut instinct and then uses his big brain to go find facts and logical conclusions that support those instincts.

Tim was never going to be an Athena child.

So I started thinking. At first, I wanted him to be a Hermes child; it seemed right to frame his parentage around being the child of the messenger of the gods given how he became Robin. But that's not really him, either. Apollo, within the scope of both classical mythology and the PJO-verse's depiction of him and his children, fits him better.

While modern culture tends to zero in a lot on Apollo's status as the god of music, poetry, and the arts (for good reason), Apollo in classical Greek mythology was first and foremost known as the god who (for lack of a better term) helps his people. He's the god of the sun, of light, of medicine and healing, of prophecy, of truth.

Tim comes into Bruce's life at a time when Bruce is at his absolute lowest point. Jason is dead. He's estranged from Dick. He's failing in his mission to save Gotham. He's highkey passively suicidal. And Tim takes it upon himself to fix that. And he does it by being a solid, bright, stable presence in Bruce's life and an extremely blunt, truthful messenger of the future he sees: Batman needs a Robin, and if Bruce doesn't have one he's going to die.

And I didn't abandon his intelligence in the calculations: Apollo is also the god of rational thinking, order, and knowledge, contrasting and working in harmony with Dionysus (the god of irrationality, chaos, and passion). He was also known to be the god whose job it was to interpret the will of Zeus to humankind, which I thought was appropriate for a boy who spends quite a lot of his time being the living communication translator between Bruce and everyone around him.

So. Apollo child.

............also I thought it was funny to make the god of youth the father of the boy DC refuses to allow to age.

[hyggetrait]

hi there,

I’m glad you’ve stopped by to read this little note. I have quite a few updates to share. some good, some not so good. but short summary is, I’m happy, healthy, and building! This is a little long, so I apologize. I’ve tried to organize my thoughts as best as I could below.

First, thank you

I’m still flabbergasted that over 3000 of you have pressed that follow button. even crazier when I think about the fact that I’ve only posted less than 50 posts. I feel like I’ve gotten the better end of that deal but I promise to be more present. thank you for following me despite my lack of uploads, thank you for liking, reposting, commenting, and just being so kind. you’re all such a wonderful supportive community.

happy life update

Earlier this year my company downsized significantly and many near and dear people to me were let go. on top of that, a lot of work was piled on to me, so I had to prioritize offline life for a bit. the good thing is, after a crazy couple of months I was able to take time off for some much needed r&r, and as part of that break, I got to go to France to visit some family, enjoy some good food and sip on some delicious wine. but most importantly, i made some wonderful memories with my now fiancé! (surprise!) I’m still letting all soak in but we’re so happy for what the future holds.

now with the personal update out of the way, onto the sims ;

gameplay

I’m so sad to share that the save file with all of my wip was corrupted. thankfully I was able to salvage some builds because I saved to my gallery, but others are forever gone. sadly, the house I built for my growing together family and my tartosa town were collateral. I have an earlier iteration saved of the tartosa town but a lot of my progress is lost. I’m still heartbroken as I had worked so hard on them both, but I promise when inspiration strikes again I’ll try to complete the tartosa town.

the good news is, I’ve started building again. smaller lots these times and boy am I grateful for that. I even started a new house for my growing together household. I have one build I’ll be sharing in the coming days and two more that are nearly done. they are all in brindleton bay, inspired by nantucket and cape cod. think of it as a mini series if you will. I can’t wait to share more!

tray files and downloads

a lot of people have been asking for a while for my tray files. I apologize for the long wait, but I’m finally working on it and I’ll be setting up a free patreon for you guys to easily download!

and that’s all. I’m working on some new formatting/graphics for my future posts, it might change a few times while I figure it out but I hope it’s worth it. Thank you for sticking around, for reading my little note, and for supporting my creations!

see you soon,

nicole 💕

[insomniaflarrow]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tag @elodiah! :D

I've done some extensive plotting and realised that I have to cut a massive chunk out of my chapter to make everything work, so instead of letting it go to waste I'm dropping some of it below the cut!

Loki nods curtly, miffed expression dissolving back into careful neutrality, rehearsed. "I don’t want to fight. I’m just trying to put this in a way that makes my stance clear, but I'm afraid it will likely go against your own."

"I'm guessing from what we've talked about that your stance is I should give up on you," Mobius mumbles.

The stream is the only answer he receives, and it's enough. When he takes in the sight of him, here and not here, he drinks it in as if it might be the final time. The downtilt of his chin as he angles his eyes away. The fold of the cloak over his shoulders, falling down and away into nothingness near his knees, the end of the timelines just about visible, fraying into the edges of his clothing. The way he's placed his hands in his pockets, elbows tucked close as if it would be a sin to take up more space, to overflow in any manner beyond the small illusion he contains his entire being in.

"Are you going to let me stop you?" Mobius asks. He doesn't fight his case on the leaving, not on the technical side of things. He lost that argument long ago, and has been holding the front of an onslaught solo.

Loki presses his lips together. "I don't know." His voice is a small thing, bravado laid to waste.

"You said that the only thing that might've stopped you first time was me asking you not to go." Had Loki been here, Mobius might have made a grab for him, held his shoulders so he couldn't vanish, so he couldn't slip through his fingers again. But he isn't. So he doesn't. "Now I’m asking you not to go."

If anything, Loki seems physically torn by indecision. Mobius can't help but feel like he's the one taking him apart, desperately wrenching him in the hopes he'll step over the chasm and join him on the same side.

"I wouldn't actually be going anywhere. I'd still be in the Tree. It's not... it's not death."

"Isn't it? You're resigning yourself to existing alone, forever. Sounds like dying to me."

"I exist as much in the form of the universe as here. I'd still be with you."

"But not this you."

"Not this me."

The sun has sunk less than an inch across the sky, but the world seems less bright, a deep blue taking the place of pink. Above the canopy, the clouds Mobius saw earlier have finally crept their way overhead, casting their grove in darkness.

"I'd remove myself into another pocket dimension, to throw He-Who-Remains off, and converse with your TVA department within that time. When we are satisfied that we have rid ourselves of that threat, at least for the time being, I will remain as custodian of the Tree for the foreseeable future. Forever," he reiterates, shutting down all Mobius' old arguments about long-distant solutions that could crop up.

"I still don't understand why, Loki. I don't... I don't get it." He pinches the bridge of his nose, battling the tension headache threatening to override any inhibitions he's managed to retain.

Loki's expression has softened. "I'm worried about you."

And, oh, Mobius did not expect that. He shakes his head. "What –"

"We've both been existing like this for so long, I think you've forgotten that it doesn't have to be like this. This... perpetual cycle of goodbyes. Or pretending it's not a goodbye. You will save me from the Tree, and something will draw me back." His smile is distinctly marked with woe. "I don't want to keep pretending not to say farewell forever."

"And I don't want to say it in the first place. Loki, I don't know what I'd do without you. I've never –" he chokes back something that definitely isn't his voice threatening to give out on him, a decade's worth of grief finally finding its home, "– I've never had to do this without you. I don't know how."

The corners of Loki's eyes crinkle, ever so soft. "That's the problem. You’ve got to try. I owe you that chance.”

It slams into him, all at once, a comprehension of where this is going to end, and elicits an intolerable kind of fear. The kind that drives to deliration. “No,” he says, as though wounded. He repeats himself, this time incensed, his rage building and suspending somewhere between ribcage and his tongue, because Loki is still blinking at him sadly, entire face cast in fondness. “You’re not leaving.”

Loki’s expression doesn’t falter, anchored in endearment. Mobius can’t tear his eyes away, even as he continues, so it feels maddeningly like he’s tearing into someone who would let him do so forever. His voice levels off, dangerously calm. “I’m not letting you go. I’m not.”

No pressure tagging @blackbirdofasgard @kcscribbler @lokimobius @loki-is-my-kink-awakening @megglesthegeek @mobiusismycomfortcharacter @thosegayoldmen plus open tag for anyone who'd like to share :D

[thechaoscryptid]

WIP Snippets

Thanks @yourinsomnea for the tag!! I've definitely shared part of this I think here at some point but! As I am now actively working on the fic again, here it comes once more 😌 (with added words)

Neil Josten, who exists as a bandage-swaddled lie, has not yet learned that "I hate you" is acquiescence: belly-up vulnerability delivered straight into uncomprehending palms. Neil doesn't understand because they are not the same. Andrew does not allow his desperation to seep out of every pore—he is not a blue-eyed fool. Moreover, Neil would not know vulnerable even if Andrew beat the idea into him.

He cannot—will never—explain the significance to Neil, and so he says I hate you, because he refuses to allow Neil a foothold.

I hate you, he says, because it is easier to keep people alive when they don't matter.

I hate you, he says, because he has never quite known how to like without loathing.

I hate you, he says, because lying is easier than admitting he might—at some nebulous future point he feels coming like a freight train—want to allow Neil to see the craven creature he keeps locked deep behind his ribs.

Because though Andrew will not—

(Andrew does not allow himself to name it, because want is a prelude to please, and if he never pleads again it will be far too soon.)

—Neil, he still has to grapple with the fact that something stronger than apathy rears its ugly head when he sees Neil struggling to maintain his facade.

The wind is cold here on the rooftop. He has never quite grown comfortable with the idea of sixty empty feet between his sanctuary and the concrete, but the simple truth is this: the weight of that void is easier to bear than the weight of the Foxes' frantic attempts to make everything fine again.

He is angry.

He is always angry. It is in every part of him, sunk so deeply that he cannot fathom a life not defined by its keen edge. It is the best—the most necessary—gift that his mother gave him: a survivor's soul.

(And if he wishes it were different, if—in the dead of night when no one is watching and he does not have to be the monster for a few precious seconds—he wishes that he'd grown up in a yard with a picket fence and a dog and a brother beside him…

But he doesn't wish that, because if he names it want, then he opens himself to all that comes with it.)

He is angry, and he snaps at Nicky about it when his cousin comes up to tell him that Neil is asking for him.

"Don't shoot the messenger," Nicky says, hands up and eyes wide as they flick from Andrew's hands to his sheaths to his face. He jerks a thumb toward the access door. "He was gonna come himself, but he tried running earlier, and—"

"Shut up," Andrew says. He knows Neil went for a run, because he watched Neil stumble back into the dorm and proceeded to spend the next thirty minutes debating the cost-benefit analysis of simply breaking a liar's neck and saving them both the effort of fighting about it. "Neil is an idiot."

"Oh, we already let him know." Nicky's smile infects his voice. Andrew's lip curls in disgust as Nicky continues. "You should proooobably get down there. He said it was about Kevin. The—" Nicky waggles his fingers "—deal. Whatever you've got going on."

Andrew does not say that it had better be the best apology he's ever received, because even if it was, Neil's groveling will not erase the fact that he broke his word. Still, he flicks his cigarette into the sixty-foot nothing and steels himself to stare Neil in the face and hear the excuses he's already decided to take.

Tagging (no pressure): @sitboi , @joeys-piano , @sakuradeservedbetter91 , @narastories , and anyone else who wants to play!

[lilolilyr]

Summary: By an old Republic law, all members of the Jedi High Council are senators in the Galactic Senate, and can thus be voted in as chancellor. A Senator from a less prominent planet has had enough of Chancellor Palpatine's incompetence and calls for a Vote of No-Confidence and the installation of Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi as Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic. This one action becomes the catalyst that changes the direction of the galaxy. (or: “Obi-Wan’s Life Gets Worse. Though It’s Not As Bad As It Could’ve Been”.

131k words, rated T, still in progress!

https://archiveofourown.org/series/1266236

I highly recommend everyone read this and give @stonefreeak some love, the fic is so hilarious and emotional and just really really good!

You can find a more detailed (and highly spoilery!!) summary below the cut.

I don't have a tag list for Star Wars content yet - lmk if you want to be pinged when I post more! I regularly share fic recs and occasionally write some shorter fics myself as well.

More Star Wars Recs By Me • My Star Wars

~~~ continue reading ~~~

I always write summaries to wips and stuff I want to continue reading some other time, so I won't struggle with mixing up fics and half-remembered plotlines... Because this one is so long, I've run out of summary space on my bookmark, so I thought I'd transfer it to this post!

If you're also starting to read it and might not finish it in one go, or want to keep up with future updates, I recommend y'all's save this post so you can check what you already know :D

Ft: many characters, and written in different POVs

From Canon: Obi-Wan, Anakin, Padmé, Ahsoka, Bail, Mace, Yoda, Vokara, Quinlan, Dooku, Palpatine, probably others too

Ha'han-ash: the new vice chancellor working with Obi-Wan

Senator Mandai: from a pacifist species that can't be influenced by the Force, the one who called the vote of no confidence on Palpatine

La: killer & friend of the assassin Palpatine murdered, works with Quinlan to figure out who killed her

Part 1:

Shortfic, <1k, G, no warnings apply

POV Padawan Anakin Skywalker

Anakin has a nightmare about red and rage and betrayal and crawls into Obi-Wan's bed even though he thinks he's too old for this and worries Obi-Wan will refuse him. He feels safe with Obi-Wan.

Part 2:

2k ficlet, rated T, no warnings apply

POV Obi-Wan during the Clone wars

Anti clone sentiment is widespread during the Clone Wars

Jedi still take 'regular' missions next to their duties as Generals, if it's urgent enough at least

During a mission to save slave kids during the clone wars, there is a bomb threat, and it ends with Obi-Wan being photographed topless and saving two young children (he gave most of his clothes to the kids), and turns into a sexyman holonet sensation! Anakin and Ahsoka think it's hilarious. Obi-Wan just wants to forget all about it.

Part 3:

128k WIP, rated T, Graphic Violence

POV Alternating

Clone Wars + canon-divergent future

Chapter 1-20

A senator (Mandai) from a species that can't be influenced by the force calls for:

- a vote of no confidence on Palpatine

- to install a neutral Chancellor: Master Kenobi

Both pass. Obi-Wan feels horrible about it all and the sudden changes and new responsibilities, but he'll do his duty and try his best to weed out corruption and end the war.

~

Obi-Wan then starts an investigation into Palpatine. Anakin is mad but can't deny the findings.

Ten worlds rejoin the republic.

There are several attempts on Obi-Wan's life.

~

The Chancellor's rooms have several strange and possibly sithly artifacts. Obi-Wan remembers Dooku talking about the Sith in the Senate.

Palpatine POV we can see him seeking Obi-Wan's death.

Dooku has discarded Palpatine as no longer useful.

C21-40

Palpatine turns Anakin against OW by making him think OW is neglecting the war by staying on Coruscant.

~

OW finds altered Jedi mission briefings in Palpatine's files, often altered to request OW specifically. The Jedi investigate. Bail and Padmé and handmaiden Ellé help by looking for the originals.

Palpatine is mad. "Out of the ten star systems that are working to rejoin the Republic, 4 of them are from missions Palpatine himself set up for Kenobi to go on; out of the 135 worlds that set off the Vote of No-Confidence, 56 were worlds Kenobi might never have visited if Palpatine hadn’t altered the mission specifications."

~

Obi-Wan is exhausted. Cody, Yoda and others are worried about him and look after him, forcing him to take some time to rest and sleep.

~

Senators are not used to Jedi chancellors who can't get bribed. He (anonymously so he can't refuse them) gets a lot of plants.

~

Anakin learns from Padmé that Obi-Wan has been deliberately kept from him and sent on dangerous missions, and has a panic attack.

OW and Anakin talk it all out.

Anakin keeps the investigation from Palpatine despite still trusting him and thinking someone else must be behind it.

C41-60

The Jedi High Council doesn't schedule anything on days Obi-Wan is supposed to attend council sessions so he at least gets a free day from time to time

~

Palpatine hires new assassins, they're supposed to make it look like OW is just collateral.

The bomb nearly kills him, his clone guard and several senators, does kill two senators, but OW protects those closest to him from the blast. He is impaled by debris and hears force ghost Qui-Gon while waiting for help to arrive, telling him to hang in there. He's taken to the healing halls in critical state.

Anakin is given the choice to continue his mission or return to coruscant. He chooses to go home, for Ahsoka, despite thinking it might be a test that he is failing.

Someone tries to have Palpatine reinstated as Chancellor while OW is out of commission, but it fails.

Dooku has feelings about Obi-Wan almost dying that he'd rather not have.

Palpatine killed the hired assassin after the bombing, but she managed to shoot and injured him as well as send a distress signal. Quinlan, undercover as a bounty hunter, investigates with one of the assassin's friends, La, who figures out that he's a jedi.

They find the body and Quinlan figures out the Sith Lord killed her.

C61-70

Quinlan and La think they can identify the Sith Lord by the nanobots from the assassin's gun if they just happen to come across him.

~

Palpatine does some voodoo doll style blood magic on OWK to kill him from afar while he's still in medical.

Vocara Che (with Rig Neema, Plo Koon, Yoda, Mace Windu) fights against the darkness and saves him.

Palpatine plans Order 66.

Anakin is shocked that Master Che lives together and seems to be dating Knight Rig and that Mace is friends with them.

~

The Jedi realize Anakin's padawanship was sabotaged through more than just OW being sent away, his therapist was probably murdered on a mission when he was 12.

Padme realizes Palpatine has been manipulating her and Anakin for a long time.

Padme loved Anakin but thinks they never should have married, hates the need for secrecy.

~

Obi-Wan wakes.

C71-80

Obi-Wan recovers and goes back to work.

Senators are being investigated and arrested.

Palpatine talks Anakin into believing that a dictatorship would be better than democracy because of the slow bureaucracy in the Senate.

~

Plo Koon reports that the forces of the CIS seem to struggle without (Palpatine's) Intel about strategies of the Republic. Obi-Wan suspects Palpatine as the former spy but doesn't yet tell the council as he has no proof yet.

Obi-Wan tells Shaak Tii to investigate the Clone Chips.

~

"Dooku snarls at the latest news. Slowly but surely his hold of the separatist worlds is slipping. Many have already left, and once the Republic proved that they would be reasonable during peace talks—there is no doubt in Dooku’s mind that that is entirely because of Kenobi—even more saw it as their chance to return to an improved Republic. The winds are shifting, the trajectory of the corrupt Republic is changing, unjust laws are being brought back to the Senate floor and retracted. Somehow... Somehow Obi-Wan Kenobi has managed to turn the Republic from a cesspool of corruption to a place that is slowly but surely starting to try and drag itself out of the mud."

Dooku also has nostalgic feelings about Qui-Gon, wishes he could see how far Obi-Wan has made it.

Obi-Wan meanwhile wonders whether there is still a chance to get Dooku to return to the light and the Republic.

C81+

Charges against Palpatine and Mas Amedda will go to court.

...

~~~~~~~~~~

I'll update this as I continue reading / when more chapters are published!

~

And pls appreciate my inauguration Obi-Wan with the gold embroidery and blue trim and imagine how much he Hates it Hates it Hates it xD

Feel free to use the pic just source link back to this pls

Nothing machine made to find here, this is all handmade shitty Photoshop! In the apps AndroidSketch, PhotoshopExpress, Pixlr & with remove dot bg.

Image sources: robes Obi-Wan embroidery blue belt

Star Wars font generator

Concept art + wips:

[robinyourcreator]

Smunday Smippet

it is no longer sunday anywhere in the world and it is barely even still monday in my own corner of it, but hey! i was tagged by @defira85 to share a bit of a wip

aaaand. instead of working on any of my current pile of prompts or commitments or chapter updates.... have chased the high of adding on to 'you can take my heart' with an Adana POV chapter

so! i will tag @oldlight117 @bonechillen @fogno @strugglingcomet2 @string-queen

and without any further ado, have some suffering under the cut.

Putting yourself between Shadowheart’s spear and the Nightsong had to be the cruelest (and stupidest) thing you have ever done. But it had been done with no fear in your heart.

…No, that was a lie, you had been terrified, more than you’ve ever been in your life-- but you had not ever been afraid of Shadowheart. Not even for a moment.

You had feared for her. Feared what she would become if she did as her Dark Lady demanded, feared to let yourself watch, to be forced to be a bystander as your first and only love threw away her hopes and happiness for a goddess who asked everything of her and gave nothing in return. So if Nightsong’s soul-- if Shadowheart’s own soul was not worth enough to her to save-- you would add yours to the equation. 

And well. If you were wrong, it wasn’t as if you would live to suffer for your mistakes. A bard was allowed some dramatics-- and first loves had ended in more tragic and dramatic ways, in the stories and songs. It was short-sighted, and selfish, and stupid-- even cruel, to put your love in such a position when you knew her spiteful goddess screamed to her in her mind.

You wish you could have swayed her with pretty words alone. You wish you had had the presence of mind to even try. But you hadn’t. When she had shouted at you that she would ‘step over your corpse’ if she had to, you had panicked: and you had called her bluff.

She had wrestled you to the dirt, (you might have hoped she’d do that under more pleasant circumstances, once) and the two of you had screamed at each other every terrible thing you could think of as you fought over the spear like children over a toy-- you knowing that nothing you could say could be as loud as the goddess whose shadow she stood in, Shadowheart knowing if she didn’t thoroughly break your heart she’d have to pierce it. 

And she’d won. She’d winded you and pinned you down, and climbed to her feet, her boot crushing your collarbone, her Lady’s spear pointed at your heart, wholly at her mercy.

… And when she finally held your life in her hands, she blinked. Faltered. Backed down, and threw her life, future, and destiny alike into her Lady’s abyss, after her spear. You have no idea what you or Nightsong said to her in the aftermath of that-- from the moment Shadowheart had awkwardly pulled you to your feet and kept your hand in hers, you had simply gone numb, as the selfishness-- the cruelty and stupidity of what you had just done crashed over you with the force of a tidal wave. You had put your love in an impossible position and taken her choice from her. You would never know if she would have ever chosen to free herself from Shar on her own-- and Shadowheart will never know the same. 

It is the most terrifying moment of your life when Shadowheart’s hand slips from yours as you are allowed to return to the material plane-- and she isn’t. When for a few, brief, terrifying moments, that must surely have been a thousand lifetimes to her, your love has the price of her defiance and disobedience exacted from her by her evil (former!) goddess in full.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Locked Out of Heaven 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, age gap, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father invites a work friend to the neighbourhood barbecue.

Characters: Nick Fowler (Dad's friend trope)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

The smell of the macaroni salad drives you crazy as it wafts from the container. You're overly cautious as you pull into the long drive. There are a few vehicles along the tarmac you don't recognize. People must have started showing up.

Behind you, another car pulls in. Sporty and sleek. You turn off the Bentley and double check the interior. Your father will give you hell if you leave one hair inside. Even letting you take one of his three cars was enough to bristle him.

You get out and go around the passenger's side to get the large container of gourmet salad. It's from the overprice steakhouse where your dad goes to drink with his work buddies. He insisted on it but made no effort to do it. You volunteered, hoping he might offer a crumb of approval. He only told you not to spill it.

You balance the container as your satchel dangles awkwardly against your hip. You use your shoulder to close the door. As you door, a figure startles you, nearly knocking the salad from your hands. A large pair cover yours as you dip to save the prized side.

"Huh, Toree's? Must be for Chuck." The man comments. You don't recognise him though he doesn't act as stranger. He keeps his hands on yours. And Chuck? No. Everyone calls your dad Charles. Except you. You call him sir. "Told him, they got better steak at Chop."

"Um..." your eyes round.

You never know what to say to your father's friends. They're all older and more important and more responsible. He doesn't look as old as the rest but you can tell he's got some years on you. Everyone does.

"Here, I'll get it. Looks like you got enough going on."

"Oh, that's...." your voice trails off as he wiggles the container free. "Thanks."

He leans in, angling his ear to you. "What's that, sweetheart?"

"Um," you murmur then clear your throat. You speak louder, enunciating carefully. "Thank you."

He smirks, "you seem like you know the way around. Wanna show me where I'm going?"

You bite your lip then stop as his bright blue eyes follow the nervous gesture. You nod and point down the drive. He doesn't move. You turn and walk along the row of cars. You hook around the hedges and toward the iron gate. It's open, the archway marked with your father's initials.

"Nice place, huh?" The man clucks. "Chuck always goes all out."

You don't have a response so you just shrug. No one notices you as you enter. They do, however, notice your unexpected escort.

"Fowler? That really you?" Jethro, your father's especially liquor-happy friend greets the man with a shoulder slap. You stay back, happy not to be seen by him. He's still trying to get you to call him Uncle.

"Well, you know, I think they're running out of things for me to do," the man, Fowler snickers.

He keeps on and you trail after him. You shrink down as several others call out to him and he stops to exchange niceties. He makes it seem so easy but it must be when they don't talk down to you.

"There you are," your dad's timbre makes you trip. You look at him in a panic.

Fowler turns and struts toward the deck where you dad stands next to the grill, your brother, Austin, clapping the tongs as he lifts the lid next to him. You stay on the man's heels, readying yourself for a chew out.

"Nick," your dad extends his hand.

The man in front of you puts the container on the table across from the grill and shakes your dad's hand. "Chuck."

"You brought the salad."

"Ah, no, actually, I forgot the scotch I brought in my car," the man chuckles. "Actually, this kind woman brought that slop."

Your dad glances over and his jaw ticks in recognition. "Huh."

"Gonna be bored around here, isn't she? Bit young for this crowd."

"My daughter," you dad derisively pronounces your name, "she's got nowhere else to be."

You lower your eyes. He's not wrong but it's not something he needs to say.

"Ha, well, I'm sure she can figure something else," Nick turns to you. "Bit of advice, run."

He laughs again but you just feel stupid. You're always the joke.

"Stand up straight," your dad reproaches. "Why don't you offer him a drink? I taught you manners."

"Really? You? Manners?" Nick chides. "Don't you worry about me," he frightens you as he squeezes your shoulder gently, "I'm a big boy. I can get my own drink." His thumb rubs you briefly and he retracts his grip, "point me to the trough, Chuck."

Your dad directs him to the cooler and follows him over. You back up, content to fade back into oblivion, and skirt back down to the lawn. You look around at the smattering of guests. All those older men who work with your dad at the agency or play at his golf club, a few neighbours too.

You keep to the edge of the yard and find the flat stone behind the rose bushes. It's just big enough for you to sit. You'll happily hide there until you're quickly forgotten again.

💜

The smell of the barbecue builds with the tenor of the guests. You listen to the shuffle on the other side of the bushes and watch through the thorns as dinner is served up. Methodical as always, you wait until the rush has dispelled before you go to get your own share. Or rather, the leftovers.

It's funny. Your dad says you never think ahead but it feels like you have to analyse every second of every minute. He'll be sure to find something to pick apart.

You go up onto the deck. There's a chicken burger but no buns left. You take it and scrape up what's left of the romaine salad. There's no macaroni. It sure smelled good but oh well. You glance around. Hm. Maybe you can scrounge up a bun, or at the very least, some bread inside. Besides, you wouldn't mind the excuse to get away.

You let yourself in the back door and stop short. You're met with an unexpected sight. That man you met on the way in, the one some call Fowler but your father called Nick, stands at the sink... exposed. He has his shirt off and in his hands as he scrubs it under the running faucet.

You're so stunned you can't move or think. His arms are muscular and bulging with his effort. His chest too. You can see tension in his sides. There's that little cautious voice in the back of your head. You shouldn't be staring and you certainly shouldn't be feeling all tingly about it.

"Oh, it's just you, sweetheart," he glances over and grins. His eyes sparkle as his hair falls forward. "You wouldn't know how to get barbecue sauce out, would ya?"

You blink and cough. You can't speak. You near and put your plate on the counter. You look at the stain on his shirt as he holds it up to show you.

"Dish soap?" You find your voice. "Or..." it feels like he's getting closer. Leaning in, or something. Why is it so hot? You can hear the AC going.

"Sorry," he reaches to shut off the faucet. "You're so quiet, dish soap?"

"Yep, or... baking soda."

"Baking soda, sure... think I heard that one before," he clucks. "Right, let's give it a go."

He reaches for the bottle of soap. He squirts it on to the stain and put it back. Then he flips the faucet on again. He huffs and lets out a disappointed groan.

"If this even comes out, I'm going to be walking around with a wet shirt." He clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

You peek up at his profile as it sets in concentration. Straight nose, thick brows, high cheekbones. There's a shadow of stubble around his sharp jaw and a sliver of silver woven in at his temples.

"Oh, I..." you begin and back up.

You turn and quickly flee as the unfinished thought spurs you to action. It's a good reason to get away and stop gawking. You don't usually do that but your eyes just don't want to stay away.

You hurry upstairs to the bathroom and open the drawer. You take out your small purple blow dryer. You spin and rush back down.

As you enter, he holds up the shirt and faces you. He lowers it just enough to see you over the top. "What do you think? Noticeable?"

You look at the blue pattern. You know where to look so you can see it. You tilt your head.

"Not that bad."

"Oh, don't spare my feelings," he scoffs.

You look down as his eyes blaze at you. You raise the blow dryer. He crosses the kitchen and you nearly wilt.

"Good thinking, sweetheart."

Sweetheart... he keeps calling you that. Your dad doesn't even do that. You're just the kid or whatever. You're twenty-one. You're an adult. Or trying to be.

"Clever," he holds out his hand. 

You look around. "Uh, one sec."

You go to the counter and reach across to plug in the blow dryer. He follows. Closely. He raises the shirt and you take the front of it. You spread the fabric with your fingers and turn on the dryer. You aim the air at the wet patch.

You don't know if it's the heat of the dryer or if it's him staring, but sweat coats your scalp. You feel the spot with your thumb and shut it off. You unplug it and wrap up the cord as he turns the shirt.

"Hm, not bad. You're right." He says.

"Probably come all out in the wash."

"Just a shirt," he shrugs and slips his hand through the sleeve. "What're we having then?"

He pushes his arms into the shirt and it falls to his shoulders. He tugs it and turns to look over your plate. You try to wipe the glimpse of his torso from your mind.

"Just chicken and salad." You put the dryer aside and go to the bread basket. It's only croissants.

"No bun? You're not on some sort of wacky diet, are you?" He wonders.

"None left," you shrug and go to your plate. He doesn't move. "It's fine. I'm not too hungry."

"What about that salad you brought? That was yummy."

You try to smile at him but your cheeks are tight. When you look at him, all of you locks up. You don't know why he cares, if he really does.

"No big deal, this is good for me," you take your plate and head for the door.

He follows. Shoot. He's quick too. He swoops around you and opens the door ahead of you, holding it from the inside so you brush by him to get out. He trails after you.

"You know, wouldn't take you as Chuck's kid. You're too nice. Too quiet. He's a bit of a loudmouth," he chortles. "But I'm guessing you know that."

"He's my dad," you shrug. 

"You live here with him?"

You nod.

"Ah. Not bad. Good place to crash while you finish school. You go?" He asks.

"Uh huh. Biochem." You answer. "It's hard."

"Would be," he says. "Wow. Chuck choose that or you?"

You furrow your brow and look at him. He really guessed that easily? You shrug again.

"Sorry, nosy. I get bored at these things. Hence, why I never show up." He checks his watch. "Well, I won't ruin your supper." He looks at your plate and makes a face, "if you can call it that."

He runs his hand up your back as he steps past you. It sends a chill through you. You watch him go. He approaches Brad, the neighbour, as he points at the sports cap on his head in some sort of manly challenge. They posture and chuckle. For someone who claims to hate these things, he's sure good at working his way through them.

You drag your feet down the steps and back to the rose bushes. You sit on the stone and balance your plate on your lap. You tear a piece of the chicken burger away and gnaw on it. It's cold and the salad is soggy from sitting in the dressing. Well, at least you got something this time.

[sitp-recs]

that little forced marriage drabble from tacky has me thirtsty, do you have any recs for forced dating / forced marriage? 🩵

Right?? I am salivating over that wip, come answer for your crimes @tackytigerfic! I do, in fact, have a few recs for that trope (not enough! would love to find more because That Old Black Magic made me feral for it). I hope you enjoy these, please note that not all of them are enemies to lovers:

Take the Moon by @tackytigerfic (E, 15k)

Harry Potter has always wanted a family of his own, and when a deadly blood curse forces him into a marriage bond with his best friend Draco Malfoy, it looks like he might just have found one. It's just a shame they’d always planned to break up after a year…

The Marriage Contract series by @fluxweeed (E, 15k)

In what universe is it fair that marrying Draco Malfoy is the only way for Harry to get his magic back?

The Matchmaker's Spell by @kbrick (E, 21k)

Thanks to a spell cast over all of wizarding Britain, Draco is forced to marry Harry Potter, who still hates him. But Draco refuses to live a cold, sexless existence, choosing to fill the emptiness in his life and his bed with a parade of lovers. And while Harry may not be able to stand Draco, he despises seeing him with anyone else.

The Only Magic Left Between Us by @lqtraintracks (E, 24k)

Harry goes to the market and ends up having to save Draco Malfoy’s life with sex. He saves Draco’s life with sex and ends up with a husband. The last thing he expects in all of it is to fall in love.

You'll Still Find Stone by flightinflame (M, 42k)

Draco had to marry Potter to stay out of Azkaban. Narcissa told him he’d be safer there. But he doesn’t know what Potter expects from him - this marriage is nothing like he had been prepared for. Potter’s acting kindly, and he knows it’s all a trick. He’s just about coping, but trying to keep Potter happy becomes more important than ever when he realises he’s carrying the man’s child.

what husbands are for by @softlystarstruck (E, 52k)

To settle tensions between werewolves and vampires, Harry volunteers for a political marriage. But it turns out he's marrying Malfoy– cold, untouchable Malfoy, who he hasn't seen in ten years. Throughout contention and politics, werewolf pub nights and grudgingly shared meals, they have to make it work.

That Old Black Magic by @bixgirl1 (E, 77k)

Centuries ago, marriage contracts were the norm — ready-made alliances between families, expected and complied with, without complaint. But norms have a way of changing, and when a long-dormant contract flares to life, Harry has to navigate an unexpected splintering of the path he'd thought would be easy after the war... with Draco Malfoy.

Merlin Works in Mysterious Ways by lordhellebore (M, 82k)

When Harry is forced to form a Blood Bond with Draco Malfoy under threat of death, he thinks his future will consist of a cold home and sexual frustration. But when a group of left-over Death Eaters decides to stir trouble, their lives change completely – and it takes them both some years to figure out whether it’s for better or for worse.

Grounds for Divorce by Tepre (E, 122k)

Malfoy finds a coin. Harry finds a letter. A story about histories, a story about families. A story about a lemon tree somewhere in Upper Egypt.

The Marriage of True Minds by Lomonaaeren (E, 204k)

Lucius curses Harry and Draco into a forced marriage. They're only required to live together, not be together, and so they try to date other people. But over time, things change.

[cupcakeslushie]

Asking a handful of creators:

Do you save things that, for one reason or another, you never ended up posting? I always love seeing scrapped WIPs / deleted scenes / etc, and was just curious!

(Absolutely no pressure to post any of it, of course!)

Hmmm for the most part I’d say, not really. It’s just usually the case where I sit down and I work on one file at a time. It really ends up hurting me if I hop around and leave stuff in the planning stage for too long.

Like this guy👇. I stalled on the details for this one, and I’m not sure if I’ll ever come back around to it.

So now, especially for comic plots, I do not let them stew. Even for the main EW comic. I wait until I have a few days off in a row, so I can just bang out all the pages I want in two days, uninterrupted. And however many I get through, that’s what’s going up. My style is already not what most ppl might call…refined, and things go from works in progress to finished pretty quickly.

The thing that produces the most drafts will be character designs I think? Posting to my Patreon will allow me to let the design stew for some time before I might consider changing it.

For Mona, she changed a little bit.

And Timothy’s future look is solidifying but still in the works, so I’ve probably got the most drafts of him lol.

Most of the time though it’s just hit the ground running, zero planning 😆. That’s the only way stuff gets made in this house.

[scottxlogan]

Helllloooozzz I got really into scogan recently and because people never tag it it’s been hard to find domestic family fics for them and family fics are my favourite thing like, ever, and there’s only so many times a kitty like me can attempt to sift thru the mpreg tag to find something readable before it’s noggin goes a bit loose, so have ya got any recs ?? ^w^ I’ve looked up so many rec lists but no one lists family fics specifically :’3

Welcome to the fandom! You'll find a lot of really nice people here who will be able to point you in the direction of what you're looking for as there are some who probably know better than I do. If you're looking to chat with other fans there's a Scogan Events discord at https://discord.gg/FmJ24gFJ6X that takes part in a Scogan related bingo for writing, art, etc and other small events all year long. Plus, there's some great people to chat about Scogan with too if you're looking to interact with others who love the ship.

As for recs, I'm going to throw this out here for some of my followers to see if they have some favorites that might help you find what you're looking for. Off hand I know that Tweedle has written a few family fics with Scogan. They're up at her AO3 page at https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiAnLake/. In terms of my own stories, I know I've done a few and I'll list them below. I'm sure I'm missing some, but if anyone else has some recs/suggestions, please help me out here and add them for @beepmeowz if you can.

My fics (off hand that I can think of them. Not all are domestic fluff, but I'm sure some of my followers here can help out with the list of family stories)

Working It Out (One Shot/Rated T) Logan's stressed after finding Laura with a new companion who wants to be more than friends. Scott does his best to calm his husband down after Logan tries to follow Scott's approach to parenting.

Gone Forever (Multi-Chapter/Rated E) After the events of The Wolverine, Logan goes on a journey of his own to discover truths about the life he put behind him. An accident, a run in from a face from his past and a misunderstanding lead him closer to the truth he'd been seeking out, but will it be the key to his ending or his happily ever after? (This story features Scott as a single parent to a young Nathan as Logan finds himself finding love and embracing the family that was always just out of his reach)

Saturday Morning (One Shot/Rated G) Logan takes a moment to reflect on the blessings he's been given in his life.

We're All Different Now (One Shot/Rated M) When a mysterious woman from the future enlists Logan's help to change the past by saving Charles Xavier's life, Logan finds himself back in time at a pivotal place in time. With his mission to save Charles in mind Logan finds himself distracted by his feelings for Scott Summers, a man he loved and lost years before Logan was given a second chance to make things right. Armed with the mission to change only the fate of Charles and nothing else, Logan is torn between doing what was asked of him and following his heart to find a way to make things right with the one man he'd been forced to face a lifetime without the first time around. Will the second time around prove to be a means of repairing the damage that was done or will Scott and Logan's ill-fated romance repeat the same pattern with disastrous consequences?

And finally this one is a WIP series with a one shot and a multichapter, but it doesn't have a lot of family stuff yet as I have it still working out but it is a series that takes place after the movie Logan where Logan is still alive and finds his way back to Scott and Laura if you will.

It's up at

Scott makes a bold decision to resurrect his fallen lover, but in bringing Logan back to life, will it prove to be the key to saving the future or the key to destruction for humanity and mutants alike? How will Logan adjust to his return to a world that moved on in his absence?:

[lavenderarts]

Revamp: Monthly Subs and Reward Art!

Hi everyone! After a long hiatus on this due to inconsistent health, I'm back and feeling better than ever, and I'd like to re-institute my monthly subscription service for art rewards. These will be active on my Ko-fi starting on August 1st! Read on to hear about the changes from my old system and details of what you'll get for subscribing, but if you don't care about any of that and just want to see the rewards page, here it is:

Please share this and consider tossing a couple bucks a month my way to help me support myself and my dog! Details below the cut!

So last time I was offering art rewards, it gradually became unsustainable for a number of reasons, chief among them the fact that I was basically offering severely discounted full commissions of all styles, and it was exhausting to fulfill in addition to regular commission work. I just couldn't keep up and got overwhelmed. So to help prevent that this time around, here are the changes I'm implementing:

I'll have a single reward type: single character busts! These are easy to crank out in an hour or less, so I can keep up with demand better. I'll reserve the right to decide between lined/lineless flats and papercrafts as I see fit to keep them interesting and fun for me, but if it's your birthday month or your yearly sub anniversary, you can choose the style and get a little something extra! For examples of what a bust looks like, please check out my recent ArtFight submissions :)

I'm going to do my level best to institute a hard 3-week turnaround rate for all regular commissions, and save the final week of each month for giving these rewards full priority along with onboarding new batches of clients for the following month's commissions.

I'm moving my subscription service over to Ko-fi, where anyone can give between $2-9 a month as a very generous tip and get access to my Discord server, or give $10+ for monthly bust rewards, early access to adoptables, and more! You can choose to give more than $10, but no other rewards exist for higher tier subs, it's up to whatever you feel is appropriate! Ko-fi has both Stripe and PayPal integration, which should be easier on the subscriber end, and it allows me to use PostyBirb to post across multiple sites at once, which makes it much easier to post early-access WIPs and finished work than it was on my old subscription service. It also automatically handles Discord onboarding and role assignment, yay!

I'm on the hunt for a simple Discord bot that can post a single repeating message on the first of every month with a link to a Google form for everyone to submit their requests, so that I don't have to ask for them manually. (If anyone knows of such a bot or is capable of making one, please get in touch!)

Previously I offered a whole suite of other rewards in addition to the monthly art -- things like subscriber-only request streams, early claims on adoptables, and even physical merch, which were not sustainable for me. Going forward, early adoptable claims for a discount will still be available as a reward, and I may occasionally do request streams, but on a less formally-scheduled basis and only as I have the free time to do so. I am not able to offer physical prints/stickers at this time; I might revisit the option in the future, but I need to know more before I try it again! I'll also be continuing to offer a subscriber discount on all commissions that will stack with other sales and discounts, along with the ability to skip the waitlist and jump directly into the work queue.

So to recap, if you subscribe to me, here's everything you get:

For $2-$9 USD: Discord server access with a special role, and my thanks for your generous support!

For $10+ USD: Discord server access with a special role, 24 hour early adoptable access with the ability to claim for a discounted price, a bust of a single character each month, first looks at finished artwork and WIPs/timelapses, commission discounts, and potentially more down the line.

My Discord is open to anyone, and all members can freely chat, post art, attend/host art streams, and answer polls regarding prompts for adoptable designs and more. You just get some nice bonuses for subscribing! While these subscription tiers are available, one-time tips and donations of any amount are still an option for commission clients or anyone else who just wants to show some love.

I hope this all makes sense and sounds enticing; I really love seeing people's OCs and getting to bring them to life and put my own little touch on them, and I'm very excited to start giving something back to all of you out there whose support means so very much to me, and without whom I could never do what I do. Thank you so much for checking out the Ko-fi! As a reminder, reward eligibility begins on August 1st! The tiers are active on Ko-fi now, but if you subscribe before August you won't be rewarded for the month of July, so keep that in mind.