#this is a VERY open ended question but go ham

[good--merits-accumulated]

what do we think about the dead poets and ambition? 🤔

[jungkoode]

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 14

˗ˏˋ laundry day ˎˊ˗

"Doing laundry should be a normal activity—not something that brings out a whole new set of revelations about Jungkook you were not even fathoming. And you don’t know if it’s helping old ladies, tying your shoes or collecting stupid vynils—but you don’t like how it’s throwing off your whole perception of your annoying roommate."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 8k

content: laundry rooms, old ladies that have a vendetta against you?, jungkook being a decent human being, batman socks, vynil revelations, humanizing jungkook and not liking it

✧ author's note ✧

Hello again little gremlins! It’s your girl, Kiki—back with another dose of Jungkook being emotionally compromised and having weird feelings about vulnerability.

SO. This chapter is… fairly slow-paced, which, duh—have you read my stuff? I went HAM on the introspection here, but I think it was so needed. Sometimes we need this type of chapter to balance the narrative out. I think it’s worked out beautifully, but do let me know your thoughts at the end.

About the goal thing! In case you’ve been living under a rock (or you don’t check my Tumblr regularly—which, fair), I have decided to switch my update schedule system.

Previously, I had been working with a weekly schedule as you all know. This has been quite easy for me to maintain because I work with hyperfixations, and basically ADHD.

The thing is… it’s a 2 month cycle.

I’m basically on week 7/8 already.

And that brings me to The Point. Goal-based update system. Which just means I’ll continue posting as long as we reach the established goals in every chapter. I’m going to be creating a whole post explaining how it works, but, long story short—as long as we reach either the goal in Tumblr OR Wattpad, we’ll be getting more chapters!

This is basically a self-regulation thing. I am self-aware (luckily) and I know how to work with my ADHD—but for those who don’t know; it’s heavily tied to dopamine. Which just means (I’m not gonna get nerdy I swear), I basically need engagement to trick my brain into staying motivated. Otherwise dopamine hits get slowly weaker and at some point I literally cannot bring myself to write.

WHICH SUCKS. Because I do love my stories, and I love sharing them. But burnout is real and brains work in funny ways and I can’t really fight my ADHD or brain chemistry (trust me I wish I could). So this is how you guys are going to help me tame this bitch. WE RIDE AT DOWN. 🤝

And before anyone asks—no, this is not up for debate. This is not something I’m “considering” or “open to feedback on.” This is me taking care of my mental health and working with my ADHD instead of against it. It’s not an “excuse,” it’s just how my brain operates. If that bothers you… I literally do not know what to tell you.

Anyways, as always, I love you all, I’m reading all your comments and reblogs and asks, and do check the note goal at the very end! 🩷

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

It's fucking weird how some people's clothes have a gravitational pull, like they're magnets and your body is just helplessly metal. 

You're wearing his sweater. The same one that's been mocking you from your desk chair for the last twenty-four hours, just sitting there in all its navy blue glory, smelling like rain and testosterone and bad decisions. You don't know why you haven't tossed it back into his room yet. It's been staring you down all morning, a silent accusation of...something.

But now it's almost midday on Sunday, and your pile of dirty clothes has reached critical mass. Your laundry basket is basically a textile Mount Everest. You'd wear something clean, except there isn't anything clean left—not unless you count the questionable tank top you found at the back of your drawer that you're pretty sure you wore to a frat party sophomore year.

So. Jungkook's sweater it is.

You tell yourself it's just practical. Totally logical. It's uncharacteristically chilly outside, the first whisper of almost September creeping in, and you need something to cover your ridiculous pajama shorts for the trek to the basement laundry room. They're flowery and pale pink, paired with an equally ridiculous oversized t-shirt featuring a cartoonish sunflower with the words "HAVE A SUNFLOWER DAY!" emblazoned across your chest in neon yellow.

Not exactly the look you'd choose for running into anyone with functioning eyeballs, but it's Sunday, and your give-a-fuck meter is hovering at absolute zero.

It's not like you're going to run into anyone important anyway. Miguel the super probably won't be down there; he's usually sleeping off his Saturday night till at least 2PM. And the chances of meeting some hot neighbor—your future spouse who'll be so charmed by your sunflower ensemble that they'll propose on the spot—are basically nonexistent.

Actually, scratch that. 

Even if some dream person did materialize in the laundry room today, they wouldn't see the sunflower masterpiece because it's hidden under Jungkook's stupidly oversized hoodie. The one that somehow hangs past your shorts, making it look like you're not wearing pants at all, which is a whole different kind of disaster.

Whatever. It's warm. It doesn't smell like him anymore. (It does.) And you're just using it. Borrowing it. Temporarily occupying its fabric space.

You scoop up your overflowing laundry basket and wrestle it onto your hip. The elevator in this building moves with all the urgency of continental drift, so you opt for the stairs. Three flights down isn't horrible, especially since the laundry room is conveniently right next to the stairwell exit.

"Just put it in his room later," you mutter to yourself, adjusting the hoodie. 

You could've done that yesterday when he tossed it at you, but you didn't, and you're not thinking about why.

You check your pocket for quarters and detergent pods. 

The whole ritual is familiar now—Sunday laundry day, another week of adulting successfully completed without burning the building down or getting evicted. Not that the bar should be that low, but hey, after the month you've had, you'll take the wins where you can get them.

As you start down the stairs, the hoodie falls past your hand, and you absently tug it back up, trying not to think about how the collar brushes against your cheek or how the cuffs hang past your fingertips. 

And you definitely aren't thinking about the fact that you're surrounded by the scent of him with every breath you take.

Because that would be weird, right? Being conscious of wearing your roommate's clothes? The roommate you occasionally fuck? The one who took you to buy a vibrator yesterday before subjecting you to lunch with his overly-protective friend?

Right. Not weird at all.

You're just doing laundry, in ridiculous pajamas, wearing his hoodie because it's practical. That's the story, and you're sticking to it—even if the sleeves smell faintly of his soap when you lift your hand to push your hair out of your face.

The stairwell is quiet, just the echo of your worn-out sneakers slapping against the concrete steps. You shift the basket to your other hip, huffing slightly under its weight. 

Maybe you should've done laundry sooner. Maybe you shouldn't wait until you're literally out of underwear every single time. 

But then again, maybe you should focus on the stairs and not on the fact that your bare thighs occasionally brush against the soft inner lining of his hoodie.

Adulthood is just a series of mundane chores punctuated by questionable decisions. And today, apparently, that includes wearing Jungkook's hoodie to do your laundry.

No big deal. You'll wash your clothes, return his sweater, and the universe will continue spinning on its axis, completely unaffected by your poor wardrobe choices.

The door to the laundry room is propped open with a cinder block—probably Mrs. Patel from 4C forgetting to remove it again. You shift your basket one final time and head in, already mentally claiming the good dryer, the one that doesn't sound like it's harboring a demon when it hits the spin cycle.

It's just laundry day. Just another Sunday. 

And the laundry room is still a goddamn joke.

Because let’s be real—whoever thought six washing machines and four dryers could service an entire apartment building was either a sadist or never did laundry in their life. 

And on Sundays? 

It's like watching vultures circle a carcass—everybody desperate for their turn at the machines, glaring at anyone who takes too long to transfer their clothes.

Dona Ramirez is already there, of course. The seventy-something retiree who treats the laundry room like her personal kingdom and you like an invading barbarian. She's currently guarding the Good Dryer—the one you had mentally claimed seconds ago.

Just. Fucking. Great.

She looks up as you enter, lips pursing like she's just bitten into something sour. Her eyes travel from your face down to your bare legs and back up again, judgment radiating from her in palpable waves.

"Good morning," you mutter, aiming for polite but landing somewhere around constipated.

"Hmph." Dona sniffs, turning back to her women's magazine. "Young people these days. No shame."

You bite back the urge to point out that it's literally just your legs showing, not your entire ass. It wouldn't matter anyway. In Dona's world, anything above the ankle is basically pornographic.

Shifting your heavy basket to your other hip, you make your way to the only empty washing machine—wedged in the back corner, naturally. The one that sometimes stops mid-cycle like it's having an existential crisis. You slam your basket down with more force than necessary.

"Careful with the machines," Dona mutters without looking up from her magazine. "They're not getting any younger."

Neither are you, standing here taking shit from the laundry room gatekeeper.

"Sorry," you say, not sorry at all.

You start sorting your clothes, creating separate piles for darks and lights. Dona continues to flip pages, totally unbothered. Or maybe bothered. You can’t tell and frankly don’t care. 

As you're separating your darks, something catches your eye. Orange hair. Lots of it, actually, clinging to your black leggings and that navy shirt you wore when you were studying on the couch last week.

Griffin.

That little furry infiltrator has been shedding all over your clothes again. Despite the fact that your door is always closed. Despite the "no pets" clause in your lease that Jungkook blatantly ignores. Despite your best efforts to maintain some semblance of a cat-hair-free existence.

And yet...

You find yourself smiling slightly as you pluck a particularly long orange strand from your favorite black sweater. The traitorous little shit must have snuck into your room when you were in the shower yesterday. You'd caught him curled up on your bed when you came out, looking entirely too comfortable and completely unapologetic about the invasion.

He'd just blinked at you lazily, that slow "yes, I know I'm not supposed to be here, and no, I don't care" cat-blink that somehow manages to be both insulting and endearing at the same time.

You should be annoyed. You should definitely tell Jungkook to keep his feline menace away from your clean laundry basket. You should not find it even remotely charming that Griffin seems to have decided your clothes are his second-favorite napping spot (right after your pillow, the little asshole).

And yet here you are, pulling orange fur off your black clothes with something dangerously close to fondness. 

What the fuck is happening to you?

Maybe it's sleep deprivation. 

Or maybe it's the fact that Griffin is actually kind of cool, for a cat. 

He doesn't have that typical cat superiority complex—he just genuinely doesn't give a shit about anything except food, sunbeams, and antagonizing Jungkook. 

It's a lifestyle you can respect.

Plus, he has this way of curling up next to you when you're reading, just close enough to leech your body heat without actually admitting he wants your attention. It's like living with a tiny, furry version of his owner.

Not that you'd ever admit that particular observation out loud.

You dump your dark clothes into the washing machine, mentally calculating how much detergent to add. Dona shuffles to check her wash cycle, eyeing you suspiciously like you might try to sabotage her laundry when she's not looking.

"Cold day," she comments, which is probably the most conversational she's ever been with you.

"Yeah," you reply, not looking up from measuring detergent. "Came early this year."

She hums disapprovingly, like the weather is also your fault. "Wearing your boyfriend's clothes won't keep you warm forever."

For a split second, your brain halts. 

Boyfriend? What boyfriend? And then—

Ah. 

The hoodie.

Jungkook's hoodie that you're swimming in.

Something about her smug certainty, that look that says she's got you all figured out, makes you want to burn the whole goddamn building down. Or at least throw a very minor wrench in her worldview.

"It's my girlfriend's, actually," you say, the lie sliding off your tongue with practiced ease.

There. Take that, you judgmental old bat. Let's see how your 1950s sensibilities handle—

"Even worse," Dona sniffs, not missing a beat. "Girls these days, always stealing each other's clothes. You'll never build a proper wardrobe that way."

Wait, what?

You blink, momentarily thrown. That's... not the reaction you were expecting. No pearl-clutching. No horrified gasps. Just... practical fashion advice?

"I—"

"My granddaughter does the same thing," she continues, adjusting the scarf around her neck with arthritic fingers. "Comes home wearing her girlfriend's sweatshirts, twice her size. Looks like she's drowning in fabric. No shape whatsoever. You young people and your oversized clothes." She clicks her tongue. "In my day, we wore things that fit."

Well, shit.

So much for your brilliant plan to scandalize the old lady. 

Turns out Dona's not a homophobe—she's just a fashion critic. Equal opportunity judgment for all. How progressive of her.

"Right," you mutter, feeling weirdly chastised. "I'll, uh, keep that in mind."

"Hmph." She turns back to her laundry, seemingly satisfied that she's dispensed enough wisdom for one day.

You're still processing this unexpected twist when the laundry room door creaks open behind you, letting in a draft of cooler air. 

You don't need to turn around to know who it is. 

Something in the atmosphere shifts immediately—molecules rearranging themselves, air particles getting all excited, the very fabric of space-time bending to accommodate his presence.

Or maybe that's just your pulse doing that annoying thing where it decides to race for no good reason.

"Well, well, well."

His voice is sleep-rough and amused, and you can already picture the exact expression on his face without looking. 

That stupid half-smirk. That cocked eyebrow. That look that says he's caught you doing something you shouldn't.

You turn slowly, trying to appear nonchalant despite the fact that you're suddenly, acutely aware that you're wearing his fucking hoodie over your ridiculous pajamas.

Jungkook stands in the doorway, laundry basket propped against his hip, looking unfairly good for someone who's probably just rolled out of bed. His hair is a disaster, sticking up in tufts. He's wearing a plain white t-shirt and those stupid gray sweatpants that look way too good on him, and his feet are bare—the absolute psychopath. Who walks around a gross apartment building with no shoes?

His eyes drop immediately to the hoodie, and his eyebrow arches even higher.

"Interesting fashion choice, Phoenix," he says, lips twitching.

Your face heats. "Laundry day," you say, as if that explains everything.

As if borrowing—okay, stealing—his clothes is a perfectly normal response to having nothing clean to wear.

"Clearly." His gaze sweeps over you, taking in the edge of your floral shorts peeking out beneath the hem of his hoodie. "Sunflower PJs? Again?"

"It's laundry day," you repeat, like maybe he didn't hear you the first time. Like maybe that's a valid excuse for looking like you raided a middle schooler's closet. "Everything else is dirty."

"Hmm." 

He steps fully into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him, and moves to the washing machine next to yours. 

Puts his basket down. 

Stands too close. 

“But the hoodie isn't yours."

It's not a question. It's a statement, delivered with that infuriating confidence he always has, like he's so sure of himself, so certain of how this interaction is going to play out.

"I found it in my room," you say, turning back to your washing machine, pretending to be deeply interested in the cycle selection. "Must've gotten mixed up in my stuff."

"For a whole day?" He snorts, and you can hear him starting to sort his laundry beside you. "Interesting that you decided to wear it instead of, I don't know, returning it."

"It was convenient," you mutter, jabbing at the start button. "And it's cold."

"Right."

You can hear the smile in his voice without looking at him, and you don’t know why you notice without even having to gaze at him. 

Damn your body and its complete lack of dignity.

"You're late, boy."

Your head whips around at the sharp change in Dona's tone. Not softer—definitely not softer—but different somehow. Like… Less venomous, more... familiar? 

The old woman is glaring at Jungkook, but it's not the same glare she gives you. It's like the difference between a loaded gun and a water pistol.

"Sorry, Miss D," Jungkook says, and there's something in his voice—a hint of warmth?—that catches you completely off guard. "Overslept."

"Hmph. Young people." Dona shakes her head, but there's no real bite to it. "My sheets need folding. These old hands aren't what they used to be."

"Sure thing." Jungkook nods like this is a completely normal request, like random old ladies demanding his manual labor is just part of his Sunday routine.

What the actual fuck?

You stare between them, waiting for Jungkook to tell her to fold her own damn sheets, or at the very least look annoyed at being bossed around. 

But he just continues sorting his laundry like this is fine. 

Like this is normal.

"You know her?" you ask, keeping your voice low as Dona bustles over to check her washing machine.

Jungkook glances at you, one eyebrow raised. "Yeah?"

"Since when?"

He shrugs, separating a dark shirt from a pile of whites. "Since I moved in? She lives on the fourth floor."

"And you just... help her fold laundry? Voluntarily?"

"Sometimes." He's not looking at you now, focused on his sorting with more attention than dirty clothes really require. "It's not a big deal."

"Is that why she doesn't look at you like you're gum on her shoe?"

He huffs a laugh. "What?"

"She fucking hates me," you whisper, gesturing discreetly at Dona's back. "Every time I see her, she looks at me like I personally invented avocado toast and killed all the mom-and-pop stores."

"Maybe you just need to help her fold her sheets," he suggests, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

"Or maybe you've charmed her with your stupid dimples and your fake nice-guy routine."

"Fake nice-guy routine?" His eyebrows shoot up, and he looks genuinely amused. "Is that what you think this is?"

"Obviously," you mutter. "Nobody is actually that helpful without an agenda."

He studies you for a moment. Then, speaks. "Yeah? What's my agenda with Dona, then?"

“I don't know yet. But I'm sure it's something nefarious."

"Nefarious," he repeats, and now he's definitely laughing at you. "Sure, Phoenix. I'm playing the long con with a senior citizen. Really working that angle."

"Wouldn't put it past you.”

"Right." He tilts his head to the other side, still smiling slightly. "Well, while I'm busy being fake nice, you might want to turn your machine on. You've been standing there for five minutes and it's still not running."

You glance down at your washing machine, which is indeed just sitting there, silent and unhelpful. Fuck. Your finger must have missed the start button in your rush to look like you knew what you were doing.

You jab the button again, harder this time, and the machine finally lurches to life with a groan that sounds suspiciously like judgment.

"Boy," Dona calls from across the room, "come help with these detergent bottles. They're too heavy."

"Coming," Jungkook calls back, and he's moving before you can say anything else, crossing the room to where Dona is struggling with an industrial-sized bottle of Tide.

You watch, equal parts confused and suspicious, as he takes the bottle from her. They exchange a few words you can't quite hear over the rumble of the washing machines, and then—what the fuck—Dona actually pats his arm. Like he's her grandson or something.

Like she doesn't find him utterly repulsive.

Is this why she likes him? Because he lets her boss him around and carries her detergent? 

That's... kind of pathetic, actually. 

You thought Jungkook had more of a backbone than that.

But still. It's weird. The cold, calculating part of your brain catalogs this new information, filed under "Jungkook, Things That Don't Add Up About." 

It's growing into a pretty substantial folder these days.

You turn back to your washing machine, pretending to be deeply fascinated by the cycle display, but you're still watching them from the corner of your eye. Trying to figure out what his deal is.

"You need groceries this week?" Jungkook asks, voice low but not quite low enough that you can't hear it. "I can swing by after my studio session on Wednesday."

"Do I look like I need charity?" Dona snaps, but it’s not fueled by anger. If anything, she sounds... embarrassed?

"Not charity," Jungkook says, voice even. "Just a neighbor thing."

"Hmph." Dona busies herself with folding a dishcloth. "Well, if you insist on playing delivery boy, I do need milk. And those crackers from last time."

"Got it." Jungkook nods, like this is just normal. Like he's not going completely out of his way for someone who doesn't even seem particularly grateful.

You frown, trying to make it make sense. 

Maybe... maybe it's a hustle? Maybe old ladies tip really well? Or maybe he's building up good karma because he's secretly done something terrible and needs to balance the cosmic scales?

The two of them chat for a bit longer, and you can't quite hear all of it, but you catch fragments—something about Dona's doctor's appointment, something about Jungkook's classes, something about a recipe for chicken soup.

It's all so... domestic. So weirdly normal. So completely at odds with the Jungkook you know—the one who teases you mercilessly, the one who fucks you against walls, the one with the sharp edges and the arrogant smirk.

You're so busy trying to reconcile these two versions of him that you almost miss it when Dona's voice rises slightly.

"...since Hector passed, and these new delivery apps, they charge so much..." Her voice wavers, just slightly. "...shouldn't have to pay an arm and a leg just to get groceries when you can't..."

Jungkook says something too low for you to catch, and Dona makes that "hmph" sound again. But this time it sounds different. Almost... vulnerable?

"Well," she says, louder now, "you're the only one who bothers to check. The others in this building, they see an old woman and they look right through her. Like I'm already a ghost."

Oh.

Oh shit.

Something uncomfortable twists in your chest. An emotion you don't want to examine too closely. Something that feels a lot like…

Shame.

Because that's exactly what you did, isn't it? You saw a grumpy old lady and decided she was the enemy. You never once considered that maybe she was just lonely. 

That maybe she uses sharpness as a shield. 

The same way you use sarcasm as one. 

"Not a ghost yet," Jungkook says, and his voice is gentler than you've ever heard it. "Still kicking my ass at dominoes every Thursday."

"Language," Dona scolds, but you can hear the smile in her voice. "And don't you forget it. I expect a rematch this week."

"Wouldn't miss it."

Wait. He plays dominoes with her? Weekly? What the actual fuck?

And now you feel even worse, because apparently Jungkook—the guy you've been dismissing as an arrogant player with no depth—has been spending his Thursday nights playing board games with a lonely old woman.

While you've been doing what? Watching Netflix and judging everyone's life choices?

Great. Now he's making you feel like an asshole without even trying. That's just perfect.

You turn back to your washing machine, genuinely focused on it this time, trying to process this new information. Trying to fit it into your understanding of who Jungkook is. 

It's not working very well.

When you hear footsteps approaching, you pretend to be busy. You don’t know why you can’t look at him in the eyes right now.

"Sheets are folded," Jungkook says, sliding up next to you. "World is saved."

"What a hero," you deadpan, still not looking at him.

"Someday you'll appreciate my many talents," he says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. "Speaking of which, nice hoodie."

You finally glance at him, and yep—there's that stupid, self-satisfied grin. Like he's caught you doing something embarrassing. Which, to be fair, he has.

"It's practical," you say, tugging the hem down where it's riding up. "That's all."

"Sure," he agrees easily. "Very practical to keep my clothes. Much more practical than, say, returning them."

"You want it back?" You make a show of starting to pull it off. "Fine, take—"

"Keep it," he says quickly, and the way he says it—not teasing, not mocking, just simple and straightforward—catches you off guard. "It looks better on you anyway."

You freeze, hands still at the hem of the hoodie, not quite sure how to respond to that. It feels like a trap somehow, like if you accept, you're admitting to something. To what, you're not exactly sure.

"Whatever," you mutter, dropping your hands. "I'll wash it and give it back."

"No rush." He turns back to his own laundry, a small smile playing at his lips.

For a moment, you just stand there, watching him sort his clothes. Then you look away, annoyed with yourself for gawking.

"So," you say, as casual as you can muster,  "you're like, what? The old lady whisperer?"

He glances at you, eyebrow raised. "What?"

"You and Dona." You gesture vaguely in her direction. "The whole..." You wave your hand, trying to encompass whatever the hell it is you just witnessed. "...thing."

"The thing," he repeats, clearly amused. "Very specific."

"You know what I mean," you huff. "The helping her fold sheets thing. The grocery delivery thing. The dominoes thing."

His movements pause for just a fraction of a second, so brief you almost miss it. "You were eavesdropping?"

"It's a small laundry room," you point out. "And you weren't exactly whispering."

"It's not a big deal."

"Playing dominoes with an old lady every Thursday isn't a big deal?"

"It's just dominoes," he says, like that explains everything. 

Like it's completely normal to spend your free time entertaining your elderly neighbor when you could be, I don't know, literally anything else that twenty-something guys usually do on a Thursday night.

"And the groceries?"

"She has trouble carrying them up the stairs," he says with a shrug. "The delivery apps charge too much. It's not a big deal."

"You keep saying that," you note, studying his profile as he focuses very intently on separating a blue shirt from a white one. "But it kind of is. I mean, how many people in this building even know their neighbors' names?"

"Maybe they should. Maybe it wouldn't kill people to look up from their phones once in a while and notice the actual humans around them."

You blink, taken aback by the sudden intensity. "Okay, damn. Sorry I asked."

"No, I'm—" He exhales sharply. "I just don't like talking about it, okay? It's not a thing."

"Why?" you press, genuinely curious now. "Why is it such a big secret that you're apparently a decent human being?"

“It's not a secret. I just don't..." He shakes his head. "I don't do it for attention or whatever. It's just the right thing to do."

"So you don't want me to know you do the right thing?"

"I don't need a fucking gold star for basic human decency," he snaps, and now there's definitely an edge to his voice. "I'm not looking for a pat on the back. I'm not trying to—" He breaks off, stuffing clothes into the machine with more force than necessary. "Just drop it, alright?"

You raise your eyebrows, watching as he jams quarters into the slot with unnecessary aggression. It's almost like he's... embarrassed? No, that's not quite right. More like he's uncomfortable with you knowing this side of him.

Like he doesn't want you to think he's actually nice.

Which is weird, because most guys would be falling all over themselves to prove they're nice guys. To get those good-person points. To make sure everyone knows what a saint they are for helping the little old lady with her groceries.

But Jungkook seems genuinely annoyed that you found out. Almost defensive about it.

It's... interesting.

Weird.

"Fine," you say, lifting your hands in surrender. "Consider it dropped. Your secret identity as a decent human being is safe with me."

He exhales sharply through his nose, still not looking at you. "Thanks."

You both lapse into silence, the hum of the washing machines like tiny droplets of silence between both of you. 

Across the room, Dona is bustling around the dryers, muttering to herself about settings and temperatures. You sneaks glances at her, seeing her in a different light now.

Not just a grumpy old woman. 

A widow. 

Someone who lives alone and has to rely on the kindness of neighbors—specifically, one neighbor—for simple tasks like carrying groceries. 

Someone who's lonely enough that a weekly dominoes game is something to look forward to.

It makes your chest feel tight in a way you don't particularly like.

"Boy," Dona calls, breaking the silence. "What cycle for delicates?"

"Gentle, cold water," Jungkook calls back without hesitation, like he's some kind of laundry expert. Like this is a normal conversation they have all the time.

"Hmph," is Dona's only response, but you notice she follows his advice, adjusting the settings on the dryer.

"She likes you," you observe quietly.

Jungkook glances at you, then back at his machine. 

"She tolerates me," he corrects. "There's a difference."

"She doesn't even tolerate me."

"You've never offered to help with her sheets."

"I didn't know that was an option," you say, crossing your arms. "There's no sign-up sheet for 'Old Lady Sheet Folding' in the lobby."

He snorts, and just like that, the tension from earlier seems to dissipate. 

“Maybe there should be. Building-wide rotation."

"I can see it now," you say, following in on the joke. "'4B gets Monday sheets, 6A takes Tuesday sheets...'"

"'If you find yourself assigned to Wednesday sheets, please be aware that those are the cat-hair sheets,'" he continues, adopting a serious tone. "'Lint rollers will be provided.'"

You can't help it—you laugh. 

It's brief, just a small burst of amusement, but it's genuine. 

And when you glance at Jungkook, he's looking at you with a strange expression, like he's seeing something he didn't expect.

"What?" you ask, immediately self-conscious.

"Nothing," he says, turning back to his machine. But there's a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Just wondering if I should sign you up for Thursday sheets."

"Don't you dare," you warn, but it’s too soft. "I have enough on my plate without adding geriatric sheet duty."

"Could be worse," he says with a shrug. "Could be Tuesday sheets."

"What's Tuesday?"

"Bingo night." He wiggles his eyebrows. "Dona goes hard on the snacks."

You stare at him, once again thrown by this glimpse into a life you didn't know existed. "You're kidding."

"Only partly," he admits with a grin. "But seriously, Tuesday is when she does her big laundry loads. Always complains about the folding."

"And you know this because...?"

"Because I pay attention," he says simply, like it's obvious. Like everyone should just naturally notice these things about their neighbors. "It's not that complicated, Phoenix."

There's no judgment in his voice, but you still feel oddly defensive. Like you've been caught failing some basic test of humanity.

"Well, we can't all be saints," you mutter.

"Not trying to be a saint," he says, a hint of irritation creeping back it. "It's just—" He exhales sharply. "Never mind."

You watch him from the corner of your eye, trying to figure out what button you just pushed. Why this, of all things, seems to get under his skin.

"Sorry," you say finally, surprising even yourself. "I didn't mean to make it weird."

“It's fine."

"It's cool that you help her," you add, feeling awkward but pressing on anyway. "Seriously. Not everyone would."

"Yeah, well." He shrugs, clearly uncomfortable with the praise. "Like I said, it's not a big deal."

"Right." You nod, getting it now.

He really doesn't want the recognition. 

Doesn't want the attention for doing something decent. 

You both fall silent again, with Dona’s muttering as your only company. It's not uncomfortable, though. It's just... quiet. Companionable, almost.

Which is weird, because you don't do companionable silences with Jungkook. You do heated arguments and sarcastic exchanges and intense fucking. 

Not... this. Whatever this is.

"You ever play dominoes?" he asks suddenly, breaking the silence.

You blink at the unexpected question. 

“Not since I was a kid."

He nods, considering this. 

"Dona's always complaining that two players is boring. Says it's meant to be played with more people."

You wait for him to continue, to make the obvious invitation, but he doesn't. Just stands there, pretending to be deeply interested in the cycle display on his washing machine.

"Are you..." You squint at him. "Are you trying to ask me to play dominoes with you and Dona?"

"What? No." He scoffs, finger pressing random buttons. "Just making conversation."

"Right."

"I'm just saying," he continues, eyes fixed on the machine, "that if you ever… I dunno, find yourself bored on a Thursday night… There’s always dominoes."

Is he… Is he actually inviting you to his weird geriatric game night?

And if so, why? 

It's not like you've shown any interest in spending time with the elderly. Or with him, outside of the very specific context of fucking each other senseless.

"I'll keep that in mind," you say finally, not committing to anything.

"Cool."

"Cool."

Another silence falls.

You don’t say anything.

He doesn’t say anything.

And you’re still wearing his hoodie. And he’s still standing too close. 

And for a moment—just a brief, fleeting moment—you wonder what it would be like. To sit around a table with Jungkook and Dona, playing dominoes on a Thursday night. To see that side of him—the side that helps old ladies with groceries and remembers how they like their sheets folded.

It's a weird thought. An unfamiliar one. And you push it away almost as soon as it forms.

Because that's not what this is.

That's not what you are. 

You're roommates who sometimes fuck. You're not friends who play board games together.

"Boy," Dona calls from across the room, breaking into your thoughts. "What cycle for cotton?"

"High heat, Miss D," Jungkook calls back, and just like that, the moment—whatever it was—is broken.

He turns back to his sorting, and you turn back to yours, and everything goes back to normal. Or whatever passes for normal these days.

But you're still wearing his hoodie. And you're pretty sure you're not giving it back anytime soon.

Sometime later, you're leaning against the wall just outside the laundry room, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. 

Your thumb drags across the screen without purpose, not really taking in whatever the hell you're looking at—Instagram? Twitter? Does it matter? The washing machines finished twenty minutes ago, but Jungkook insisted on carrying both your loads like some kind of laundry martyr.

"I got it," he'd said, waving you off when you tried to grab your basket. "Go ahead."

So here you are, waiting, because it feels weird to just leave him down here with your underwear. Even though he's definitely seen your underwear before. In significantly more compromising contexts.

From inside the laundry room, you can hear the murmur of voices—Jungkook and Dona in what sounds like a heated debate about fabric softener. You catch fragments: "ruins the absorbency" and "smells nice" and "didn't raise my Hector to use that chemical garbage."

You roll your eyes. How is this your Sunday? Standing in a dingy hallway while your fuck buddy debates laundry techniques with a geriatric neighbor?

The door finally swings open, and Jungkook emerges, arms loaded with both laundry baskets stacked precariously on top of each other. His biceps flex as he adjusts the weight, and you're definitely not noticing that. 

"Ready?" he asks, nudging the door closed with his foot.

"Been ready," you murmur, pocketing your phone. "Some of us don't need an hour-long consultation about dryer settings."

"She has strong opinions about lint," he says, absolutely straight-faced, like this is a normal follow-up to any conversation.

"Fascinating." You push off from the wall, heading for the stairs. "Let's go before she recruits you for a lint task force or whatever."

He just grins, following behind you. 

The stairwell is narrow and poorly lit, with concrete steps that have seen better decades. 

You're a few steps ahead when you hear it—a dull thud followed by a muttered "fuck."

You spin around to see Jungkook stumbling backward, nearly dropping both baskets as his free hand flies to his forehead. There's an exposed pipe running along the low ceiling that you always duck under without thinking—you're not particularly tall—but apparently nobody warned Jungkook about it.

"Shit." The word leaves your mouth before you can stop it, and suddenly you're moving toward him, hands reaching out automatically. "You okay?"

He looks momentarily stunned, both by the impact and by your reaction. 

"Yeah, just—"

You're already on your tiptoes, fingers brushing his hair away from his forehead to check the damage. There's a red mark forming, but the skin isn't broken. His hair is softer than you expected, still slightly damp from his morning shower, and he smells like—

Wait.

What the fuck are you doing?

You freeze, suddenly aware of how close you are, of your fingers in his hair, of his eyes fixed on yours with an expression you can't quite read. 

Neither of you moves. 

His eyes dart between both of your pupils. 

"Um," you say intelligently, dropping your hands like his forehead is suddenly made of lava. "Be more careful. We don't need you more idiot than you already are."

Smooth. Really smooth.

His lips twitch, but he doesn't call you out on whatever the hell that sentence was supposed to be. "Thanks for the concern."

"I'm not concerned," you say automatically, already turning back toward the stairs. "Just don't want to deal with your concussed ass if you knock yourself out."

"Right." His voice follows you up the stairs. "God forbid you have to care about something."

"Exactly," you agree, not looking back. "Caring is for suckers."

You're halfway up the flight when you hear him grunt as he shifts the laundry baskets. It's a lot to carry, and the stairwell is narrow, but you're definitely not offering to help. That would imply you care, which you just explicitly denied. So.

There's a moment of shuffling footsteps behind you, then: "Wait a sec, Nix."

You turn, ready with some smart-ass comment about his head injury affecting his ability to climb stairs, but the words die in your throat. He's set both baskets down on the landing and is now kneeling on the step below you, looking at your feet.

"What are you—"

"Your shoes," he says, nodding at your sneakers. "They're untied."

You glance down. Sure enough, both laces on your ancient Converse are dragging on the concrete steps, a tripping hazard waiting to happen.

"I know," you lie. You didn't know. "I was gonna fix them later."

"Later, like after you face-plant on the stairs?" He's already reaching for your shoe, his big hands deftly gathering the laces. "With my luck, I'd have to call an ambulance, and they'd blame me for pushing you."

"I wouldn't give you the satisfaction of falling," you mutter, but you don't pull away.

Instead, you just stand there, weirdly frozen, as Jungkook—the guy who regularly makes you come so hard you see stars—ties your shoelaces like you're a fucking kindergartner.

His head is bent in concentration, dark hair falling over his forehead, partially hiding the red mark from the pipe. His hands move with practiced ease, looping and pulling. 

It's such a small thing. So mundane. So ordinary.

So why does your chest feel tight?

"There," he says, finishing the second shoe with a final tug. "Crisis averted."

He glances up at you, still kneeling, and something in his expression makes your stomach do a weird little flip. It's probably just the angle. The way the shitty stairwell lighting catches on his features. The lingering effects of morning caffeine making your pulse do stupid things.

"I could have done that myself," you say, but your voice comes out softer than you intended.

"I know." He shrugs, pushing himself to his feet and picking up the laundry baskets again. "But you didn't."

You don't have a good response to that, so you just turn and continue up the stairs, acutely aware of him following behind you. The only sound is your newly tied shoes against the concrete and his slightly labored breathing as he carries the laundry.

It's weird. 

This whole morning has been weird. 

First the hoodie, then Dona and the dominoes revelation, now this—Jungkook tying your shoes like it's nothing.

Like these small, casually intimate gestures are just things people do for each other.

Maybe they are. Maybe this is all completely normal roommate behavior, and you're the weird one for overthinking it.

It's not like he meant anything by it. 

He's just like that, apparently—the kind of guy who helps old ladies with groceries and plays dominoes on Thursdays and doesn't let people trip on their shoelaces. 

It's not personal. It's not about you.

He's just nice sometimes. In between being an absolute asshole who drives you crazy.

It doesn't mean anything.

It doesn't mean anything at all.

You finally make it to the apartment door, fishing your keys out of the pocket of Jungkook's stupid hoodie and hold the door open for him because he's still stubbornly carrying both laundry loads, despite your begrudging offer to take yours back.

"I can carry my own shit," you'd said on the landing between the second and third floors, trying to grab your basket.

He'd just smirked and swung it out of your reach. "I got it."

"I'm not helpless."

"Never said you were."

"So give me my laundry, asshole."

"Nope."

And that was that. Because apparently this is the hill he wants to die on. Stupid, stubborn, impossible man.

Now he strides past you into the apartment, annoyingly unbothered by the weight of two full baskets. 

You absolutely do not track how lean his arm muscles are as he sets them both on the table near the main door.

You definitely don't track the line of his shoulders as he rolls them back, working out the tension from the climb. 

And you certainly don't follow a bead of sweat as it trails down the side of his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt.

Because that would be pathetic. And you're not pathetic.

He starts rummaging through his basket, brows furrowed in concentration. Then he looks up, confusion clear on his face. 

“Wait, I'm missing a sock."

"Huh?"

"A sock." He holds up a single black sock with little Batman logos on it. "I should have two."

You stare at him blankly. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Did you see a sock drop or something? On the stairs, maybe?"

"Why would I be looking for your socks?" You cross your arms. "I have better things to do with my life than track your Batmans."

"Fuck it," he sighs. "I'm going downstairs again."

"Seriously? For a sock?"

"It's my favorite pair." He's already heading for the door. "Be right back."

And then he's gone, the door closing behind him with a soft click, leaving you standing there next to two baskets of laundry and feeling weirdly... abandoned? 

Which is ridiculous. It's a sock. He'll be back in five minutes. 

Get a grip, bitch.

You stare at the laundry baskets on the table. His and yours, side by side. 

Why did he insist on carrying yours? It's so stupidly... nice. And Jungkook isn't nice. He's arrogant and annoying and makes you want to pull your hair out. He's not supposed to tie your shoes or carry your laundry or play dominoes with old ladies.

It's throwing off your entire understanding of him, and that's irritating as hell.

You hate him. You definitely hate him.

Except that's getting harder to believe by the day.

The sound of a door opening breaks into your thoughts, but it's not the main door—it's Yoongi's room. Huh. Like seeing a bear outside hibernation season.

He shuffles into the kitchen, looking about as close to death as you've ever seen him. His hair is a disaster, sticking up in weird tufts like he’s barely managed to lay down on a horizontal surface. The bags under his eyes have bags. His t-shirt is wrinkled in that "I've been wearing this for days" way, and he's moving with the careful deliberation of someone who hasn't slept in approximately three centuries.

"Working?" you ask, because it seems like the only explanation for this zombie-like state.

"Unfortunately." His voice is rough, like he hasn't used it in hours. Maybe days.

He doesn't elaborate, just heads straight for the coffee maker. 

You don't ask. Not your business. 

Besides, you've got your own shit to worry about—like why you can't stop thinking about Jungkook carrying your laundry, or tying your shoes, or the way his hands moved when he was folding Dona's sheets.

God, you need a lobotomy.

Your gaze drifts around the apartment, trying to focus on literally anything else. It lands on the record collection displayed on the wall next to the TV. There must be at least thirty vinyl albums. You remember when Yeji was over last week, she mentioned them—commented on how eclectic the selection was.

You'd just shrugged and said they were Yoongi's. Because they had to be, right? Music producer, always holed up with headphones... it makes sense.

"Nice collection," you say, nodding toward the wall. 

You're not sure why you say it. Maybe to make conversation. Maybe to confirm your assumption. Maybe because some part of you suspects they're not Yoongi's at all, and you want to know what else you might have missed about Jungkook.

Not that you care about his likes or interests or anything. That would be dangerously close to caring about him as a person, which—ha! Absolutely not.

"Huh?" 

Yoongi turns around lazily, coffeepot in hand. He follows your gaze to the wall of records, and then—he scoffs. Actually scoffs, shaking his head like you've just said something so stupid he can't believe it came out of your mouth.

"Have you even checked them?" he asks, tone dry as the Sahara. "They're mostly Mayer."

You blink.

Mayer? As in John Mayer? As in the songs Jungkook plays on his guitar sometimes?

As in "Slow Dancing in a Burning Room"—the song he played that night in his room when he taunted you through text messages and you were stupid enough to actually walk in?

"They're Jungkook's," Yoongi adds after a beat of silence. "Not mine."

"Oh." The word falls from your lips automatically, small and insignificant, completely inadequate to express the weird reorganization happening in your brain. "But he doesn't have a record player?"

Yoongi just shrugs, pouring coffee into his mug. "Doesn't mean he can't collect them."

You stare at the vinyl collection with new eyes. Each album carefully chosen, meticulously arranged. A physical manifestation of something Jungkook cares about, something he values enough to collect even though he can't listen to them. Yet.

Something unwinds in your chest. A tight, small knot of... what? 

Surprise? 

Interest? 

Whatever it is, you don't like it. Don't want to examine it too closely. Because it feels dangerously like the beginning of seeing Jungkook as a whole person, not just the asshole who happens to be good in bed.

And that's not what this is. That's not what you are.

The door swings open, and there he is—stupid grin on his stupid face, waving a Batman sock in the air like he's just found buried treasure.

"Found it," he announces, triumphant. "It was stuck in the dryer door."

You give him the blankest stare you can muster. "Congratulations. Your sock journey is complete."

His grin just widens, completely unfazed by your sarcasm. "Thanks for the moral support, Phoenix. Couldn't have done it without you."

"I literally did nothing."

"Your energy kept me going."

You roll your eyes so hard it's a miracle they don't get stuck in the back of your head. He just laughs, that warm, rich sound that does absolutely nothing to your insides, and starts gathering his laundry.

"Later," you mutter, turning away before he can see the corner of your mouth threatening to twitch upward.

You grab your laundry basket head straight for your room, shutting the door with perhaps more force than necessary.

Safe in your own space, you fish your phone from your pocket—and see three missed calls from the same number. 

Ah. Barnes & Noble. 

Seems like you got the job. Which is good. Great, even.

This is what responsible adults do—get jobs, pay bills, build sensible futures. Not collect vinyl records they can't play or help old ladies with their grocery shopping or carry their roommates' laundry just because.

Normal, practical, boring adult stuff. That's what you're about.

Except now you can't stop thinking about those records on the wall. About what else you might have missed. About who Jungkook actually is when he isn't being an infuriating, cocky asshole. About—

About nothing. Because you don’t care. 

He’s Jungkook. Rogue. The infuriating roommate of yours that leaves towels everywhere and can’t be bothered to clean his own mugs. 

You toss your phone onto your bed and start aggressively pulling laundry from your basket. 

You've got shit to do. Clothes to put away. A job to call back about. A life to live that absolutely does not revolve around wondering why your roommate collects vinyl records or helps old ladies or ties your shoes when they're untied.

It doesn't matter. None of it matters.

(Except that it might. Just a little. And that's the most terrifying thought of all.)

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© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[stitchposts]

Heyo! Had two questions - one a little less relevant to your blog but I thought I'd shoot my shot :D

First off, do you have any experience with visible mending using embroidery techniques? Both my denim jacket and favorite sweater are getting worn out after years of constant wear, and I'm unsure how do deal with some of the holes. My main issue is that the very ends of the sleeves are simply... splitting open? Like the fabric got so thin from whatever stress I apparently put it under, it fecking disintegrated. It seems simple enough, straight line on an edge, but I'm worried about messing it up anyway.

And, speaking of my jacket, with it falling apart a little and me seeing more about battle vests and the like, I've been wondering about trying to embroider it, maybe make some patches... I have a bunch of cotton embroidery floss that was gifted to me years ago, but not only have I not embroidered much since learning it in school more than 15 years ago, this is also literally my only (wearable) jacket. The other two are a 10 year old fake leather coat that is peeling itself and also doesn't fit right, and a windbreaker in terrible colors that, if I remember correctly, is too badly damaged for me to know how to easily fix it. Meaning just going ham on it is a big risk. Do I try to find my first new jacket since 2019 and hope to stumble upon one satisfactory in both price and fit? Do I just pray and start fixing up my denim jacket? What else do I need anyway? I got thread and sewing needles big enough to fit it, but nothing else.

Help.

Thanks! <3

This post got kinda long even for me, sorry. First off, this is all embroidery related imo, this is still about stitching on fabric. A square is always a rectangle but a rectangle is not always a square. There's nuance under the umbrella of 'embroidery' here and this counts.

There does reach a point when clothing can't really be repaired anymore, and after that point, historically became rags, or the patches used to repair other clothing. You'll eventually need a new jacket, but if your choice is to immediately find one now or to repair your jacket and buy time to be able to locate one, it seems a bit obvious to me what the option to follow here is, especially if you like the look of visible mending.

This is the part where I wanted to add a cut, but tumblr is glitching out and refusing to add one. So I guess everyone is just subjected to this now. Sorry, and I'll try to have an actual pretty embroidery picture up for everyone to see this week since my furnace is no longer trying to blow up. So: visible mending is at the core applying mending techniques to clothing, and instead of trying to make them invisible repairs, using the stitches or extra material that reinforces the repair to creative visual interest and turn it into a design feature. The stitching itself is done to reinforce the fragile parts of your garment. Sometimes it can be darning, other times it's adhering new fabric to back/cover the fragile parts. It depends on the repair which to use, or even which method the mender prefers. It's not always clearcut and even then, sometimes we prefer doing the thing we know better more than a brand new technique and we bruteforce it to work. So, dealer's choice on darning or patching here, but I'll get to both of them. My opinion of your situation is that you have nothing to lose with trying to repair your jacket that fits you. It's already falling apart, and it's better to stabilize it before it gets worse before there are giant gaps in the fabric. Clean it gently by hand by letting it soak in a bucket or a tub with some ph neutral detergent - do a couple rinses of letting it soak, until the water runs clear and stops smelling foul. Then lay it flat to try on a towel, don't hang it up to dry as that will put more stress on the fabric, I find the shoulders are usually one of the first places to give out on my stuff but I am very broad shouldered. In my opinion, gaps in the fabric at high stress spots like the cuffs should have new backing fabric added to the weak spots, and then the visible mending can adhere that in place. If you were to make new embroidered cuffs you could just sew them on, and protect the integrity of the base fabric, the same way patches do. But you may prefer other options. For darning there's a few ways to go about it. Darning itself is using new threads to weave through the holes in fabric, and stabilizing it past the delicate thin edges of the base fabric. A dear friend of mine lives and dies by her Speedweve loom these days, and I've seen her work with it. She is one of the top 5 trusted fiber artists in my life so I vouch for these looms being cool as fuck and very functional without having used it myself. I also got her this particular book called Darned Easy, by Sally Simon, that I find interesting that has a lot of patterns in it for darning - I grabbed it at a used book store at some point. I messaged her before I made this point because she follows this blog and would know this part is about her. Hi bud. She's the only one who gets to see the rest of the interior of the book, because it was published in 1981 and I'd rather not use this blog to host scans of books that are that recently published.

You don't need a loom for darning if you know what patterns to follow to darn using your needle, and there are a lot of ways to make darning decorative in the manner you want for visible mending, just use your contrasting threads to stand out on the ground fabric. There's also other books available, a HUGE amount of them because darning's existed for millenia, but this is the resource I physically had on hand that I wanted to use as my example so it's the one you get pics of.

On the other end of repairs, you can applique on patches or reinforcing material, then quilt the material into place, with the quilting being the surface embroidery you are pushing through the layers of fabric in order to adhere them into place. Before anyone replies to this op telling them to fucking look up sashiko, please get off my post. I take umbrage with a lot of embroidery designs being referred to as 'sashiko.' This type of repair on existing clothing genuinely is one of the origins of sashiko as a necessity of life - it was that a pattern was laid down on the clothing or items that needed to be repaired or pieced together, and then quilted into place with running stitches that formed the design, which reinforced the clothing and allowed the fibers to be usable for longer. I really despise the words 'sashiko' 'wabisabi' and 'kintsugi' tossed around casually out of historical context by every fucking art blogger under the sun. Fabric was fucking expensive pre industrial revolution, so preserving clothing mattered a lot. Many different cultures have preferred methods (very often extremely regional even within a country) for mending in a manner that is similar to what we know of as quilting or applique today, but there's a certain obsession with anything Japanese in particular that bloggers love to describe as mysterious and wholesome when it's just a visually distinctive fucking way to repair a hole in a garment and quilt things together to make it warm and functional.

Anyway. My first vest I made, it did eventually disintegrate. I knew it would happen because fucking entropy of the universe and so I managed to find a new vest I could afford at the time when I happened across it, and kept it in a back closet till I was ready to transform it into my dragon vest. I repaired that first vest until almost every seam was paper thin and shredding. I loved it a lot. I wore it daily for years and years. I'm still sad I can't wear it anymore, even though I kept my back patch from it, and I still don't know what the fuck I am going to do with that patch. Eventually fabric is destroyed, after many many years of service and wear. Things die. You can't put resin on your embroidery and make it live forever. But when things finally do perish, you can use the base fabric that is still good to make new patches. You get to design and plan a new battle vest or projects you want to start. If you're not sure yet about how badly you'll be hit emotionally by seeing something you put hundreds of hours into disintegrate into nothingness, then hold off on making this particular jacket your battle jacket holding a lot of purchased patches and such, instead of as a test springboard for learning repairs. This is not me being facetious or jokey. It hits people pretty hard to lose, especially the first time this happens. We're humans that hold bonds with things we like, especially things with that much personal hand investment on it. It won't be a failure on your part if you decide to learn repair and extend the life of this jacket, when this jacket does finally bite the dust. It will happen. The accomplishment here is how much service and use you get out of the jacket past when you thought you'd have to throw it away far earlier than if you had learned to repair it.

[stormblessed95]

Watching Are You Sure?! EP 5

A reminder of how I do these reaction posts as I watch things. I just write my reactions and thoughts down literally they happen. Think more of a bullet point format. I'll include links when I can to videos, thanks to the people who twt who upload clips. And at the end, I'll do a better wrap up of all my opinions. I hope everyone enjoyed the show so far!!

Chef JK! Salt bae JK! Absolutely smitten and endeared Jimin!

Jimin absolutely indulging and encouraging JKs cooking enjoyment by asking him questions about his process was so cute. Tae giving such earnest compliments

The way Jikook chugged their Soju lmao damn guys

Jimin making ssam to feed the staff and JK saying no perilla leaves was Hysterical only because of the whole perilla leaf history he has 😂🤣

JK popping open the Soju in increasingly silly ways while Jimin watched absolutely endeared and smitten once again. Until Tae accused him of teaching JK that and he had to defend himself lol

Jimin calling JK very handsome 🥰

Only 2 months until their service 🥺

Them talking about how they don't think they will fight at all when enlisted together..only help each other. And JK saying he hopes they even sleep right next to each other. No one can say they both didn't desperately want to do this together!

Jimin never letting JK elbowing him in his sleep go!

Jimin so demurely petting and loving on the cat while JK runs, jumps, playing and acts crazy while loving on the puppy is so them and so funny 😂

Vminkook car karaoke 😍😍😍

Jimin sneaking out of the pool to go spray JK who was still inside on his phone lol

Vmin teaming up on JK as soon as he gets in. Lol pretty sure Jimin probably pinches his butt behind that wall 😂 and his nipples at one point too lol

Taking turns sleeping on the bottom of the pool 😂

Poor Jimin got water up his nose lmao!

JK pulling Jimin to the top of the pool by his hair was a CHOICE lol he pulled it knowledgeably at least 😅😭😂🤣 I know too much about them at this point. Honestly

Too many fun under water games 😂🥰💜

JK playing a prank on Jimin and locking him out of the house lmao and him signing that he is annoying and to open at him 😂🤣

JK saying he is cold and Jimin starting to open his arms like he is going to hug him 💜

Not them having a towel fight 😂🤣🤣

Tae fully just claimed Jimin's bed and made Jikook choose the other two. Lmfao and the way they fought over who had to take the lower bed, but in a "no no, I'll do it's way 😍

Jimin waking up and first thing going to snuggle JK 😭🥰😭🥰

And then we cut and somehow Jimin lost his shirt and is waking JK up very obnoxiously lmao

Tae leaving early in the morning to go golfing with the Wooga squad! Look at him splitting his time so effectively and probably taking a break from the jikookery lol

JK photosynthesizing 🤣🤣🤣🤣

Jimin taking forever to get ready and JK trying to hustle him along was peak domestic behavior lmfao

Jimin wearing the perfume because JK said he likes it 🥰 cuteeee

Tae getting dropped off for their next meal all together and the Vmin hug 💜

Jikook telling Tae they were up till 4am and Jimin fell asleep phone scrolling?! Lol what were y'all doing all night?? You need more sleep! I say, typing this at midnight my time lol

I need my babies to stop counting calories 😭

Tae ruffling JKs hair and him trying on Tae's glasses is soooo cute! Jimin trying them on too! They all look so good in everything.

Not them arguing over if it's ham or pink sausage. Lmfao JK getting so upset about it that he asked the waitress and his "hah" back at Jimin over it! Lmfao Jimin being like whooo hey. It's just food. And their "apologies" to each other. Lol! They are so extra over everything lol How come Tae started this argument and it ended up mostly between Jikook 🤣🤣🤣🤣

Jimin basically telling JK he is happy if JK is happy 🥰 he loves him ❤️

"JK drinking soda means round 3 has just begun" lol Jimin showing off his JK knowledge 😂

Tae spent most of this episode when not actively playing with Jikook on his phone. Part of me wishes we got to see more of him with his other friends too, but I'm glad he made time to hang out with Jikook before they all enlisted too 🥰

Tae baby was so sleepy! He slept through the whole car ride basically and then came back to nap fully too. Jimin woke him up so softly 🥰

JK at a restaurant in NY while doing Golden promo alone with staff and immediately thinking about how he wants to make it for Jimin because "Jimin would love it" is so freaking cute and precious and sweet

JK didn't just cook stew for Jimin or Vmin, but for the entire staff. And I love him so much for that. The sweetest human he is

Jimin napping while JK cooks too 🥰

Jimin somehow lost his shirt at some point while everyone was coming to get food. Lol who knows why, maybe it's just titties out as appreciation for the cook? 😂😂

Both Jikook expressing that they loved having V there and that he helped make it so fun and that a maknae line trip made them feel really young again. And you could tell too. They were so silly! I love these 3 so much!!

Wrap up Thoughts:

So Jikook knew by the end of September that they would enlist together. And the palpable relief they both clearly felt over that was so so clear. This 100% made the experience way more tolerable for them. I'm so glad that they have each other. The difference in the way they talk about military service, especially JK, in the US and in Jeju is striking. In the US, JK started playfully smacking Jimin when he would bring it up, it caused him tension and anxiety and he clearly didn't want to talk about it, especially on camera. While here in Jeju, they know they will be together and they are relaxed, making jokes, expressing their happiness about getting to go together. Expressing their surety about how nice and helpful it will be to have the other there and their faith and trust in each other. How they want to wake up to each other. It's beautiful

I don't like calling any of the members 3rd wheels unless it's stupidly obvious it's a joke, but this episode Tae was third wheeling a bit at times. Jikook seem to have a tendency to hyper focus on each other at times during conversation. When they were all playing and being silly, I never once got 3rd wheel vibes. Only during times of heavy conversation while they were eating. Tae also kept pulling out his phone. He was clearly in touch with amother group of friends during that time as well who were also in Jeju, and him trying to split so much of his attention also probably fed a bit of those third wheel vibes a bit too. I'm so glad he was there with them though. Jikook also were as well. They all had such a good time together and seeing them and sharing in the love they all share is so healing for me personally. I hope Tae had the best time on Jeju with them and his Wooga Squad too! 💜💜💜

And that's all I've really got for this episode. It was a lot of mostly just sleeping and eating and playing this episode! Lol I can't wait to see what Sapporo brings!

[quackity1999]

# — THE MAILBOX is open for business.

i take care of those who take care of me. why do you think i have no one around?

jesus, put two and two together.

this is a c!quackity ask blog :]

SEND ASKS! feel free to pester c!quackity thru asks— general questions, LN reports, dsmp lore refs, tomfoolery and such are encouraged.

i HEAVILY support spamming the inbox.

happy to answer both anons + characters (dsmp, ocs, multiverse: film, musicals, videogames, etc). if ur a reoccurring anon then grab an emoji !

#quackitychirps indicates quackity replies. #charlieposting indicates slime replies.

[ TAG SYSTEM: HERE ! pls check it out. ]

↓ IMPORTANT INFO UNDER CUT. ↓

[ hiii. i'm prophet! he/it/rez prns. biggest cquackity kin known to mankind. yes i am australian 😎😎 ]

rules: literally fucking none. go ham!!!!!!! just please no godmodding. i'll delete anything that goes too far. 18+ mentions are fine — i'll tag accordingly, but it won't be the main focus. sooo have fun go crazy ( admin is 21. keep that in mind thanks )

this blog functions on dialogue instead of written out paragraphs of literature.

IMPORTANT: i don't write any literate rp ( eg; *character sits down and does a thingy* etc etc ) unless it's preplanned in dms for an event. if i am sent starters or asks with literate rp they'll most likely be deleted.

sometimes i throw in a bit of action in brackets, but this is an ask blog first and foremost so i focus on dialogue to communicate action / location / etc.

and in order to keep my blog tidy i don't respond to reblog replies. threads tend to get real lengthy + clutter up things. so— please send another ask instead of reblogging with a reply :) thank you for understanding!

there will be occasional nsfw topics. anything indirect or at the very least suggestive goes into #vaguely 18+. anything explicit will be tagged with 18+ mention. proceed with discretion.

details about quackity :

+ las nevadas era, mainly. if there's specific asks that require a response from vice pres quackity or manburg era q, i can adjust to that: #viceqchirps !

+ he's an avian hybrid! he nests often (usually within an amethyst geode). quackity has a history of being mocked for his instincts and avian attributes, much thanks to a certain ex-husband :/

+ this bitch loves a good debate. motherfucker is a lawyer (sorta) so hit him up with a challenge every now and then. give him fun facts. Threaten him. ask whats going on in his life! throw in curveballs.

[ his chat / asks often show up as pop-up ads. ]

+ my portrayal is canon aligned! las nevadas is important as hell to him, so here's a post that explains in-character how quackity runs LN: HERE. so. yeah, we do business around here. and also torture dream for the revival book but that's not important /silly

+ on that note, i would prefer to avoid interaction with positive/good depictions of c!schlatt for this blog. no disrespect to those who do prefer that, i just personally want to uphold the importance of how schlatt's abuse informed a Lot of character development for quackity. same goes for dream— he's a villain, not a kicked puppy. thank you!

+ i violently swerve between serious interactions and utter hysteria in my replies to asks. its like a fucking lucky dip here 😎 also soz for all the links but it Does make it easier

+ shipping isn't a goal here, so attempts to woo quackity will not end in a romance plot. ofc there'll be some flirting, especially w / canon characters he's had past relations with (schlatt, wilbur, eret, karl, sapnap). i hc he's had a fling with technoblade at least once LMAO. note: apologies to dapduo shippers but they're strictly friends in my portrayal for a reason. :]

+ during las nevadas he has fortnightly gatherings with foolish. he wouldn't fuck a citizen, but he'd fuck a coworker! morals, what're those again?

overall i'm not looking to write romance plots due to c!quackity's view of love during the LN era. (he despises it.)

all anons welcome!!! ADMIN IS 21.

for art references:

my dude's got big big wings such as the first two. no other wings anywhere else though! white / blind in the eye that’s scarred. he got gold fangs to replace his upper canines; to replace the actual missing tooth from techno’s axe but also for congruence. it's also a mockery: piglins love gold.

PLENTY of gold jewelry. quackity focuses so much on his appearance, so— earrings! a brass knuckle made from the rings of schlatt, karl & sapnap. he will never use his own feathers for decoration, though. he's got some necklaces, ofc, no piercings. maaybe an eyebrow piercing but idk . debatable

usually wears a white silk shirt, regular suspenders, black pinstriped pants / slacks, deep red tie with gold intricate detailing & a gold clasp to keep it together in the middle. a fancy pocketwatch with the las nevadas star engraved on the front. his blue or puma beanie obvs! shoes are either dark red (near black) snakeskin or italian leather. steel toed for dropkicking drea—

[ PAST EVENTS: AVIAN PINNED. ]

[bunnyhoney111]

new song.

eddie munson x fem!best friend!reader

desc.: you guys are always a bit too honest when you’re high, and you whine about being horny, my casual sexuality kink

warnings: uhh lots of soup making on your end, eddie being a little too laid back, KINDA and i mean BARELY dub-con just for the very end; he doesn't do anything to her he just does something(?), kinda-ish friends with benefits situation.

request: no ma'am, no ham, no turkey- exTREMELY self-indulgent.

w/c: 968

a/n: i've been writing this for over the course of two-ish years now, just finished it as i want to get back to tumblr now 😭😭😔. i hope it's good enough to reinstate some of my audience. it's also a leetle short sorry folks

“eddie, ‘m horny,” you whined- drawling out his name, squirming in your place next to him on the bed. he was writing lyrics in his notebook to a song he’d been working on. he reached over pressed a hand into your stomach to stop you.

“i’m sorry sweetheart, but i’m not sure what you want me to do about that,” he didn’t spare you a glance, his hand returning to the notebook.

“it hurts,” you sighed, crossing your arms under your chest. you could feel the swelling of your clit as blood rushed to the area, you’d always felt this way when you got high.

“go to the bathroom, make soup,” he said, still running his eyes over the words and occasionally erasing to correct a line or a verse.

“ew.”

“im sorry, rub one out, flick the bean, choke your chicken-“ he continued throwing slang at you with a giggle as he finally looked over at your glistening face. your pupils were dilated almost to the point of hiding all the color in your irises, and your mouth opened to cut him off.

“it’s not that easy for girls, its not just one and done, and i certainly couldn’t cum in your dingy bathroom, freak.” you’d called him that out of endearment, it didn’t sting like usual when it came from you.

“well, do it there then,” he stated casually, flipping between pages. you whipped your head towards him, when he doesn’t look back towards you, you let out a scoff at his suggestion.

“what? i don’t mind, i’m not even paying attention.” he glanced at you as he spoke, before returning to his scrawled handwriting.

you still couldn’t tell if he was joking, but you couldn’t seem to care as your thighs started to rub together, trying to resist the urge to reach into your underwear and satisfy the ache.

eddie notices your hesitance, and your shifting thighs, and places his notebook down momentarily before moving to his knees in front of you. without a word, or so much as a glance he brings his hands to grasp at the waist of your shorts. he nodded to you slightly, his eyes still trained downwards, prompting you to lift your hips.

he slides them down with ease, pulling your underwear down with them. he pushes your thight apart, using two fingers to spread you out, you simply waiting for his next move; too high to question his motives. too needy. he splays his palm towards you, waiting for your hand.

you gave him your hand, but he grasped your wrist, and he guided your fingertips to rest against your throbbing clit, pressing them with his into your bud and assisting the slow circular motion. you gasp at the pressure, and soon enough eddies climbing away from you, removing his hand from yours.

you continue the movements he’d been guiding you with, as he nestles back into his spot and continues writing in his notebook, short glances strewn your way every time you whimpered.

“shit,” you cursed, your forefinger dipping down into your yet untouched hole. the squelching from between your legs was filthy, and it caught eddies attention- along with the borderline pornographic moan.

his eyes stray from the notebook, down to your soaked core. his lip is pulled between his teeth and he lets out a hiss at the sight- his dick hardening at an astounding pace in his pants.

with your eyes closed you don't seem to notice as he begins rubbing his hard-on through his pajama pants- one hand still holding the notebook open. he listens carefully to your blissful moans and whimpers of his name as if he were the one touching you.

it was only fate that the song he'd been writing was about some fucked up version of a one night stand with a friend- he glances back at the words and without hesitation he pushes himself off of the bed and walks to his dresser.

"mmm, what're ya doin' ed?" your eyes crack open to see him grabbing something. he walks back to you with one hand behind his back, his other clutching the now closed notebook at his side.

he tossed the book to his side of the bed, still watching your hands ministrations to your cunt.

"shhh, don't talk- just let me hear you."

you don't hesitate to let out another guttural moan, fingers deep inside yourself, staring directly at him.

his eyes go wild and his smiles so wide you can't imagine his cheeks aren't sore. "say my name, pretty please." you hear a soft click and before you can question it you're squirming and pulsing around your own fingers.

you revel in your release, letting out that same pornographic moan that had caught his attention before and let out a breathy scream of his name. "eddie, please!"

sweat beaded your forehead, you gasp to catch your breath as you slowly remove your fingers- a sick squelch coming from your pussy before you hear that click again.

eddie pulls his hand from behind his back, a tape-recorder cemented in his palm. he plays it back to you, and you shrivel with embarrassment as the moan of his name and the sounds of your own body play back to you.

"ugh, you ass!" you quickly lurch forward and grab it from his hand and flip him off threatening to erase the recorded sound.

"hey! don't you dare, i need that." he snatches it back from your grasp. you give him a questioning glance, your left eyebrow perched higher than the other and an almost-frown as you tilt your head slightly.

there go those wild eyes of his, once more, followed by a short- sharp smack to your ass, "for your feature on my soon-to-be latest, and greatest, banger."

[mitsuristoleme]

I just saw your requests are open so I might as well jump in BECAUSE SKDNDNSN ok buttttt what about sukuna + his tummy having a mind of its own BEFORE you were their wife, like, you know nothing about this man but everytime you come in sigh you hear the most direct cat calling you've come across only to see a man with an expression of "God kill me now" so you don't know what's happening but it makes you really curious so you just... Provoke him? Like, use revealing clothing, put on an expensive perfume, etc. AAAH I Just love that hc of his stomach mouth having a mind of its own istg aaaa

a/n: ok so im gonna write this in a modern au because lets be real heian era Sukuna did NOT care about dating/courting

formatted into a bullet point headcannon post because im having way too much fun with this and nothing is connected in a cohesive form (pls forgive me for that but my brain is going ham with this concept)

cw: gn!reader, cursing, sexual content, bestie!gojo, Sukuna’s tummy mouth is a menace but wbk

imagine you’re a teacher at jujutsu high and a special grade sorcerer (because i enjoy feeling strong and this is a little self indulgent) (yall can choose if you want to be gojo’s classmate or nanami’s it doesn’t really impact anything)

Sukuna gets reincarnated without a vessel (dont ask me how it just happens ok) and to everyone’s surprise, he volunteers to be an instructor at jujutsu high

he says its to “make these pathetic kids somewhat decent sorcerers so they dont ruin the name of jujutsu”

for whatever reason, the higher ups assign him a spot among the teachers at the school

imagine your shock when this 1000 year old 7 foot tall motherfucker shows in the middle of your class to introduce himself as the new teacher

you’d heard about his whole situation but you didn’t expect him to show up in the middle of a lesson

you attempt to shoo him away but he doesn’t even move (i mean what did you expect really?) and you’re forced to end class early

weirdly enough he keeps a hand clamped over his stomach the entire exchange?? you chalk it down to a stomach ache or something (that night you do wonder if curses, or er, the king of curses, even get physical pains)

ok so before i get into the whole thing lemme just-

in my head, the tummy mouth has the humour of a middle school boy and the self control of the dog from ‘absolutely anything’

so yk. its a mess.

you see him the next day in the staff room

hes wearing a starched white shirt (it accommodates all his four arms and you question how he got one made in a single day) and a pair of fitted slacks, looking WAY too good for a curse

you realise you’ve been staring through the glass window if the staff room and finally enter

only to be greeted by a LOUD wolf whistle followed by a “OOOOH HEY HOT THANG” in the deepest, raspiest, most demonic ass voice you’ve ever heard

sukuna looks like he wants to kill himself.

he gets up and leaves the room immediately

you hear the a faint “NO GO BACK AND FLIRT WITH THEM YOU WIMP ASS HOE” in the same demonic voice as he stalks away

and you’re standing there

wondering what the actual fuck just happened

did you just experience harassment in your workplace?? but his mouth never even moved???

Gojo enters the staff room right after Sukuna vanishes and you IMMEDIATELY fill him in on whatever happened in hopes that he would have any explanation

hes confused, curious and amused all the same time

this doesnt mean hes of any help though

no, the piece if shit just laughs at you and goes off to terrorise the first years take class

before leaving he very unhelpfully reminds you that you have to share classes with Sukuna today

you enter the classroom a couple minutes before the students (you literally have 4 students and one of them is a panda god knows what the point of 2 teachers for such a small class is) and find Sukuna already in the room, leaning back on the chair, his legs resting on the table, eyes closed

once again

looking WAY too fine

just as you internally celebrate that nothing weird happened THE SAME OLD DEMONIC VOICE booms a “DAMN BABY YOU LOOK FINE, CMON LEMME TAKE YA HOME”

“wha- I- Eh??? I’m sorry what the fuhck?!?” you sputter, eyes wide

Sukuna has leaped up from his chair, a mixture of embarrassment and murderous rage on his face

he hisses a “shut the fuck up” in the vague direction of his abdomen before turning to you and apologising

“i am so sorry,” he says sheepishly “i owe you an explanation at the very least after two incidents”

“OI DONT APOLOGISE ASK THEM OUT THEY’RE HOT AND I KNOW YOU THINK SO TOO”

“I WILL LITERALLY FUCKING SEW YOU SHUT IF YOU DONT STAY FUCKING QUIET”

and once again. you’re standing there. shook.

Sukuna turns to you again with an expression that clearly says ‘Gods please strike me down right now’ and asks if you know about him having multiple body parts

you’ve heard of the legends and stories: four eyes, four arms and mouths he can will to appear wherever he wants, so you nod

“Well it just so happens that the mouth on my stomach is sentient, and extremely vulgar. Although i’m sure you noticed the latter.”

his voice is a wonderful contrast to that of his tummy mouth

deep, melodic and smooth

he just got even more attractive.

fuck.

you realise you haven’t given him a response and nod dumbly muttering out a quick “uh-huh”

thankfully the students enter at that moment saving you from any awkwardness

what you have recently come to identify as Sukuna’s tummy mouth stays blissfully quiet throughout the class and shockingly enough the silence on the belly front continues throughout the day as you discuss lesson plans with your ridiculously hot coworker

that night as you’re getting ready for bed, you remember the exchange between Sukuna and his appendage (specifically the part about Sukuna thinking you’re hot) and a mischievous idea forms in your brain (hey gojo satoru’s influence was bound to kick in at some point)

the next day you leave the top few buttons of your work shirt undone and put on some of the pheromone perfume you got as a gag gift in an (what you presume to be potentially successful) effort to rile Sukuna up (lets be real you think hes pretty damn hot too)

clap yourself on the back for that one bestie because the second you enter the staff room, Sukuna’s eyes nearly bulge out of his skull and the tummy mouth starts BARKING

and drooling apparently (how do you know? well maybe because the front of sukuna’s pristine white dress shirt is now sopping wet)

“WIFE THEM UP I SWEAR TO-“

the sound of a coffee cup shattering interrupts whatever was gonna come after that

you’re met with Nanami’s incredibly unimpressed gaze

without saying anything he leaves the room, muttering, “its too early for whatever the fuck this is”

well.

that happened.

yall get together eventually

gojo tells you “i knew you wanted to fuck him”

before you can come up with any sort of response, your boyfriend’s stomach pipes in with a “OH HE DEFINITELY WANTED TO FUCK THEM”

this is your life now.

good luck.

a/n: HI IM HERE TOO THIS TIME!! i left the ‘getting together part kinda up to interpretation because im shit at writing the ‘getting together’ arcs but we’re gonna pretend like it was because i want you to be able to go wild with whatever you want

please dont copy or repost my work without my permission

comments and reblogs are appreciated

check out my masterlist

dividers by @/vanillekiss

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

pt XIV good omens season 2 (still not traumatic) episode 2

Here we go. It might not have been traumatic, but it has made me utterly in love with a fictional character. Great.

While everyone runs around between episode 1 and 2 to use the loo or fetch emotional support fruit, in preparation for my inevitable gay panic for Crowley, I eat an emotional support banana as the intro sequence plays.

I realise too late that bananas remind me of fellatio.

The episode begins. There are incoherent screams of BILDADDY through the chat. The phrase religious fervour and ecstasy comes to mind. I do not say it.

God and Satan are betting on a poor bloke so his goats and kids are going to be dead, Crowley has a permit to wreak havoc, Aziraphale is scandalised.

Gabriel's angel hair is very Lord Farquaad. Everyone agrees.

Jimbriel is determined to make his new dad proud, and rearranges all the books in alphabetical order of the first letter of the first sentence. Aziraphale struggles to compliment him.

CROWLEY LIVES IN THE BENTLEY. I'M READY TO RIP THROUGH REALITY'S FABRIC TO GIVE THAT IMMORTAL SOME LOVE AND AFFECTION. AND OF COURSE HE STILL KEEPS ALL HIS PLANTS AND HAS THEM IN THE BACK. @neil-gaiman WHY MUST YOU CAREFULLY CRAFT BEAUTY THAT BREAKS ME.

Anyway.

NO NOT ANYWAY I'M STILL RAGING BUT WE HAVE A SUMMARY TO DO AND I'M A FUCKING PROFESSIONAL GODDAMN IT.

Angels are assholes. Jimbriel is very supportive bookseller's son.

The shit-job subtlety attempt last episode was very powerful because TOGETHER THEY ARE STRONGER! *unicorn music*

Aziraphale strokes Crowley's chest. The fandom sobs.

Crowley suggests getting humans wet to make them 'vavoom' and the apple falls from my slack jaw mid bite.

Aziraphale and Crowley are shit at interpreting human media.

Job storyline. If I open my mouth I'll start scream-crying about how Crowley didn't even kill the goats. He had both heaven and hell's permission, orders from God and Satan, and he didn't even kill the goats. Anyway no we're not doing this now thanks.

Crowley introduces Aziraphale to food. Aziraphale goes ham on the ox rib while Crowley has a little spring awakening about his kinks. I eat my other emotional support banana in honour of the blowjob angles.

Crowley didn't even want to reveal that he'd saved the goats to Aziraphale even though Aziraphale was looking at him with betrayal, because it was for the goats and he wanted to-

Sorry. I'm so fucking normal about goats.

David Tennant and his son are having a HECK of a time.

All Crowley wanted to do was ask questions and christ if he isn't angelic who is he put goats' safety over his-

Bildaddy is the best cobbler and obstetrician. Gabriel is an idiot.

Back in actual time, Crowley gives up on Aziraphale mid-flashback and they saunter off to facilitate some lesbian romancing.

OUR BOOKSHOP. OUR CAR. PLENTY OF USE.

Boundaries, Aziraphale, please. Someone reminds us that the Bentley is all Crowley has left. I fill with preternatural RAGE again.

Aziraphale poor baby has a crisis over betraying heaven. Crowley comforts him even though Crowley fell so every defence of heaven is an attack to himself. I'm totally normal and start eating my emotional support kiwi.

Still eating my emotional support kiwi when the episode ends. Crowley says Aziraphale is too pure and angelic looking to be a demon which means that she doesn't see how pure and angelic she was while making the stars, she thinks she was marked in some way, imperfect. It is okay for her to fall, not Aziraphale.

Anyway yes summary all done.

BUT THE GOATS. CROWLEY DEFIED HEAVEN AND HELL FOR GOATS. AND-

END END THE SUMMARY NOW.

[whumptober]

Question for the mods because I'm curious :)

What are all of your fave prompts to write about/draw/edit/whatever creative thing you do??

Thanks for the ask anon! It was really fun for us all to come up with our favourites! And for a little more fun, at the end we've added a poll for you guys to let us know which mod's interests best align with your own!

Kitty - My favourite whump tropes are definitely captivity and torture, followed by burning buildings with of course smoke inhalation and oxygen masks and all that, vehicular accidents, and hypothermia (especially when paired with nearly drowning or falling through ice)! I absolutely adore anything with family feels too, especially found family, and although I don't write it much I love a good bit of enemies to lovers too. Characters dealing with mental health issues can also be very therapeutic for me. And of course my whump needs to have a good amount of comfort at the end, so recovery is a very good trope too!

Also, alternate universes are my jam!

Yenn - I love body horror and I go feral for mouth sewn shut. I don't know why that one fascinates me, but I love the horror and helplessness of it. I also deeply love sleep deprivation, maybe because I'm generally sleep deprived (I have nightmares every night). Coming in at a close third is probably Doomed by the Narrative, but only when it's done well, because I can usually spot it from the opening sequence and the fun becomes figuring out how we'll get to the fall. I'm all hurt, little or no comfort.

Surro - Found family will forever be my favourite trope, especially if the dynamic contains that One Whumpee that ties them all together. Parental figures who just so happen to let the One Whumpee get under their skin are also my jam as it makes the comfort that much sweeter. I go ham for misunderstood/outcast characters who sacrifice themselves for the team (and the team get to them just in time). But I also love writing for emotional angst, characters with anxiety (as it’s therapeutic for me) setbacks in recovery, head injuries, angst surrounding scars, and of course BEDSIDE VIGILS! (Especially if those watching the whumpee are wracked with guilt for abandoning said whumpee)

Personally I lean more towards the platonic/comfort side of Whump, but I make sure my characters go through hell to finally get their respite.

Vanne - I’m really unfaithful to tropes most of the time and normally have about a million WIPs going at once. I normally end up going back to more emotionally charged tropes every time though. I write a lot of doomed romances with a lot of emotional angst. I know that’s super vague, but honestly give me tears, rejection, loneliness and a character’s internal struggles and I’m all set. I’m so up for any kind of emotional trainwreck. I also really cycle through tropes that are relevant in my life at a given time, so it’s hard to list specifics. I’m definitely either all in on the hurt, or all comfort depending on the day. I rarely find a balance between the two.

[the-merry-otter]

How To Make Medieval Fabric Buttons

You will need:

• fabric (I’m using a medium weight wool)

• a sewing needle

• cotton or silk thread (it MUST be strong)

• a thimble

• dressmakers pins

Using this style of button as a fastening technique was very prevalent in 14th century Europe, on both men’s and women’s clothing. It was used for anything from sleeves and openings on the front of garments, to the iconic liripipe hoods (which is what these are gonna be for!).

They were usually made out of leftover fabric from the same material that was used for the garment they were intended for. As well as using every scrap of material possible, they also save you from having to buy metal buttons, which… aren’t cheap (both now and then).

The trade off is of course having to make them, which can be a painful process (literally - try not to get stabbed by the hedgehog ball at step 4!!). I thoroughly recommend a thimble to push the needle through as you form the ball - this is hard enough without having to pull it through.

Making buttons in my experience is 10% knowledge, 60% spite, and 30% hatred. It is a contest of wills between you (who wants a button) and the fabric (who doesn’t want to be a button). I wish you luck soldier.

To start with, cut a circle out of your fabric. How big will depend on what fabric you use - if it’s linen, you’d cut a larger circle than you would for wool. Mine is about 30mm.

Using a long long thread, bind on and then sew running stitches around the outside, about 5mm from the edge (may vary with fabric).

Pull this thread tight like a pouch, and turn the raw edges inwards in one direction. Try and tuck them inside the “bag” section. It will likely be more of a squashed oval at this point than a sphere.

Now, get your dressmakers pins and go absolutely ham. Continue to squish it “inward” (towards where the opening was) as you pin. The button should now resemble a very unfriendly little creature now (good luck with not getting stabbed, it can be a bit of a prick).

Next, basically use your needle to try and get it to stay in that shape. I usually do a bunch of stitches around the edge of the “back” end, and then spend some time criss-crossing the back. Try and put your needle in close to where it came out, so that you don’t get long pieces of visible thread.

Once you are confident that it will hold A Shape ™ (but also isn’t so stabbed that you can’t refine it further!), remove the pins. Your button will most likely resemble a little tiny messy wool brain at this point, but that’s ok!

The next step is to use your needle and thread to continue tucking the ball inwards to the centre of where the opening was. Above illustrates how I’ll flip the open part of a fold inward, by coming up through the fold and then levering it downwards so it gets tucked away. You can also just use the thread to pull errant folds inwards. Use the hand holding the button to squash it into form, and then sew it into place.

Once the button is actually a ball shape, crisscross the back of it a bit so that everything is firmly held in place. It should now (all things going well!!) actually be a sphere.

Once you’re happy with the shape and firmness, take your thread to stem out of the centre back. Bind off, and then slide the needle off the thread, leaving the long end. This can then be used to sew the button onto the garment.

The back will still be somewhat messy, but the front should be smooth, and the whole shape roughly spherical. When the button is sewn on using the remainder of the thread, you won’t be able to see the back!

I wrap the remainder of the thread around the finished button so it won’t get tangled, and then pop it in a jar with the rest while it waits to be sewn onto the garment.

Good luck with your crafting! Feel free to ask any questions in the notes, or straight into my inbox :)

[sunnydayaoe]

{Letting Go}

[CCCC FIC] Contains: Platonic Soul, Heart and Mind; sfw pet regression [~2,000 words]

kitten regressed Soul and dog Mind, with caregiver Heart at the very end. From the prompt: "id love to see 2 of HMS regressed at the same time tbh, imagine the chaos lmao" Soul doesn't like regressing in front of the others, but spending time with puppy Mind makes it impossible not to. He learns that maybe it isn't so bad to show a little vulnerability sometimes.

Fic under cut! or on AO3

Soul knew since the moment the day started up he was going to be having a rough day. 

He'd woken up late, something that had started happening much more now that he'd reached concord; no longer did he wake up hours before he needed to, panting and filled with dread, sure that something had gone wrong. His mornings were slower, now. 

The sun had long since risen, and warm soft light reached through his window. It seemed Mind had visited and opened them... He stretched, letting the blanket fall off him and exposing more of him to the sun beams. A slight fuzzyness took root at the back of his mind and he froze as soon as he realized what it was.

He tried to shake it off all morning, of course. Going through his daily routine as best he could. 

Mind hadn't made breakfast, but that wasn't too unusual; sometimes his Mind just wasn't feeling in the mood for it. Maybe it had slept in as well. The customary bowl of coco-pebbles he went for instead only reminded him of cat kibble though, and the milk definitely made it worse. He had to resist the urge to try and eat it without a spoon. 

Even in concord, he didn't know how much he trusted his thirds with him, like this. What would they do if he wasn't at full capacity? A thought he didn't want to explore.

The cereal was done now, leaving only a shallow bit of milk at the bottom of the bowl. He poured it out. 

The rest of the day seemed to be similarly conspiring to get him down as well. Blinds were usually kept open in the house, not including the ones in Heart's room, and the weather was perfect. 

The entire house seems bathed in a warm glow, everything softer than it really was. The atmosphere just beckoning him to take a little catnap. For just a moment.

He shook his head. He really couldn't be having those thoughts. He could get through this. 

---

He could not get through this. 

He'd made lunch, his turn today. It wasn't much, he really wasn't in the mood for anything fancy: some sandwiches, ham and cheese. Heart readily excepted it with a few thankful words, grin sweet. {It always relaxed him to see its thirds, safe, unharmed. He couldn't let himself get too relaxed though, complacency led to mistakes.}

That wasn't what had gotten him though, what had gotten him was his Mind.

He couldn't blame it, especially with how embarrassed she looked. Shame wasn't a good look, at least not in concord. He was setting the plate he'd brought aside and reaching for it before he'd had a second thought. Falling to the floor and cupping its face.

It leaned into his hands after a moment, shushing its cheek against his palm, huffy. She always got a bit huffy like this though, so he didn't pay much mind. "Hey Soul..."

He smiled at it, at the cute little paw gloves it was wearing, the collar around its neck. He ignored the blistering jealousy, how hard it was becoming to stay in the right headspace. Now was not the time. "Hey Puppy. Didn't feel like getting one of us?"

It didn't answer for a moment, just pouting. He didn't really need it to answer, the question more for show than anything. Concord had been short so far, and he really couldn't blame it for having the same instinct as himself. 

With an indulgent sigh he pulled it closer, "C'mere Apollo. I'm sure you've had a rough day puppy, all alone like that. Something happen?" {He ignored how the words struck a chord in him as well; this was about Mind, it was the one actually regressed, who really needed someone with it right now.}

She let herself get dragged into his lap easily, freezing for just a moment before shoving her face into his neck. "Thanks Soul..." Her nose was cold, but her everything was always cold, so he was prepared. A moment more and she had her arms wrapped around him too. "Nothin' happened, just uhm- a bad dream."

He cooed, peppering a few gentle kisses across its cheek at that. "Oh you poor thing, I'm so sorry you had to deal with that. Don't worry though, I'm here now."

Relaxation slowly seeped into its frame, and its arms tightened around him. It seemed she was in a more cuddly mood and not a playful one. A curse and a blessing, because while a rambunctious puppy wasn't the easiest thing to deal with, it certainly wouldn't' be helping his own regression encroaching closer. Not like cuddling would, at least.

Productive, he needed to be productive; that always got him  Groping around the desk he managed to grab the plate he'd originally entered the room to give it and bring it back to the floor without pushing Mind off his lap. "Hungry?"

She lifted her face from his neck at that, curious at his shifting, and eyes zeroing in on the sandwich. It seemed the stress from earlier was melting at the mention of food, cute. He giggled, that single-minded focus it got like this was so cute; no longer overthinking things as much as it usually did, pursuing its wants like a bloodhound with a scent. 

"I'll take that as a yes," he giggled, letting it happily eat out of his hands. He didn't need to feed it, but he knew if he didn't it would probably tear the sandwich apart and only eat only the meat. It only took a moment, messy as it was, heedless of the normal manners Mind always prided itself on. 

Seeming satisfied with that, it went immediately back to trying to get itself as close to him as possible, a difficult task, considering the fact it was already in his lap. It pressed against him, putting more and more weight, and he let it. She seemed to have a plan, and who was he to deny her it? 

Now they were both splayed across the floor, and he let a little crooked grin cross his face. "The floor isn't really the best place for cuddling, bud."

It just huffed, ignoring his words, dragging him a bit to the left and- oh. Right into a sunbeam, right on its soft fluffy rug. With that it flopped down beside him, head laid against his chest. It let out a little rumbly noise, and he knew it was just the voice modulator, just it breathing a satisfied sigh, that it was a dog not a cat, but all he could hear was a purr. He rumbled back before he knew what he was doing.

Once he started it was hard to stop though, snuggled up on a soft rug, enveloped by the warmth of the sun. It didn't seem to mind him falling out of that more in charge role. The productivity he was hiding behind was getting less and less required; it was getting harder to remember why he couldn't be doing this. 

The world seemed to grow fuzzy, and he let it. He curled up a little, bunching up to fit more of him in the sun than out, and his Mind seemed to take this as cue to stretch out, surrounding him. Safe, protected by his Mind. Maybe he could be a kitten... 

Eyes drifting half-lidded, he smushed his face into her chest and let his arms reach out, making biscuits into her side. It arched a little into the affection, maybe the motion was akin to bellyrubs for it? He continued, happy to be sharing the moment with his Mind.

It was a nice, almost ideal, stretch of time. 

The two of them just lazily enjoying each others presences on the rug. At some point he'd ended up curled up on its chest, happily tucked against its neck, a reverse of what they had been doing earlier that evening.

Why was he so opposed to this? Spending time with his lovely, darling Mind, cuddled up to her in a way he usually didn't allow himself...

Foot-steps startled him out of his daze though, and his flinch seemed to do the same to Mind, a low growl emanating from it as it curled around him. The sound was much bigger than he liked, but he reminded himself he shouldn't be scared, because Mind might be a dog but he was a dog that was nice to little kittens.

The door creaked open and he did Not like that. Something about being seen like this felt wrong, and he hissed and struggled in Mind's arms until it released him. Before its wide puppy-dog eyes could guilt him, he'd already shoved himself under the desk. 

Mind followed, completely ignoring the door to sniff at Soul's hiding spot. He hissed again, annoyed and frustrated with its lack of urgency. Sitting like that, the puppy was totally exposed and definitely making it so anybody who found it would find him next. 

"What's going on in here?" 

Both of their attention were dragged right back to the door at that, Heart peaking in. 

Mind wasted no time in bowling into Heart's legs, jumping up and trying to lick at his face. Soul did the opposite, pushing further back under the desk. A futile effort, because Heart was already looking at him. 

Heart gently pushed Mind off of themself, quietly shushing its whines at being ignored, "Just a moment puppy, I need to check in on Soul, okay? Be a good boy okay? Just for a little bit."

She didn't like that, but did quiet down. Unhappily trailing behind Heart as he approached the desk.

"Soul, uh-" They didn't seem to know what to do, drowned in unfamiliar territory. "You too?"

His face burned with shame. He didn't like getting caught like this, didn't like the stress that filled his Heart's voice. He let out a whine. Harmonia, what a mess! 

The noise only made it worse, Heart's face scrunching further in concern and panic. "No no no it's not bad! Promise buddy. Can you tell me what you are?"

Soul really didn't want to, but he'd already caused so much trouble, he should make it easier for Heart... "A- a kitten..."

Heart's face seemed to soften at the admission, a little coo escaping his lips. "Good boy, thanks for telling me, bud." He glanced at Mind, impatiently pawing at the ground and starting to whine, before looking back to Soul, "You had fun hanging out with the puppy?"

He nodded a little, it was pretty nice... "Bigger en' me..."

Mind seemed to preen at that, impatience winning out as it shoved itself under the desk with Soul and curling around him. He relaxed at that, that fuzzy safe feeling returning with it pressed against his side.

"Aww, you've got yourself a little guard dog, huh kitty?" Heart giggled, looking at the two of them, before a more serious look came across his face as he backed up, "Let's get out from under there though, it really can't be comfortable... how about the bed? That sound good?"

Mind didn't answer, just pressing its face into the back of his neck, a comforting weight. It seemed Soul was still going to be the decision maker of the two, even as a kitten. Of course that made sense, cats were way smarter than some dumb dog.

The bed certainly didn't sound that bad though, and Mind would definitely follow his lead on his... he nodded, crawling out from under the desk with Mind in tow. 

Heart cheered, and through Soul hiked up his shoulders a tad in embarrassment, he couldn't help a little grin. The praise felt nice. He was on the bed a few moments later, settling down and trying to get comfortable.

It was pristine, and the sheets were cool; Mind's bed, so of course it was cold. Annoying though, and even as Mind crawled in too, eagerly getting settled for more cuddling, he pawed at Heart. He wanted something warm to cuddle with, and if Heart was going to interrupt their little sunspot nap, that made them the volunteer. 

Startled, Heart let out a little laugh. "And here I thought you were a shy little kitten!" He still joined them though, the perfect pillow to settle against, goofy grin plastered across his face. "I can't say no though, can I." Why didn't he do this more often...? Mind snuffling against his neck, Heart's hands gently carding through his hair, he was out in moments.

[lizzieislife94x]

First Love (w.m)

Requested<3

Wanda x G!P reader

 Both legal age 19 in high school

AOU era for wanda so if your picturing wanda picture that era 😊🤷🏼‍♀️

Requestes are very much open message me if you want something all feedback is welcome

Y/ns POV:

"Do we REALLYY need to go to the game I don't want to watch a cocky Tony Stark running around thinking he's the man for scoring a few touchdowns" I pout to my best friend Amy as she laughs at me I'm trying my best to pretend I don't wanna go but I secretly do I've been seeing the head cheerleader Wanda Maximoff she's so fucking beautiful but no one can know I have an image to up hold if people around the school see me with her being all loved up they'll think I'm soft I didn't get the title of the schools bad girl over night I worked to build it but wanda is an absolute sweetheart she's the good girl around these halls well so everyone thinks trust me I've seen her being naughty and I've heard the language that slips past her mouth when we manage to get somewhere alone but in everyone else's eyes she's the good girl I'm the bad girl.

"Hello y/n" I'm snapped out my thoughts by Amy gently shaking me looking at me concerned "are you ok your where somewhere else" I cough and shake myself snapping back to reality "yeah I'm all good sorry just zoned out what where you saying" I give her my undivided attention "yeah I was saying you're coming to the game tonight if you like it or not I'll drag you there" I laugh and throw my hands up in surrender Amy is one of the few people I like in this place I'm never mean to her she's actually my best friend "you win you win ill go" I pretend giving her the victory "ok pick me up at 5pm that's enough time to get home and change " I smile as we say our goodbyes as I walk over to my pride and joy my motorcycle my precious baby I put my helmet on and climb on putting the keys in and starting her up I quickly look left and right and spot wanda as she spots me and I nod and wave without being seen by anyone as I can guess she blushes and waves as I drive off towards my house it takes me roughly 25 minutes to drive home as I park I run inside and go to my bedroom to get some black ripped jeans and an over sized hoodie to match after I get ready I goto the kitchen and make a quick ham sandwich I eat it and grab my phone and keys and head towards the door but stop myself I quickly shoot wandaa text 

Me: Hey I can't wait to see you do your thing tonight I had to pretend I didn't want to come tonight to Amy but I think she bought it 

Wanda: Oh my god 😂 least she doesn't suspect anything I can't wait to see you tonight I miss you y/n after the game meet me in the maths class 

I smile like an idiot as I gently bite my lip before I send another text

Me: I know ! I miss you too wanda and you got it babe see you in maths after the game

I walk out and head to my bike as I put my helmet on and drive towards Amy's house as I pull up and I grab my phone.

Me: I'm outside get yo ass out here bitch 

I put my phone away and wait a few minutes before she appears "well you took your time dickhead" I laugh as she hits my shoulder playfully "shut up let's go" she puts on the spare helmet and climbs on holding onto my waist as I drive towards the school it takes us 15 minutes to arrive and leaves us 10 minutes to get to our seats as we find out seats and get comfortable my eyes look for wanda and instantly land on her making me smile as if she can feel me she locks eyes with me and smiles as I mouth "you got this babe" she bites her lip and nods I honestly want the game to start so it can end I'm not here to watch the men run around I'm here to watch the good girl my good girl that owns my heart do her thing.

After the game I whisper to Amy "ill meet you outside in an hour I have something I need to do" she doesn't question me she just nods in agreement as I make my way to the math class room making sure no one sees me as I arrive my smile is beaming "hey baby, fuck I've missed you" I say walking towards wanda grabbing her waist pulling her in for a kiss which she happily returns as her tounge roams my mouth I savour the feeling, once air becomes a problem I break away and rest my head on hers "I've missed you too y/n" I look into her eyes for a second "we don't have long baby and I need you now" she whimpers making me giggle as I let my hands rub her ass "I have the place to myself this weekend do you wanna spend it with me we can  actually spend some proper days together" I say as she beams me a smile "I'd love to y/n" I smirk and push her against the desk as I start to kiss her neck earning precious moans from the redhead I feel her hand rub my crotch and moan against her neck "fuck wanda" I moan gently as she continues to rub my groaning member "I need you inside me y/n I've missed having you inside me I feel so empty when your not inside me" I bite my lip and smirk at her begging as I pull her panties off in a quick motion earning a surprised gasp making me giggle I quickly bend her over the desk and run my hand down her body admiring her as she spreads her legs I quickly push my ripped jeans and boxers down as I grab my dick and rub it through her dripping cunt lubing my cock with her juices "yes fuck y/n" she moans gripping the desk as I slowly slide myself into her waiting cunt "fuck wanda no matter how many times I fuck you you're always so fucking tight" I groan as I thrust hard bottoming out inside her "uhhhh shit don't stop uhhhh" I smirk as I run my hand round to massage her tits over her top as I start to thrust harder and faster both of us moaning messes the sound of skin slapping would easily be heard by anyone walking past "this pussy belongs to me, say it "

I growl into her ear as she whimpers beneath me the sounds of her soaking pussy only turning me on more "fuck y/n you own me you own my pussy its all yours no one elses baby" I lift her legs allowing me to get deeper as I fuck her harder feeling her walls gripping my cock, I increased my thrusts and look down as she creams all over my cock "fuckkk fucckk fuckkk baby I can't oh fuck" she screams making me smirk "fuck wanda I'm gonna cum but I don't have a condom on" I say with my eyes closed as my release fast approaches rushing towards me "pull out quickly " I instantly listen and pull out as she sinks to her knees and takes my cock into her mouth making me moan as my head rolls back making me grip her hair "shit just like that wanda it's coming" she tries to say something but fails sending vibrations up my dick causing me to crash over the edge I moan loudly as I feel my cum shoot down her throat after a few seconds she stands up and pulls me into a kiss "I have to go but I can't wait to spend the weekend with you baby getting to wake up to your beautiful face" she says as she walks backwards towards the door as I fix my jeans and boxers "me too ill see you Friday after school beautiful " and just like that she's gone, fuck I'm so inlove with this chick this is gonna hurt, I shake my head and laugh to myself as I go to the front of the school and see Amy waiting for me we both get onto the bike and I start the drive to her house to take her home then make the short drive to my house.

AN: this was a request I hope you like it requests are open I do them almost right away hahaha stay hydrated people hope everyone has a good day/ night word count is 1.5k 

[so-long-soldier-writes]

absolutely random kol mikaelson headcanons

huge maneskin fan

has an anxious habit of biting his nails that bex often scolds him for doing

heavily reliant on autocorrect whenever he texts

he can spell just fine, but is still getting used to the small keyboard

a lot of the time, he pushes 'enter' instead of the send button, expecting it to send, but it just makes a new paragraph and his texts are never actually sent

it pisses his siblings off big time

canonically spends time in records shops to flirt with girls, but secretly has a record player and owns many albums

100% pulls harmless pranks on his siblings, and 50% of the time, they never realize it was him

but one time, he meant to scare bex by hiding behind a door, and accidentally scared elijah, and the man had a fit of rage at his youngest brother after nearly jumping out of his own skin

thinks damon would be a cool friend / murder / prank buddy if they could put aside their differences (wanting each other dead) and give it a try

definitely has mommy issues (what mikaelson doesn't?), but his make him more passive than aggressive

the only people he's ever opened up to, he's ended up killing out of fear of his secrets being shared

loves a good fruity cocktail every now and then, but it's a secret he guards with his life

bonus points if the straw has an umbrella

was never actually going to kill jeremy, he just wanted to get under bonnie's skin

however, he was ready to kill any of them that wanted to raise silas

and would've killed april young for fun had she not been a friend of his sister's, and he and his sister were getting along that day

has a playlist full of songs from musicals that is locked from his profile, just in case one of his siblings look at his account (btw, elijah pays for the family spotify account)

and since elijah pays for spotify, kol pays for netflix, bex pays for disney+, and klaus pays for hbo

they all get the money from the same place, but they feel like they're making meaningful contributions to the family by putting their names on these specific bills

when kol died, bex was not happy about having to pay for two streaming services, but she was not about to miss out on finishing the shows she had started

when kol came back, she immediately gave him back his payment responsibility

whenever they're pissed at each other, they change the password and the one at whom they're mad has to complete a series of puzzles to get access to the new password

kol started this, but klaus does it the most

has a secret affinity for iced coffee, and goes ham for pumpkin spiced lattes every year

pumpkin flavored everything, really

when bex finds out, the teasing never ceases

kol and bex spend halloween together watching movies all day, but then going out and scaring children at night

elijah chides them for being childish, so sometimes they sneak out before he can ruin the fun

wants to kill matt donovan solely for the fact that he slept with his sister

wanted to kill him before, but now it's personal

secretly adores hope, even though klaus doesn't let him near her

braids her hair whenever his brother isn't around, then says elijah or bex did it, and klaus doesn't question it

has tea parties with her and lets her paint his nails

when klaus finally catches them, hope defends her uncle, and her father reluctantly lets them continue to hang out

weapon of choice has been a baseball bat ever since he got a huge satisfaction out of hitting damon with one

likes caroline over cami when it comes to klaus' dating life

likes that caroline persistently rejected him despite his multiple attempts to woo her

painted itty bitty ghost into one of klaus' paintings and he has yet to notice

lives in fear of the day he finally does notice (but not enough to regret doing it)

doesn't often drink so much he gets drunk, but on bourbon, he's a rather upset drunk, however on wine, he's a very giggly drunk

touchier than people would think, and many never realize until he is drunk and lets his guard down a little

has a fear of tight spaces

much prefers being a witch, but also enjoys the thrill of tearing off someone's head with his teeth

no outfit is complete without a little bit of blood

[alaffy]

Only Murders in the Building, Ep. 4x04 – Two for the Road (Spoilers)

The cats are back in the opening.  I swear there weren’t that many in the first three seasons. 

Most of this episode was the trio hanging out with their movie counterparts.  It was funny, but I’m not going to recap any of that.  So, this is just going to be more of a random explanation of what was important.

We find out that the F.B.I. has taken over Sazz’s murder case because they think Jan is the killer.  But Detective Williams doesn’t believe that to be the case.  So, she tells the trio that a bullet casing was found, that the people in the apartments did hear the shot (but didn’t call the police?) and they’re saying that it couldn’t have been Dudenoff as they are out of the country (which is convenient).

Charles and Eugene investigate the man with Pink Eye.  He really does have Pink Eye.  He also has a picture of everyone living in those apartments, with one person’s face scratched out.  That person is also holding the pig from the apartment in the picture.

Mabel and Eva visit Christmas Guy.  Turns out he’s an Influencer who’s theme is Christmas.  He actually hates it (and, given the fact that they thought he might have wanted Charles dead because Charles had real Christmas trees banned in the complex…well, that’s a no go).  But, we do have two things that happen in that apartment.  First off, he has his own Ham Radio that suddenly plays the theme from Perfect Strangers (this I’ll come back to in a moment).  Second, Mabel shows Christmas Guy the tinsel.  He tries to set it on fire and it doesn’t burn.  He explains that tinsel is very flammable, so this string isn’t what they think it is.

Oliver and Zach hang around each other (Zach hating every minute of it), while Howard listens to the Ham Radio.  Howard writes down everything he hears in a notebook that he gives to Oliver.  He also mentions he heard the theme to Perfect Strangers.

Mabel gets the idea to squat in Dudenoff’s apartment.  She believes the apartment isn’t abandoned and if she squats in it, it will force Dudenoff to come back.  However, long story short, the trio eventually realize that both Mabel and Howard heard the theme song.  They look at Howard’s notes and discover a channel, that they put into the Radio.  There they make contact with a woman, who seems to be Dudenoff.  They start asking her questions, but she says they need to stop or else they’ll end up like the last person who asked (indicating Sazz).

Now, obviously, Dudenoff says this is a way that makes it sound like she’s threatening them.  However, we know this show won’t reveal the killer so soon.  That being said, obviously she knows something about Sazz’s murder.  The question is, of course, what does she know?  The interesting thing to me is that she said that, if they continue, they would end up the same as Sazz.  Well, if Charles was the target, it wouldn’t matter either way. I think Sazz was right about another murderer, but wrong about the fact that they were trying to kill Charles.  But her investigation riled this person’s feathers, and they killed her.

Because one of Sazz’s notes seems to indicate a poisoned dog.  It was Oliver’s dog who was poisoned in season one and a letter was left.  But Jan denied being the one who did it (and given the fact she was willing to talk about her other exploits, I feel like she’s not lying).  So, who poisoned the dog?  And why?  And why go silent after Jan was caught?  Did the trio get close to something in Jan’s case, maybe some sort of secret, that they didn’t in the others?  (I mean, the writers literally broke Jan out of jail for this…I have a feeling we might see her again).

[quaranmine]

A long ramble about hand held radios, and Firewatch AU

I'm playing fast and loose with two-way radios in Firewatch AU, lol. But to be fair, I knew that going in and so should you have. My dad's got a HAM radio license so I asked him some questions earlier in the week which he's more than happy to talk about.

Firstly, and I already knew this, but there is little chance Grian and Scar would be able to talk to each other from anywhere. VHF (very high frequency) radios are very much line of sight, and things like mountains will easily block the signal. VHF is the type of radio that would be found on top of fire towers, though. A fire lookout's height is dual purpose: not only is it tall enough to keep watch from, but it's talk enough for an antenna, repeater, etc for the Forest Service to communicate on. So, Grian and Scar would easily communicate from the tower but not from the ground.

I think it's a better story to just stretch reality a bit and have them been in communication more easily, though. The game of Firewatch did the same. But I have to admit it's an interesting narrative challenge if they could only communicate from their towers. However, I prefer the story as it is, even without this aspect of realism. There are places in the story where I've attempted to acknolwedge this by mentioning that the signal is weaker.

UHF (ultra high frequency) is also an option for them, perhaps? My dad did not talk as much about it. It seems like these are used more by emergency services (police, fire, etc.) My brief google searching says they're slightly better for ground communications where there's stuff in the way, like concrete buildings. But they can still be blocked, though since they are also mostly line-of-sight based. VHF was better at open distance, hence my dad telling me the lookout would use that. I found a document from the National Interagency Fire Center with approved radios for wildland firefighting and it listed both UHF and VHF with no notes on which was preferred.

If you're wondering why the difference is important, it's mostly the frequencies they work at. VHF band radios work at 30-300 MHz and UHF is 300 MHz to 3 GHz. Honestly though, I'm not sure the true differences between these--is a specific range of frequencies better than others, or just different? Anyway, FM radio (like in your car) is in the same range as VHF if you were wondering.

Unfortunately I still don't understand frequencies very well. I've used frequency and channel interchangeably in the fanfic but channel is more so "the programmed/designated number on the radio" and the frequency is the actual...wavelength? Mostly, I want to know if it is possible for Grian and Scar to actually have their own channel to talk on.

In the game Firewatch, this specifically is never acknowledged or covered IIRC. What does happen is that Henry and Delilah realize someone is listening in on their conversations, since anyone with a radio can tune into that channel and monitor it. The person on the other end accidentally makes a sound (would have had to be transmitting while doing so) and gives themself away. So Delilah brings Henry a new radio on a different channel so they can speak "freely" again (only if their new frequency wasn't discovered.)

What the game doesn't acknowledge, that I have acknowledged, is that the radios that fire lookouts use go out to the entire Forest Service. Fire lookouts do not have chill chats with each other. That is not how the job works. Fire lookouts give reports as needed and otherwise monitor the channel for other updates. When a lookout reports a fire, there is another Forest Service employee on the other end who takes that report. If a fire is happening, important information will be shared on the line. If there is some other issue a ranger needs to report, it will be shared on the line. There is no space for personal chats because it is business-only, and the air needs to be clear if someone in the National Forest has to radio in an emergency. This was pretty much immediately clear to me when I picked up Philip Conor's memoir about being a lookout.

In fact, here's the radio frequencies used by the Wapiti Ranger District in Shoshone National Forest:

But, we like radio chats! We want our characters to be able to speak to each other freely! That's one of the things that makes Firewatch such a magical game, and it's basically the core plot-moving piece of my story as well. So I improvise, and thus in chapter one of my fic Scar tells Grian to note down their personal channel that is different from the Forest-wide one.

So why am I concerned if it's actually possible for them to have a channel? What I've written seems plausible enough?

Well, I am inexperienced. I do not know much about radios and even my chats with my dad didn't illuminate this much for me. I know that there are channels within frequency bands that are locked from use (i.e. your VHF radio can't intercept someone's cell phone call) and channels with designated use. You are also supposed to have a license to transmit on many channels, but things like a Wal-Mart walkie talkie or a CB radio can be operated by non-licensed individuals only on the specific channels they are programmed on, the national license-free channels. I don't personally give much mind to whether Grian and Scar are licensed or not, I feel like they operate under the FS and are just doing their little thing on the side (legal or not.)

What channel are Grian and Scar using, if it is a labeled one? Do "random" channels exist, if you just tuned your radio to a random frequency? Do all channels have designations? And where do things like repeaters fall into this? I read mention of TX tone and RX tone and immediately got lost. AFAIK some radios literally cannot transmit on certain frequencies without modification. I'm just not savvy enough on the subject to answer my own questions, unfortunately!

When my dad gives me and my mom radios when we hike, he told me we're just using the National Calling Frequency, 146.520. Since our VHF hand held radios have little power, it's unlikely that we will be intercepted. I can confirm though that I have used this radio and heard pieces of other people's conversations come through, though.

So back to channels, and what I do know, and what I'm working with. The 2M band (144-148 MHz) is the most popular for radio operators to talk on, so it's probably something in that range that they use. Honestly, the list of frequencies adjacent to the National Calling Frequency in this article below is the closest I have come to getting an answer.

Basically...I think Grian and Scar are just using a random 2m band talk frequency, that anyone could intercept if they wanted. But since they are in such a remote area, there is little to no chance of their conversations being overpowered by someone with a stronger radio. They more or less have privacy simply because so few people are in that area using that frequency. They are using a talk frequency separate to the National Forest frequency in order to have personal conversations and not cause interference with their jobs. In my AU, Grian has only his one radio and mostly keeps it on the frequency where he can talk to Scar. Scar has more senority in the job and more equipment at his lookout, so he monitors several frequencies at once.

And that's the end of this world's most confusing post on radios, thanks!

[superpyodan]

40 questions...

31 (and 3?)

Do you take liberties with canon or are you very strict about your fic being canon compliant?

bro... i'm creating my own canon 😭 i really care very little about the canon. stardew is such an open-ended game and leaves so much to interpretation that i'm entirely not bothered about canon compliance, to a certain extent. i try my hardest to keep the characters, well, in character. i use the canon festivals and whatever. i wouldn't change anything that is glaringly important (eg. the fact that harvey is a doctor) but other than that i just go ham, mostly. and it seems to work, so... no complaints from me

Is there a trope you wouldn't touch with a 10 foot pole?

i think you already know this one. the majority of the time, i cannot stand enemies to lovers. like, an enemies to lovers story has to be done REALLY well for me to enjoy it, and so, i'd never write one either. of course no negativity towards people who do like/write enemies to lovers!!! it's just... not my thing. it stresses me out too much 😭