#I like my adverbs okay

[bedlamsbard]

for the wip game: fly?

"I probably can’t fly you into Russia, even after the war ends,” he warned.

[silverysongs]

quite a nasty ride

The ride back from London was terrible. Arthur’s ridiculous rhyme about the weather played in a loop in her head, and not for the first time did Guenevere curse the climate in England. Rain smacked on the top of the carriage, deafening when they passed under a copse of trees, and she closed her eyes against her pounding headache. The bruise throbbing underneath her eye and across her cheekbone kept her from leaning against the carriage wall.

Across from her, Sir Lionel sat scowling at the sword in his lap. She was certain he had his own bruises; she could see a line of dried blood trailing down his cheek even though his head was bowed. He hadn’t spoken to her except to apologize, profusely, face aghast, before they had set off again rattling down the road. As irritating and unpleasant as he was, she reflected, at least he had enough integrity to be remorseful.

Finally the noise of the carriage changed from rumbling to rattling—a sure sign that they were on cobblestones and not a dirt road. She couldn’t bring herself to feel relief.

Lionel dismounted first and then helped her down, surprisingly gentle. They made their way into the castle, painfully slow it seemed, or at least painful and slow. Her head still ached, and she had a suspicion that Lionel kept her hand tucked into his arm on purpose so that she wouldn’t stumble.

“Where to, ma’am?” he asked quietly.

She sighed. “The king’s office, Lionel.” She didn’t say thank you and he didn’t bristle like she thought he might.

They passed servants and knights as they moved through the halls, who watched their battered queen with wide eyes. She forced the corners of her mouth up to try and make an appearance of serenity, but she wasn’t sure it was very convincing.

Then Lancelot rounded the corner, and she felt a stab of dread. He stopped, bowed his head to her in respect, and then took a second look with narrowed eyes. “Your majesty—” he began.

“We were accosted by bandits on the road,” Lionel interrupted. “Entirely my fault. Which is what I’m going to relay to the king.”

“Your majesty—” Lancelot repeated, looking intently at her, but she held up a hand.

“I’m fine, Sir Lancelot,” she said, summoning the scraps of her imperiousness. “No need to hover. I’m retiring to my rooms as soon as we see the king.”

She meant it as a dismissal. He pressed his lips together very tightly, face a blaze of fury, but he nodded. “Sleep well, your majesty,” he said, and turned sharply on his heel back the way he’d come.

She had known he would be angry, and she was already exhausted by it. He had hated Sir Lionel since he joined the Table, and this would only made him hate Lionel more, which would create an even larger chasm between the English knights and their single French compatriot. And besides that, he would regret his anger—she could practically see him at the Table, shrinking himself to be smaller, shifting guilty glances her way—and he would treat her as though she were made of glass for the next few days, scared of hurting her more.

Lost in her thoughts, she was almost surprised when they reached the king’s office. The door was open, and she could see him at the desk, surrounded by uneven burning tapers, gnawing on the end of a quill. What a terrible habit, she thought, but even through her fatigue the thought was fond.

He looked up when they entered, smiling. “Genny! And Sir Lionel,” he said. “I didn’t expect to see you together.”

“It’s not for a happy occasion, your majesty,” Lionel said heavily.

The smile faded from the king’s face, and he rose from the desk. “Sir Lionel,” he said, suddenly very serious, “why does my queen have a black eye?”

Lionel cleared his throat. “We were coming back from the fair and we were attacked,” he said. “There were highway robbers, waiting for some unsuspecting carriage.”

The king didn’t take his eyes off her face. “And you were unsuspecting?”

She heard the note of danger in his voice. “Arthur,” she said tiredly. “It was raining, and it was growing dark. He fought all three of them off once they were on us. Don’t judge him too harshly.”

“On the contrary, your majesty,” Lionel insisted, “I take full responsibility for whatever punishment you would give me.”

Arthur gave a long and hard look at his knight. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, only that like Lancelot, he was angry. When Arthur felt any strong emotion, he talked, and right now she could feel a tirade building. Please, she wanted to say, even though it was childish. Please don’t argue. Please don’t raise your voices. Just leave and let me go to sleep.

“I will think on it, Lionel,” he said finally. “I’m not in the best state of mind right now, and I’m afraid I’d be unjust. But I do thank you for getting the queen safely home.”

Lionel bowed his head. “Your majesty.”

Arthur watched him leave. His eyes flickered back to Guenevere’s face when the door scraped shut. “You could have been killed,” he said quietly. “They could have held you for ransom. Or taken you back to France.”

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” She was trying to be ironic but she could hear it fall flat.

His expression softened. “Let me look at you,” he said, taking her hand and guiding her to a chair. “Sit down. How did this happen?”

He was reaching a hand to her face, and she sighed. “When they jumped the carriage, one of the men slammed my head against the window,” she said. “I think they were trying to knock me out.”

He touched her chin, gently, and moved her head to the side so that he could see. Whatever he saw there, he winced at. “You’ll be a sight for a few days.”

“Do you know what you’re looking for?” she asked, scrounging up some dry wit.

“Believe it or not,” he said, peering at her hair, “when you’re fighting a war someone’s bound to fall off a horse. We all learned what to look for pretty quickly.”

His tone was light, but she bit her tongue. She didn’t want to think of the war. And horses made her think of the bandits, and she had determined not to think of them tonight, not when the memory still made her heart speed up.

He probed at her scalp and she flinched. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “You might have a headache in the morning, but you’ve got quite the goose egg, so I think you’ll be all right to sleep.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

His eyes showed surprise. “For what?”

“For not getting angry at Lionel,” she said. “For not starting a duel for my honor right here in this office.”

He smiled. “Believe me,” he said, rising and fetching a damp cloth, taking her face gently, rubbing the dried blood away from her face. “I’m angry, all right. In fact, I’m tempted to cancel the cattle show in London henceforth. Forever.”

“But?” she asked, then winced as he moved to her scalp. He stopped for a moment, and his hand dropped to her shoulder, steadying, almost as though he hadn’t thought about it.

“But,” he said. His eyes, so blue, and soft like water. “I was telling the truth. I didn’t think I would be fair to Lionel if I dealt him a blow here in this room.”

She had to bite the inside of her cheek very hard, to not show her disappointment on her face. “I see.”

“And,” he continued, focused again on her head, “besides all that, you looked exhausted.” His eyes darted to her face, very quickly, and then away.  

Now she was smiling, despite the stinging pain as he tried to be gentle with the cloth. “I see,” she said again in a lighter voice.

He worked silently for a few more moments, and then finally leaned away. She was sorry for the loss of him. “Well,” he said, “that’s the most of it, anyway.”

The relief must have showed on her face, because he smiled. “What a day you’ve had.”

“Wait till you hear about the cattle,” she said.

He laughed. “Come on, Genny. To bed with you. You can tell me about the cows tomorrow.”

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

The Bridge Is Crossed (Excerpt)

I say ‘excerpt’ as if there’s literally any other piece of this fic that exists -- there Is Not. This is the first and so far only example of this fic, but this scene would not leave me alone so here we are. This is essentially a play-by-play of The Point of No Return as narrated by Raoul (Lan Xichen) having to watch his lover get felt up and like it very publically by the madman they’re all there to take down. So hot lol. I do recommend listening to the song (the Gerard Butler/Emmy Rossum version) while reading if you feel so inclined, but it’s hopefully not necessary to get the same sense of tension and rhythm and sensuality. But also: forgive me father, for I have thoroughly abused my repertoire of adverbs in my effort to make this feel like music lol.

ANYWAY, here you go @wishthatiwasnessiesgirl, @wincestielfttfwin, and anyone else who’s excited about this lol:

-/-

Meng Yao looks so…small down on the stage. Lit by gas lamps, eyes dusted dark and wide, face pale, cheeks rouged pink, he looks as innocent as he’s meant to be. Delicate, breakable. Positioned to be taken advantage of.

Lan Xichen’s heart clenches in his chest, his fist on the gold banister of the fateful Box Five, waxed and polished to gleaming save for where the sweat gathering on his palm has smudged the finish. Meng Yao’s performance thus far has been flawless despite the fear he’d wept out into Lan Xichen’s shoulder just fifteen minutes before curtain, but the longer the show goes on without any sign of their Phantom the more likely he is to break under the unbearable strain of waiting.

There is a brief lull in the space between the plan being agreed upon between Don Juan and his faithful servant and the beginning of the agreed upon seduction, and within that breath Lan Xichen feels the air change. Imperceptible, perhaps just a trick of his imagination, but the moment Meng Yao settles on his mark – downstage left, so brightly lit this close to the lamps he seems to glow from within, pure and untouched – Lan Xichen knows, deep in his bones, that this is it. The climax, the pivotal moment of this narrative their Phantom has concocted. There is no doubt in his mind, even before Don Juan returns to the stage suddenly taller, broader, and far younger beneath his mask than Wen Ruohan has been in quite some time, that this is the moment they’ve been waiting for through weeks and weeks of anxiety-fuelled rehearsals, and the slow terror of this horrible opening night.

Don Juan stage whispers his instruction to his servant, and for that moment he sounds enough like Wen Ruohan that the difference is likely not immediately obvious to those in the audience who aren’t nearly as familiar with their cast as Lan Xichen is. But then he opens his mouth to sing, and there is no room for doubt any longer.

An uneasy ripple passes through those in the know – the guards and the police stationed everywhere they possibly can be, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji in their Managers’ Box across the theater, the chorus dancers Lan Xichen can barely see huddled in uneasy clusters around the legs in the wings to watch – but no one yet makes a move. The Phantom is unpredictable after all, and the last thing any of them want is to see Meng Yao injured in haste, so they must let it go on until the perfect moment to strike.

The tension spirals upwards on the drifts of smoke from the torches that dot the set, and Meng Yao turns slowly to look over his bared shoulder, kneeling on the stage, a red rose falling from limp fingers back into the basket at his knees as he must register the arrival of his Phantom. Lan Xichen can no longer see his expression, but he can only hope that his perpetual mask – or his stage acting – is good enough to hide how petrified he must be.

There is no denying the magnetism of the Phantom, Lan Xichen realizes with a bit of a start. His voice is rich and warm, sweeping through the theater with a confidence, a power, that even Wen Ruohan doesn’t always possess. He sings of passion, and succumbing, and deep, dark desires that need not be hidden any longer – private things laid bare for the world to know in a way that makes Lan Xichen’s stomach clench in the hushed silence between phrases, in the rests of the rising sweep of the orchestra.

The urge to stop this all, to bundle Meng Yao off the stage into his arms and let law enforcement handle this madman they’ve all become servant to nearly overwhelms him. But the Phantom is gently, carefully, almost tenderly leading Meng Yao across the stage by the hand, slow, cautious steps further and further stage right, away from Lan Xichen, away from immediate help, and so Lan Xichen simply clenches his fist hard enough to leave imprints of his nails in his palm and stays silent.

A swell of strings, a building intensity in volume and tempo both. The lonesome, sweet call of violins rising above the orchestra to sing along and enrich the demands of the seducer. Coaxing, entreating, and Lan Xichen feels every beat of it in his chest while Meng Yao follows where he’s led, helpless. Innocent.

There is the briefest pause, a mere half-beat of rest at the end of a series of leading questions, and then Meng Yao’s sweet tenor is rising high into the rafters, a breath of fresh air sweeping through the haze of dark devotion delivered by his ‘Don Juan’. He turns back to where he began, feet bare under the uneven hem of his beaded sort-of-skirt as he crosses to his first mark and then closer still to the edge of the stage, seeming close enough to touch though Lan Xichen knows it’s impossible from this height.

For the first time since the Phantom stepped onto his stage, Meng Yao looks up to meet Lan Xichen’s eyes once again, his gaze clear and reassuring as his voice soars easily through the music written obsessively, lovingly, possessively just for him. There is a flicker in the corner of Lan Xichen’s eye, the turning of a masked gaze up to where he sits, piercing and intense, but Lan Xichen keeps his own gaze on Meng Yao and recognizes in him the silent signal, ‘Not yet. Wait.’.

Lan Xichen will trust Meng Yao a little farther, and he will have to hope he can save him in time.

Those present who are not nearly so versed as he in Meng Yao’s mannerisms misunderstand – behind him he hears the metal clock of a gun being readied, and when he glances across the theater it’s to see Wei Wuxian stumbling from his seat to bring the police officer outside their box inside, standing at the ready. Lan Xichen uncurls his fist long enough to lift his palm from the banister in the universal gesture to stand down, and everyone settles into uneasy attentiveness once again as onstage Meng Yao sings of fantasy, and of entwining bodies, and of how badly he wants to give into it all.

Meng Yao turns back to face the Phantom then, full of resolve, and Lan Xichen tells himself that it is not the rejection it feels like, it is simply the role Meng Yao has to play for all of their sakes. The caught lover, not so innocent as he first appeared, willing to lie down and accept the affection that was meant to be forced upon him. Lan Xichen knows this, but something looming and possessive takes root in his hollow chest as the gaping collar of Meng Yao’s barely-existent shirt slips down, both shoulders abruptly bared once again as he turns his back on Lan Xichen and the Phantom takes several breaths deep enough that Lan Xichen can see his chest expanding all the way from the balcony, his lips parted beneath the harsh line of his mask, clearly as affected as Lan Xichen would be were he the focus of such sensual attention.

The music swells again, Meng Yao’s voice skating effortlessly through his own rising tension as he climbs his set of stairs up to the catwalk high above the rest of the set, the Phantom rising with him, his mirror at stage right. Lan Xichen is drifting to his feet with them before he can think better of it, caught up entirely in the way they don’t dare to look away from each other as they ascend, as they agree through word and deed both to give into the passion blooming between them.

They reach the top, their positions now equal, actively engaged in to lift them to the same height, no more power imbalance now that they’ve knowingly chosen each other. The Phantom sweeps off the cape covering one shoulder and takes the few measured steps necessary to meet Meng Yao in the middle –

Lan Xichen gasps – inaudible under the deafening crescendo of the orchestra and the soaring, flawless twining of their two voices, tenor and bass – as the Phantom suddenly grabs Meng Yao by the narrowest part of his waist and yanks him closer, twists him by the hands to wrap his arms around him, holding him pressed tightly against his chest. Lan Xichen’s vision swims and he can’t seem to catch his breath through parted lips as he watches Meng Yao clutch onto the arm around his waist for dear life, his head tipped back and eyes closed in ecstasy as the Phantom drags his free hand up from Meng Yao’s grasping fingers to caress his chest firmly enough to drag at his thin shirt, to curl around his neck and hold him still, temple pressed to cheek in an unmistakable lovers’ embrace.

And Meng Yao wants it.

Lan Xichen knows him well, knows him intimately, and there is no doubt in his mind – jealousy aside – that right now, in this moment, Meng Yao wants to be nowhere else but in this madman’s arms. Held. Wanted. Adored and admired for all that he is. Lan Xichen’s heart aches but he finds he can’t begrudge his partner even this. His life has been so difficult, so lonesome despite the fact that he’s grown up in the crowded dormitories of the opera house. Is it any wonder he still loves the angel who’d come to him in the night, despite knowing now who his angel truly is?

Lan Xichen sinks back down into his seat as the music lulls, as the theater falls once again into a reverent hush to give the lovers a moment to breathe.

And then, so soft and sweet Lan Xichen doesn’t realize at first that the sweet tenor melody is coming from the Phantom : a plea. An entreaty. So different from the commands of before, the confidence, the power that he’s shown until this. Now instead he’s vulnerable. Tender. At the mercy of Meng Yao and his promise of returned affection. Lan Xichen’s heart aches again for his beseeching, the sweetest and truest desire expressed between them yet, and realizes a few moments too late that their Phantom isn’t singing the words he’d written in the script – they fit the same melody, but they’re the words that Lan Xichen himself had once sung to Meng Yao out on the rooftop, certain at the time that they had been alone in their newly blooming love.

He gasps again, audible this time in the quiet, and feels something twist loose in his chest, something he doesn’t have the time to identify before the music swells again, crescendoes – and Meng Yao rips off his Phantom’s mask with vicious hands that had just moments ago sweetly caressed that ruined face.

“Go!” Lan Xichen shouts, but the Phantom is, as ever, two steps ahead. He grabs Meng Yao once again by the waist and drops abruptly into a trap door built into the set, and through the pandemonium of the audience finally clocking that something has gone horribly wrong Lan Xichen launches himself from his seat and runs through the gilded, marble hallways. He skids to a stop when he reaches the ground floor as people begin to run screaming from the floor seats, and he watches in horror through the open doors and above the heads of the boiling crowd as the chandelier swings wildly from one side of the theater to the other, plaster and wood crashing down from the ceiling as the chain that holds the mass of crystal and flame aloft tears through it all like so much wet paper.

It crashes to the ground with a shock that Lan Xichen feels in every bone in his body, but he doesn’t have the time to stop and help – what can he do in the face of such horrible danger and panic? – and so as his brother’s beloved opera house begins to burn he continues his headlong flight into the wings until he spots a familiar face.

“Huaisang!” he shouts over the din of the opera house denizens screaming and running for their lives as the smell of smoke begins to choke from the roaring fire in the audience. “Where have they gone?!”

Nie Huaisang stares at him for a too-long moment before resolve strengthens his weak features, and Lan Xichen watches the mask of the simple but sharp-eyed ballet master fall away to quietly reveal a man with nerves as steady as his own.

“Follow me. I’ll take you to him.”

Without another word they run into the bowels of the opera house, down, down, down to where the gilding and the marble and the velvet all cease, where the walls are no longer the humble wood and plaster of the backstage areas, but are instead cold wet stone, flickering torchlight, and an endless staircase down, down, down into the depths.

Lan Xichen is going to end this once and for all, one way or another.

[transmasc-tabris]

.

[maelancoli]

Writing Intimacy

i often see writers sharing a sentiment of struggling with writing kiss scenes which honestly bleeds into other portrayals of physical intimacy. i see it a lot in modernized styles of writing popularized by the recent trend in publishing to encourage short, choppy sentences and few adverbs, even less descriptive language. this makes intimacy come across awkward, like someone writing a script or clumsy recounting of events rather than a beautiful paragraph of human connection.

or just plane horniness. but hey, horny doesn't have to be mutually exclusive with poetic or sensual.

shallow example: they kissed desperately, tongues swirling and she moaned. it made her feel warm inside.

in depth example: she reached for the other woman slowly and with a small measure of uncertainty. the moment her fingers brushed the sharp, soft jaw of her companion, eliza's hesitance slid away. the first kiss was gentle when she finally closed the distance between them. she pressed her lips lightly to gabriella's in silent exploration. a tender question. gabriella answered by meeting her kiss with a firmer one of her own. eliza felt the woman's fingers curling into her umber hair, fingernails scraping along her scalp. everything inside eliza relaxed and the nervousness uncoiled from her gut. a warm buzz of energy sunk through her flesh down to the very core of her soul. this was right. this was always where she needed to be.

the first complaint i see regards discomfort in writing a kiss, feeling like one is intruding on the characters. the only way to get around this is to practice. anything that makes you uncomfortable in writing is something you should explore. writing is at its best when we are pushing the envelope of our own comfort zones. if it feels cringy, if it feels too intimate, too weird, too intrusive, good. do it anyway! try different styles, practice it, think about which parts of it make you balk the most and then explore that, dissect it and dive into getting comfortable with the portrayal of human connection.

of course the biggest part comes to not knowing what to say other than "they kissed" or, of course, the tried and true "their lips crashed and their tongues battled for dominance" 😐. so this is my best advice: think beyond the mouth. okay, we know their mouths are mashing. but what are their hands doing? are they touching one another's hair? are they scratching or gripping desperately at one another? are they gliding their hands along each other's body or are they wrapping their arms tightly to hold each other close? do they sigh? do they groan? do they relax? do they tense? are they comfortable with each other or giddy and uncertain? is it a relief, or is it bringing more questions? is it building tension or finally breaking it?

get descriptive with the emotions. how is it making the main character/pov holder feel? how are they carrying those emotions in their body? how do they feel the desire in their body? desire is not just felt below the belt. it's in the gut, it's in the chest, it's in the flushing of cheeks, the chills beneath the skin, the goosebumps over the surface of the flesh. everyone has different pleasure zones. a kiss might not always lead desire for overtly sexual touches. a kiss might lead to the desire for an embrace. a kiss might lead to the impulse to bite or lick at other areas. a kiss could awaken desire to be caressed or caress the neck, the shoulder, the back, the arms etc. describe that desire, show those impulses of pleasure and affection.

of course there is the tactile. what does the love interest taste like? what do they smell like? how do they kiss? rough and greedy? slow and sensual? explorative and hesitant? expertly or clumsily? how does it feel to be kissed by them? how does it feel to kiss them?

i.e. examine who these individuals are, what their motives and feelings are within that moment, who they are together, what it looks like when these two individuals come together. a kiss is not about the mouth. it's about opening the door to vulnerability and desire in one's entire body and soul.

[valeriehalla]

actual writing advice

1. Use the passive voice.

What? What are you talking about, “don’t use the passive voice”? Are you feeling okay? Who told you that? Come on, let’s you and me go to their house and beat them with golf clubs. It’s just grammar. English is full of grammar: you should go ahead and use all of it whenever you want, on account of English is the language you’re writing in.

2. Use adverbs.

Now hang on. What are you even saying to me? Don’t use adverbs? My guy, that is an entire part of speech. That’s, like—that’s gotta be at least 20% of the dictionary. I don’t know who told you not to use adverbs, but you should definitely throw them into the Columbia river.

3. There’s no such thing as “filler”.

Buddy, “filler” is what we called the episodes of Dragon Ball Z where Goku wasn’t blasting Frieza because the anime was in production before Akira Toriyama had written the part where Goku blasts Frieza. Outside of this extremely specific context, “filler” does not exist. Just because a scene wouldn’t make it into the Wikipedia synopsis of your story’s plot doesn’t mean it isn’t important to your story. This is why “plot” and “story” are different words!

4. okay, now that I’ve snared you in my trap—and I know you don’t want to hear this—but orthography actually does kind of matter

First of all, a lot of what you think of as “grammar” is actually orthography. Should I put a comma here? How do I spell this word in this context? These are questions of orthography (which is a fancy Greek word meaning “correct-writing”). In fact, most of the “grammar questions” you’ll see posted online pertain to orthography; this number probably doubles in spaces for writers specifically.

If you’re a native speaker of English, your grammar is probably flawless and unremarkable for the purposes of writing prose. Instead, orthography refers to the set rules governing spelling, punctuation, and whitespace. There are a few things you should know about orthography:

English has no single orthography. You already know spelling and punctuation differ from country to country, but did you know it can even differ from publisher to publisher? Some newspapers will set parenthetical statements apart with em dashes—like this, with no spaces—while others will use slightly shorter dashes – like this, with spaces – to name just one example.

Orthography is boring, and nobody cares about it or knows what it is. For most readers, orthography is “invisible”. Readers pay attention to the words on a page, not the paper itself; in much the same way, readers pay attention to the meaning of a text and not the orthography, which exists only to convey that meaning.

That doesn’t mean it’s not important. Actually, that means it’s of the utmost importance. Because orthography can only be invisible if it meets the reader’s expectations.

You need to learn how to format dialogue into paragraphs. You need to learn when to end a quote with a comma versus a period. You need to learn how to use apostrophes, colons and semicolons. You need to learn these things not so you can win meaningless brownie points from your English teacher for having “Good Grammar”, but so that your prose looks like other prose the reader has consumed.

If you printed a novel on purple paper, you’d have the reader wondering: why purple? Then they’d be focusing on the paper and not the words on it. And you probably don’t want that! So it goes with orthography: whenever you deviate from standard practices, you force the reader to work out in their head whether that deviation was intentional or a mistake. Too much of that can destroy the flow of reading and prevent the reader from getting immersed.

You may chafe at this idea. You may think these “rules” are confusing and arbitrary. You’re correct to think that. They’re made the fuck up! What matters is that they were made the fuck up collaboratively, by thousands of writers over hundreds of years. Whether you like it or not, you are part of that collaboration: you’re not the first person to write prose, and you can’t expect yours to be the first prose your readers have ever read.

That doesn’t mean “never break the rules”, mind you. Once you’ve gotten comfortable with English orthography, then you are free to break it as you please. Knowing what’s expected gives you the power to do unexpected things on purpose. And that’s the really cool shit.

5. You’re allowed to say the boobs were big if the story is about how big the boobs were

Nobody is saying this. Only I am brave enough to say it.

Well, bye!

[tintapermanen]

[ID: A colourless, digital Trigun comic of Vash and Wolfwood talking about Wolfwood's scars. They're both laying in bed and topless. Vash lays on top of Wolfwood, playing with the rosary around his neck. Then, Vash kisses a spot on Wolfwood's chest. Wolfwood asks, "What are you doing?" Vash says, "You got shot here. In the last town we visited. You didn't even bother moving."

Vash props himself up over Wolfwood. Wolfwood is quiet for a moment before he says, "You remember that, huh?" Vash grabs Wolfwood's left wrist and brings it to his face. "And here." He kisses another spot there. "When you helped free the hostages from that robber..." Wolfwood dismissively says, "Was a lucky shit." Vash scolds him, "Don't brag."

"And..." Vash goes on and kiss Wolfwood's right palm. "You got cut here, even though that girl was aiming at me." A moment from the past flashes, of Wolfwood grabbing a knife aimed at Vash, his hand bleeding.

At present, Vash puts another kiss on Wolfwood's shoulder. "And here, from watching my back." Another memory flashes of Wolfwood and Vash back to back, with Wolfwood holding the punisher and getting bullets shot at him.

"And," Vash combs up Wolfwood's hair to reveal his forehead, "Here." Then, a series of recollection of Wolfwood getting shot on his temple. Vash watched in horror as blood burst out of his head.

Back to present, Wolfwood touches Vash's nape. "Spikey."

He says to Vash, quite brusquely, "We talked about this. Those were my decisions. They're not there anymore. Forget about them." Vash smiles sadly, "I still see them. All the time." He kisses Wolfwood's forehead. "You protect so much. I could never forget what you've done to me. And many others."

In the last image, they're drawn more cartoonishly. Wolfwood sweats and asks, "You don't actually remember every wound, right?" Vash points at a spot. "Kuroneko left a scratch here 7 times." Wolfwood, startled, says, "Why the hell are you keeping count—" End ID]

invisible scars (referenced previous talk here)

[lavenderfilledcoffin]

forevermore

adverb

forever; rhetorical manner. forever and more.

*♪¸¸.•*¨･:*ೄ·*♪¸¸.•*¨･:*

Sebastian basically dragged you around the 'shelter' that acted like a luxury mansion.

To be fair, you two were so used to the tiny and cramped space that you called a 'room', this was heaven in comparison.

The burner phones were a little difficult to use because of the lack of any technology the two of you were afforded down at Hadal Blacksite, but you managed to figured it out.

"How does that work? It's so intriguing..." You commented, referring to the internet.

You were debating on calling your mother; you've yearned to hear her voice after so long.

"I think you should, or we could wait. It's up to you, dear."

You hoped she still had the same number...

You dialed; the line was ringing.

After what felt like an eternity, a familiar voice spoke. "Hello?"

You teared up immediately. "M... Mom?" You hated how your voice cracked so pathetically.

"[Name]...?"

"You remembered... I'm so sorry, mom."

"How are you...? Where are you?"

"A lot of shit happened, but I'm okay now. I promise. I can't say where I am, but, I might be able to see you in a week."

"You have no idea how much I missed you." She said through choked sobs; you had never heard her cry before.

"I thought my baby was dead, it hurt so so so much..." You could tell how hard she was trying to hold back tears.

"I'm here now, mom. I wish I was with you."

"You'll come, right?"

"I don't know... I have..." You peek over your shoulder to look at Sebastian, smiling softly. "I have a big surprise, that's for sure."

"That's fine."

"I'll talk to you soon, okay?"

She hummed in response, hanging up before another word could be said.

"Are you alright?" Sebastian caressed your cheek with his left hand in a gentle manner. "I think so, I'm just so... happy." He wiped the small tear that fell from your right eye.

"I am, too." He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours for a passionate kiss.

Your hands made their way up to his face, cradling it just as he loved. A sweet sigh could be heard from him.

The sweet moment felt more intimate than the times you would stay up late with him talking about your pasts.

His larger claw wrapped around your waist, rubbing small circles into it.

You pulled away, catching your breath, but not before pressing a small kiss to his cheek.

"I'm the happiest I've ever been." You pressed your forehead to his, smiling as you do so.

"Me too." He closed his eyes, savoring your delicate touch.

Happy little noises are all that came from the both of you; weights being lifted off of your shoulders.

Sebastian pulled away, knowing he would be glued to you if he didn't stop right.

"What could we do for a week?"

"A lot, actually."

"Like?"

"Eat real food, sleep anywhere, ... I dunno."

Sebastian laughed at your response. "I mean, if that's what you want."

As if on cue; your stomach growled.

"O—oh..." Your face burned with embarrassment, luckily for you, Sebastian didn't tease you about it.

"Me too." He pat your head before slithering to the kitchen, you followed closely behind him.

Whoops, you lost him. A brief thought crossed your mind, 'it's unfair how fast he is.'

You smiled at the thought, returning to finding your fish boyfriend.

"Seeeb?"

Huh, that's odd. Normally, he would've retreated and came back to you, but it's the opposite.

You groaned, stretching your body, looking around the roomy place you were so generously lent.

Was this real?

Before you could scream Sebastian's name, it was forced out of you.

He had snuck up behind you, and yelled 'boo', leaving you in pure shock.

Your scream could rival that of a dumb blonde in a crappy horror movie who's about to get murdered.

"Yeesh, hon... Didn't know you could be that loud." It takes you a moment to process what just happened, you were very very very tempted to punch him, but that was too cruel.

"Wh... You little—" Sebastian happily slithered away; looking over his shoulder to see you chasing him.

"You're faster than you look!"

He took a sharp turn, you nearly tripped trying to replicate what he did.

He had suddenly stopped, and you pounced on his back.

You didn't hurt him, though. How could you? Your face found its way into the back of his neck, softly inhaling his scent.

"Cute." Was all he muttered, rubbing your left thigh with his third hand.

He slithered into the kitchen, wow, he really led you here?

It felt like a jab, but you brushed it off.

He approached the stove. "Wanna know something funny?" He said, grabbing loose ingredients from the briefcase.

"Hm?"

"I have really bad hip pain from sitting up in a weird position for long hours. I honestly blame my size, but, it felt like every new day was my last." He kept going on and on about his back, neck, and hip pain. Poor thing.

"It would be worse because a certain group of expendables would try to climb me, I realllly didn't appreciate that." A sweet scent filled the air; you took a seat near the table while Sebastian cooked.

"I feel like those expendables have some sort of telepathy, honestly. They all did the same thing. Either flash me, or repeatedly enter and exit my shop."

He added... honey? He added honey to the pot, stirring it alongside whatever else was inside of it.

"And?"

"And I never saw them again, poor bastards. But, I couldn't care less."

After making small talk, he finished with the food.

Despite being underground for more than ten years, he hasn't lost his chef-like skills, as he called it.

He moved the chair away from his table, opting to 'sit' on his tail, as it was more convenient for him since the wooden chair was too small, weak, and uncomfortable.

He said the dish was called 'valdiviano', he added his own spin on it, saying meat and honey was good together.

You stared at the plage, picking up the fork with an intricate design.

He wasn't wrong, either. You took one bite, and it wouldn't be a stretch to say it was the best thing you've ever tasted. The sweetened meat mixed with all sorts of flavorings was delicious, heavenly, even. You haven't had a proper meal in so long, you forgot how amazing it was to be able to eat real food.

Sebastian happily ate his food, the savory and sweet meat in it made him purr, it was cute.

You knew he had grown more fond of meat since his new 'transformation' of sorts based off of what he told you.

He finished first, placing his plate into the sink. He waited for you to finish.

"I can wash dishes, you know. No need to wait."

"Yeah, buuut... I'd rather do it."

You swallowed, clearing your throat. "Please, let me?"

"Oh, fine." He sighed, making it sound dramatic before he left you alone in the kitchen.

It took you a few minutes to finish the plate. Full and satisfied, you head over to the stove to grab the dirtied pot, placing both the plate and pot inside of the sink.

As the water warmed up, you began to scrub the soaped sponge.

Your mind wandered as you washed the dishes. For once, all you could feel was peace.

You hummed a small tune as you washed away the soap, the stains now replaced with a shiny gloss.

You set them on a rack, letting them air dry.

It had been two days, five days were left until you could go see your mother.

You and Sebastian have accomplished so much in such short time.

On the second day, got into contact with his mom, she was hesitant to believe that it was him since he was pronounced dead ten years ago. It was a bittersweet conversation according to him. He would tell you the details another time.

You overheard a little bit of it, and you became somewhat flustered after hearing him speak Spanish.

Then on the third day, a headline came out that revealed every single secret that Urbanshade had hidden. Including the inhumane experiments they performed on Sebastian. Not that they dared to say that he was still alive, but that he was innocent. At least his mom could rest easy.

The world map that had the facility blacked out didn't change, but the guards from before had said that the government would handle it.

Your criminal record was purged, and the money that they had given you would be transferred into a reserved bank account. It would be under the guise that 'it was a false imprisonment, and this is major compensation for all the years lost.'

So, now, you were basically protected in every way. You could live life as a normal human.

Sebastian couldn't have that luxury, though. You were saddened, but he told you it was okay. Being on the surface again and living a 'normal' life was all he could ever ask for.

Every single night that you two had stayed at the shelter was spent stargazing.

Your knowledge on stars fascinated him, and you kept on talking about these different constellations that lit up the sky.

Sebastian listened intently, his right arm holding you close to him.

It was the absence of your voice that made him realize you had fallen asleep. He was used to it by now.

Not that he minded it, though. The moonlight only served to enhanced your beauty.

It was like a routine by now. You would ramble, fall asleep, he would pick you up, and then put you into a proper bed.

The rest of the days were filled with laughter, love, and passion. The morning of the seventh day, you two were greeted with the sun's early morning rays illuminating the room.

The gentle warmth it provided made you sigh softly, shutting your eyes briefly while you yawn.

You sleepily open your eyes, slowly adjusting to the light.

You looked over towards Sebastian, half of his tail was hanging off of the king sized bed.

"Sebby, wake up." You gently shook him. Unlike all of the other times, he woke up relatively quickly.

"M... Morning." His eyes burned as the light shone across his face, but he eventually got used to it.

Sebastian's sleepy voice was one of those things that you wanted to record and play forever, you had the chance to, but it's much better to hear it in person.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Very well." He yawned, his ear fins momentarily wiggling.

"Today's our last day, we better start getting up."

"Right... behind you." His voice trailed off, small snores instead replacing the quietness.

"Wow, you're hopeless, Seb." You pressed a kiss to his forehead, leaving the room quietly.

A quiet morning, it was odd. You missed Sebastian, but you also wanted to let him sleep. He spent only five hours sleeping in Hadal Blacksite, because of his shop, so it felt appropriate to let him rest longer.

The morning was spent gathering both your items and belongings alongside his.

You also tidied up the shelter, base, whatever you wanted to call it.

Noon rolled around, armored men would arrive in around thirty minutes.

You decided to go back to the living quarters you shared with Sebastian, going back into bed, and holding him close.

Even in his peaceful sleep, he could feel the warmth radiating from your body. He purred softly, nuzzling his face into your neck.

You stared at the ceiling, nervousness and excitement filled your entire being.

Everything could either go horribly wrong, or extremely well. It was all a matter of time.

A soft buzz woke the both of you up, you hadn't even realized you fell asleep.

You sleepily grabbed the phone, answering it. "Hello?"

"We are waiting outside. Be down in five minutes, please." With that, he hung up.

"We better hurry..." You groggily mumbled, sitting up and forcing your body up.

Sebastian followed you down, grabbing his designated bags and holstering them onto his tail.

You slung your bag over your shoulder, holding the briefcase, but then immediately regretting it as it was heavier than you anticipated. "Seeeeb, please carry it?"

"You poor thing." He teased, grabbing the briefcase and easily carrying it.

The two of you rushed out, being met with an armored vehicle alongside two men.

"Come." They opened both doors to the back of the van, stopping you. "This will be for him, you will be seated in the front."

"O... Oh." You glanced at Sebastian, only to see him nod. You frowned slightly, but hid it to the best of your ability.

As soon as Sebastian's tail curled up, they shut the doors, leading you to the front.

You were sat in between the two men, a little cramped, if you must say...

"Any address in particular you want to go to?"

"Yes, I want to go to ______"

"Understood. Starting route." They input your mother's address, it would take roughly 2 hours until you arrived.

Your stomach churned, full of uncertainty.

You decided to give her a call.

"Hello?"

"Hi, mom. I'm on my way right now."

"That's... Okay. I'll see you, honey."

"We'll enter through the garage. Please don't be too startled when you see him."

"Who?"

"You'll see."

"Okay then. I love you."

"I love you, too."

Your eyes shut, not wanting to be awake for the ride there, as it was uncomfortable.

The man on your right shook you gently. "We will arrive shortly."

You nodded, rubbing your eyes until the initial blurriness was gone.

You recognized the area, your heart fluttering in excitement. You couldn't contain your smile.

As you approached your mom's home, your hands began to tremble. This was really it.

The driver pulled into the driveway, the garage opened painstakingly slow.

There. Your mother stood. In the flesh.

Finally, the men parked the car, heading to the back of the van.

You hurriedly got out of the car, looking at your mom. "M... Mom." Your voice cracked, tears spilling like a fountain.

She said nothing, only holding her arms open. You rushed into them, breaking down as soon as you felt her body press against yours. "I missed you so much, I was—" She smiled, tears falling down her face slowly. "I know."

The guarded men came into her view, alongside a giant, unnecessarily scary, handsome snake hybrid fish.

Her body trembled as her hold on you tightened. "W—W..."

"Mom, it's okay. This is what I was referencing... I think it would be easier to start from... the start?" You awkwardly smiled at her, untangling yourself from her grip and heading to Sebastian.

It looked like your mom had seen a ghost, her mouth was agape, ready to scream.

The conversation was long and awkward. How he used a normal human before being falsely accused, just like you, but he was experimented on.

Recalling it made him emotional, so he just handed your mom his file for her to skim over.

This made her sympathetic, but she wasn't fully comfortable with Sebastian.

You never brought up your weird 'immortality' thing, but you recapped all that happened while you were gone.

Your relationship with Sebastian. That was the hardest bomb to drop on her.

She almost thought this was a joke, a dream, even.

But after seeing your hand interlocked with his, it finally clicked.

Her child was in love with some... monster?

"Oh... Uh. I don't know how to feel. I'm happy that you found love... but, a...?"

You sheepishly nodded, your face burning out of embarrassment.

"I... I guess I can accept it."

You and Sebastian smiled, something that your mom found adorable in a sense.

Your mom helped you and Sebastian, letting you stay for as long as you two needed.

Sebastian had essentially taken over the kitchen, and he particularly enjoyed sleeping in the garage since it was nice and big.

You had finally gotten access to the bank account, and when you checked the total amount, you were astonished. You've never seen such a high number before, especially for a (previously) broke college student before everything that happened.

You could live comfortably off of the money for a long time, maybe for your life if you spent it wisely. But, you wanted to work, oddly enough.

Sebastian was scrolling on the personal computer that you and him shared, browsing houses until he found one he liked.

It was close by your mom's house, and it was large. Not to mention secluded. The nearest estate was a few miles away.

Large enough for two families.

Would you even have a valid excuse to buy it? Maybe a real estate agent wouldn't question...

"I mean. It's perfect, so..."

It was like the heavens heard your prayers.

And just like that, the appointment to visit the house was booked. You went alone, obviously.

It was expensive, sure, but that didn't matter. If it fit Sebastian, then you'd be willing to spend any amount of money for it.

You paid for the house in full, the deal was closed, and now you owned your first property, fun!

Sebastian had to be transported secretly, so you had to rent a van.

You dropped him off, "will you be okay for an hour?"

"Yeah, sure. Just... be quick, please?"

"Of course, Seb." He pulled you in for a quick hug before you departed.

He began exploring. The lower floor was decent, he could move around freely.

The backyard was massive, and gated, which was perfect, since he enjoyed stargazing with you.

The basement was big enough to serve as a room for Sebastian, and if you wanted, for you, too.

The rest of the rooms upstairs and downstairs would fill themselves up... somehow.

You had successfully landed a job as an entry level audio engineer with flexible hours, perfect since you wanted to maximize your time with Sebastian.

You briefly remembered the both of your ring sizes, as you two compared them.

Your excuse was that you wanted to see how big his fingers were... When in reality, you wanted to get him a ring. A golden ring. Even if you can't legally be married, the sentiment still stood.

After work ended, you rushed to a jewelers shop to pick up the custom ordered rings you had purchased a month ago.

"[Name], right? Your order is here, nice and packaged!" The cheerful worker spoke, placing two neat, tidy, and simple boxe on the glass table.

You walked to the counter, opening both of them. One was extremely large, and one was small in comparison; yours.

You smiled. "I appreciate it, thank you, dearly." You placed the small velvet boxes into an unused slot in your bag.

You hid the worker farewell, rushing to your car, and driving back home.

Over the span of the month that you lived with Sebastian in your new home, it had become a mess of your personality mixed with his.

His room, or, the basement, was filled with all sorts of junk. Metallica posters, different amps that lie next to electric guitars, and his favorite; cat pictures.

He had grown particularly fond of those silly cat memes you would find on YouTube or other media, but, he thought it was hilarious, especially in low quality.

He had gotten a printer for the sole purpose of printing out those dumb pictures and taping them next to his band posters.

Now. He had asked for your mother's blessing in advance. He wanted to marry you, or, at least, have the sentiment be there.

With a bittersweet smile, she agreed. Saying she's never seen you happier before.

She helped him purchased one, it was simple, but pretty.

Sebastian was nervous. His heart was beating like crazy, and his palms were sweaty.

"We need to talk." It was almost comedic how the both of you said it at the same time.

The two of you sat outside in the backyard, under the stars that you loved so dearly.

Your hand was gripping the box that contained his ring in your bag, while his third arm was in his pocket; holding a small box that had a ring for you.

You two only stared into each other's eyes, both of you too afraid to speak up.

He cleared his throat. "[Name]... I love you. I don't think I can explain it, at all."

He leaned down so that he was eye level with you, his right hand moved to your face, gently caressing your cheek. "My heart is full of you, I never thought I'd be this lucky to be loved by someone like you."

He pulled the box out of his pocket, opening it to reveal the ring. Your eyes immediately teared up.

"[Name], let me..." His words trailed off, noticing how you wouldn't stop sobbing.

"I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—" You interrupted him, pulling him in for a deep kiss.

So much passion and emotion in one small gesture, it felt like your body was on fire.

Sebastian's third hand held the small box firmly while the rest roamed your body.

He pulled away to catch his breath, his eyes half-lidded; cheeks a darker color.

Only then, did you pull out your box that had his ring, opening it for him to see.

No words were exchanged as the both of you put on the rings that the other had bought for each other.

Now, you were finally together, forevermore.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

When is it okay to use adverbs? I'm currently paranoid and pondering about deleting every single one from my wips

Here are excerpts of writing tips and advice from editors, publishers, and writers:

Adverbs in your novel must be minimal.

Adverbs are necessary for the English language and have a rightful place as one of the eight parts of speech.

In literature, some adverbs are less desirable than others.

Adverbs with -ly tend to slow the pace.

They also tell what’s happening. They don’t show.

Never use an adverb to modify the verb 'said' —Elmore Leonard

Stephen King:

The adverb is not your friend.

Adverbs, you will remember from your own version of Business English, are words that modify verbs, adjectives, or other adverbs.

They’re the ones that usually end in -ly.

Adverbs, like the passive voice, seem to have been created with the timid writer in mind.

With adverbs, the writer usually tells us he or she is afraid he/she isn’t expressing himself/herself clearly, that he or she is not getting the point or the picture across.

Consider the sentence He closed the door firmly.

It’s by no means a terrible sentence (at least it’s got an active verb going for it), but ask yourself if firmly really has to be there. You can argue that it expresses a degree of difference between He closed the door and He slammed the door, and you’ll get no argument from me . . . but what about context? What about all the enlightening (not to say emotionally moving) prose which came before He closed the door firmly? Shouldn’t this tell us how he closed the door? And if the foregoing prose does tell us, isn’t firmly an extra word? Isn’t it redundant?

Someone out there is now accusing me of being tiresome and anal-retentive. I deny it. I believe the road to hell is paved with adverbs, and I will shout it from the rooftops. To put it another way, they’re like dandelions. If you have one on your lawn, it looks pretty and unique. If you fail to root it out, however, you find five the next day . . . fifty the day after that . . . and then, my brothers and sisters, your lawn is totally, completely, and profligately covered with dandelions. By then you see them for the weeds they really are, but by then it’s—GASP!!—too late. I can be a good sport about adverbs, though. Yes I can. With one exception: dialogue attribution. I insist that you use the adverb in dialogue attribution only in the rarest and most special of occasions . . . and not even then, if you can avoid it.

There is a core simplicity to the English language and its American variant, but it’s a slippery core. All I ask is that you do as well as you can, and remember that, while to write adverbs is human, to write he said or she said is divine.

Sources: 1 2 3 ⚜ Writing Refresher: Adjective or Adverb

Hope this helps! Some sound advice here from different perspectives. Definitely choose which ones are most appropriate for you, as a writer, and for the specific story you are currently working on. I'd also recommend you read the entire sources to get a fuller context since these are just excerpts I handpicked. And because more examples are provided as well, particularly in Stephen King's book.

"Since advice is usually ignored and rules are routinely broken, I refer to these little pearls as merely 'suggestions.'....There’s nothing binding here. All suggestions can be ignored when necessary." —John Grisham

[staytheword]

kind regards

kind regards — one shot [general masterlist]

this series (and this blog) are 18+ !! minors, please do not interact!!

• changbin x female reader; lee know is briefly featured.

• non idol au. workplace au. rivals to lovers (workplace rivalry). some physical description of mc, drinking, explicit language, explicit smut.

•  smut warnings (spoilers ahead) — dom!changbin, switch! reader, unprotected sex, sex in an empty public space, angry sex, elevator sex, use of pet names, lingerie, praising kink, dirty talk, slight degradation kink, dumbification, throatfucking, creampie.

• word count: 10.5k

Seo Changbin. Every time you get an email from me, you feel your blood boil. What a conceited, terrible human being. You have to work together, but it doesn't mean you have to like him. In fact, you only feel hate towards him. So what if you have no idea what he looks like, so what if you have never met him? Nothing could change your mind about him. Right?

• author’s note: Just a silly little one shot to take our mind off things. I wrote this completely for fun so I hope you can have fun reading it as well! Thank you for being here, sending lots of love your way. ♡

You stare at your computer screen, hoping that if you do it long and hard enough, it will magically conjure up the word you’re looking for. It starts with a g, that much you’re sure of, and it’s an adverb. It’s not gradually. It’s not gaudily. You have right there, on the tip of your tongue, but frustratingly out of reach. 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You’ll find it. You’ll find it. 

“Y/N?” 

Your eyes flutter open on your coworker, Gahyeon, who gives you an apologetic smile. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Just can’t find my words today.” 

“Hm,” she nods knowingly. “I hate days like that.” 

You slide a hand through your hair and sit up in your chair. 

“What’s up, Gahyeon?” 

“I just wanted your advice on something…” 

She circles your desk and puts a document on it, asking about the revision of a tricky sentence, offering you a welcome distraction. You discuss it for a few minutes before she heads back to her desk, long hair flowing down her back. You turn back to your screen, ready to get a good amount of work done before you head to lunch. Your fingers dance on your keyboard for a few minutes when you get an email notification.

Immediately, your blood grows hot and you stop typing. The notification shows you who the email is from: Seo Changbin, from marketing. 

You haven’t even opened the email yet but you’re already angry. You know his email will be dripping with his usual passive aggressive tone, blaming you for this and that, asking you to make corrections to something that has already been done and approved. You just know it. The guy is never happy with anything, especially not your work. He’s the only one, though. You work well with your colleagues, and your team manager likes you. You always hand in your work on time. You’re always meticulous. You care about what you do, and you make sure it’s well done. 

But this guy. 

Not long ago, one of his emails angered you so much you almost punched your computer screen. You almost took the elevator to his floor to let him hear a piece of your mind. Luckily for him you have some self-control - and you know he is still your senior in the company. You don’t want to lose your job over some loser who clearly has nothing better to do with his time than bring you down to raise himself up. 

It wasn’t always this way. You’ve worked at this company for years as a translator and never had any major issues with anyone, except for some classic bickering and gossip. Then this guy integrated the marketing department as a star talent and proceeded to make your life a living hell because he, too, spoke several languages and didn’t approve of your phrasing or your choice of words. 

It’s not the tone we are aiming for is the sentence you’ve read the most from him. Sometimes you hear it in your nightmares. 

You really don’t want to open the email, but you have to. Then you can treat yourself to a good lunch. You had planned on just grabbing something from the cafeteria, but you will definitely head out outside. A brie and spinach panini from the cafe next door, perhaps? Maybe even some sushi. 

You inhale slowly and click on your inbox. 

The email starts as usual. Dear Y/LN. It also ends as usual. Looking forward to your collaboration. You clench your fists, imagining they land on his nose and break it in a thousand pieces. The guy is polite - too polite. So polite you also want to break his teeth. You can just feel the arrogance oozing from his words. 

You read the content of the email and take a deep breath. It’s not too bad today, considering, but it still puts you in a bad mood. There is something I would like to suggest, he writes. 

Suggest it to my fist, you arrogant fuck. 

You stare at your screen, your face frozen into an expression of disgust. You hate every single word he uses. You hate that he puts his font just a half a point bigger like he has something to compensate for. You hate the little gray icon next to his name at the top that indicates the jerk still hasn’t uploaded his picture like the company requires. Maybe it’s best you don’t know what he looks like, because then your hate would know absolutely no bounds. 

You work for a big company. So big it occupies multiple floors of a sky-high building, and you’ve probably only met about 5% of the totality of your coworkers. That does not include the marketing team, except for a few faces you can recall from a Christmas party. That department is a floor above you, right on top of your head even, and the thought makes you rage. 

I won’t let you step on me, Seo Changbin. You can burn in hell. 

You imagine he’s a sixty-something year old guy with a fancy suit and a big watch, a family he does not know how to show affection for, and probably a mistress although his dick hasn’t worked properly in years. You just know he’s the sort of man to look down on women, to never say thank you to cashiers and to play golf with his buddies on the weekend. Hell, he’s probably a part of a country club of some kind. 

You’re probably taking all of this too far but you don’t care. 

You need to hate the guy. You want to hate him. It makes it easier.

With a sigh, you quickly reply to him, your tone cold and expeditive as always. You sign with your usual kind regards, words you’ve decided during a lonely night in your apartment after four glasses of wine. Just regards would be too easy, best did not convey your feeling and warm was just gross. Kind - that was perfect. Just the perfect amount of passive aggressiveness that could never be read as just that. 

You close your inbox, inhaling slowly. You’re not going to let the guy ruin your day. You are not. 

You get some more work done and ask Gahyeon if she wants to grab lunch with you. Minho yells from his desk that he’s coming too, so the three of you set off downstairs. 

In the elevator, you complain about the email. Gahyeon shakes her head, although smiling amusingly, and Minho lets out a chuckle as you spit out your murderous intents. 

“What are you laughing at?” you pout. 

“I was just imagining the day you’ll come face to face with the guy,” he says, eyes gleaming mischievously. “I need to witness this moment.” 

“Historical moment,” Gahyeon agrees. 

“It would be best for you to be there,” you reply. “I’ll need help getting rid of the body.” 

Once you’re sitting down with your platter of sushi not long later, you let out a sigh and plop one in your mouth. 

“So, are you guys going to the cocktail party Friday night?” Gahyeon asks you both. 

“You mean the thing with free food and booze?” you reply with a chuckle. “Why the hell would I miss it?” 

Minho shakes his head. “I can’t that night, I’m cat-sitting for a friend.” 

You glance at your friend, but then again, for such a sentence to escape his lips is nothing out of the ordinary. 

“You could bring the cat to the cocktail party,” you suggest.

“And what, put the poor thing on a leash?” Minho glares. 

You let out a laugh. “No leash. Just let it roam free. Hopefully my archnemesis will be there and the cat will scratch his face off.” 

You all laugh over your plates, covering your mouths with your hands so as not to be too loud. It’s a tendency you have - you’ve been warned before about making too much noise in this very restaurant. You love their sushi too much to risk being banned, so you do your best to be discreet. 

“Are you going, Gahyeon?” you ask your friend. 

She nods. “Probably.” 

Minho raises his eyebrows at her. “Hoping Mr Finance Department will be there?” 

Gahyeon blushes slightly. “Well…” 

You slap your hand on her arm, gasping loudly. “Oh my God, that’s still a thing?! I thought you were over him!” 

Minho leans towards you. “It was, but he broke up with Sunglass Girl.” 

“He did?!” 

“And he got a haircut,” Gahyeon whimpers. “I didn’t think it would be possible but he looks even more fucking hot.” 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” you say. 

You put a hand on your friend’s shoulder and look deep inside her hazel eyes. 

“Don’t worry, Gahyeon. I’ll be your wingwoman Friday night.” 

“That’s okay, Y/N…” 

“I promise you to get you close enough to count the beauty marks on his face.” 

“He has two.” 

“I thought just one,” Minho frowns.

“No, two,” Gahyeon assures him. 

“After Friday you can tell us how many he has on his entire body.” 

“Y/N!” Gahyeon cries out, hiding her face.

She can’t stop giggling, though, and neither can you - and as Minho starts to make soft kissing sounds, you all burst out laughing. 

When you settle at your desk for the afternoon, later that day, you’ve almost forgotten about your work nemesis. Almost.

Kind regards.

Changbin lets out a scoff, scrunching his nose in front of his screen. Kind regards. He’s not an idiot. He can read between the lines. He knows exactly what that means, and it’s kindly fuck off. 

He’s not annoyed by it. Changbin knows better than to let things like that get to him. No, he’s definitely not annoyed. 

He just hates your guts. 

Before he closes your answer to his email, he catches a glimpse of your picture, right there, next to your name. It’s so small he can barely trace your features, but in a previous moment of weakness he opened the picture so it would be bigger and saw you almost too well. 

Wide doe eyes. Full lips. Smiling almost cheekily to the camera, wearing a black turtleneck. Wispy bangs grazing your forehead. Simple gold loop earrings. A faint white scar on the right side of your nose, probably from your childhood. 

Yeah. He might have looked at the picture a few times. 

It was just to get to know his enemy better, he swore to himself. That way, he had an advantage over you - he knew what you looked like, but you had no idea who he was. You could meet him in the elevator or the cafeteria and you would have no idea - but he would. It happened once. He saw you in the main hall of the building one morning, holding a coffee and wearing headphones. You were bobbing your head to the music, completely oblivious to the rest of the world. He tried really hard not to stare, but it was beyond him - luckily, you didn’t even notice him. 

Why would you, anyway? Thousands of people work in the company, hundreds of them wearing plain black suits like he does. Once Changbin understood that, he knew one day it would come to his advantage. He’s just waiting for the right moment. It will come. He just has to be patient - which has never been his strength, but for you, he trusts it will be worth it.

He takes the last bite out of his sandwich - homemade - and leans back on his chair. If only he could deal with someone else, if only you weren’t the translator assigned to his projects 90% of the time. At one point it started to feel like a joke, so much he wondered if someone was doing it on purpose. Your pettiness, your rude tone, it all rubbed off on him in all the wrong ways. He doesn’t do well with games and smugness, so you’re really testing his patience. Getting on his last nerve isn’t even covering it. Passive aggressive emails are starting to not be enough to convey his point. The fact that you’re pretty? It makes it even worse. You’re probably just a princess that thinks everything should be handed to her. He’s going to need to make himself very clear.

He just doesn’t know how. 

Of course it’s on his mind all day, and it pisses him off even more that he can’t focus on work because of you. You might be pretty but right now, for Changbin, you’re the devil incarnate and he needs to exorcize you out of his mind. Luckily, he has his gym bag with him so he can head right there after work. Small blessings.

At six o’clock, Changbin stands from his desk, gets his things and heads to the elevator. Many people have already left, which is why he likes to finish his day at six - it’s much quieter in the building and the subway. His briefcase in a hand, his gym bag on his shoulder, he gets in the elevator and sighs. A part of him just wants to get home, and another dreads the silence of his apartment. 

The elevator stops on the 11th floor - your floor. 

The chances for you to step in the elevator are slim, but present, so Changbin tenses a little, just in case. Good thing he does, because there you appear. Wearing a skirt and knee-high boots, your jacket around your arm, clutching your phone. His heartbeat immediately accelerates, and he has to violently remind himself that while he knows exactly who you are, you don’t. 

You step inside the elevator, giving him a small nod, and push the button for the main floor. 

It’s very silent. Changbin can’t help but glance at you - but you do the same at the same time, so both of you quickly look away. Leaning against the back of the elevator, you are pinching your lips, and you keep glancing at him. Changbin is more tense than he has ever been, keeping a solid frown on his face, his joints getting white at how tight he’s holding his briefcase. 

You pull out your phone and start texting frenetically. He keeps his eyes in front of him, hoping that the elevator would just stop to let somebody else in, but it’s well on its way to the main floor without interruption. He glares at you when you snicker at your phone. Are you talking about him? Are you making fun of him? 

He breathes out. Calm the fuck down. 

You have no idea who he is. 

And maybe it’s exactly why you are smiling like you are, stealing a few more glances. You’re not flirting, but he can feel it off you - if the context was different, you might have been. He’s trying very hard not to think about the fact that you smell really good. That your eyeliner is perfectly curved at the corner of your eyes, that he has a soft spot for knee-high boots. 

So as to set his mind right, Changbin recalls to his mind the email you sent him today, and all the ones before. All the arrogance and rudeness, all the times he wanted to punch a wall or yell at you. That makes it easier, just a little bit. 

The elevator finally pings at the main floor and he briskly gestures for you to get out first. You give him a cute smile.

“Thanks,” you say, your voice dripping like honey. “Have a good evening.” 

Changbin clenches his jaw and does not answer. You don’t seem bothered though, as you walk away with a spring in your step. Fortunately, you head towards the street, not the subway, and he lets out a sigh of relief. Truly, small blessings. 

You stare at your closet and let out a long sigh. It’s not that you don’t have anything to wear, of course, but there’s just nothing you want to wear. You don’t care about impressing or seducing anyone, you just want to dress up for yourself, to feel good even just for a little while. 

You hesitate but eventually settle on a simple black cocktail dress you adore because it’s extremely comfortable and has pockets. You slip it on, wearing only your golden hoops as your jewelry, and let your hair down. It would do just fine. 

Gahyeon is waiting for you outside your building, which is only a few minutes walk away from the office. She looks insanely good in a red dress and matching lipstick, and you shower her in compliments. You make it to the building quickly, showing your identification to the security guard. The lobby is already quite busy with people from all departments, who are sipping champagne and catching up.

You and Gahyeon get a drink from the open bar, looking for Mr Finance Department in the crowd. Luckily, your friend has a radar for him and she spots him by the windows standing with his colleagues. He has gotten a haircut, and the short hair gives him an edgier look that really suits him. 

“All right,” you say, holding your friend’s shoulders. “You remember the plan?” 

Gahyeon nods. “Walk up to him, say hello, be myself.” 

“And, what else?” 

“Be direct.” 

You hold up a palm so Gahyeon can high five you, and she sets off towards her crush, nervously playing with the strip of her handbag. You look at her go, trying not to squeal as you watch the guy turn to her and give her a sincere smile. From what you can see, although you can’t hear, they seem to be hitting it off. You feel a rush of pride, like your evening’s work has already been done. Now you can just let Gahyeon enjoy herself, have a few drinks, and go home in peace. 

You head towards a quieter spot, considering going out to the terrace to enjoy the evening breeze when a familiar face stops you in your tracks.

“Oh, Y/N, long time no see.” 

It’s your boss - not the boss boss, but high enough on the company hierarchy so that he is not the kind of person you can’t ignore. You give him a polite smile although you’re not really in the mood for small talk. 

“How are you, sir? It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise, likewise. Now I wanted to mention to you the…” 

He starts talking to you about a recent project that he wants to expand, and you nod at him, listening more or less intently - and that’s when you notice the guy standing next to him. 

His black hair is slightly combed back, small strands falling back on his forehead. He’s dressed all in black, his shirt without a tie, and there’s an elegant, discreet watch on his wrist. He just emanates charisma. 

Sexy Elevator Guy. 

That’s the unoriginal nickname Minho gave him in your group chat when you told your friends about your encounter with a mysterious, brooding stranger in the elevator. 

All week you hoped to see him again, although you never really counted on it. You didn’t even know if he worked at the company - maybe he was just a visitor. But from his attire and the fact that he is standing next to your boss, you can guess he’s your colleague.

How delightful. 

Your boss seems to notice he hasn’t introduced you, and so he points at the guy, who has been staring at you since you appeared. 

“Oh, but you two must know each other, right?” your boss says. “Don’t you work together?” 

You frown. “Hm, I’m not sure..”

“Sure, we do,” the guy answers. 

You look at him in surprise and confusion. This smile - it really does look like he knows you. Is it because of the elevator? You don’t understand. 

“How delightful to finally meet you, Y/LN,” he continues, and your blood gets boiling hot. “Seo Changbin, from Marketing.” 

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Your heart drops at the bottom of your chest as you stare at him. Does he know who you are? He has to, smiling proudly as he is. You’re too shocked to feel angry, but you know it’s coming. 

“I -” you stutter. “I’m not -”

“Can you believe this, sir?” he laughs. “We’ve been exchanging emails for months but we’ve never met.” 

“Yes,” your boss nods, “well, that’s what happens with such big companies.” 

The two of them keep talking but you completely lose track, your eyes fixated on him. Seo Changbin. He is your nemesis? He is looking forward to your collaboration guy? You can’t believe it.

Yet you have to face it.

That’s him. Seo Changbin.

The guy you’ve been hating and insulting and plotting to murder.

He’s standing in front of you - and he is also Sexy Elevator Guy. 

No fucking way. 

“Excuse me,” you mutter and walk away without another look. 

You don’t care that you’ll come off as rude - you need some air. A lot of it, actually. You head directly to the terrace, stare up at the dark sky and inhale deeply. You feel dizzy, the wine coming up your throat. 

You can’t believe what just happened. It’s one thing to discover his identity - but you can’t get over the fact that he clearly knew who you were. He is playing with you. He’s had the upper hand this entire time. Of course he does, you realize. His picture isn’t on his profile, but yours is. How dumb you are.

Your eyes fixated on the horizon, you let out a bitter laugh. What a fucking dick. What an enormous piece of shit. You clench your fists, ready to go back in and punch him in the balls for humiliating you like that. Your physical idea of him might’ve been completely wrong, but it clearly wasn’t in terms of personality. 

“Here.” 

At the sound of his voice, you spin on your heels, ready to spit venom - but he’s no longer smiling. His eyes are dark, his face serious, and he’s handing you a glass of white wine. 

“Noticed that’s what you were drinking earlier,” he explains. 

You squint your eyes at him. 

“Get the fuck away from me,” you hiss. 

He sighs, looking at you as if he is disappointed. 

“C’mon, now. Now that the cat’s out of the bag, maybe we can be professional adults about this?”

“Excuse me?!” 

“I’m talking about the attitude,” he says, raising an eyebrow nonchalantly. “We don’t like each other, and that’s fine. I don’t care, I don’t need to like you. But I’m tired of working with you feeling like a fight.” 

It’s like you sober up all at once, fixating on him a dark glare. 

“I don’t think I’m the problem here,” you spit out. “You came in and started criticizing my work like I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve been working here longer than you.” 

“I’m still your superior,” he replies, taking a step towards you. “Whatever I say goes.” 

“You don’t have to be a dick about it.” 

“I’ve always been polite.”

“Polite, my ass. You’ve been looking down at me ever since your first email. I’m not stupid, don’t talk to me as if I am.” 

“If only you did what is expected -” 

You bark out a laugh, shaking your head. He stops.

“You did not just say that.” 

He squints his eyes and exhales deeply. “All I mean is, it doesn’t have to be that difficult. Just make the damn changes.”

“I do,” you hiss. “But you could ask for them a little bit more nicely.” 

“What, do you want every single email to come with a bouquet of flowers and a serenade? I have better things to do.” 

“You’re such a patronizing asshole.”

“And all you do is insult me. Why can’t you act like an adult for once?” 

“You know nothing about me.”

“I know enough.”

You take a deep breath. It feels like arguing with a wall - clearly, there is nothing to be done, and really, nothing to say. You just don’t get along, and that will be the end of it. You suddenly feel tired. You take the glass of wine from his hand. 

“Here’s one more insult for the road: fuck you.” 

You just want to go back inside, finish your drink and get home, but Changbin grabs your upper arm as you’re starting to walk away. He doesn’t do it gently, but it’s not rough either - you look up at him with spite. 

Or you try. 

Because Changbin is so very terribly your type, smells wonderful, and has the kind of voice to get anyone weak in the knees. 

Focus, woman.

“What?” you hiss.

“This conversation is not over.” 

“Oh, I think it is,” you laugh with scorn. 

“It isn’t,” he retorts, his eyes focused on you. 

He’s standing a little too close for your liking - you can’t help but glance at his lips. Plump. Inviting. 

“We have to figure out a way to work together. It’s not like we have a choice.” 

You lift your chin slightly. “If you don’t let me go this second, I’ll scream and tell everyone you’re a pervert.” 

He bites his lip, clearly holding back an insult, and you wish he would just say it. He doesn’t, though, and simply lets you go. You shake your hair out of your face. 

“I’m sick of the games,” he chews. “Tell me what you want.” 

You smile at him. “The games.”

He sighs and you chuckle. 

“Don’t think for a second you’ll get away with this trick you just pulled. If you thought I was difficult before, you have no idea what’s coming for you now, Mr. Seo.” 

He looks exhausted and slightly worried, but angry most of all. That delights you, and you finally walk away from him, finishing your glass of wine in one sip.

He can’t let you walk away like this. 

This is all Changbin can think of as he watches you cross the terrace to go back inside. If it ends like this, then it will all be for the worst. You might follow up on your promise to make his life a living hell, or even worse, things might get awkward and even more tense. No, definitely, you and him need to continue this conversation and find some kind of agreement. 

He licks his lips, turning away from the building in annoyance. He never signed up for this when he decided to leave his previous workplace for this one - yes, the salary was better, and so were the benefits, but it was never about that. It was about challenging himself, about growing and learning in his workplace environment, about finding his place. You couldn’t get in the way of that. Nobody could. 

Changbin glances inside to make sure you haven’t left the building - he catches a glimpse of you near the bar, sulking. Good, he thinks, as he finishes his own glass. Let the both of you be miserable and angry, at least. 

The world feels so quiet out on the terrace, but when he steps back inside, his ears are filled once more with the sounds of music and conversation. Since there are a lot of people around, maybe it won’t be as easy for you to start spitting venom at him - but he doesn’t really count on that. He takes a deep breath, tries to settle his anger. Just a conversation. Calm, polite, reasonable. You can do that. 

However, as you lock eyes with him across the room, Changbin knows it won’t be that easy. Your eyes are full of fire, your mouth pinched in spite. It could be unattractive if only that black dress did not perfectly hug your curves and set his mind wandering against his will. 

“For fuck’s sake, can’t you leave me alone?” you whine. 

It would be so easy to fall back into the same energy as you, but Changbin holds on. He breathes in, leaning against the wall next to you. He’s not a difficult person. He doesn’t usually get into conflicts with people. Why he does with you is beyond him. 

“Look,” he says. “I just want to be able to work in peace.” 

“So do I,” you sigh. “But you never let that happen.” 

“How about this,” he snaps, turning to face you. “I hold back on the passive aggressive, but so do you.” 

To his despair, you only give him a smug smile.

“So you admit to the passive aggressiveness.”

“Is this what you pick up on?” 

“Didn’t you hear me earlier?” you say, frowning. “You humiliated me. Made damn sure I’d feel like a fool not knowing your face. I’m not going to let you walk away from that.”

“What the hell do you want from me?” 

You scoff. “You think I’m going to tell you now? No way. I want you to live in fear.” 

It’s entirely against his will, but Changbin laughs. He quickly frowns afterwards, sliding a hand across his face. The look of surprise on your face quickly fades away, though, to a certain revolt. 

“Are you laughing at me?” you ask. 

“No,” he sighs, making sure his face no longer holds any kind of laughter. “You’re just getting on my last nerve.” 

“Well you’ve been on mine for a certain time.” 

“It’s useless to talk to you, isn’t it?” 

“If you wanted to talk, why didn’t you just come and see me? Why did you have to do all that shit with the picture and the boss? Why did you have to mock me like you did?” 

You are so full of fire, Changbin can’t believe his eyes and ears. You’re like a flame he can’t look away from - a flame he desperately wants to extinguish for his own preservation, and yet one he desperately wants to graze with his fingers, even knowing he’ll get burned. 

Your conversation is going nowhere, Changbin is aware of it. Things have gone completely out of hand, so much it all feels like a fever dream. So confused between his different feelings for you, Changbin breathes out, pulling on his suit to replace it on his shoulders. 

“I need another drink,” he mumbles. 

Without him expecting it, tables turn - this time, it’s you grabbing his arm as he is turning away. He looks up at you in surprise.

“I have an idea,” you say.

It might be the booze, or it might just be the adrenaline, but you find yourself dragging Seo Changbin by the wrist across the lobby, all the way to the elevators. To your surprise, he doesn’t even try to shrug you off, and you don’t let him go. 

You both get in the elevator and you push the button for the 12th floor. Changbin waits until the doors have closed and you stand in silence to ask. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Where do you think?” you sigh. “Your office.” 

He turns towards you, eyes dark.

“Why?” 

You do the same, turning to face him. Your index pushes against his chest.

“You’re going to do something for me,” you state. “Even if I have to endure your shit, I’ll make sure nobody else does.” 

“I’m not going to - It’s not even - and how are you going to do that?” 

“Simple,” you grin. “Upload a picture.”

The doors of the elevator open on this perfect timing, and you wave your hand.

“After you.” 

He lets out a long sigh but he still leads you to his office. You’ve never been in this area of the building, but now is not the time for sightseeing. Besides, most floors look the same. 

Changbin opens the door to his office, and you follow him inside. It’s not a very big room, but it’s still wide enough for a large desk and bookshelves. There are two large windows, and the walls facing the rest of the floor are made of glass. Not much for privacy, you think. But then again, your own desk stands in the middle of a wide room, which you share with ten other people. 

You nod towards his chair. “Sit.” 

He rolls his eyes, but he does. You stand next to him, arms crossed, thinking about the fact that this was probably the spot from where he sent most of his day-ruining emails to you. You bite your tongue a little. 

“C’mon. Open the computer and upload the damn picture.” 

“I don’t have one.” 

“One what?” 

“A picture,” he explains. “An official one, I mean.” 

You groan. “I don’t give a shit. Find another one, it’ll have to do.” 

“I was told it had to be -”

“Hey,” you snap. “You’re in no position to argue.” 

He scoffs but he doesn’t answer, although he clearly disagrees. You don’t care you’re being petty, and that he’s being the bigger person - you’ve never had much of a reasonable nature. As Changbin searches through his computer, you walk around the office, staring at the window, staring at him, and then at his screen. You catch a glimpse of a group picture, of him with friends, smiling widely at the camera. 

He shakes his head but reframes the picture and uploads it to his email profile. You squint your eyes. 

“There. You happy?” he lets out. 

“It’ll do for now,” you say. 

He closes the windows on his screen, standing up. His shoulders are wide, his arms too. You remember that gym bag he was carrying.  

“Let’s go, then,” he says.

You chuckle. “Oh, do you think this is over?” 

He blinks at you, chuckling in disbelief. “Isn’t it?”

“Not even close.”

“All right, this is enough,” he growls, taking a step towards you. “I’ve done what you wanted, can’t you move on now?” 

“No, I can’t,” you spit. “You’ve made my life difficult ever since you’ve started working here and -”

“What about my life?” Changbin hisses. “You think your fucking tone and attitude has made my days easier?” 

“At least I’m not a self-righteous asshole!” you cry out.

“God, you’re fucking detestable,” he says. 

He’s standing too close to you now. All you can see, all you can smell, is him, him, him. The tension is so tightly drawn between your two bodies you feel like it can only snap. You desperately hold on to your end, though, because you’re scared of what might happen if you do let go - but it’s out of your control. 

Changbin breathes in, and his eyes linger for a second too long on your lips - and that makes the tightrope snap. 

He doesn’t kiss you first, but neither do you - it just happens at the same time. Your lips crash halfway in a feverish dance, and you can’t understand what is happening to you. It feels like your entire body just caught on fire, like everything makes sense, like every step you’ve taken, every word you’ve uttered, has led you to this moment. 

Changbin’s hand slides behind your head, holding the back of your neck, and your arms circle his waist to sprawl on his back. He kisses you deeply, breathing you in, and you can only collapse in his arms. 

Your hands go against his chest, and then in his hair, as he keeps pushing your head against his lips, as if to deepen your kiss, more and more. Your back hits the desk behind you, but you barely notice. All you can feel are Changbin’s lips devouring yours, his arms holding you close. You open your mouth wider but he’s quicker, sliding his tongue inside before you can do the same. 

A moan escapes your throat, vibrating against his lips, and he draws you in even closer. It seems like forever before you lean back, breathless, just in order to catch your breath. Your lips feel swollen already, but you don’t want to stop kissing him. Still, the slight distance gives you enough perspective to realize what is happening. 

“What the fuck am I doing,” you whisper, shaking your head. 

A part of you wants to slip away, just so you have time to put some order in your thoughts, but as you are about to do so, Changbin’s fingers, which had been resting on your waist, grab your chin tightly. You whimper. 

“Is this a part of your little game?” he says in a low voice, breathing heavily.

“What?” 

“Tell me the truth,” he hisses. “Are you playing with me now?” 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

You angrily grab his wrist, trying to pull his hand away - but he is stronger than you. You struggle against him, gritting your teeth. 

“Answer me,” he insists. 

“Fuck you,” you spit out. 

He relaxes enough for you to push him away, squinting your eyes at him in anger. 

“Way to ruin the moment, asshole.” 

You do the only thing that makes sense for you in that instant - walk away. You’re ashamed and horribly angry at yourself for letting this happen. He’s attractive, yes, but he’s ruined so many of your days, made you feel miserable and worthless at your job. You have to hold on to your anger - and it has to be directed at him. 

Your heels make no sound against the carpet and it’s infuriating. You don’t hear anyone behind you either, so you guess Changbin has decided not to follow you. It’s probably a good thing, although now you feel entirely at a loss as to how your workdays will go. Should you be quiet? You scoff. No - if anyone should, it’s him. 

Your hand smashes the button for the elevator. It takes too long to arrive, but it does. You enter the elevator, push the button for the lobby and cross your arms. 

Fuck, if only he wasn’t such a good kisser. 

The doors are nearly closed when he comes in. He slides between them, stands in front of you. He’s not that much taller than you but someone in his demeanor makes you feel like he’s towering over you by several inches. 

“Just leave me alone, will you?” you hiss. 

He scoffs, shaking his head. There’s a wildness in his eyes, and you can’t look away from him. 

“Can you really blame me for asking?” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“About playing games,” he says, articulating each syllable. Each sounds angrier than the last. “You told me you’d make me regret what I did.”

You pout. “Aw, are you really that scared? It’s not my fault you made it your job to piss me off.” 

“Look who’s talking.” 

You stare at each other for a second. It’s like the tension has magically reappeared, unresolved. It’s clear you both want the same thing, but can’t bring yourselves to say or show it. You’re so angry at him. 

He takes another step towards you. Your faces are inches from each other - just a nod and his lips would be on yours again. 

“Fine. I’m sorry about the picture thing,” he says, his voice low and deep. 

“Just that?” you ask, arching an eyebrow. 

His smirk only curves half of his mouth, and it’s humorless. “Don’t push it.” 

You are the one to tilt your head forward, just slightly. 

“This does not mean I’m not angry at you,” you breathe in his mouth. 

“And we still need to talk about this,” he adds. 

“Later,” you nod. 

He turns to slam the button to stop the elevator, and as his body comes back to face yours, you pull him in your arms and kiss him. 

It’s even more desperate and angry than before, maybe because neither of you are held back by the surprise and doubt. It’s unsaid, but you hear it from his lips, it doesn’t mean anything. You’ve just both been tense and you need an outlet - what better than each other? 

Changbin pushes you against the wall of the elevator, his hands discovering your body. His warmth and his weight are completely enveloping you, and you push his jacket away. He shrugs it off, and the fabric of his shirt is soft against your skin. 

Changbin kisses you deep, like he’s been waiting to do it, like you’re not on top of each other inside a dark elevator outside of work hours, his tongue tasting of lemon and gin. 

One of his hands traces your hips and slides on your ass, squeezing softly. In a swift move, he lifts one of your legs and wraps it around his. It elicits a moan from you, your nails scratch the back of his neck. He growls in your mouth, biting your lower lip in answer. 

With his body pushed against yours, you can feel his hard cock, and he shifts you so it rubs directly against your wetness. You roll your hips, breathing heavily against his mouth. 

“You like that, huh?” he tells you. “Rubbing yourself against me.” 

“Easy, you’re so fucking hard already,” you retort. 

“Like you aren’t all wet for my dick,” he sighs, kissing your neck. 

You feel yourself clench at his words. When you don’t answer, only grab him tighter, Changbin chuckles.

“You are, aren’t you?” he whispers, his hands moving up your dress, lifting it slowly, warming your thighs. 

“Shut the fuck up.” 

He shakes his head, biting your earlobe hard. You let out a small whimper. 

“I’m gonna fuck that tight little pussy of yours so good you won’t be able to come into work tomorrow.” 

“You wish,” you answer, starting to unbutton his pants. “I’m not gonna let you go a day without getting an email from me. I’m going to fucking torture you.” 

As you mutter the words, you take his cock out of his pants and start to rub your hand around it. Changbin hisses, slightly bucking his hips. 

“You need a fucking lesson,” he sneers, pushing your underwear to the side to touch you. “I’m going to shut you up.” 

He is right - you’re soaked, but it seems to please him. He takes a few seconds to caress you, spreading your wetness, and inserting a finger inside of you. You let out a choked moan, wrapping your arms around his neck for a better hold. 

“That’s right,” he mutters. “That’s what I like to hear.”

He inserts another finger, stretching your walls, and moving his wrist in sharp motions. You breathe out erratically, grabbing onto his suit, his fingers curled inside your cunt. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight. Making me lose my goddamn mind.” 

You don’t want him to stop what he is doing, but you are craving the feel of his cock inside of you, so you tug at his hardness, kissing his jaw. 

“Fuck me already.” 

He doesn’t need you to ask twice, guiding himself against your entrance and penetrating you. You let out a choked moan, grabbing onto the wall of the elevator. He gives you time to adjust to his size, but he’s not being particularly careful either. 

“Holy shit,” you mutter in his ear despite yourself.  

“Fuck, I can feel my cock stretching you,” he grunts.

He thrusts his hips faster and faster, and in a matter of seconds he’s pounding into you. The elevator is silent except for the sounds of your heavy breathing and moans, and the lewd sounds of him fucking you, skin slapping against skin. 

Your nails dig inside the back of his neck again, and he grips your waist so tight you’re sure it will leave a mark. 

“Changbin, don’t stop,” you cry out. 

“So impatient,” he sneers, but he still doesn’t stop, like he can’t, like he’s a man possessed. 

He even accelerates, and you feel yourself coming. Your orgasm ripples through you like lightning. Your body shakes, your thoughts evaporate. Changbin fucks you deep, his breathing heavy in your hair. 

“I can’t -” he hisses. “I’m not -”

“Come inside me,” you surprise yourself whispering. 

You can feel his cock twitch at your words, and he comes inside you, hips bucking sharply, grunts escaping his throat like it’s hurting it. 

You stay like that for a few minutes, panting, recovering your breath. After a few seconds he takes a step back, breathing out. You got back on both feet, feeling dizzy and already sore. You both look like a mess, hair tangled, lips raw from kissing. 

You lean back against the wall, breathing slowly. He does the same on the wall next to you. You’re silent for a few seconds. 

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you say softly. 

Changbin nods. 

“Let’s go back up. There won’t be anyone there.” 

His voice is softer than you’ve ever heard - almost tender. You look at him, giving him a small nod, and he pushes the elevator button so it heads back upstairs. 

He lets you go to the bathroom alone, where you clean up, but he’s waiting for you outside. 

“All good?” he asks with a frown. 

“Yes.” 

You look down at the floor as he does, and then back at him - meeting his eyes in the process. The silence is awkward, but just like that, you find yourself smiling. Him, too. 

And then you start laughing. 

It’s not hysterical laughter, just chuckling. He looks almost shy, and you can’t stop giggling. You might even be blushing. 

“I don’t know about you,” he says, scrunching his nose. “But I feel a lot better.”

You smirk. “Took the words right out of my mouth.” 

He stretches a hand towards you. “Wanna go back to the party?” 

You nod. “Hell yes. I need a drink.” 

“So do I.” 

You head back to the elevator, and you let it head downstairs this time. Smirking to yourselves, you feel like the whole thing is unreal. 

But you do feel better. You don’t force your smile - it stretches on your face, plastered, almost annoyingly so. And Changbin. Fuck. You think he’s cute, with his cheeks still red and his neck a mess from the work of your nails. 

“By the way,” you say. “You look fucking hot in that suit.” 

“Right back at you. When I saw that little black dress I almost bit my fist off.” 

You grin. Changbin turns to you, placing a strand of your hair behind your ear. 

“Something’s not right, though,” he says. 

You frown as he leans towards you, whispering in your ear.

“I didn’t get to do half of the things I want to do to you. So once we’ve had a couple of drinks, I’m taking you to my place, and I’m giving you another lesson. And this one will last.”

You bite your lip as the elevator doors open on the main hall, which is still filled with your chatting coworkers. Nothing has changed - the world has kept on spinning. Changbin gives you a smile, and extends his arm. 

“Shall we?”

Changbin does not bring you to his place. 

You bring him to yours. 

Both of you started to get impatient after just one drink, eyefucking each other over your glasses although you had both just came hard in the elevator. It was like something finally snapped inside him, and he could let his thoughts roam free, unashamed, unbound. 

The way your dress hugged your cleavage. The way your lips curled around the rim of your glass, begging to be kissed, begging to be fucked. All the things he wanted to do to you, that he had never let himself really think about, just proliferated in his mind. He could not stop thinking about how you moaned his name, how hot and humid you felt around him, how he wanted to slide his tongue on every inch of your skin. It made it difficult to focus on small talk with your colleagues. He kept feeling himself getting hard and he knew his pants were too tight for him to be able to hide it. 

So he waited until you finished your drink and stole you away. Your place was just a short walk from the building. You made it there quickly, miraculously able to hold off making out and grinding against each other. 

Now the front door is locked and you are alone. 

Changbin stares at you in the darkness of the hallway. You look so fucking beautiful with your hair still a little dischelved from earlier, your lipstick tinting your lips a shade darker, your heels giving your legs the shape of heaven. 

You take a step towards him and grab his hand, leading him to your bedroom. It’s small and cozy, most of the space occupied by a large bed - how perfect. It is unmade, the sheets tangled, a smell of lavender lingering in the air. 

You aim for a kiss but Changbin shakes his head. 

“Open a light,” he says. “I want to see you.” 

You nod and turn on the lamp on your bedside table. It infuses the room in a soft yellow glow, and Changbin licks his lips. Perfect. 

In a blur you find each other again, kissing passionately, feverishly. Changbin slides his tongue inside your mouth, toying with yours, drawing soft sighs from you. It’s a delightful sound he already likes too much. Eagerly, you remove his jacket, your hands palming his chest over the material of his shirt, and Changbin unbuttons it impatiently. 

“Fuck, you look so fucking good,” you chuckle at the sight of his naked chest, immediately tracing the defined muscles with your finger tips. 

His cock is already hard as a rock, pushing against his pants, but he barely thinks about it - he only sees you. 

He takes a deep breath, because he wants to pace himself, because he wants to take his time with you this time. You made him impatient before, you clenched around his cock too tight, you sounded too good - but he won’t let it happen again. So he tilts your head to the left so he can kiss your neck, slowly unzipping your dress. His fingers brush the skin of your back at the same time, and he feels you shiver against him. 

The dress falls on the ground, and Changbin takes a step back to admire your lingerie, simple black lace that makes the blood rush to his cock so hard he has no choice but to palm it, just to relieve it a little. 

“You like?” you say cheekily.

“I’m trying to decide if I want to keep it on you or rip it off,” he answers, shaking his head. 

You chuckle. “Want me to decide for you?” 

Darkness flashes in Changbin’s eyes, and he closes the distance between you again, staring down at you. 

“Listen, pet,” he growls. “Don’t think you have any control here. I make the decisions and you listen. If you don’t there will be consequences.” 

The smile doesn’t disappear from your face, and Changbin can see that you like it when he speaks to you this way. 

“A dom, huh?” you breathe. “How predictable.” 

“Just as predictable that a brat like you is a sub.” 

You pout. “Just for you tonight, sir.”

You slide a hand in his air and lean against his ear to whisper.

“One day you’ll find yourself handcuffed to the head of this bed and begging me to let you come. But let’s stick to tonight’s narrative.” 

Changbin can’t help but chuckle at your words, feeling something swell in his chest. He likes you a little too much, and it makes no sense. Hours ago the only emotion you created in him was anger. But then again he hadn’t really met you. 

“That’s right, pet,” he nods, taking a fistful of your hair. “Now you lay down on the bed like a good girl before I make you, huh?” 

You nod, and Changbin follows you to the bed, when you lay down. He removes the rest of his clothes, letting his cock spring free, and catches you staring at it, licking your lips. He chuckles. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll get your taste. But I’m having mine first.” 

He pulls your legs so you are laying on the edge of the bed, spreading your legs so can stand between them. He bends forward to kiss you, stroking your hair, and carefully removes your bra. You sigh as he circles his thumb over your sensitive nipples, massaging the other breast in his hand. Slowly, Changbin makes his way down your neck, his tongue drinking in your skin. He leaves a few kisses on your breasts, then on your stomach, and then hovers over your panties. 

“Changbin…” you sigh.

“Still all wet and full of me, are you, pet? Is this sensitive?” 

He pushes his index on the lace material, sending a shiver through your body.

“Y-yes. Fuck, Changbin, stop teasing me.” 

“I don’t think so.” 

He kisses you above the fabric, sliding his tongue over it. Even that way he can taste you, your wetness drenching your panties, and Changbin can feel his cock twitch. Fuck, he cannot wait to be inside of you again - but he has to be patient. 

“So good to me, pet. So good. Let’s remove that.” 

He takes off your panties and pushes your legs apart, taking in the sight of your soaked cunt, all throbbing and waiting for him. He hums appreciatively, unable to stop himself from stroking his cock at the same time. 

“You’re so fucking gorgeous. Now you don’t come without me telling you so, right, pet? You understand the rules?” 

“Yes, sir,” you breathe out.

From your voice and the way you are already heavily breathing, he can sense you are desperate for contact. Changbin finds himself unable to really torture you much longer, and sinks his lips into your cunt. 

You immediately let out a whimper, arching your back against his mouth. Changbin holds your legs apart, swirling his tongue around your clit, slurping you in. Your taste instantly gets him drunk, the feel of your juices coating his chin making him want to possess you right this second. But it feels too good to feel you writhing against his caresses, moaning his name. You grab his hair, pulling it, and it hurts a little but it’s the best kind of pain. 

“Look at that mess, pet,” he smiles against your pussy. “Has anyone ever eaten you out properly before?” 

“Fuck,” you breathe, and he stares at the way your chest moves, your nipples hard. It’s such a beautiful sight he gives your clit a few licks to reward you. “Nothing like you, Changbin. You’re - fuck - you’re making out with my pussy so well…” 

“Good, pet,” he chuckles. “Keep it up with the praise and I’ll let you come.” 

“Changbin, please…” 

He slides his tongue inside of you, teasing your entrance, and he can feel you clenching even this way - you must be close to coming, but you’re holding on, and he’s proud of you. He could edge you like this all night, if only his cock wasn’t starting to hurt him, aching for you. 

“Fuck, your tongue, Changbin - keep licking me like that, please, don’t stop…” 

“You want to come, pet?” 

“Yes, please, c-can I?” 

As he inserts two fingers inside of you and starts pumping them, his tongue pressed against your clit, you cry out in pleasure, pulling his hair. 

“Changbin, fuck, I can’t - I can’t -” 

“Come, pet, come all over my mouth.” 

And just like that you do, your hips bucking under his touch, your pussy throbbing in his mouth. He can feel your walls tighten, your legs trembling, and he doesn’t stop his caresses throughout your orgasm, so you can ride it as long as you can. 

Once you breathe out, your body sinking into the mattress, Changbin steps back, placing a kiss on the inside of your thigh. He wipes your juices off his chin and stands up to push your hair away from your face. You already look fucked out, your skin covered in a thin layer of sweat, your eyes glassy. 

“Holy fuck, that was amazing,” you say softly. 

“It’s not over, pet,” he replies, kissing your pretty lips. 

“Can I suck your cock, now?” 

“You’re asking so nicely, pet. How can I say no?” 

You grin, looking down at his erect cock. Changbin takes a deep breath, letting you smear the pre-cum on the tip and giving it a few tentative strokes. 

“I like your cock a lot, y’know?” you tell him. “So pretty and thick.” 

Changbin slides a hand through his hair, easing his breathing, as you take him in your mouth. You suck him well, bobbing your head up and down, taking the time to wrap your tongue around him. Your hand accompanies your movements, stroking his base, and Changbin groans at the sensation. He would close his eyes and bask in the pleasure you’re giving him if only it wasn’t so intoxicating to keep looking at you. Such a beautiful sight, seeing you suck him off like that after having eaten your sweet cunt. 

“Am I doing good, sir?” you ask, slapping his cock on your tongue. 

Changbin grins. “Doing fantastic, pet. I knew you would look good wrapped around my cock, but it’s even better.” 

“Did you think about it a lot?” you ask. 

He frowns. 

“You saw my picture,” you say, arching an eyebrow. “Did you imagine me with my cock in your mouth before, or did you just hate my guts?” 

Changbin laughs, holding your hair. “I think I spent most of my energy hating you so I wouldn’t think about you sucking me off.” 

“Hm,” you say with a satisfied smirk. “If I’d known what you looked like I would’ve come to give you a blowjob under your desk way before.” 

“Never too late,” he grins. “If you do that for me I might bend you over my desk afterwards.” 

You giggle, and Changbin feels that warmth in his chest again. He’s starting to like you a little too much, and it has nothing to do with the fact that his balls deep inside your mouth right now. You’re funny. Witty. Pretty. Even worse, you’re fun. 

“For now let’s focus, pet, yeah?” he says. “This is good, but I want more from that pretty mouth.” 

He guides you back, gesturing you to lay down on the bed upside down. Your head placed on the edge of it, he towers over you.

“You tell me if this is too much,” he whispers to you, and you nod - but you just open your mouth wide for him. 

He guides his cock back in your mouth, able to move as much as he wants. You gag a little as he goes deep in your throat, but you’re taking him well - and so, Changbin accelerates. He fucks your mouth, perhaps a little too roughly, but it feels so fucking good he can’t stop. 

“Fuck, look at how you swallow my cock, pet,” he says, breathing hard. 

“It’s because you fuck my mouth so good, sir,” you answer. 

He grins, bucking his hips, staring at your gorgeous body as he does. You’re touching yourself at the same time, your fingers pressed against your clit. Your eyes are watering, the saliva around your lips making his thrusts easier, and he’s dangerously close to exploding in your mouth. 

“Such a good little pet,” he groans. “Do you remember when I filled that cunt of yours, earlier?” 

You nod around his cock.

“This time I’ll make you choke on my cum,” he smiles.

You moan, the vibration sending him on the edge, and Changbin has to pull out from your mouth. 

“Don’t move,” he grunts. “I need to fuck you.” 

He climbs on top of you on the bed, making sure your head is against the mattress, and pushes into you without hesitation. It’s like it brings him clarity again, as much as the feel of you around his cock is making him more insane. 

“God, this fucking cunt. I’m never getting tired of it,” he chuckles. 

“Yes, fuck me deep,” you moan. “Make me feel that beautiful cock of yours.” 

He thrusts his hips inside of you, stretching you deeper and deeper. You pant against him, your nails digging into the skin of his back, but Changbin doesn’t care. He pounds into you, feeling sweaty and drunk on the scent and taste of you. 

“C-Changbin, fuck, yes…” 

“Where’s that praise, pet? I need to hear it,” he grunts. 

“I - I’m trying…” 

“Am I fucking you dumb, or what? Keep talking.” 

But he’s fucking so fast and sharp, and it’s difficult for you to find the words. Changbin can only stare at your face, your closed eyes, your parted mouth. Your lips are a little bruised, your hair a mess, your makeup smudged. You look like a dream. 

“F-fucking me so good,” you breathe. “I love your cock inside of me. Please, k-keep fucking me…” 

You’re clenching around him tightly, so close to your orgasm, and so is Changbin - he’s breathing fast, trying to hold off, but it’s getting more and more difficult. Once he’s inside of you he can’t think straight, and he’s getting impatient. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he slips out, your name feeling smooth on his lips. “I’m going to come. Let’s do it together, yeah?” 

“Y-yes, please…” 

How he wanted to come in your mouth - but his cock does not want to listen, and he explores inside of you instead for the second time tonight. You come as well, shaking around him as he fills you up, moaning his name loudly, the sound echoing in the room. 

Changbin wipes his forehead, staying inside of you for another second. He tries to catch his breath, and opens his eyes to look at you. You are already staring at him, smiling softly. 

“I thought you wanted to come in my mouth?” you tease him. 

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You really get on my last nerve, you know that?” 

You both laugh.

It’s yet another day at work. 

You twirl on your deskchair, typing your translation on a fair rhythm. You’re not particularly fast today, but you’re not slow, either. 

It’s just that your thoughts are a little elsewhere. 

You take a break to take a sip of coffee, and an email notification appears on your screen. 

Seo Changbin. 

You push your tongue against your cheek, smirking devilishly to yourself. You sent him a particularly fiery email a few minutes ago, and you can’t wait to see his answer. You click a little too fast on your inbox. 

Dear Y/LN, 

Your email has come to my attention but I am in a meeting and unfortunately cannot attend to your request. Please rest assured it will be my top priority once I get back to my office. I will make sure to personally attend to these matters. 

Ever yours,

Seo Changbin 

You bite your lip, trying to be discreet as you chuckle. You scroll down to see the email you’d sent him. Just a few meaningless words about asking for clarification about the dress code, and a picture attached. A picture you’ve taken from under your desk, displaying your blatant lack of underwear. 

You’re still playing a dangerous game - it’s just of another kind.

You send him a quick reply, your eyes shining. 

Looking forward to your collaboration.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. If you had fun, please consider leaving a comment below or reblogging the one shot. Don't hesitate to use the tags. Big hugs and see you next time! ♡

• permanent taglist: @ughbehavior ; @upallnight-s ; @changbinluvr ; @rosexjimin ; @nasiaisan ; @lotus-dly ; @cb97percent ; @j-0ne25 ; @hwan-g ; @jhopesucker ; @leedunno ; @septicrebel ; @imtoooyoungforthisshit ; @sikebishes ; @sai-kida134 ; @sstarryoong ; @alexis-reads-fics ; @luvsskz ; @beautifulcolorgarden

[thatbitchery]

BTW I tell y'all I have severe ADHD once every ten seconds because i want you to know I'm a low performer. I procrastinate on important matters for months and sometimes, most times really, it costs me opportunities and relationships and peace of mind because I'll know I'm supposed to do X but have no willpower whatever to do X. I want you ladies to know that's sometimes I hyperfixate on things with no importance whatsoever and that takes away my energy from things that are important. Hell, just last week I spent 8 hours on my laptop reading on bears and watching beat videos when I had work to do. That I have time blindness and sometimes am extremely late or extremely early or just get days mixed up and do Thursday things on Wednesday because I thought it's Thursday or forget it's Friday and not do Friday things and it costs me, dearly. Expensively. That I am inconsistent as they come and even a machine gun to my head can't get me to do something that my brain rejects. That sometimes I cry for hours because I feel pathetic and sad and too small with dreams too big. That somedays I wake up with the energy of a thousand Suns and start 58868 projects, create a brand new goals list for things I'll do in my life and go strong for three days then just- dump it after the energy falls. Then hate the hell out of myself because what the hell. That everytime I want to pick a new hobby or buy something or make a decision I hesitate because , do I really want this or is it dopamine and I'll dump it after 6 working days, because I have too many WIPs that Im yet to complete but can't bring myself to. That I need 168979 watches with alarms and a digital to do list and a manual to do list and sometimes I'll still get nothing done. That I try, so hard, and sometimes, just can't. And everyone that's supposed to help has the same recycled tips that just will not work for me. That I had medication for a while that worked but my body got used to it and overpowered it, so now even the option for medication is out of the picture - so I have to live like this for the rest of my life. That sometimes I run purely on ego because my self esteem is on the floor. That everytime I get a new opportunity I panic a little because what if I give up midpoint and ruin my reputation?? What if? That I self isolate because when I have too much energy I can't sit still and I interrupt everyone and need to run or I'll combust. That I self isolate because I have low social awareness and could easily say the wrong thing at the wrong time. Because I'm not normal and that feels shameful sometimes. That even CBT hasn't been able to set me straight, but I worked so hard to make money for therapy and medication and it's not working so I've also lost my will to work because what is it even for?????

I could Grammarly and AI my posts and have them professional looking but I want the ADHD girls with a brain faster than their hands to know it's okay to leave some words out because your brain is 6 words ahead of your hand and you're trying to keep up. I want the dyslexia girlies to know you can still write even when you're not sure if that thing makes sense, the people that mind do not matter and the people that matter do not mind. Because I want the 'english is not my first language' girls like me that struggle with adverbs and nouns and tenses and spelling to know hey it's okay, just write. You want to write, write. Do it for you. Forget the rest. I could polish all my posts, I do it for my work and official documents but if I do what will the girlies that need to know they're not stupid, English is just a language and spellings don't matter that much and you can communicate outside perfection see to reinforce their desire?? What will the autistics that want to try blogging but feel scared because they can't arrange their thoughts in a comprehensive manner and get lost in side stories sometimes look at and go oh my god- we exist and it's okay because we can still influence.

I tell you ladies every three seconds that I am a dark skinned black 5'4 slim immigrant in a white supremacist country because I want the girls that fit neither the beauty standards or the stereotypical standards to know they can chase their dreams and it doesn't matter. So the girlies of color that watch news and movies and social media and see people that look like them being murdered and disrespected and read the comments to know yeah, you can still do it, get on that plane. If I don't what will the girls that know for a fact that was unfair treatment look at when they need to know they can still rise above and make it??? If I dont tell you that actually I'm not where I am because I'm the hardest working in the room- I'm actually hella lazy- I'm where I am because I manipulate cheat claw gaslight blackmail my way how will the girls that work hard and still not achieve know that it's not because them it's because the world is unfair and you win by being unfair. I could play good girl , I could, I could tell you just work hard and go for it but then what will the girls that did all that and still failed look at to make sense of the world around them? Justify how things got here when they did everything they were supposed to? I say be a bitch so the girls that are demonized for not taking it lying down can be bitchier. I say learn the patriarchy and fit the beauty standards as much as you can and cosplay what's likeable not to conform but to cosplay and manipulate so that the girls that know it's wrong realize that you should just play them the way they play you - that's real feminism. That's real equality, learning the game to learn how to cheat and win because you were born to lose, the rules aren't made with you in mind so why would you stick to them, and fighting them is futile, you'll lose. I say being feared >> than being loved for the girls that got manipulated used trashed in the name of love. I tell you people are animals that survive by low balling each other so you can make a little sense of your trauma and forgive yourself for what you had to become to survive.

This blog is for the outsiders, actually. The girls that do not see content made that make sense for them, the girls that are born into a world that has no space for them and couldn't fit in if they tried because it's impossible. I'm here as proof you can make it. Autistic dyslexic ADHD black female , ticking all the wrong boxes and still making it. That's why I'm here, to show you how. To show you, you can. It's okay, you're okay. In fact, you're- better.

[thebestsetter]

Okay, this is something serious now.

As some of you already know, some people are accusing me of plagiarism. And I just want to explain my side of the story first

A while ago, I was scrolling through tiktok and found one of those videos with a minecraft parkour happening in the background and a reddit story being read. I'm a portuguese speaker, so the story I listened to was in portuguese (i don't even have reddit lol). So, I thought "Oh, what a cute story!! I wonder how would it happen if it was with some anime boys!!". So, I started to write it while also trying to translate it AND change the phrases.

Since it was from tik tok, I couldn't really see the user that wrote the og post. I now realize I should've tried harder to find it, and for that I apologize. I'm sorry I didn't put the IB on the post, but someone on the comments told me fhe user of who wrote it first, and after posting this "apologie" I'll put it in the post immediatly.

I also want to clarify what verbatim is, since some people are saying that's the plagiarism I comitted. According to the Oxford dictionary, verbatim is:

1. (Adverb)

in exactly the same words; literally, ipsis litteris.

2. (Adjective)

that corresponds word for word to the source or original text.

"minutes v. of a meeting of condominium owners"

And even though I copied the first phrase, the rest of the text is totally different!! I also had no way of knowing I was writing the same first phrase, since as I said before, it was actually from a portuguese post, so I translated it the best I could.

The idea is the same, though, so I should've tried harder to find the IB. Once again, I apologize for this. I'm sorry about what I did and I hope you guys can forgive me and not view me in a different way from how you saw me before!! I just thought it would be fun to write something, and it was the first fic I wrote after going back to writing (I used to write things during March-April, but I stopped). I swear I have no intetions to steal anybody's work to make myself famous or anything like that.

Once again, I'll try to make things right! Dw, a situation like this won't happen again. Thank you for reading this, and once again, I'm deeply sorry.

I'm putting the xreader tags so this can reach as many people as possible

[zukosdualdao]

a soft place to land

zutara month, day 16: injury recovery, @zutaramonth

summary: in the aftermath of an assasination attempt on katara, she finds herself safe in his bed, zuko looking after her from the bedside.

warnings: assasination/murder attempt, complicated thoughts about punitive judgment and executions, etc, excessive use of adverbs, lmao.

other notes: title taken from "a dream is a soft place to land" from waitress.

Katara’s eyes flicker open. She immediately sets to prop herself up on her elbows, struggling not to groan with fatigue and discomfort as she does. 

The sheets underneath her are gold and silken, the room around her faintly familiar.

She’s in the Fire Nation. She’d been here as an Ambassador for the latest treaty revision. A servant… a man dressed as a servant, anyway, he’d served her tea in the private chambers kept for her here, and her throat had begun to swell, panic building as it did, chest burning as the door slammed ominously shut behind him. She remembers lifting her hand shakily, trying to guide her blood to keep the toxins from working through it, but she couldn’t tear it out of her without extracting her own blood, it was no use, she couldn’t think—her head met the floor, brow slick with sweat, she was going to die…

As she looks around in the darkness, it occurs to her exactly where she is now.

“Zuko?”

He’d come looking for her just in time.

The last thing she remembers before her awakening is the taste of something herbal and sickly sweet, being overcome with sick and the aftermath of bile, Zuko’s gentle hand cradling the back of her head, and then succumbing to the darkness.

“I’m right here,” he says quietly in the dark, and when she turns just slightly to her right, she can see shadows cast over his house face. He’s sitting in a chair by her bedside, folding in on himself and wringing his hands until he casts his worried gaze up to meet her eyes. “It’s okay. You’re really okay.” He sounds almost disbelieving. “How do you feel?”

It’s quite the inverse of the last time she was here when he was the one prone on the bed, marked by lightning, and she waited up all night for him to wake again, too wired to sleep, needing to keep a weathered eye on his wound.

“Not amazing,” she manages a bout of shaky laughter. “But I’m alive, so that’s something. How did you know what to… ?”

Zuko was alone when he arrived and fed to her what must have been the antidote, though she thinks she remembers the patter of other footsteps arriving after the fact, possibly a sea of medics.

At this, Zuko leans back in his chair a little, rubbing an embarrassed hand at the back of his head. “Oh—my mother learned about plants and things from her mother.” Zuko’s mouth tilts into a frown. “I think she was an herbalist? I’m not sure.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t know what they’d used but—we keep something stocked here. It’s not a cure-all, but…” Shrugging again, he sighs. “Thank Agni it worked.”

“Forget Agni,” she murmurs. “Thank you.” Something that might have been panic if not for her weariness swells in her chest suddenly. “The man… ?”

Even through the darkness and the haze she still finds her mind in, she catches the way his pupils dilate, the way his posture stiffens. She’s seen him angry like this before. Protective-angry. She imagines his fingers are probably curling hard against the edge of his chair as he grips it, but looking down to check seems difficult and unnecessary. “Hired assassin.”

“Oh.” It’s sort of strange to think she’s an important enough figure that someone would try to assassinate her, that her death wouldn’t be a simple murder but rather to make some political statement or another. “That’s new. For me, anyway.”

Zuko’s had a few attempts on his own life in the past year, as she recalls. Most of them she read about through letters after the fact—she was here for the last one, though, and thank the spirits for that. Stab wounds are simple enough to heal with her bending—if they don’t bleed out first, which can happen more quickly than one might expect. Needless to say, Katara’s glad she was around.

Zuko says the next like an oath. “The assassin is being dealt with.” With a confusing mix of shame, fear, and relief, she wonders how. Zuko’s not the type to execute, certainly not without trial, which is how things would have been done in the Fire Nation in days past. Mostly, she’s relieved for that, but still, she finds herself wondering whether she’ll regret being such a ready proponent of the right to trial and imprisonment over execution in the weeks to come. There is a swallow of fear in her throat, but it might wisp away once this isn’t all so fresh. 

But perhaps that’s something to think on later.

 “So are his benefactors,” Zuko spits out the word like it’s full of poison itself. “I’ve written to your father and Sokka and to Aang,” he adds. Katara’s stomach clenches unpleasantly in a way she suspects only has a little to do with the day’s events. Zuko doesn’t know she and Aang haven’t spoken in months, that they’re no longer together. “Spirits, Katara, I’m so sorry.”

Katara frowns as she leans back against the pillows. “What for? You didn’t poison me.”

“It was done on my watch, in my palace, because some group of fucking noblemen I’ve been trying to appease are—I keep trying and failing to make things better, and instead…”

“Zuko,” she glares at him in the hopes that it will quiet his self-recrimination. It does, quite efficiently, and she smiles. “Not everything gets to be your fault. Will you just accept my thanks for saving me instead?”

At this, she yawns, and she watches as his expression softens in the dim light of his bedroom.

Zuko rolls his eyes then, but there’s a faint smile playing on his lips, too, and she’s glad to feel the mood lighten again, though she can feel weariness starting to take her once more.

“That’s what you and I do,” he allows quietly after a moment, his (pretty, she thinks hazily, so pretty) amber eyes shining with the truth of what he’s saying. “We save each other. Get some more rest, Katara.” 

Still a little awake, but with her eyes closed, she asks drowsily, not even sure she manages the words, “Will you be here when I wake up?”

Zuko’s answer is quiet but certain. “Of course I will.”

Katara hums as she falls back into the allure of sleep, safe with the knowledge Zuko is watching over her. 

[capnportofficial]

man i love fakeposting what if smurfs had tumblr

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👓 spectacledsavant Follow

Thank you for being my 31st follower, @hotsexylove72848!

#my brilliant words

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🌾 farmersmurf Follow

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🌹 rose-garden Follow

i am simply. pining. yearning. smurfing. when will i have a husband who loves me and who i can love back in equal measure...

#smurf.txt #im too young to marry and boys always seem to love so much more intensely than i do #but i just really wish i could find somesmurf who i can love as much as they love me

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😠 i-hate-usernames Follow

I hate Tumblr.

#I hate tagging.

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💤 slepytime Follow

Life fucking sucks sowmtimes like hwow am i supposed to explain to papa smurf that i want to do work but im too damn tired

#please im so sleepy #im trying so hard

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🐝 beefanatic33 Follow

Sorry for being inactive these past few days, a family member passed away and I've been grieving.

🔁 prettyasapixie Follow

My condolences, darling! I know how difficult it can be to lose someone close to you. Y'all Smurfs are especially close with each other, too... I hope you're doing okay.

🔁 beefanatic33 Follow

Yeah, I'm smurfing as well as I can. Mary-Anne was a very special bee, and I don't know what I'm going to do without her.

#honey speaks

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👓 spectacledsavant Follow

I've seen several people on this website confused about the way I smurf, so I thought I'd give a lesson in Smurfic grammar.

Smurf is a language characterized by the usage of the word "smurf." For me, and other Smurfs, it's a psychosmurfical compulsion we can't control- only Papa Smurf has been able to smurf himself to speak in a way understandable to non-Smurfs, and hems had many centuries to learn.

When you speak Smurf, you smurf every so often- within certain grammar rules. Any past participle smurfed with "to smurf" takes an "ed" in the past tense. Smurf can also be used to resmurf a noun, but only one noun in a compound word, and you must keep the prefix and suffix.

For instance, bottle-opener could be smurfed into "smurf-opener" or "bottle-smurfer"- I, personally, prefer bottle-smurfer- but never "bottle-smurf."

Positive adjectives are "smurfy," negative ones are "unsmurfy," but "smurfy" and "unsmurfy" are also words on their own. If you smurf an adverb, that’s "smurfily" or "unsmurfily." If something is better than something else, it would be smurfed "smurfier," and not "smurfer."

These rules are invariable, except in cases of euphony.

More below the cut.

Keep reading

🔁 quartzyy Follow

hey brainy wanna hang out tomorrow. we can go on a picnic

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🌸 thefairestintheland Follow

looking amazing yet again today, so here's a selfie.

#my face

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[skullduggeryandfilibuster]

Well why can't I use adverbs??

Because often the adverb is redundant, that's why!

"He snuck quietly."

Buddy, he's sneaking, we expect him to be quiet! That's kinda the point of sneaking! Now if he was sneaking loudly, well that's a different story.

"They fiercely fought."

Unless they're a coward and this is the culmination of an arc, we kinda expect people to fight fiercely. Like, especially in a life or death situation--even if you're not physically strong or intimidating--you're gonna be doing everything in your power to rip the Night Wizard's bowels out. You'd use your fingernails if the alternative was burning to a crisp in hellfire.

"The car whipped past quickly."

Okay but seriously: adverbs that describe the (fast) speed of something we know tends to be fast is super fucking common? I see it all the time. Like no shit the race cars was quick, you think I'd come to the 5th worst state in the union to watch America's slowest car race?

But hey, if you're writing a story about America's slowest car race, specifying the speed with an adverb might be a good idea.

I hope people will understand the point of this post; that no one will stupidly misconstrue it. I hope purposely using a redundant adverb in the last sentence won't negate that point, but hey, I can't prophetically see the future.

For my next post: I will be copy-pasting this one but swapping adverbs-verbs with adjectives-nouns, cause writers have a similar issue with those as well...

[physalian]

Incorporating weather elements into your narrative

*Picture me in shock over 11 new followers in 6 days after a 3 week dry spell: Thanks everybody!

Short this time! Weather and climate as worldbuilding are kind of like adverbs. Adverbs, as a concept, are not book kryptonite (despite what all the people screaming about how using better verbs is always the answer want you to believe). Adverbs should just be used with intent and not be redundant, which I’ve said before.

Basically, why use an adverb that doesn’t actually tell us any helpful information about the verb that the reader can’t already presume? “She smiled happily,” well, yeah, as you do. “She smiled sorrowfully,” okay, now that’s an expression I can work with. Why is she smiling sorrowfully? Why does she think she must smile through her sadness? Clearly it’s failing, otherwise the narrator wouldn’t note that the smile is sorrowful at all.

There’s a reason “talking about the weather” is the butt of the joke. It’s generally seen as boring and inconsequential to either party and used to just fill otherwise awkward silence. A quick sentence for sensory details is great. Repeat details that don’t dig into those sensory elements are not.

Your weather is no different. Why are you describing it if it serves no purpose to the scene? Everyone’s default unobtrusive day is different, but unless stated otherwise, people are going to assume it’s either day or night with mildly clear skies and tolerable heat and humidity. Talking at length about average weather that doesn’t impact your character’s emotions or choices, or the tone of the narrative, is a waste of effort in my opinion.

As in, describing the perfect day while a charcater is stuck in an office and unable to enjoy it? Yes. A character getting groceries and it's 72 and sunny and look at all the boring shapes of the clouds and planes flying over head while I get zero input on how the character feels about any of it or why this detail matters? Fluff and filler.

If your book is chock full of poetic fluff, go ham, everybody's ideal narrative is different. I like mine lean, otherwise I get bored by all the fluff while I wait for the book to remember it has a plot.

Weather fits into one of those little buzzword bingo cards where, if the author is taking an aside to describe it, you know it’s going to be important later (or at least it should be important later if the author didn’t just forget about it). Weather tends to be used as foreshadowing and is used as metaphorical shorthand everywhere.

If I write about a character going off on a quest and I tell the reader that clouds are growing in the distance, there’s a 70/30 chance I’m not just talking about actual clouds, but the threat of the enemy, some sinister plot our plucky heroes are ignorant of. Stuff like:

A red sunrise

Black/grey stormclouds

The ambiguous “rain/storm” that’s coming

A chilly wind picks up

An oppressive heat wave settles over the land

Fictional weather is so entrenched in metaphor and allegory that no matter how cliché it gets, watching or reading a funeral scene where it’s not grey and rainy feels insincere and not somber enough for the tragedy unfolding. You can avoid this by having your characters hate that it’s not raining for their funeral, as if even God doesn’t mourn their dead friend and the rest of the world moves on uncaring.

Same vibe as Halloween decorations in broad daylight. Or Christmas decorations in the Florida 80 degree December. Fall without the changing colors of the leaves. The mood is completely wrong.

“It was a dark and stormy night” sets the reader up for something serious, perhaps mysterious and dramatic, not a cheesy Hallmark romance. Weather as tone is extremely helpful. Not describing it is better than picking the wrong weather for your scene, unless you're trying to be ironic. Weather is practically its own character, depending on how much it matters to your story.

Fantasy and abnormal weather should be treated like any other scene descriptor element. It’s not enough to just drop in a detail about how there’s a 20% chance of blood rain at noon. If this is meant to be metaphorical or foreshadowing, despite being “blood rain” maybe it’s not an ill omen. Maybe it’s a magical fertilizer and a farming boon that graces the land, you gotta clarify.

Personally I’d fixate on the blood rain and want to know much more about it, just as much as I’d want to know about the rest of the town. I don’t need you to explain why it exists, it can exist just for funsies without serving any plot purposes, but I definitely want some more detail about the blood rain, it sounds cool.

—

TLDR; Weather cannot be untethered from its metaphorical and tonal implications, it’s just too entrenched in fictional associations. With that said, if weather in your book isn’t important at all to the story, randomly describing the sunny day at length is like describing the grass of a random lawn—we all know what random grass looks like. Unless the state of the lawn matters, it’s fluff. If it doesn’t service the character’s arc, the themes of the story, the tone of the scene, or the plot in any way, it can be skipped beyond relaying to your readers on the time of day and some sensory details like if it’s hot or windy or humid.